kaymc has moved to kaymc.com

2003-05-23T00:01:00.000Z

OFFICIAL: This blog has moved!

You can find the new blog at kaymc.com

Please change all links to point to kaymc.com.

See you there!

2003-05-17T09:49:00.000Z

Heads up
Well, all of my stuff did arrive eventually, although the place is still a perfect minefield of half-emptied boxes. On Wednesday my new DSL connection will go live and on thursday or Friday I'll set up a basic Moveable Type installation on my new home page www.kaymc.com.

So my Blog will continue!

Yay me! Yay my blog!

Anyhow, not much time to type at the moment. About to head off to explore the excitement that is known as Ulm.

2003-05-04T18:34:00.000Z

Stuff watch: day two
It’s half past seven on this bright and shiny German Sunday evening and my flat remains completely and utterly devoid of stuff. Only the dust bunnies dare intrude upon this mournful desert of over-priced English newspapers, empty bottles and unread junk mail. Yet again I waited-in for the truck carrying my belongings and yet again I was disappointed.

A rather large bee buzzed in to say hello around eleven. A couple of hours later I dared the wrath of god by popping out to buy a bread roll. Around three I began composing witheringly sarcastic comments to cast before the tardy delivery men, if they ever deigned to show up. They deigned not. Too scared to deign, I suppose.

Boring technical stuff you should feel free to ignore
I’ve done a lot of thinking about this blog today. I know most of my old readers gave up months ago, but I’m keen to continue. I’ve decided to get myself a domain and go down the Moveable Type route.

I don’t know if I ever told you, but whenever I save my Blog’s template to the Blogger server it immediately becomes corrupt. It took the better part of three hours to get the truncated version you see before you to save in a workable form, and I’m loathe to tempt fate by trying to edit it again.

Someone once said: You get what you pay for. Well, it’s time for me to start paying and I hope that soon after this blog will start giving again. I really enjoyed those early months in the blogging community and I want to get back some of that excitement. Some time in the next week or so, I’ll be putting up a change of address notice. The address itself won’t change much, I’m just dropping the .blogspot, but I’m going to use the opportunity to commit myself to more regular and more interesting posts.

It’s time to turn a new page (geddit!) in this blog’s history.

2003-05-03T22:20:00.000Z

An announcement (of a kind)
The wedding of Justin and Ramona has been rescheduled (again) and is now taking place later this month back in Eastbourne. There’s just no keeping these romantic funsters down, is there? So! Congrats all round. Looks like I’ll be back in old Blighty much sooner than expected. Apparently this requires the purchase of yet another ill-fitting suit. What was it Thoreau said about such enterprises?

Still stuff-less
This morning I woke up full of hope. Finally my belongings were due to arrive from England. I had hopes of sitting on a sofa (a sofa!) and watching a television (a television!) and of sleeping in a bed (a bed!). I would have books to read and CDs to listen to, DVDs and wotnots to watch and, perhaps best of all, My Computer, with its delightfully normal QWERTY keyboard, would once more be mine to command. You can’t imagine how comforting the notion of a keyboard where the Y is next to the T can be to a man who has miss-typed his password almost every single day since arriving in Germany.

According to the shipping company in England, my things had taken a little side trip to Switzerland but, I was assured, they would be back in Germany today, and on my doorstep sometime this afternoon. After a brief, though ill-fated, early-morning jaunt into town (I was looking for a shop that sold curtains), I spent most of ~~todaz~~ today moping about, looking for excuses not to keep reading Don Quixote and listening out for the sound of the missing truck.

A sound which never came.

Oh well, it has to arrive tomorrow, doesn’t it? I mean surely…

Other than the furniture and creature comforts, one of the things I am most looking forward to getting back tomorrow is my bike. The countryside around Überlingen is a cyclist’s dream, with purpose built-bike trails criss-crossing fields, winding through tall green forests and skirting the edge of the lake below. I’m really looking forward to exploring the area, and that should provide the motivation I need to get fit. Hopefully, with so much beauty to see, I will be riding every chance I get.

We shall see.

2003-04-28T07:01:00.000Z

Well and truly gerschlunked
Just what is it about my appearance that inspires little old ladies the world over to ask me for directions? Since arriving in Germany I’ve been approached on no less than six occasions. In the same period I’ve had a grand total of just three and a half German lessons. If any of these old ladies wants to know my name or where I work or even what country I am from, you can be sure that I’m ready, willing and able to help. As for the best way to get to Gerschlunken-Strasse, well, you might as well ask the cat.

Getting about is proving to be difficult. While the UK was pretty much set up for people without cars, Germany really isn’t. I find it interesting that the only practical way to cope with the draconian recycling laws here is to have a car to carry everything about. I still can’t figure out how the hell getting an habitual public transport user like myself so pissed off that I go out and buy a car, just so I can recycle my bottles, can possibly be a net-gain for the environment.

Sometime Monday morning, men with a truck will be begin the long, lonely task of shepherding my worldly goods from a lock-up garage in Surrey to Dust Bunny Central here in Überlingen. So far they’ve been unable to give me an estimate on the delivery date, but I have hopes of it all arriving before the local telecoms people get my DSL line installed (“probably before the end of May”).

But enough complaining for now. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I don’t love it here. This evening, as Justin was driving me home from an afternoon at his place ironing my work shirts (yes, my life really is that exciting), I experienced one of those take your breath away, gasp-and-you’ll-miss-it moments.

Let me just set the scene. It rained today, though not too heavily. The normally glass calm lake was a little choppy. It was about seven and we were driving through a little valley of golden Rape Seed plants just as the sun was just beginning to put in an appearance. At the top of the rise was a beautiful old country church with tall white tower. As we drove up the gentle hill, the lake below came into view behind the church. The clouds high above had a kind of purplish-golden tint as the sun started to peek through, while shining far in the distance, as clear as I’ve ever seen them, the snow-capped Alps suddenly appeared from nowhere to frame the scene.

I wish I’d had my camera, but then it really was a once in a lifetime moment. It’ll never be that beautiful again.

It just couldn’t be.

Moving swiftly on from the sublime to the ridiculous, sometimes it’s difficult being cursed with a 10-year-old’s sense of humour. I make one smart-alecky comment about the general size and shape of German Women’s noses, and the next thing you know it’s all, “Hey, Heidi! Kieran says you’ve got a big nose.”

It’s all so unfair. I’m not that person; I’m really not. I’m actually quite liberal on the old facial protuberance front. And frankly, living in Germany, you kind of have to be.

2003-04-22T18:45:00.000Z

My cranky house
As I type these words it is just after 10pm on Easter Monday. I’ve been here in Germany for two weeks now. While I’m managed to get by so far with my four words of German (Ein Bier Bitter and Danke) I’ve reached a point where I am beginning to need more complex sentences. Say, for instance, I’d like to order two beers in a café; or even three! Just how would I go about it? Enquiring minds and all that…

So, tomorrow morning, before work, I will be attending my first German class. While I don’t expect to be reading Kapital in the original German any time soon, I have hopes of navigating the darker by-ways of German SQL Server error messages and being able to spot non-vegetarian ingredients on grocery labels before too long.

While it was great staying with Justin and Ramona (thanks guys), there comes a time when a boy just has to grit his teeth, plant his two feet in the earth and stand on his own.

For myself, I’ve chosen to stare down adversity in a shiny new, one-bedroom flat just across the road from the best-equipped hospital in Southern Germany. The whole thing is glass, stainless steel, beech-effect panelling and dust-bunnies. So far it’s pretty empty: just a laptop, an uncomfortable garden chair, a blow-up mattress, two suitcases full of creased clothes, a plate, bowl, glass, knife, fork, spoon and me.

I’ve decided to name the spoon Arthur.

I’ve also started to compile a pro-con list on the benefits of living next to a hospital (or Krankenhaus, as the locals amusingly insist on calling it).

Pro: [1] Nurses; [2] In case of emergency, am unlikely to die because of length of trip to hospital; [3] Nurses; [4] Err; [5] That’s it!

Con: [1] Being woken-up at all hours by Ambulances heading off to collect the remains of German motorists from their awful fate on poorly lit Autobahns; [2] Am so bored watching and re-watching my West Wing and Harry Potter DVDs I fear my head may explode (this is, strictly speaking, not the fault of the hospital, although I see no reason to be especially charitable given that the pro-list already has five things one it).

If you’ve ever visited this blog before, you should know that when I drink I am often prone to acts of general silliness, followed by declarations of undying love directed towards random waitresses. I’m afraid one recent drink-sodden night out in Überlingen may have resulted in my making an even bigger and rather less random arse of myself than usual. Work Tuesday may be a little weird, although with any luck… Oh well, the less said the better.

2003-04-12T11:16:00.000Z

The first post (in Germany)
I'm alive and living in Germany! Umm, hooray?!? So far it's all work and flat hunting, but I won't bore you with that stuff.

The journey
Ryan Air and I seemed destined to keep bumping heads. Yet again I managed to miss check-in for one of their flights by seconds and yet again I was forced to hand over more cash.

There were two choices: Wait for the next flight to Friedrichshafen (the following day) OR catch a later flight to Frankfuhrt-Hahn and rent a car at the other end. Since I'd already handed in the keys to my flat, the only real option was to fly to Frankfuhrt.

So fly we did. To Frankfuhrt. Or so we thought.

Pop Quiz - If you were flying to an Airport in Germany called Frankfuhrt-Hahn, would you suppose that you were going to land: [a] in Frankfuhrt, [b] just outside Frankfuhrt or [c] next to some tin shed / strip mall in the middle of a wet field over 120 miles from Frankfuhrt?

So Justin and I drove through the night from this remote tin shed to his home 500km away in Owingen. A piece of advice, if you're ever in a car hurtling down a German Autobahn without any street lights at over 220 kph, make sure you know how to turn on the headlights first. Good avice, take it from me.

"They don't work!"

Well they did work, but Justin seemed unable to turn them on high until we'd been on the road for 3 hours (at least I think we were on the road). Not that I'm complaining, mind you, it's just that blind panic is not a look that really works for me.

More soon.

2003-04-06T09:57:00.000Z

The last post (before Germany)
What a day! Yesterday, with Justin's help, was spent packing and disassembling and washing and boxing and lifting and throwing out and dieing inside, little by little. Most of my posessions now sit in a 50 squre foot lock-up just outside of Redhill.

Last night I slept on my floor.

Today I clean and scrub and vaccum and scrub some more and then, at the end of it I get to sleep on the floor again, only this time it will smell of Shake 'n Vac, with maybe just a hint of bleach. Make a nice change from all the dust last night.

I'm flying out tomorrow for Germany tomorrow afternoon, and start work bright and early Tuesday morning.

Hopefully, I see you there.

Auf Wiedersehen, Zicklein. Auf Wiedersehen.

2003-04-04T12:36:00.000Z

Why I'm not all packed yet
The van is booked for tomorrow AM, so I really should have everything all squared away by now, but I don't.

I wish I had a good excuse.

But I don't.

One thing I do have is this incredible talent for ignoring really important things. I can push an uncomfortable thought out of my mind so fast, it would make your head spin.

Need to have your entire life packed into a box by 6pm? No problem, just go have a glass of grape juice instead.

Packing is just another thing for me not to think about.

Like my mother.

Ok, I can see that this is post is not going to be one of the funny ones, so I suggest you hit the Back Page button now.

My mother died over eight years ago, but in a lot of ways it might have just happened. Thinking about her, about the end, still hurts like hell.

Dreams. Have I told you about the dreams? For the first few years my mother would make drop-in appearances in my dreams, and it would surprise me. My dream self would say something like "aren't you supposed to be dead?" and then I would wake up.

For the next few years she would still appear, but I stopped being surprised. In my dreams it was like she had never died. I suppose I must have drawn some comfort from that. Maybe I needed her to be there.

Mum continued as a regular in my stock of dream characters, sometimes playing leading roles, but more often, as time wore on, she became something of a bit-player.

These days I hardly ever dream about her. I sometimes go for months without even thinking about her, and when I do, rather than mist up, I push the thought aside, and promise to "think about it tomorrow."

Just like Scarlett.

Being able to ignore the big things can be useful, but I'm not sure it's terribly wise, because eventually tomorrow does come. And tomorrow is not just another day.

2003-03-30T00:09:00.000Z

Stolen prayers
Three posts in one day? Can't remember the last time I did that, but once in a while you find something so fantastic that you just can't help wanting to ~~steal it and pass it off as your own~~ share it with others.

For the record, in reproducing this piece, I am not offering any political commentary on the various rights or wrongs of the current conflict. I'm still very much in the undecided column on that one, but one thing I cannot stand is hypocrisy, and there's an awful lot of it flying around these days. Mark Twain could smell hypocrisy a mile away. He wrote his short story The War Prayer as a satircal response to Philippine-American War of 1899-1902. Here is the actual prayer contained in the story. Enjoy.

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle-be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth from the sweet peace of our eloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with t refuge of the grave and denied it -for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen."

Thanks to Dominion of Skeptical Blog for reminding me of this fantastic piece.

2003-03-29T20:50:00.000Z

Stupid quiz result of the week
I haven't done one of these stupid blog personality quizzes in a long time, so I guess I was due. Apparently this is how I'm going to horribly kick the bucket. Can't wait.

You will drink too much gin. Not the worst way to
die, but you won't remember too much of your
life. Hey, at least you made some people laugh!

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

2003-03-29T16:27:00.000Z

See me panic
Just in case you were unsure, I am insane.

On Friday the 4th day of April I finish my final day of work with my current employers. In England. Four days later I start working for a new company. In Germany. With me so far? Good. So, given that I'm changing my job, moving house and country and all that, you might think that everything would have been organized long ago. But you'd be wrong.

That's right, I have done nothing whatsoever to arrange the removal of my stuff. Nada. Zip.

Squat.

Well, perhaps that's not entirely true. I have packed a lot of my stuff into boxes. That's a start, right? Oh who am I kidding! I haven't even called the Electricity or Gas people yet.

I am just so unbelievably bad at this kind of thing, but today, one week from the day I'd hoped my stuff would be picked up, I've realised that pure blind panic is the only thing I have going for me right now. I'm as scared as hell, and I should be as scared as hell. It's the right thing for me to be at this point.

Entirely appropriate.

2003-03-24T20:11:00.000Z

On pirates being the new monkeys
I love pirates, I've always loved them. Ever since I saw my first swash-buckler as a boy I've wanted to grab a sword, a wench and a parrot and hit the high seas. Pirates are cool, they just are. There's no explaining it. And finally, it seems, the rest of the world is starting to catch up.

"Pirates are the thinking man's monkey," states Ryan Yount, author of the essay "Pirates Are the New Monkeys."

"I mean, sure, monkeys will always be funny, by virtue of the fact they are, well, monkeys," says Yount in SFweekly . "But pirates. Pirates have a whole world to draw from.

"Think about it: A monkey puts on clothes, and it's funny. A monkey gives you the finger, pulls out a gun, eats his own shit, it's funny. Pirates can do all that, and more."

Well, quite.

But he's right, isn't he? Pirates may be murderous, heartless bastards, but funny heartless bastards, you know? They slice and dice with verve and wit.

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel down the front of his pants.
The bartender says, "Hey, you've got a steering wheel down the front of your pants."
The pirate says, "Arrr, I know. It's drivin' me nuts."

We all remember the corny pirate jokes from our childhood.

"What's a pirate's favourite letter?"
"Arrrr, me matey! Arrrr!"

Think you're above those kind of puns? Pirate jokes too juvenile for you? Well, have I got news for you! Thanks to the folks at McSweeney's here are a bunch of Pirate Riddles for Sophisticates.

Convinced? Are you ready to go piratical? If you think you can pull it off, Dorothy of Cat and Girl fame has the some helpful fashion tips, so you won't look out of place on the Spanish Main this summer.

2003-03-22T01:57:00.000Z

Packing with Patty Duke
I met up with Ron on Thursday night. There was a lot of drinking involved, but fortunately I did not quite make the ass of myself that I did last time we hit London's mean streets together. Both of us are relocating to different countries. Ron and his wife are off to Wales, where he hopes to make his dream of becoming a published Children's author a reality, while I'm moving to Germany where I hope to make my dream of drinking cheap beer a reality.

I have a lot of respect for Ron. Giving your life over to your dreams to become a writer takes a lot of courage. I can say that because as you may or may not know I wasted two years of my life living in Galway, Ireland in a pathetic attempt to become a great novelist. I failed miserably, but then I know that Ron is a better writer than I'll ever be, and besides, I think he has a stronger work ethic. Instead of writing my novel(s) I spent hours in my room or in the library of University College Galway filling endless pages with stream-of-consciousness ramblings about my good-for-nothing flat-mates, how badly my novel(s) were going, how much I hated poverty and increasingly sordid fantasies involving an egg-wisk, a stick of celery and whichever unatainable woman was my current lust object.

So I'm moving again, yet another country to add to my list. This time it's Germany. But it's not like I'm stepping off a cliff into the unknown. I stride the ancient cobbled streets of Ueberlingen without fear. I'm almost a native. If you include last weekend's flying visit, I've been four times now.

Will I lose the tourist's rosey picture of the region? Undoubtedly. It took less than a month to get over Galway's chocolate-boxey charm. I suspect the turning point in Ueberlingen may come sooner. Perhaps the first time a local garbologist takes me to task for seperating my garbage with insufficient elan.

I can hardly wait.

There's a lot to do. I have to cancel the Electricity, the Gas, the Cable/Broadband/Phone, etc. Then there's the Council tax, arranging storage for some things, shippping others and giving away/throwing out the rest. I've some serious packing and cleaning to do, not to mention haggling over my deposit ("Well sure it's a pig sty, but who's fault is that?").

I'm going to need help with all of this. What I really need is two of me: An identical twin, or better yet, an identical cousin, like Patty Duke had. We'd laugh alike, we'd walk alike; at times we'd even talk alike.

My doppleganger would be like Cathy, quiet and uncomplaining. He'd take care of all the boring, messy and annoying things. He's probably get a kick out of spending two hours on hold with NTL Customer Services. And who could blame him!

I, on the other hand, would deal with the wild and exciting aspects of moving. Like being able to make obnoxious passes at, and being turned down cold by, women I'd normally never dream of talking to. There would be no awkward silence to endure the next day, because there would be no next day. I'd never have to see them again.

Oh well, two weeks and counting...

2003-03-19T22:24:00.000Z

A Biggish Day
Today I handed in my notice. I felt a real sense of dread welling up as the moment approached; quitting after only six months felt like betrayl, in point of fact it was a kind of betrayal. The deed itself proved somewhat anti-climactic, however. It was over in a minute or two.

"Oh well. Just put it formally in an email, CC the MD and your manager."

They didn't even ask why.

Of course normally people resign directly to their manager, but I couldn't do that, given that my manager is spending March on a sex tour of the brothels of South-East Asia. I am, sadly, not kidding. He is very open about that kind of thing.

"So, now what?" I hear you cry. Well, since you ask so nicely... I'm putting my furniture into storage, packing my bags and moving to Germany.

My good friend Justin, who has patiently endured near endless torrent of complaints about my current job, went out of his way to arrange an interview with the his own IT department. They came through with an offer and today I agreed to sign on the dotted line.

I'm a bit of a globe trotter, having lived in quite a few countries, but this will be the first time I've spent more than a few weeks in a country where English was not the first language. How will I cope? Which will prove the bigger hurdle, the language or the three seperate garbage bins? Only time will tell, I suppose.

So don't forget to tune in here for the All-New Adventures of Kieran in the Land of the Jagermeister (which does not contain any deer blood, despite what you may have heard).

2003-03-18T17:08:00.000Z

News to come
Just quickly, I may have some possiblly biggish news within the next day or so. Big lifestyle change leading to really interesting things to blog about, leading to what I hope will be an increased desire to blog.

For a long time I've not blogged because I couldn't really say what I was thinking about a big part of my life. With any luck I'll be able to tell it like it is. It all depends on a phone call later this evening. I hope I have something interesting to report.

2003-03-08T02:52:00.000Z

Facing the music
Is my blog dead? I honestly don't want to say that it is, but it's getting harder to ignore the reality. Look at the date on that last posting; that was a long time ago.

Let's say I'm on a Blogbreak. Blogbreak, eh? I like the sound of that! I feel a domain registration in the offing.

A lot has happened since I last blogged. Google has bought Blogger (I guess you already knew that), War in Iraq looms ever closer and the sky has turned green (OK, I made that last one up).

And speaking of the looming war in Iraq, am I the only person on the face of the Earth who doesn't have a strongly-held position on this thing? Because everything I read and every conversation I have changes my point of view. I believed six contradictory things about Gulf War II before breakfast, and try as I might I can't come up with any clear answers.

So, can I just NOT have an opinion on this one? Many of the arguements I'm hearing from both sides of the debate are poorly thought out and require idealogical leaps of faith I'm not prepared to make. On the other hand, I've read a lot that has impressed me, but I've yet to find anything which could push me off my fence.

What it comes down to is that until Amazon delivers that brand new crystal ball, I'm going to sit around and nod a lot. I'll agree with whatever the other person says and smile sagely. And then, a few years from now, with the advtantage of 20/20 hind-sight, I plan to point fingers, make grave moral pronouncements and pretend I was with the good guys all along.

Honestly, I've given this thing a lot of thought and I'm just not sure. Maybe all of those people marching against the war had given it more thought, but I doubt it. Maybe they're all smarter than me, or have a more highly developed sense of morality. No doubt many are and do, but I'm betting that a hell of a lot of them aren't and don't.

Maybe they're better informed and read better newspapers.

Hmmm.

Have I abrogated all moral responsibility by not having an opinion?

Does that make me bad?

2003-01-26T01:35:00.000Z

So drunk
It's late, 1:30 in the blessed am and I'm in an internet cafe in London with Justin and his friend Mark. Justin is in the UK to visit his dad and we've been out drinking and wotnot. Justin is very loud and people are getting awfully snooty about it. I'm drunk too, but I don't seem to need to provide a running commentary on everything I read.

The train back to my place leaves at 2am, so we're filling in time. Justin flies back to Germany in the morning.

And not a moment too soon, I say.

Yes, I know I've been bad about posting recently. I know my previous promises to up my level of postings have not been worth the pixels they were printed on. I'm sorry. I really do plan to get back to the whole blogging thing, but what with work and me being in training to become an alchoholic, I'm just not keeping up.

I blame society.

2003-01-01T02:15:00.000Z

Happy New Year!
Yes, I'm back in the UK. No, this is not a proper post, I have just two things to say to you before I limp off to bed:

[1] I'm only too aware that for most of us, 2002 was not one of the all-time classic years. Not even a starter, in point of fact. You'll be glad to know that I'm looking into what can be done to make 2003 and bit more interesting. Suggestions on a postcard.

[2] Click here.

2002-12-28T01:35:00.000Z

Drunk in Germany - EDITED
Posting while drunk is never a good idea, but I feel I must. So many things to tell you. Before we go anywhere, let me warn you that any instances of the letter Z may actually be the letter Y. Unfortunately I am drunk and using a German keyboard. Oddly enough German keyboads have the letter Z excatly where you might expect the Y key to be. QWERTZ instead of QWERTY -- Which is bad.

So no promises re: Spelling.

It's One A.M. and Bridget Jones is playing on the box. Whipped Justin has gone off to bed and I am left with a large glass of wine, a chip on my shoulder and a laptop. Instead of skiing, today we drove into Zurich to watch the second installment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The good thing about seeing films in Switzerland instead of Germany is that they play in English (with German and French subtitles) rather than being dubbed into Deutsch.

I'm sorry, but has anyone else noticed, couples are just pathetic. Justin and Ramona might not yet be what Bridget Jones calls Smug Marrieds (give them 4 months to sign the paperwork) -- but they are just so sickeningly one rather than two that I cannot but feel a strong desire to slap all involved.

Lots of alchohol imbibed on this trip. Confessed un-die-ing (is that how you spell it?) love to a certain barmaid in Uberlingen. I have hopes, but no real reason to suppose, that my embarassment was lost in the translation. What is it about women carrying beer on trays that seems to inspire such endless devotion in my heart?

Where is Rene Zelwinger when I need her?

Actually it's been a pretty good Christmas. Lots of food, a marvellous outdoor Christmas market with Gluwine and carols, stuffed animals, sage and onion stuffing, gurgling babies and forced smiles.`

Flying back to London and broken freezer on Sunday, back to work on Monday. Last Sunday morning I was forced to empty the entire contents of my fridge freezer into the bin before catching my cab to the airport. No real point replacing anything food-wise until freezer can actually freeze stuff. May be forced to return to the largely under-appreciated take-away chips and ginger beer diet.

Love that Ginger Beer!

Love fried stuff!

2002-12-19T14:12:00.000Z

A heart of ice
My fridge-freezer is dead. Long live my freezer.

It shuffled off it’s mortal evaporator coil sometime yesterday. I’m now sitting in my mould-ridden flat waiting for the repair man to arrive. I‘m not holding my breath.

Last night I did my shopping in Iceland of all places (the discount, frozen-food supermarket, not the poorly-named country). Even as I type, a freezer full of low-priced yet high-quality vegetarian microwave-able treats are slowly melting.

I know I should be using this day to tidy, scrub and wash my flat, but warm baths, a certain Emily Skinner CD and Schott’s Original Miscellany call me by name.

'Tis the season
You should pop over to visit Chain of Daisies or Kacroon's World today. It's snowing!

A Christmassy kind of guilt
I received a Christmas Card in the post today from, um, someone. It’s a really cool card, and I’m super pleased to get it, but there’s a small essay written with a silver marker-pen covering the entire card and the silver ink has bled slightly. The writing itself is very neat but small and delicate and written in what I would call running writing, although the Brits call it joined-up writing.

Frankly, the whole thing is something of a work of art but what with it being so small, and mussed and, well, silver, I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea what any of it says. And it really feels like a betrayal on my part that I’m unable to read this fantastic thing that this person has put so much time and thought into.

Oh well, nothing I can do about it except perhaps invest in a magnifying glass and console myself with the fact that on Sunday I’ll be flying off to Zurich before heading into Germany for Christmas. I’m really looking forward to visiting some of the famous German Christmas Markets.

It should be a lot of fun.

2002-12-16T22:18:00.000Z

Almost giddy
Two posts in one evening! Oh my!

Actually this is less of a posting and more of a "guess where I'm going for Christmas" admin note. Yep, on Sunday morning I'm flying off to Justin and Ramona's place in Germany. I'll be there for a week. It should be fun, Justin has these big-deal plans of getting me on the slopes, skiing. I've only tried skiing once, it was in Whistler, BC and I had a pretty poor time of it. In point of fact, I recall I spent most of the time laying on my back, skis in the air, sliding head first down icy slopes.

Not so much skiing as plummeting.

That Canadian Christmas was also the last time I ate Turkey and since Turkey was the last carnivorous thing I gave up, you could say I've been a vegetarian ever since.

Anyhow, Justin assures me that Germany is just full of gentle slopes where I can make my little snow plough and fall over in peace.

So.

Have you ever bought a present for a baby? I've never done that before, but this past weekend I went shopping for a present for Ramona and Justin's Baby Selina. I had thought it would be a bizzare thing to do, but in the end it was a strangely enjoyable experience.

I feel I can reveal her present to you, because I'm pretty sure she can't read yet and I'm sure you are responsible enough not to go out of your way to ruin Christmas for a six-month old. I can trust you, right?

I got her something called a Kick Piano. The idea is that you hang it over the end of the cot and the baby kicks the soft keyboard, lights flash and the baby raises all kinds of hell with various guaranteed parent-annoying noises.

Frankly, I wish I had one my own self. I can't imagine a baby not loving it.

2002-12-16T21:54:00.000Z

Melting frogs
And so he walked into the wilderness and was never heard from again...

Is this Blog dead? I think the patient is definitely on his last legs, but the doctor is afraid to make the call. The thing is, I really loved writing this thing. I loved being a member of the Blogisphere, a big community of people with a love of words and opinions to burn. Putting a few words down, having them read by other people. Smart people. And reading their words in turn. What a great way to spend a day! And days were spent. My, yes. Whole days devoted to reading, writing and making smart-arsed comments.

Sometimes the hardest thing was to to come up something to to write about. Sometimes it was harder deciding what to leave out. I think there's something wonderful about the process of producing a blog.

I really loved my blog.

And then two things happened in quick succession. I got a job and I lost my web link. I had less time to write and no way to post my words. And do you know what? The world didn't come to an end. I could hardly believe it! The Sun rose and set just like before, Women still pointed and stared and Starbucks still charged £2.75 for a Grande Caramel Machiatto.

Eventually I got my broadband connection, and a way to post again, but in a sense it was too late. The Emperor wasn't wearing any clothes and I wasn't posting any more often. I started quite a few postings, but didn't finish any of them. Letting the blog slide had become a way of life.

And so kaymc died.

Let me be honest. I killed kaymc with slipshod habits and an unhealthy caffine addiction.

But is a blog ever really dead? Can you really kill one for good? I think there's every reason to suppose that blogs are more like frogs than rabbits. You can freeze them, thaw them out and they'll go on jumping. The frog, that is, not the bunny.

Freezing bunnies is just plain cruel.

No promises this time, but come on back some time. Maybe I'll be able to thaw out this Frog's heart.

2002-11-20T23:15:00.000Z

Unhealthy addictions
I'll bet you thought that once I got my broadband connection up and running I'd be spending all my free time writing ever longer and more charming descriptions of the sad little perversion of God's plan that is my life. To tell the truth, so did I. It turns out that the real joy of an always-on broadband cable connection is less the speed than the fact that it really is always on. And more often than not, so is my computer, downloading mis-titled movies and episodes of ever more obscure TV shows.

I have become addicted to TV shows which have, to the best of my admittedly limited knowledge, never aired in the UK. I have, for example, downloaded and watched every single epsiode of the Gilmore Girls, a show which I came across quite by accident and which has proven to be one of the best written and most entertaining pieces I've seen in while. This is a show which gives The West Wing a run for its money, and yet not one of the 3 million channels currently crowding the various Digital Satellite and Cable platforms in the UK currently deems it worthy of broadcast. Tres Bizzare.

Ooooh. They're playing the Into The Temple Duet from Bizet's Pearl Fishers on the radio right now. It still gets to me.

Anyhow, don't give up on me just yet; I promise I'll up my posting rate.

2002-11-20T20:16:00.000Z

Reading things (but not reading them)
Ever opened a letter, glanced at it and made a snap judgment about what it says before you've even read it? A letterhead, a few choice words and a date. Aaargh! You screw it up and throw it in the corner. Oh my God, that's so unfair!

Then you fume about it for three or four days, kick cans in the street and plot revenge fantasies. At night you lay in bed, spouting random swear words, like someone with that disease I can't spell.

One morning you're so distracted that you knock over the ironing board, singeing the carpet. The next morning, without thinking, you iron bits of melted carpet into your best shirt.

Eventually you calm down, realise you have to sort things out, and so you plan to call the people who sent you the letter. You take the number with you to work, wait until lunch, pick up the phone and dial.

It is, of course, only then that you discover the person at the other end of the line has absolutely no idea what you're talking about.

"No, you've misunderstood completely. It's not this, it's that. And no, it's not happening tomorrow, it's next week. And don't be silly, it doesn't mean that, it means this instead. How could you have so completely and utterly have missed the point?"

Reading, but not reading. I do it all the time.

2002-11-12T23:19:00.000Z

Folks being great
Aren't folks great?

I came home to a nice surprise today. Sitting in my letterbox was a parcel from Amazon.com. Strange, I thought, what could it be? The people at Amazon had cancelled my last order when they were unable to find copies of DVD I'd ordered. Had they suddenly found a new source? Surely they would have emailed first.

I quickly put away the shopping and settled down on the couch. Even when you know what's inside, there's nothing quite as exciting as a parcel in the mail. It's much more fun than buying something in a shop. Instant gratification is so over-rated.

I looked at the parcel, shook it a few times and put it down. I got up, went back into the kitchen and poured myself a big glass of grape juice. I like grape juice.

I got changed, turned on the TV and sat back down. The parcel was still there.

I opened the package.

Inside was a copy of Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger. Nine Stories is a book which has been on my Amazon Wishlist for a while, but which I have never, repeat never actually ordered. I picked up the delivery note and read:

Kieran, Am I forgiven for having fallen off the face of the earth? I'd better be, 'cause I'm headed to London next month.

It was from a someone I've never met in person, but with whom I used to correspond on a regular basis via email. I can't tell you how touched I am. The Internet is just this amazing thing which brings the funniest, most delightfully clever people from the other side of the world into your inbox. It can make geography irrelevant and allows freakishly nice people to send wonderful gifts to your door.

You know, it's so easy to let these kind of things slide. I'm going to be more careful in future.

P.S. If you're an occasional reader of this blog and haven't clicked on the a Comments link in a couple of days, please DON'T CLICK, at least not just yet. Would you please do me a favour? Take a look in your Temprary Internet cache and see if you can find a copy of the following file: http://www.btinternet.com/~kieran_mccabe/graphics/kmc.jpg -- This is the little kitty graphic for my comments pop-up. Unfortunately BT closed my old account a day earlier than anticipated, and I didn't get a chance to retrieve my blog graphics. I have a new PC now and my original copies of these pictures have been lost. If you do find kmc.jpg in your cache, please send me a copy.

I'd really appreciate it.

2002-11-11T19:44:00.000Z

The chamber of secret filenames
People are strange. Last night I spent several very long hours downloading what I believed to be the new Harry Potter film. I couldn’t wait to uncover the mystery of The Chamber of Secrets. Five hundred megabytes later I clicked play only to discover my first voyage into the exciting world of broadband copyright infringement was a bit of a bust. No flying Ford Anglia, no magical self-writing books, not even a lousy giant snake! No, someone had just renamed a copy of the first Harry Potter movie and stuck it online to annoy unwary muggles like myself.

Before I set off for work today I started my PC downloading a different, certified absolutely 100% genuine version of the new classic. I got in a few moments ago and discovered an interesting little pop-up window on my screen. A message from one of the unknowns I had been downloading the file from.

“It’s not Chamber of Secrets, it’s Lady & the Tramp in German.”

Of course the file is still downloading and I’m either too stupid or stubborn to cut my loses now and click cancel.

So in just a few minutes I’ll be able to enjoy the excitement that is Lady and the Tramp. In German.

Shaiser!

For the record, a few months back when I was staying with Justin in Germany, we went to see Ice Age fully dubbed into German. I had absolutely no problem understanding basics of the story line. Whenever I had difficulty, I would lean over and ask Justin what they were saying and he would mumble something deliberately incoherent.

“Oh, right,” I would reply, pretending I believed that Justin knew what he was mumbling incoherently about.

The file just finished transferring and YES, we’re talking talking dogs. Talking dogs talking and singing in German. Arrrgh!

All of which reminds me of one of my favourite scenes from one of my all time favourite films, Whit Stillman’s The Last Days of Disco.

Charlotte:	Saturday, I took my niece who's seven to the Disney movie, Lady and the Tramp. She loved it. It was SO cute. I'm beginning to fall in love with the whole idea of having kids.
Alice:	I hate that movie.
Charlotte:	What?
Alice:	It's so tacky. Not to mention depressing.
Charlotte:	This sweet movie about cute cartoon dogs, you found depressing?
Josh:	There is something depressing about it. And it's not really about dogs. Except for some superficial bow-wow stuff at the start, the dogs all represent human types which is where it gets into real trouble. Lady, the ostensible protagonist, is a fluffy blond cocker-spaniel with absolutely nothing on her brain. She's great-looking, but let's be honest, incredibly insipid. Tramp, the love interest, is a smarmy braggart of the most obnoxious kind. An oily jailbird out for a piece of tail, or whatever he can get.
Charlotte:	Oh come on.
Josh:	No, he's a self-confessed chicken thief and all around sleaze ball. What's the function of film this kind? Essentially it's a primer on love and marriage directed at very young people. Imprinting on their little psyches the idea that smooth-talking delinquents recently escaped from the local pound are a good match for nice girls from sheltered homes. When in ten years, the icky human version of Tramp shows up around the house, their hormones will be racing and no one will understand why. Films like this program women to adore jerks.
Des:	God, you're nuts.
Josh:	The only sympathetic character, the little Scottie who's so loyal and concerned about Lady, is mocked as old-fashioned and irrelevant and shunted off to the side.
Des:	Isn't the whole point that Tramp changes? Ok, maybe in the past he stole chickens, ran around without a license and wasn't always sincere with members of the opposite sex, but through his love for Lady and beneficent influences of fatherhood and matrimony, he changes and becomes a valued member of that, you know, rather idyllic household.
Josh:	I don't think people really change that way. We can change our context, but we can't change ourselves.
Charlotte:	What does that mean?
Des:	Well you changed.
Jimmy:	Come on Des.
Josh:	That's a little different.
Alice:	I agree with Josh. The Scottie is the only admirable character. Would have been a much better movie if Lady ended up with him.
Des:	I'm really surprised. I think Tramp really changed.
Josh:	Maybe he wanted to change, or tried to change, but there's not a lot of integrity there. First he'd be hanging around the house, drinking, watching ball games, maybe knocking Lady around a little bit, but pretty soon he'd be back at the town dump chasing tail.

2002-11-07T00:10:00.000Z

Online again!
Sing out words of joy, for I am back online again. Back with a brand-spanking-new, broader-than-broad 600k cable link. My connection is so fast that pages load before I even click (or are those just pop-up ads )

It's been a long time since I last put tired fingers to blog; I know most of my regulars have had the good sense to skulk off in search of pastures new, and I can hardly blame them. Hey! Just what do you think that you're still doing here? Have you no shame?

Thought not.

I have a lot of blog reading to catch up, I hope all of your archives are in order.

I'm not sure if you want to hear my tales of woe. Do you want to hear tell of the days taken off work to no avail, the appointment's not kept, the lies told, the horribly be-tatooed thugs who finally installed the cable box (after dropping it once or twice), the failure of the broadand port on the back of the cable box to do anything much at all, the eventual reconnection of the phone line, the many tragic hours spent listening to NTL's two music on hold CDs followed by scant minutes spent conversing with sub-normal customer services reps who make grand promises which they promptly ignore, the sleepless nights trying to install the broadband software (which turned out to be part of the problem), the faulty cables, the faulty USB adapter, the faulty broadband monitoring software, the faulty set-top box, the fricken faulty everything, the two smiling red-heads wearing nothing but World War One flying helmets and equipped with little more than a few wilted cellery stalks, the new PC turning up with a broken DVD drive, the crowded and always late trains, the conviction of the clearly innocent (and adorable) Winona Ryder and the frankly indecent price Starbucks charge for two measly Ginger Snap biscuits?!?

Well, you don't want to know and I'm not going to tell you. Not today. I have copyrights to infringe and fantastic books by AS Byatt to finish.

2002-10-20T15:59:00.000Z

Six more dispiriting days
All my predictions are for nought. It's kind of wierd when you have a cable box attached to the side of your building, but NTL seem unable to find the T-junction under the footpath to connect that box to their digital network. To me it sounds like the kind of pathetic excuse customer service reps are trained to trot out to explain their installer's lack of action.

But perhaps I'm being overly cynical.

Anyhow, the official word now is that NTL will be digging up the footpath during the week in readiness for installation in my flat next Saturday. So assuming that they do sort things out and that they can install on schedule and that my computer works and that I don't die of web withdrawl in the meantime, I should be back online next Saturday PM.

Should.

For the record I'm sitting in a West End Cyber Cafe surrounded by the seediest bunch of Yahoo-Mailing, drug-dealing, wallet-snatching low-lifes you can possibly imagine. These are the people who give stereotypes a bad name.

Outside it's a miserable London wintery day. Sometimes I miss Sydney so much it physically hurts. Don't get me wrong, I love London and Surrey and usually the weather doesn't get to me. After all, I'm really a cool weather kind of guy. There are days, however... Days when the dark dreariness of the sky can just pound down on your soul. Days like today.

Days that are almost a week away from having broadband installed.

Days when I think of endless Summers on Wanda Beach. Trying to act cool, but tragically getting more sunburn than anything else. You know, I can't rememember the last time I got wet and sand was in any way involved.

2002-10-18T16:42:00.000Z

What happened yesterday
Just a quick one, still at work on a Friday evening and want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

Long story short: NTL didn't turn up.

No TV, no phone, no broadband, no cool blog entries, no downloading movies starring radioactive spiders and a wet Kirstin Dunst, no plausible excuses from the scum sucking toads who call themselves a telecommunications company, no likely installation date, no chance I could take another day off from work even if they gave me a new installation date, no luck getting through to NTL having sat through less than 1 hour of music on hold, no possibility that the first person you get through to will be able to solve your problem without transferring you to another person who will be at least one hour of music on hold away, not one promised update phone call to me yet made by NTL, no way I'm going to get over my general peevishness without resorting to cynicism.

Ack.

Am very seriously considering going back to Sky/BT (who, by an incredible coinidence have just started a new ADSL free installation offer).

Anyhow, time to head off into the sunset. Tomorrow I might try posting an entry from the cybercafe near my home.

We'll see...

2002-10-14T11:45:00.000Z

Three days to go
Finally some news for you wonderfully patient people. Sometime this Thursday I will have my new broadband/cable connection installed. I have to take the whole day off, because NTL are unable to give me an installation time, but I should definitely have something online by close of day. Obviously it will have to wait until I've started downloading any movies I can find about people bitten by radioactive spiders, you understand such things I hope, but soon after I'll be able to post a proper blog entry for the first time in a long while.

2002-10-05T17:46:00.000Z

An excuse worthy of my readers
Yes, I have been slack, as has been admitted, though now I can add a genuine excuse! You see I can't log on from home at the moment. To cut a long story short, my modem is dead, and it's Justin's fault. I could go into lengthy detal explaining how Justin, all the way from Germany was responsible for the death of my modem, but I won't. Suffice to say it was his fault and let's leave it at that.

So now what? Well, with the help of god and sixteen policemen, I'll have NTL boradband installed at my place within the next week or so. Until then, I'll try and post when and where I can. Not that there's anyone left to read this. I suspect that most of my readership have been so thoroughly annoyed by my pathetic recent postings that they've run off to seek the aid and comfort of Will Wheaton.

I don't blame them. Not one little bit.

To summarize, I will be picking this thing up again, but for the next week or so the postings will be intermitent. I know that's probably not how you spell it, but I'm not at home and I don't have my dictionary to hand and intermitent is one of those words I've never really come to terms with. Like Wednesday. Wednesday always looks wrong. And disillusionment.

2002-10-02T00:29:00.000Z

Slack
Some of you may have noticed that I haven't posted anything new for a week. I have no clever excuses, but I have been busy with the new job and a few other things. Unfortunately writing for the blog has taken a bit of a back seat. I hope you can forgive my drunken, bone-idle laziness. If not, please express your anger in productive and helpful ways.

I could write about the daily toil of my work-a-day existence, but you don't care about that, do you? I know I don't. On the other hand, my new workmates are an interesting lot and certanly worthy of a few words. Already I am discovering perfect minefields of inter-personal feuds, intrigues and rivalries. I'm hardly prepared to take my first weary steps, so I sit and look on from the sidelines, sipping on my beverage with what I hope passes for quiet dignity.

At the centre of any social groupings are those bright stars whose moods and whims lead the action. The other night at the pub, one of these social celestial spheres decided to make her pointed dislike of another women absolutely clear. She left, capturing fully two thirds of the people in her orbit, and dragging them off to another pub. There was absolutely nothing subtle about it. That was, I suppose, the point.

People confuse me.

What else? I'm not sure if anyone will be even remotely interested, but couple of weeks ago I gave my 30 day notice on my SKY Digital satellite TV. I wanted to upgrade my Internet connection from 56k Dialup to Broadband. The deals NTL are offering on digital cable/broadband/phone packages seemed too good to pass up, so I signed up.

Or at least I thought I had signed up.

On Monday I gave NTL "a call" to find out why I haven't heard back about an installation date. When I hung up a total of TWO AND A HALF HOURS later, I felt none the wiser for my experience. In between being transferred no less than 5 times, I went through their entire classical "music on hold" CD twice! One jerk had the nerve to transfer me before I'd even got 4 words out of my mouth.

"Hello. I ordered..."

"One moment, transferring you!"

I called again from work Tuesday morning (and yes, I can write damn fine code and listen to music on hold at the same time). After half an hour of that fabulous CD, which I really must get, I finally got through to a human being with a brain. Turns out they have no record of my order on the system. Which is odd because I gave the sales person credit card details and the like when ordering two weeks earlier. It turned out that the Sales Reference number, which I had carefully scribbled down, didn't conform to their standard order numbering system. Did I imagine the whole thing? That seemed to be the implication. You know, I don't remember being on hold for very long during that initial call. Perhaps I am going insane.

Anyhow, to cut a long story short, it seems that I have to order all over again.

NTL?!? N.T.Hell's more like it.

So, yes, I will be actually reading my credit card statement when it arrives this month. Anything amiss and I'll... I'll... I'll stamp my feet; that's what I'll do.

Which reminds me, who was it that used to always say "I'll scweem and scweem and scweem until I'm sthick. And I can!"? Oh, that one's going to bug me for days now.

P.S. Are any of you fellow Bloggers still getting the dreaded 503 error when posting? I've had it for over two weeks now and there seems no sign of a fix from Ev.

2002-09-25T21:52:00.000Z

Insight to the power of three
I don't suppose there's a Blogger in the world who hasn't linked to the home page of professional nutter Gene Ray. You know, the Time Cube guy. Always good for a laugh. Anyhow, 'ole Gene's latest posting has got some people worked up. In it he suggests his fans go out an kill any teachers who ignore Gene's pet Time Cube theory.

"Tis Time to kill any educator who does not teach Cubicism above cubelessness. To save humanity from extinction, like prior civilizations perished, youth must redirect self teachers, or destroy them. Stupid Educators know of the Truth I speak and know that it will indict them as the most evil bastards on the Earth. Dumb ass educators fear Gene Ray and his Time Cube Creation - and they run from any mention of Time Cube Debate. Only a dumb student can be educated - as in brainwashed and indoctrinated. Time Cube debate denial is educator evil. It is not immoral for students to kill all educators who ignore Nature's Harmonic Time Cube or suppress free speech rights to debate Time Cube Creation Principle. Ignorance of Time Cube is Greatest Evil."

Seems straight-forward enough to me.

Anyhow, just in case you're interested, there is now a fantastic little Time Cube Personality Test available for you to take. The good folks at The Cubic Society based it on Gene's own philosophy and the "results will be custom-tailored to describe your personality exactly."

So take the test already! I took it and found the results almost spookily accurate. Remember, every second you waste is a second wasted!

P.S. While we're on the subject of cool websites which I may, or may not, have mentioned on this blog before, good friend and disgusting sleaze-bucket Justin points me towards this. While the individual in question isn't wearing much of anything, you may feel that the artistic and scientific merits of the page far outway that disgusting fact. Anyhow, I don't think he's likely to get a chill.

2002-09-24T06:20:00.000Z

Kieran considers
Nine days in and already this getting up at the crack of dawn, ironing, showering, shaving, running for an over-crowded train, working all day before running for an over-crowded train, getting home, falling asleep and then waking up again at the crack of dawn lark is starting to lose its appeal.

In retrospect, I don't think I gave sitting on my arse all day watching TV, reading and surfing the web it's full due. Now that by-gone epoch seems rather like the halcyon days of my innocent youth.

Alas, alak and like that.

Now, here comes the comprehension part of the blog experience. Answers on a postcard.

Q. Reading between the lines, what is Kieran really complaining about?

[a] The contradictions inherint in the system
[b] Not getting any
[c] Lack of sleep

On the subject of sleep, I've discovered yet another reason to complain about it. Something weird has started happening to me in the past month or so.

When I wake-up and open my eyes they seem to go into a kind of instant "Zoom mode." I raise my droopy, sleep-encrusted lids and for some inexplicable reason they change their focus automatically with a kind of automatic crash-zoom. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, or why this has suddenly started happening, but I find it very odd. I know it sounds kind of cool, but there's a real downside to my new-found freak of nature status...

If I wake up with my head tilted left, this crash-zoom thing fires at my black Ikea wardobe (long story). On top of the wardrobe sits a small 4:3 TV set. Hanging on a hook screwed into the side of said wardrobe is a suit in one of those zip-up suit carrier bags. As I awake, my eyes freakishly zoom in on this charming idyll, and my sleepy mind chooses to interpret the TV as a rather large head and the jackety-thing as a jackety-thing and consequently sees a person. The impression only lasts for a quarter of a second, but it turns out that a quarter of a second is all I need to freak myself out completely.

Weird, huh?

Has this kind of thing happened to anyone else, ever? I've never heard of it before. Probably only happens to mad freaks who are just about smart enough not to tell people lest they be shunned. Something I can but aspire to.

2002-09-21T20:50:00.000Z

Low
Last night I think I passed some kind of awful line in the sand. We started off in Wagamama in Leicester Square. After, we moved on to a cool little pub in the West End where I plumbed a new low level of drunken obnoxious pontification. It turns out that I'm not always as charming and witty as beer leads me to believe. Who knew?

Rules for living: Remember, never talk about serious personal issues when you're high as a kite.

P.S. In my own defence, I think I usually am charming and witty when drunk. It's one of the things which makes me so gosh-darn adorable.

P.P.S. When sober, Kieran's current favourite CDs are:

Tenacious D's self-titled album is both profound and profane in equal measure. Very funny, very entertaining and with some seriously hard rocking. This CD is very rude and definitely not one for the easily offended.
I've almost worn out the CD for the Thoroughly Modern Millie: Original Broadway Cast Recording. This new musical only shares one or two songs with the 1967 movie of the same name; the new stuff is much better. Sutton Foster as Millie is an absolute delight. If they don't do a London production soon I may have to take my next holiday in New York.

2002-09-20T05:31:00.000Z

Things you can read about
Mil Millington, the guy behind the extremely popular (and oddly blog-like) Things My Girlfriend and I Agrue About page, in which he details things that he argues about with his girlfriend, is all set to publish a book. Things My Girlfriend and I Argue About will be a fictionalized version of his web page Things My Girlfriend and I Argue About, the difference, of course, being that the "Things" he argues with his "Girlfriend" about in his book are not necessarily true and that while the "Girlfriend" in question may well happen to have shocking redhair and be German, she is in no way related to his other red-headed German "Girlfriend," i.e. the real one. Not that I'm implying Mil Millington has two girlfriends, oh no, but you can see where I'm coming from, can't you? You can't?!? Oh dear.

Anyhow, Mil's publisher's marketing department (hereafter known as a guy called Rob) has put up a little webpage in which Mil expands on a minor theme of the as-yet unpublished book. Click here to learn more about Angry Bed Positions.

2002-09-18T19:59:00.000Z

Ah Wednesdays, I never could get the hang of Wednesdays
I awoke this morning at the very crack of dawn. I was to be collected for my day of fun at 6:45. I hadn't slept very well, but managed to get ready in spite of my congenital eye-droops.

At the appointed hour I was waiting outside, tie clasped in hand; Seconds later I was inside, behind the darkened windows of the agent's very clean car. Soon we were winging our way south towards our date with destiny. I was full of quiet joy as I contemplated my day of learning and, ummm, learning.

About an hour later we arrived at our destination. All was dark. We stood outside mumbling quietly to ourselves until we saw the first signs of habitation inside (someone turned on a light). We entered and had a cup of tea. Our agent and the man who let us in joked and shared stories. I nodded, pretended to laugh at the appropriate moments and dreamed of coffee. After a decent interval we whipped out our equipment and plopped it down on a spare table.

It was my job today to sit (and occasionally stand) quietly and observe. So that was precisely what I did. I observed. Funny thing about sitting and observing quietly...

It ain't half boring.

No matter how interesting the subject at hand might be, watching people enter figures into computers for 6 hours straight can give you a case of the MEGOs. So yes, My Eyes Glazed Over once or twice or thrice or 1700 times or so...

But golly, what an interesting day! I have a much better understanding of how our company makes its money. I met lots of interesting people, we badgered them and they gave us tasty sandwiches at the end of it all!

I felt the burn.

2002-09-17T22:08:00.000Z

Harry up, Joanne
It's been two long years since JK Rowling published the fourth book in the Harry Potter saga. Rowling's publisher, Bloomsbury, is just as much in the dark about when the fifth book will be finished as the rest of us. "Joanne is happily writing away," says chairman Nigel Newton. He insists Rowling is not suffering from writer's block. So then what's the problem?

Has JK lost her magic spark? When am I going to be able to get my grubby mits on Harry's new adventure? This muggle's patience is starting to wear thin. Read more here.

P.S. Day two and all's well. People at work nice but insane. Lots to learn. Too tired to blog in detail. Tomorrow I'm going out with one our agents to learn more about the coalface end of the business. We're off to Ashford in Kent. Should be interesting.

2002-09-16T19:51:00.000Z

Working
Today was the first day of my new job. I got up bright and early, my shining face full of hope and covered in acne. I carefully ironed my shirt, showered, shaved and walked to over to the Station. The queue was very long. Obviously I should have bought my weekly on Sunday night, but with me such ideas occur long after they would have been useful. So I queued.

"Weekly to London Bridge, please," I said proudly to the nice lady.

Ahh no, apparently I need a special railcard with a photo on it first. Do I have a photo on me? I do not.

"OK then, one Return to London Bridge," I grumbled.

As you might imagine, I made it to the platform just in time to watch the train to London Bridge pull off into the distance. Grumble.

Half an hour later I was on the next train. I comforted myself with the knowledge that I still had plenty of time. I would not be late for my first day at a new job.

A couple of stops down the line at East Croyden, I gave up my seat to an old lady. Standing next to me was a man with a large, full, hot cappuccino. The train pulled out of the station with a tremendous jolt.

Hands up if you can guess what happened.

OK, so now I'm standing on a train, my shirt and tie drenched in hot cappuccino. Luckily my trousers survived intact, but my newspaper was not so lucky. Oh dear.

Still, I was not worried. There must be a men’s clothing shop somewhere near London Bridge station. There just had to be!

There was not.

I walked/jogged in all directions, couldn't find a thing. Eventually I decided to start walking down towards work, hoping there would be something along the way. I called ahead to let them know I would be late. "Damn trains," I grumbled.

"We understand," they said, sympathetically.

So do you think there was a men’s clothing shop between London Bridge station and my new place of employment?

There was not.

Eventually, out of desperation, I went to a dry cleaner.

"I don't suppose there's any chance you sell shirts too, is there?" I asked, hopefully.

There was not.

"Is there anywhere around here that does?"

"There's a Next in Hays Arcade across from London Bridge Station."

I was getting a bit annoyed, I had seen the Next when I checked out the Hays Arcade 25 minutes earlier, "But I thought Next only sold women's clothes..."

"No, they sell menswear as well."

Aaaaaarrrggghhh!!!!!!

So, I began the long march back to London Bridge station and the Next in the Hays Arcade. I bought a new shirt and tie there; the nice lady even ironed my shirt for me. Bless. A quick taxi ride later and I was at work.

"Sorry I'm late!"

"We understand. Bloody trains."

Ha. Bloody trains.

2002-09-14T12:44:00.000Z

Aunts and other mysteries
I'm about to reveal the kind of soppy, deeply personal detail this blog usually so strenuously avoids. If you have any kind of sense at all you'll skip this piece entirely. You have been warned.

[EMBARASSINGLY AWFUL SELF PITY MODE]

I spoke to an Aunt yesterday. Let's call her Aunt P. Seems odd for someone who blogs about, and posts pictures of, the mould on his living room ceiling, but I'm not terribly good at calling or writing to relatives. It has been, for instance, quite a few years since I've spoken to my father, not that I haven't ever considered calling, but somehow good sense always got the better of me.

A week or two ago Aunt P sent me a collection of photos of my Mother when she was young. Lots of pre-teen birthday parties and the like. Photos I'd never seen before. Photos of my mother looking like a very bossy young lady indeed! Actually, these are the only photos I now have of my mother. When I lived at the last place, I'd had my dad send me a picture but, to my eternal shame, I managed to lose it somehow. Probably in the move.

I never quite worked up the courage to call my father and say, "Dad, I managed to lose that photo you sent to me a couple of years ago. Sorry I haven't called you, or written to tell you where I live now, but would you mind sending me another. Promise I won't lose this one."

Aunt P told me that when my mother moved to Australia she took all the photos of herself in her late teens and twenties; the photos where she has all the dance trophies. Photos I never saw. Apparently my mother used to go out dancing 4 times a week!

I never knew that. I never knew my mother could dance.

Oh sure, she tried to teach me the steps to the Waltz in the kitchen once or twice, and sure she used to dance and sing as she pushed the cart through the green grocer's, but I always assumed she only did things like that to embarass me. Isn't that why mothers do things? To embarass their sons?

I never knew she could dance.

I never knew.

[/EMBARASSINGLY AWFUL SELF PITY MODE]

2002-09-13T19:49:00.000Z

Read it sideways :-)
The smiley seems to have been a part of online communications for as long as I can remember, but like all ideas, it had to come from somewhere. But where?

Well, after an extensive search, researchers have found the very first recorded use of this most popular emoticon. The honour belongs to a Scott Fahlman at Carnegie Mellon, in Pittsburgh. For the record, here is Scott's 1982 post:

19-Sep-82 11:44 Scott E Fahlman :-)
From: Scott E Fahlman <Fahlman at Cmu-20c>

I propose that the following character sequence for joke markers:

:-)

Read it sideways. Actually, it is probably more economical to mark
things that are NOT jokes, given current trends. For this, use

:-(

2002-09-12T17:09:00.000Z

Just another Monday in L.A.
There's something very satisfying about this story. According to Salon/AP, this past Monday afternoon in a Rodeo Drive hotel, a 37-year-old Nashville conspiracy theorist by the name of Bart Sibrel approached Apollo 11 Astronaut Edwin "Buzz'' Aldrin. He then began spouting oft-repeated and easily discredited theories that Aldrin's 1969 moon landing was faked.

The 72-year-old legend proceeded to pop the fruitcake on the nose.

Beautiful, just beautiful.

2002-09-12T14:48:00.000Z

Can't count that high!
Hit stats going insane! Too scared to look -- Aargh!

OK, you perverts, I know why you're here. Click here to go directly to the SIMONYA POPOVA Story/Picture (the story is now in my archives).

Do me a favour, after you've "read" it, hit the comment link under the Simonya entry and open up your perverted little heart. None of you disgusting freaks have left a single comment so far. I realise to you that this blog is just another pit-stop on your never-ending porn trawl, but to me, you're something special.

I care, I really do.

P.S. You do realise she's an entirely digital creation, don't you?

2002-09-11T10:58:00.000Z

YES! YES! YES!
Is there something wrong with being so absolutely and wonderfully happy on this day, of all days? If there is, then call the cops because this kid is Over the Moon!

Why? Just moments ago the agency called with the good news.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue; I'm popping champagne corks, why aren't you?!?

That's right, I'm working again!

--- === I'VE GOT A JOB! === ---

A REAL-LIVE, OLD-FASHIONED,

NINE-TO-FIVE, HONEST-TO-GOODNESS,

WORK-A-DAY IN SHIRT-AND-TIE KINDA JOB!

And what a job! The company is very cool, the people seem nice and there are plenty of opportunities to update my skill set. Oh, the location! Just a stone's throw from the River Thames and not more than five minutes walk from Tower Bridge.

The pay? Well, it's OK, about the same as the last place. But who cares about the money?!? I've rejoined the workforce!!!! I'm no longer a statistic; not UN-anything. I'm employed. Full-stop.

Money will be coming in and not just going out. Tee hee! What a novelty!

I don't want to gush, but when you've been out of work this long and you finally get a chance to...

Anyway, I'm very, very happy and I start Monday.

2002-09-10T10:40:00.000Z

A triumph of sorts
For all you fans of Triumph the Insult-Comic Dog, there is now a website devoted to his insulting interviews. It includes downloadable footage of many of his most ~~annoying~~ brilliant pieces. Highlights include his recent appearance at the VMAs with Moby and Eminem as well as his by now infamous visit to the Star Wars ticket line.

Click here to be insulted.

2002-09-09T22:26:00.000Z

Hello China!
Websurfers in China may not be allowed to visit cnn.com or news.bbc.co.uk but, thank heavens, this blog is still open to Far Eastern seekers of truth. I promise that I'll do my level best to keep the lines of communication to China open, just as long as I can.

Find out if your page is still accessible by clicking here.

(Link via Marmalade)

2002-09-09T18:46:00.000Z

Svedeesh Creeminel Mestermeend et vurk -- Bork bork bork!
Those wacky Swedes! A 47-year-old man with a plan recently visited his local post office in Halmstad, Sweden. He approached the cashier, handed her a piece of paper and made demands. First on the list was a "a big bag of cash," which he duly received. The next demand was a bit bigger. Written on the piece of paper was the robber's bank account number. He insisted that a modest $37 million be paid into his account.

"Sure. Why not.".

Somehow Swedish police were able to catch this wily crook. I think we can all sleep a little more soundly tonight.

Bork bork bork!

2002-09-09T09:28:00.000Z

Listers with opinions
I'm just going to take a quick time-out to highlight some recent Blog postings which have tickled my fancy. All of these folks are on my list (over there on the left):

Dominion at Sceptical Blog gives an unwary commenter what-for over the whole McDonalds/Scalding Coffee debate.
Gert of Mad Musings fame gets political and examines the rights and wrongs of rights.
Miss JenJen spends a night in with the dogs.

So pop on over and take a look.

P.S. If you just Googled in looking for info on SIMONYA POPOVA, scroll down to Friday's entry (and leave a comment for heaven's sake -- I don't get hit numbers like this very often, it's your duty to say something)

2002-09-09T08:05:00.000Z

363 days ago
It's almost a year since that fateful day in the skies. Wherever you are in the world, your TV screens are full of documentaries. Maybe you're feeling that it's too soon, that the 11th of September seemed like only yesterday.

Read this. Seriously, read it.

2002-09-09T07:15:00.000Z

Four more, three more, two more and drop dead
Last night I watched the US Open final between Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras. There was absolutely no doubt who I'd support in that match, after all, it was Agassi who had taken out Hewitt in Saturday's soul-destroying semi. Besides, Sampras has been a favourite for years; the possibility that he could pull a seventh US Open out of the bag at this point in his career was just too delicious to ignore.

Pizza, beer and Sampras in a Grand Slam final; what more could I ask for?

A nap, apparently.

At some point early in the fourth set this hard-core tennis fan's eyelids began to droop. No! Not this time! I will stay awake, I will, I will, I WILL.

I woke up about an hour ago. Rising up through the foggy daze, I heard the siren-like calls of the Aerobics OZ Style presenter.

"Four more... Three more... Two more... and... Wake-up you lazy bastard."

Women in Lycra were exhorting me to stand up and squat. What could I do? I stood up and I squatted. To the beat!

Ahh, TV Aerobics! This is the kind of thing I can get behind (usually on a theoretical basis, you understand). And squatting! I suspect squatting may be the only form of exercise which won't actually kill me. The problem with most exercise shows is that they assume you're already pretty fit to begin with. Unfortunately I am somewhat off the curve when it comes to the 'ole height-weight ratio thing. Furthermore, it turns out that I am cursed with the world's shortest hamstrings (official), so I usually find myself watching these kind of shows, rather than playing along.

As if watching built blondes in day-glo leggings is aerobically effective!

But this morning I was in the zone, I found myself squatting with the best of them. Up down, side to side, dozy-do and throw up. By the time I gave into the inevitable and staggered towards to the fridge (ahh Cranberry and Raspberry juice, they'll never understand our love!) the show was almost over, and I figured my heart had a good 4 minutes of beats left. Even now, as I type, I feel that strangely euphoric mixture of the near-death experience and the feeling of accomplishment.

Maybe I'll go for a ride today. Or climb a mountain.

Maybe I'll go back to sleep.

And speaking of folks in Lycra conspiring to kill us, anyone who has ever devoted time to meditation owes it to themselves to read this thought provoking article with an open mind.

(For the record: Sampras beat Agassi 6-3, 6-4, 5-7, 6-4)

2002-09-08T21:28:00.000Z

Does this post mean I'm officially a geek?
Cult Sci-Fi TV show Farscape has been cancelled. According to star Ben Bowder, they're taking a chainsaw to Moya (the ship set) this Wednesday. If you like the show and want to kick up a fuss, pop on over to this page and learn what you can do. But hurry, because once the sets are torn down, that really will be the end.

2002-09-06T13:29:00.000Z

Roll over Kournikova - Simonya wants a byte (UPDATED!)
Poor old Anna Kournikova, unceremoniously despatched in the first round of the US Open by the unknown Indonesian Angelique Widjaja, at first glance things might look grim. But not so for the 21-year-old Russian beauty, whose endorsements and modelling contracts rake in cash by the bucket-load.

This blonde bombshell takes home much more than talented rivals like Hingis and Davenport. We're not talking about just another tennis player here, we're talking about a genuine sex symbol.

Kournikova has been on the tour since 1995, but has yet to win a WTA event. Hell, she hasn't even qualified for a final since 2000! So, why the crowds? Why the huge media interest? Why all the endorsements? You don't really need me to spell that out for you, do you?

But in recent days Kournikova has had to share the WTA glamour spotlight. Not with, as you might expect, classy Russian rival Maria Sharapova, but with a previously unknown 17-year-old up-and-comer from Uzbekistan.

Simonya Popova (that's her in the picture) was unveiled to the world in a recent Sports Illustrated feature. The article quotes a tour insider as saying Simonya combines "pulchritude and attitude in equal measure."

Well now!

So, will Kournikova have to share the challenging world of lob volleys and bare midriffs with the young beauty from Uzbekistan? Err, no. There's a couple of problems with Simonya. One, she can't play, although, come to think of it, that never really stopped Kournikova. And two? Umm, well, click here to find out more about Simonya's second problem.

UPDATE
The original Sports Illustrated article is now online! You can find it here.

2002-09-06T09:40:00.000Z

Hits been an interesting week
It's been a slow week for me, blogging-wise. I haven't posted very much; I've had other things on my mind. Yet, in a way, I haven't had to post much at all because people have been visiting this page in droves. Oh sure, you say, that's obvious from the total lack of any recent comments. Well, they may not be commenting, I'm not even sure they're reading, but they're arriving alright. This is all thanks to a certain puppet-dog, a rapper and an experimental dance musician (who shall remain nameless).

Ever since I posted a piece on Monday about the fracas at the VMA's, I've had huge numbers of Google referrals from people interested in the story. By some quirk of fate, Google places me on the first page of links about the story, which means lots of hits for me, and plenty of disappointment for Googlers.

So, for people here for the Moby, Triumph and Eminem piece, you can scroll down till this past Monday's entry, or click here.

Frankly, I wish I was getting more Virgin Goats referrals. As you may be aware, Google ranks this site number one in the world for Virgin Goats, yet so very, very few people seem to be searching for them these days. Obviously folks aren't quite so particular about the calibar of their goats. I guess standards are slipping everywhere.

In related news, Google now ranks me the number two Kieran in the world. I was number six last time I checked. This can only be a good thing.

And while I'm in the business of helping visitors on a specific mission, any people here for the Marine Boy bit, that August 26th piece is now in the archives, but this is the link you were really after anyway.

2002-09-06T01:24:00.000Z

Mr Bear is free!
Break out the champagne and party poppers kiddies, evil bear napper Cindi has seen fit to let the little one go on his way. She was sick, or something, but it seems when she got back to work at the Kalamazzo Post Office, all of her workmates ganged up and insisted she "solve the bear problem." No doubt they'd noticed all the postcards arriving demanding the return of the Kalamazzo One.

For all the gory details of Mr Bear's escape from Cindi's clutches pop over to Paul's site for an update.

2002-09-03T20:54:00.000Z

Can anyone lend me $20m?
Lance "It is too a real name" Bass from 'N Sync has been given the old heave-ho by cash-strapped Russian Comsonauts and will not be flying to the International Space Station. The boy band member is packing his bags in Star City even as I type. According to news reports, Bass lost his spot on the mission when his backers failed to come up with the required $20 million fare.

While, of course, I'm heartbroken for the poor boy, I feel duty bound to offer myself as a replacement. As a kid, I read all the books, built all the models, ate Space Food sticks for lunch and saw that Star Wars movie ever so many times. My only problem is that I haven't got the required $20 million fee.

So, if there's anyone out there reading this with a good heart and a bit of spare cash, I promise I'll pay them back just as soon as I can. I'll even let them hold my Visa card.

2002-09-03T09:17:00.000Z

Butt according to Jay-Lo...
Any doubters left? Yet another sign of the coming appocalypse.

2002-09-03T08:33:00.000Z

Kieran gets all political 'n stuff
It's a bright and sunny Tuesday which is now, thanks to European regulation, the second and NOT the third day of the week. Here in Britain, Anti-Europeans complain about every regulation and directive to come out of Brussels, from the quantity of milk-fat allowed in chocolate to the much hated (but actually pretty cool) European Single Currency. Nothing slips by their eagle-eyes.

Yet not once have I heard a Brit complain, tut quietly or even raise an eyebrow suggestively over this whole "Le week el starto on Montag" thing. That's probably because no one even knows about it. But I'll bet if they did they'd be pretty mad; Those that knew the week used to start on a Sunday. Actually, most of them probably wouldn't give much of a damn either. They've got bigger fish to fry...

British Pre-Schoolers are being taught to dial 112 instead of 999 (that's 000 for the Aussies and 911 for the Yanks and Cannucks) by running their hands up their face and counting the bumps. "One Mouth, One Nose, Two Eyes!" while the Europhobes roll their sharp eyes and think of Branston Pickle.

Imagine! 999 going the way of the traditional British Sausage! It's enough to make you go out buy some traditional "British High-Fat Extruded Offel and Meat-like Product."

And yet Eurosceptics are curiously quiet on the whole new calendar front. From where I'm sitting, that's just not good enough!

If only Tony could rile them up over this calendar thing, then perhaps he could slip the Euro currency legislation by in the dead of night. "OK, we may have to give up the pound, but I've saved THE BRITISH WEEK!"

Those new Euro coins are so purdy. I say Bring on the shiny!

P.S. Wherever you are in the world, 112 is the only number you can dial when your Nokia mobile phone is locked. Try it!

2002-09-02T01:41:00.000Z

Respeck the dog puppet
I don't know why, but I stayed up to watch the MTV awards the other night. One of the more entertaining moments occured when a puppet by the name of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog interviewed Moby about talentless hack Eminem's well documented antipathy towards him. Moby played along good naturedly and showed a great deal of class not responding when Eminem got up and continued his ridiculous tirade against the new age dance/pop artist (and blogger).

Here at kaymc we know that when it comes down to a tussle between a talented musician/blogger and try-hard gangsta wannabe (who says nasty things about his mother), well we know which side our bread is buttered on. Here's what Moby had to say on his blog about the whole ugly affair:

i think that eminem is talented and interesting but i'm kind of stunned at the anger that he has for me seeing as i'd never met him up until last night.

and i love 'triumph the insult comic dog'.

and i was more concerned for triumph's well-being.if eminem wants to pick on someone, fine, pick on me, but don't diss the dog-puppet. triumph the dog-puppet is my hero.

that's the sole reason that i went to the vma's.

cos i love that little dog-puppet.

Respeck the puppet, man.

You can read Moby's full entry by clicking here.

Lest we forget
Remember, only you have the power to Save the Kalamazoo One!

2002-09-02T00:47:00.000Z

Freak 'o the week
Oh dear. Oh, dear oh deary me. This site is just so out there, that you really want to believe it's satire; That somewhere there are a bunch of lesbian pranksters with a very dark sense of humour and too much time on their hands.

Sadly, I don't think that's the case.

No, this guy's exactly what he appears to be. An idiot. With issues.

And you can thank your deity of choice for those issues, because they've given all of us the chance to share the love with Pittsburgh's very own Steve Lasuk, our Freak 'o the Week!

Steve attempts to shine the light of truth on what he believes to be an international conspiracy of lesbians, but instead reveals far more about his own paranoia and insecurities. It really is the classic example of the message conveyed being the exact opposite of the one intended.

I'm going to send an email to the people behind Dictonary.com and suggest they link the definition of Dramatic Irony directly to Steve's site.

(Link via Gert)

2002-09-01T10:12:00.000Z

Promises and songs
Why do they have to make those PC fans so damn loud?

I promise I will never drink again, or at least until I've forgotten what this hangover feels like. The first time I made that promise, I kept it for nearly a year. When I finally gave in and drank again the memories were still so vivid that the contents of that first glass almost tasted sour. My second promise lasted all of 4 months. The time after that? Probably a month or two. This time?

Ahem.

So, I saw Kristin Chenoweth in concert AGAIN last night. Her performance was even tighter than on Tuesday night. I am constantly astounded by her vocal range and her ability to sell a song. Despite that, I'd advise against seeing the same concert twice in the same week. There was something so surreal about listening to the same scripted patter between songs, the same rehearsed facial expressions, comedic takes and body movements.

Tuesday night was press night and so the reviewer for the Telegraph saw the same performance I did. His rave review entirely matched my own sentiment, however he did comment on a moment during particularly emotional rendering of My Funny Valentine where Kristin seemed to catch herself and choke down a sob. His review made it clear that he entirely bought the sincerity of that reaction. Or course, when you see the same concert four days later and she chokes back that same sob at the same point in the song, well it makes it harder to believe.

Let me be clear, Kristin Chenoweth in concert has set a new benchmark. In terms of musical theatre or cabaret, I have never heard anything to match what I experienced last night.

My live musical highlights (in no particular order)

They Might Be Giants (in London)
Cecilia Bartoli (in London)
The first time I saw The Magic Flute (at the Sydney Opera House)
INXS (in Sydney)
Kristin Chenoweth (twice in London)
Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet (at la Scala in Milan)

2002-08-30T20:59:00.000Z

The big five oh oh oh
One of the increasingly popular blogging conventions is to make note of milestones reached by a site's hit counter. At 9:40pm, British Summer Time, this blog clocked it's 5,000th visitor. Of course, the real number is actually a bit higher, for various reasons, but let's stick with the official number.

The visitor in question came here by mistake. They were doing a Google search for Mil Millington's excellent page and hit my blog's archive. The seeker of truth who came here works at Midwest Fastener Supply in Wichita, Kansas.

I just have to share this. I know you'll think I made this up, it's almost too funny, but I swear I pulled this off Midwest Fastener Supply, Inc's website:

"People underestimate the value of hardware. Nails, of course, have been invaluable throughout history. For want of a nail, a horse was lost. And for want of a horse, the Vietnam War was lost, along with parts of Eastern Europe. Rivets, too are a sadly negleted item. You may not have realized this, but not one state in the union has a Rivet Appreciation Day. Sometimes, it's important to stop and reassess our values. A simple washer can make a real difference in your life. And a good screw is something we should never take for granted."

Wow. Let's stop and reassess our values

"A good screw is something we should never take for granted," says Jay. Well, quite.

"Rivets, too are a sadly negleted item," he adds. Never again, Jay. Never again.

It really hits you where you live, doesn't it?

2002-08-30T10:21:00.000Z

Alarm clock blues
The alarm went off very early this morning, as it has gone off every morning since, well, since the last time I had to get up at some ungodly hour. You would think I might turn it off, or at least push it forward to a respectable hour, but no. That's not really me.

My clock has that wonderfully annoying Knee Deep sound so beloved of clock designers everywhere. It says Knee Deep! and I say "I'm asleep" and it says Knee Deep! and I say "I'm asleep." I reach for it, try to wiggle one of the "turnie offie" switches but, of course, just grabbing the thing almost always involves pushing the snooze button. I think I've succeeded, but the clock knows better and smugly settles down to await the crying of lot 49.

Eight minutes and fifty-five seconds later, just as Winona Ryder is saying, "Oh Kieran! Your wise yet witty words and raffish good looks have won me over. Give me a moment while I seductively slip out of these honestly-purchased and absolutely not stolen designer clothes so we can make mad passionate Knee Deep on the Knee Deep. Oh Knee Deep your Knee Deep is so KNEE DEEP!"

Knee Deep! Knee Deep!

Stupid nine minute snooze alarms.

Did you ever wonder why it was nine minutes and not ten? No? Me neither, but this guy has, and has some interesting theories. Worth a look.

Me slacking off
For the next week and a bit I might not be posting as often as usual. I know some of you already think I'm a lazy bastard, who doesn't post nearly often enough. Well, you're probably right, but unfortunately some real world stuff is interfering, and it has to take priority. I'll still try to find the time to post, but if there's nothing here when you check in, please cut me a little slack.

Just for this week, OK?

2002-08-28T22:03:00.000Z

Blogrolling
I don't know how it happened, or why or even when, but somehow or other a certain Protocol of Last Resort has become one of the most addictive dailies on my list.

Check her out.

Oh, and P.S. Eat more pickles/gherkins. I'm serious about this.

2002-08-28T16:46:00.000Z

Hands on sticky desk
Must give the old desk a wipe down. A thousand spilt drinks and half-hearted attempts to clean-up has given this old antique a positively icky patina. Bought myself a new chair today, an office-type swivel number, so that I can get at my computer while reading a book. It was getting silly, laying back in my comfy comfy chair (sic), keyboard on lap, mouse on desk or arm rest, beer all over the place, book... umm... well, the book would be picked up, then dropped on the floor, or kept open on my chest and would generally get in the way until I gave up on the affair entirely.

So now I'm sitting at a desk, just like a regular office worker, for the first time in, ahem, quite a while.

Plenty of room for all those thick heavy books right there on the... Wait a second, what about all those empty glasses and cups and chip bowls and empty Sunny-D bottles and DVDs and CDs and CD-Roms and videos and dial-up pizza menus and screws and mouse mats and keyboards and monitors and Shake 'n Vac and I have no idea what that was when it was alive and scraps of note paper and dirty socks (dirty socks?!? How did they...) and empty rice cracker packets (quite a lot of these) and books? Lots and lots of books, but there's no room for any new ones, even on the sticky bits.

I think I'm going to have to clean up. Again.

This is all so depressing.

So anyway, last night I went to see Kristin Chenoweth live in concert at the Donmar Warehouse in London's Covent Garden. I'm tempted to review it for you, but I know you really don't care. Actually, I already have reviewed it, and if you're keen to read my very poorly written words of praise (knocked off in about 10 minutes flat -- It usually takes me that long to type my name) then no doubt you'll find it out there on the web somewhere. No URLs for you.

Just in case you hadn't guessed I am now officially mad for Kristin and feel strange urges to protect her in biblical ways.

Yes, it worries me too.

And speaking of adorable Blondes I almost met in London yesterday... Naw, I'll save that story for another time.

2002-08-28T09:34:00.000Z

A worthy cause
While I certainly encourage any and all efforts undertaken to help ensure the safe return of Isabella's Bear (hereafter known as the Kalamazoo One) there are one or two more serious issues floating about the world.

In Nigeria, a court has ruled that 30-year-old woman Amina Lawal will be stoned to death once she has weaned her eight-month-old daughter. So, what was her heinous crime? Giving birth out of wedlock.

That's right, she had a baby.

If you wish to register your outrage about the stoning to death of Amina Lawal, please sign Amnesty's open letter to the Nigerian President.

Many thousands have already signed. It only takes a few moments and you will have done something genuinely worthwhile with your day.

My thanks to Jenn for pointing me towards this very important page.

2002-08-27T12:13:00.001Z

Sadness RE-defined
I just got off the phone. I've booked myself a cheap ticket to see Kristin Chenoweth in concert live at the Donmar Warehouse tonight. Given that I already have good tickets for Saturday night, I'm beginning to suspect something approaching insanity creeping into my personality. The killer, of course, is that by seeing Kristin again tonight I'm effectively blowing that portion of my rapidly dwindling funds that had been set aside for seeing Mahler's Third at the Proms tomorrow night.

There ought to be a law.

And just what does this frankly unhealthy obsession with an obscure broadway musical comedy star have to say about me personally? Whatever it is, it can't be good. I mean, if I were gay, at least I could be all camp and ironic about it, but I don't even have that crutch. Here I am, a beer-swilling, rugby-league-watching straight Australian male who is positively giddy about the prospect of going to see a squeaky-voiced Four-Foot-Nothing blonde sing, among other things, Glitter and Be Gay.

I'm telling you, it's just not right.

2002-08-27T12:13:00.000Z

Yesterday's link
For those of you who didn't get it, and I think that's pretty much all of you, the link yesterday was the theme song to an obscure Japanese cartoon called Marine Boy. I used to love this show as a kid, but it's one of those cartoons that almost no one else can remember ever seeing. Oh sure, everyone remembers Astro Boy or Speed Racer, but just try bringing up our friend of the sea to the end.

Marine Boy was actually the first Japanese Cartoon to screen in the west, you'd think someone would remember his undersea frollics. It's almost as if there were some vast right-wing conspiracy of silence.

If you visit the fan sites and read people's memories of the show, almost all say something like "I thought I must have dreamed the show. No one else seemed to remember it. My friend who I watched it with denies having heard of it."

I've experience this phenomenon myself. It's a well known fact that every drunken conversation will eventually return to classic childhood TV programs (This was true even before TV was invented; It used to confuse the hell out of medieval drunks). Occasionally I bring up Marine Boy, just to mess with people's minds, but they never remember.

It's a little bit scary, actually.

2002-08-26T09:55:00.000Z

Can't think of a clever heading
No, you didn't dream it.

2002-08-25T22:59:00.000Z

Sadness defined
I tend to swear off quizzes on a fairly regular basis. Everyone know how pointless these things are, yet somehow the snazzy graphics and spurious analogies pull the blogger in. The Are you a Blogaholic? quiz offers none of those things. You don't even get any Cut & Paste html to help post your result. So what's the point? Why am I bothering with this quiz result? Beats me! Perhaps it's because I'm a Blogaholic.

Are You A Blogaholic? Results
YOUR SCORE
64.0% 64.0 points out of 100

AVG SCORE
44.1% 44.1 points out of 100

4671 people have taken this silly test so far.
492 people have scored higher than you.
3970 people have scored lower than you.
209 people made the same grade as you.

What does this mean?
64 points is in the 51 through 80 precent
You are a dedicated weblogger. You post frequently because you enjoy weblogging a lot, yet you still manage to have a social life. You're the best kind of weblogger. Way to go!

(link via Kristiv)

2002-08-25T13:19:00.000Z

Not really bad, just drawn that way
At the risk of alienating some or indeed all of my female readers, it is my solemn duty to announce that the results of the first poll of animated hotness, as conducted by the good folks at retroCRUSH, have been announced. In a result that should surprise no one, Roger Rabbit's main squeeze, the delightfully proportioned Jessica Rabbit, topped the poll by a huge margin.

Rounding out the rest of the Top Ten were:

Betty Rubble of "The Flintstones" (Wilma didn't get a single vote!)
Daphne of "Scooby Doo" (She can solve my mystery anyday)
Ariel (Small mermaid, not laundry powder)
Faye Valentine of "Cowboy Bebop" (No, I have no idea either)
Betty Boop (I sooooo don't get the whole Betty Boop thing)
Veronica Lodge of "The Archies" (Frankly, I prefered Betty Cooper)
Minerva Mink of "The Animaniacs" (Another blank look from me)
Blondie Bumstead of "Dagwood and Blondie" (Growl)
Harley Quinn of "Batman" (Some female version of The Joker, apparently)

I was surprised by how few of the characters in the Top Fifty I'd ever heard of. Obviously I'm getting old. I was happy to see the inclusion of my personal favourite, Judy Jetson, but at #30 I think daughter Judy needs a new press agent.

From a sociological standpoint it was intriguing to note the appearance at #49 of computer generated Princess Fiona. While there is no denying the appeal of this "Shrek" creation, it made it hard to ignore the omission of the technically superior, and frankly much hotter, Dr Aki Ross of the "Final Fantasy" movie. I guess script quality really does count.

Also interesting to note how many hot cartoon characters named Betty there are -- Betty Rubble, Betty Boop and Betty Cooper (from the Archies)

Check out the rest of the list by clicking here.

2002-08-24T10:15:00.000Z

Free the kalamazoo one
Isabella's Teddy is something of a world traveller. Ever since Isabella's daddy helped arrange Mr Bear's world tour, little Isabella and readers all over the world have been following his adventures on Postman Paul's blog. Since leaving Yorkshire, Mr Bear has visited Ohio, Oregon, Texas, Vermont and Singapore before swinging back to the UK to visit Grimsby (no, I don't understand it myself). At every stop along the way, postal workers have stamped Mr Bear's passport, taken photos and generally shown Isabella's teddy a damn good time.

All was well until Mr Bear arrived in Kalamazoo, Michigan a couple of months ago. Since arriving in the charge of local Postal Worker, a Miss Cyndi Allred, Isabella's Teddy has disappeared from the face of the Earth. Cyndi is refusing to answer emails and friends of Isabella, who will soon turn 3, are getting worried.

So what can you do? Visit this page and then send a postcard to Cyndi to politely remind her to send Mr Bear on his way. Lynn, of Chain of Daisies fame, has also produced this great button, which you might like to include on your site.

Remember, only you have the power to Save the Kalamazoo One!

2002-08-23T14:59:00.000Z

Kids is squirrelly
You knew that, didn't you? As I was walking back from the shops last night I saw some kids tormenting another boy. They were kicking stuff at him, calling him names and generally making his life a nightmare. I debated doing or saying something. But what? What could I do? How could I help without making things worse?

As a kid, I endured my fair share of bullying. I remember dreading the interference of adults. There was kind of an unspoken contract that they didn't see or would ignore that kind of thing. If they ever deigned to notice, it somehow made things more real, more painful. And payback would be a bitch.

While I dithered, a woman in her fifties, walking from the other direction, made a fist of her hand and, with all of the strength at her disposal, smashed the ringleader on the back of his head. I saw the whole thing, just metres away. It wasn't a punch, it was more of an upswing, as if she were playing volleyball.

She screamed a lot, the kids screamed a lot and pretty soon it was just me standing there.

She took a stand and I didn't. This slight, middle-aged woman had the guts to stop something horrible, while I stood around debating with myself whether anything I could do would help the kid in the long run. She didn't over-analyse a thing, she went in and popped a bully.

She did the right thing and I did bugger all.

If I'd seen an adult hurting a child, I wouldn't have paused for a second. I'd go in and damn the consequences. As a society we make a big deal about protecting the innocent from preying adults. Perhaps if all adults were willing to step in and help a kid in trouble, all the time, then kids wouldn't have to worry about their lunchtimes or their walks home from school. Perhaps it's time we started protecting the little darlings from each other as well.

It's time to save the kids from the kids.

Next time I see kids bullying another kid, I'm not going to think twice. I'm bigger than they are and I'm going in swinging. Or, at least, yelling.

2002-08-22T10:32:00.000Z

Why nostalgia and beer don't mix
My living room ceiling got a nice bleachy clean this morning, and suddenly I feel a whole lot better about life. I think I'd make a crap manic depressive, when having just slightly less mould raining down on me day and night makes me as giddy as a school girl.

And speaking of giddy, I never did tell you about my day in Zurich, did I?

It was bright, clean and sunny; full of happy, good looking people working hard and enjoying life. In short, it was everything London isn't. The Swiss have a reputation of being dour and humourless, a population of emotionally stable bankers and watchmakers who like to yodel on weekends. What I saw was a city of carefree office workers on an extended lunch break. It was as if everyone in town had temporarily put down their ill-gotten gold bars and relocated to the lake front.

Beautiful bikini-clad corporate lawyers and shop assistants were either sunning themselves, eating intriguing packed-lunches or diving into the crystal clear lake. The water itself was clean and seemed just about warm enough to wash a baby in.

I've never visited a town more at ease with itself. I think Zurich may be Europe's best kept secret. If anyone wanted to offer me a job there, I'd pick-up sticks and move tomorrow!

As I wandered around the magnificent lakefront, I came across a stand selling ice-cold cans of VB. For those who don't know, VB is a very popular Australian beer. Once upon a time it had been my beer of choice, but not a drop of the stuff had passed my lips since I left Sydney in '95. I was so hot and happily exhausted, and pleased to meet a fellow Aussie in that far away place that I settled down and prepared to drink what could not fail to be the best beer of my life.

For starters, the can was the right size. For those who don't know, all Australian drink cans, beer or soft-drinks, are 375ml. Elsewhere in the world, soft-drink cans are smaller (always leave you one or two gulps short of refreshment) and beer cans are larger (they get warm before you finish them). Only in Australia are all cans the correct size.

So there I was, hot and thirsty, sitting on a bar stool, surrounded by beautiful Swiss women in bikinis, an ice-cold can of my favourite beer in my hand. I paused, letting the pleasure sink in. I felt like that blind man in the French film Amelie after his little walk -- I was so happy, I might have actually been glowing.

I put the can to my lips and prepared to touch god. I drank deeply of heaven's nectar...

And found it wanting.

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? I've been drinking English beers for the past few years, and as unpatriotic as it may sound, they're just better. VB is a perfectly adequate beer, but like all Australian beers, it's too gassy. They say Nostalgia aint what it used to be, that may be so; But VB? VB is just what it always was -- A reliable, if mediocre, beer.

You can never go home, not even in Zurich.

2002-08-21T14:54:00.000Z

Damn!
It's official, I'm not moving to Coventry.

And my roof looks like this...

I might go to that Bloggers Meetup tonight after all. I feel like getting drunk.

2002-08-21T12:11:00.000Z

Photo call
Ain't she just the cutest thing? I've just posted some photos of Justin and Ramona with baby Selina, plus a few snaps from my day in Zurich, on my Lycos Photo Album.

Click here to take a look.

If you want to leave comments expressing your relief that Selina got most of her looks from the lovely Ramona rather than from Justin's particularly ugly mug, then please feel free. I know for a fact Justin is grateful that Selina dodged that particular bullet. As are we all.

We can but pray that she gets her brains from Ramona too!

2002-08-20T19:41:00.000Z

The dark hours
Unable to sleep, I wrote a long and bitter blog entry about EasyJet on hotel stationary. Reading over it now, I see no reason to inflict all of that whining on you, especially since my Monday stranded in Zurich turned out to be an absolute blast, but just for the sake of completeness, here's the first bit of my hand-written blog entry:
"Pathetic is too mild a word; in fact I can't think of a word strong enough. I think I'm Gerschlunken. Gerschlunken is my made-up German word of choice and I've just decided that it convey's all of the subtle nuances of my current emotional and moral state. It expresses my despair, my self-pity, my anger and outrage, my skin condition and my ambivalency. It explains why I am writing this blog entry on hotel stationary in Zurich at 5am CET. It hints at my disappointment with the bed I just crawled out of and it might even explain why I am so thirsty.
"Yes, my friends, I am well and truly Gerschlunken."

It goes on, I whine about a lot of stuff, and frankly it's a little embarrassing.

That's all for now. Tomorrow I'll write about my enforced day in Zurich and, with the help of god and sixteen policeman, I'll post pictures of Ramona and Justin's beautiful new baby girl, Selina.

2002-08-20T19:29:00.000Z

Reminiscing under mouldy skies
On Saturday night, in the historic German town of Uberlingen, I got very drunk with an Englishman, an Irishman, a German, an American and two Ramones-loving Mexicans. Sounds like the set-up to a bad joke, I know, but that's what happened. The whole night was lots of fun, I made the requisite drunken obnoxious passes at pretty German waitresses and ended up sleeping on the balcony of one of the afore-mentioned Ramones-loving Mexican's flat.

It was at least as cold as you might suppose.

Sunday was a day of recovery, vows of temperance and enforced viewings of Jean-Claude van Damme movies.

Sunday evening I was at Zurich Airport with time to spare. I didn't want a repeat of the Ryan Air incident. Unfortunately, the flight was delayed two hours. I changed some money into Swiss Francs, paid a small fortune for the last few scraps of English newsprint available, bought a controlling interest in a Starbucks Frappacinno and devoured the most expensive bowl of spaghetti ever sold. At the very end of those two hours they decided to cancel the flight. This was apparently because the crew would have to go on over-time. Why they didn't know that two hours earlier will forever remain a mystery. I spent the next two hours bitching with other stranded passengers until we were all dumped at a near-by hotel.

I was angry. I made sure I got a double room so that Satan's minions (hereafter known as EasyJet) would have to pay more. The room itself was nice, but the bed didn't make a lot of sense (no sheets and two thick continental quilts rolled up under the cover, despite a room temperature in the mid-twenties) and I was in no mood to be generous.

Before hitting the sack, I wandered down to the hotel bar. I was hot and annoyed and wanted to get very drunk, but remembering that morning's hangover I asked for a Coke with lots of ice. In the UK when you ask for lots of ice it confuses people. More often than not, they wont have any ice, but if they do, they'll assume they mis-heard you, and that you're asking for "no ice." If by some miracle you can get them to understand and they actually have ice, you will be given you two cubes of ice. Lots is two and two cubes of ice is plenty. That night in Zurich I was never more grateful for the wonderful literalness of the Germanic people. The barkeep filled my glass with industrial quantites of the frozen stuff.

A Coke never tasted better.

More to follow.

2002-08-20T00:22:00.000Z

Home again
I am home again, just about alive. Did you miss me?

There may well be something rotten in the State of Germany (or even Denmark, for all I know) but there's definitely something rotten with the state of my flat. An hour and a half ago I got off the plane from Zurich. Forty-five minutes later later I opened my front door to be assaulted by a stench the likes of which has been unknown since the dawn of time. By the time I got to the living room, all was clear (what had happened, not the air). The cracks and holes left in the roof by the recent upstairs leak have sprouted vigorous mould farms. I've opened the windows, and sprayed and sprayed, but it still smells like death in here.

Anyhow, that's enough for now. In the morning I will tell you more of the past few days. I will write of drunken games and cancelled planes, of cabbages and kings. Stay tuned.

2002-08-17T17:55:00.000Z

The pod people
I'm starting to wish I were a delusional paranoid schitzophrenic. Then, at least, I could explain away my gut feeling that Justin has been taken over by the Pod People.

Who is this person with the two week old baby permenantly attached to his chest? Who is this person who seems to feel physical pain everytime he has to leave Ramona alone with baby Selina for more than an hour or two? This man who turns down opportunities to get completely ratted, who stands guard over Woolworth's changing room doors while Ramona feeds the baby and who complains at length about the quality of German baby clothes?

Who the frack is he?!?

And while we're on the subject, when exactly did he buy that collection of Pan Pipes music?

I know it sounds silly to suggest that his mind has been taken over by Evil Pods from Outer Space, but honestly, what other explaination is there?

There's a kind of spooky Stepford quality to the whole weekend. I'm supposed to be drunk right now. I'm supposed to be winking at the fraulines in the local beer kellar -- Instead I'm learning the ins and outs of breast feeding and hearing delivery room horror stories.

There's something rotten in the State of Germany -- Maybe it's the water?

2002-08-16T17:27:00.000Z

Sun, lake and beer
Hello all you charming and well-read readers. Greetings from beautiful Owingen in Southern Germany. Am sitting in the basement of Fortress Bradley, wet, tired and very happy. Went swimming in Lake Konstance today. Crystal clear waters but very sharp rocks under foot. No sign of floods as yet. Had a very nice sandwich for lunch, drank a moderate amount of beer, and a large ice cream to finish.

This may be heaven.

Going out drinking tonight.

Going out drinking tomorrow for lunch.

Drinking tomorrow afternoon too.

Might have a beer or two on Saturday evening, if I find the time.

Sunday? Ummm, not sure. Any suggestions?

2002-08-15T18:57:00.000Z

Summer days
Here we are in the middle of August and it looks like we've finally got that Summer they've been promising us. You wait, and you hope and you wait some more and then, just when you're ready to take off the 'ole tracky-daks and put on a pair of shorts, you fly off to flood ravaged Germany for the weekend. Ain't it always the way?

I'll be catching the 6:25am from Gatwick to Zurich tomorrow. No, I won't be flying Ryan Air; I learnt my lesson last time.

Justin will be meeting me at the airport and then we'll head back into Germany to drink lots of beer, gurgle incoherently at new baby Selina and, with any kind of luck, go for a swim or two in Lake Constance. Hopefully we won't need to spend our days filling sand bags.

Speaking to Justin on the phone recently has been just this side of nauseating.

"Come on, come on.. Say Hi to Kieran... Say hello to Kieran."

"Glurge. Ak tith! ... Bptheeeth, slorpi ... Glooooor"

At a month old Selina is already able to say "Hi" in Ancient Sanskrit. She really is some kind of prodigy.

"Did you hear that?!? Did you hear that?!? She said Hi! You heard her say Hi, didn't you?"

"Yes, Justin. I heard."

And so it goes.

I'll be back just in time to watch the final episode of 24 on Sunday night, but I can't see any reason why I won't be able to post a blog entry or two from Germany, so keep watching this space.

2002-08-15T16:21:00.000Z

Love the blogger, hate the blog
I think enough time has passed now where I have to draw some kind of line in the sand.

It's time to admit to myself that the agency won't be calling back about that Coventry job. Which is a shame, because I really liked the sound of the position, and the people seemed so nice. I honestly felt after the interviews that there was a real connection. Oh well. That's life, I guess.

By way of compensation for you all you finger crossers, here's a little present. It's nice and short (only 3 megs) so download it now and enjoy. Don't think about it, just click here now.

P.S Richard and Judy are going to be at my local bookshop on the 21st. I'm so happy I might squeak.

2002-08-14T23:11:00.000Z

Bleeding edge memes
For those of you who never got to see the story of Andy's Computer before bandwidth issues brought down the site, here's a new freakily cute and adorable link you can visit, and with any luck you'll get there before it disappears too.

Tales of the Plush Cthulhu

2002-08-14T21:21:00.000Z

Stay off Cherie!
Recently it was announced that Cherie Blair QC, the wife of PM Tony Blair, suffered a mis-carraige. There has been near universal sympathy for Mrs Blair, and a real feeling of national sorrow. Almost all of the local media, political establishment and commentators felt it appropriate to respect her grief and to refrain from making any political capital.

All except one.

As part of her never ending quest to shatter the bonds of Partiarchy, feminist icon Germaine Greer has called on PM Tony Blair to "stay off" his wife Cherie.

"Leave her alone, for Christ's sake. She's 47 years old... So stay off her!"

"I find this government ridiculous. Tony Blair always has to appear in public with his wife as a pledge to his heterosexuality. We have seen that now. We have had enough of that. Now just leave her at home and let her do her job. She has an important job to do.

"The sexual politics of the Labour party have always been neanderthal and always will be. At least the sexual politics of the Tories were straightforward: perverse and corrupt."

So there!

Read the full article here.

2002-08-13T22:03:00.000Z

Burning the BWA
When did it become "BWAHAHA"? What happened to the good old fashioned "Ha Ha" or "Te he." Chat roomers have been LOLing and ROTFLing for years now, before them Ham radio operators were .... .. .... .. ing (that's "Hi Hi" to you and me).

It's not like people have been crying out for a new way to express laughter in the written form. So where on Earth did this "BWA" business come from?

Is it too late to stop it?

I'd like to make a small plea for sanity. Please, no more. If you find yourself tempted, simply take off your "BWA". A couple of HAs by themselves can be a beautiful thing; In fact they want to be free. Au natural is AOK.

2002-08-12T14:42:00.000Z

Link of the week
Bill Biggart was a New York based photographer. A damn good one. On September 11th he grabbed his cameras and started walking towards the towers, snapping as he went.

Bill never made it home that night.

When his crushed equipment was returned to his wife two weeks later there was not much hope of finding anything recoverable. The cameras were crushed and the film had been exposed to light. One of the cameras was digital, however, and Biggart's friend and fellow photographer Chip East was able to recover some of the most moving shots you will see of that day.

The final shot is time stamped 10:28 and 24 seconds, just moments before the second tower came down and ended Biggart's life.

Please, take five or ten minutes to look at all of these shots. Bill gave his everything for them.

2002-08-12T13:32:00.000Z

The most predictable quiz result ever

Which Peanuts Character Are You Quiz

If only I weren't so wishy-washy...

2002-08-11T10:41:00.000Z

Beer, skittles and composers who begin with an M
OK, confession time again. I'm an idiot. There, I've said it and we can move on. It does a body good to get these kind of things out in the open, no point hiding them from you, I mean it must have been obvious by now.

Long-term readers may recall the classic example of my idiocy, when I completely forgot to attend a concert I'd been looking forward to for months. It was several days later that I woke up in a cold sweat with the horrible realisation, and then blogged this. The unused ticket still sits here on my desk, mocking me.

It would appear that the venue for that concert, the Royal Albert Hall, is destined to appear and re-appear in the chronicles of my stupidity. I'm going to let you work this one out for yourself. Take a look at the previous entry on this page. What day is the Mahler concert? Saturday. OK, now look at the right sidebar and scroll down the page until you reach a list of dates. What date is the Mahler concert? The 11th. OK, now look at the calendar and see if... OK, you've got it now. You're obviously far cleverer than I am.

A little after mid-day I turned up to join the Arena day prommers queue outside the Royal Albert Hall. To my surprise there were only five other people already there. Seemed odd, I thought, surely Mahler's Eighth should be more popular than this? Oh well, I settled in to the queue.

Prommers chat.

"You know, I'm surprised there aren't more people here by now. I thought this concert was going to be more popular."

"I think you'll find the big queuers are saving their strength for the Mahler tomorrow."

"Oh, real-LY?"

I think my voice may have squeaked a little, but I played it cool. OK, so I was a day early for Mahler's Eighth, but what the hell, I was already there. I'd stick it out. There was no need for anyone to know what a fool I was (except for you, of course). Whatever concert was on, I'm sure it would be fine. I could always come back the next day.

One thing I learnt yesterday, there is no subtle way to ask people what concert you are queuing for. There is no right combination of words. So I settled down to play Travel Scrabble with my neighbours in the queue. I had not played in years, but I used to do pretty well, except when I played my father. Dad cheated, or at least he refused to allow me to cheat, which amounted to the same thing.

Another thing I learnt yesterday, there is no easy way to be whipped by a fifteen year old girl in Scrabble.

After a couple of hours, a pair of hardcore prommers announced their intention to abandon their place in the very slowly forming queue and nip off to the Great British Beer Festival. Ah, Real Ale, my salvation! So we hopped on a number 10 bus and zipped over to Olympia.

Since arriving in the UK, I have attended the Beer Festival almost every year. You go in, you get yourself a glass and you wander around a huge hall sampling any one of a thousand odd Beers, Ciders and Perries; You get to choose from a wide variety of traditional, and not so traditional, Pub food; And, if you're lucky, win a prizes playing one of the many old-fashioned English Pub Games on offer.

It's just about the most fun you can have standing up, although if you don't pace yourself, you won't stay standing for long. A couple of years ago, on returning from a drink-sodden evening at the festival, I (very drunk) had the genius idea of placing Adam (much, much, much, much drunker) on a train heading back into London. For a joke, you understand. I'd let him off before the train departed.

So, we got off the train at Gatwick (for reasons too complicated to explain), I walked him across the platform, opened the door of another train, helped him inside and closed it behind him. Even Adam, in his barely aware state, could figure out that something was amiss. He tried to open the door, but I had no trouble holding the door handle shut from the outside.

He raced down the carriage to the next door; I beat him there easily. Next carriage, I was there too, grinning. He began to have that sick puppy look, and as he ran off I decided I'd let him out at the next door. I also noticed it was getting close to the time for the train's departure, so when we got to the next door, I stood back.

"Let me out."

"I'm not holding this one."

The door wasn't opening; I decided to help him out. Just one problem, the door was locked.

At this point our friends stopped laughing and the train guard yelled at me to move away from the train. I motioned to Adam for him to race back to the last door, but it was too late.

I could go into the horrible guilt as Adam's sad face at the window disappeared into the distance, the desperate efforts to get station staff down the line to rescue him, the general hilarity of the whole situation, but I think I've moved a little off topic. The long and the short of it was that Adam was home in bed asleep while Justin, Emma and myself were still at Gatwick in the wee hours of the morning, trying figure out what had happened to him.

Back to the present -- Got back in the queue at the Royal Albert Hall around 4:30pm, ever so slightly the worse for wear. The concert turned out to be a fairly blah collection of pop classics (Mozart, Rossini and the like) with the English Chamber Orchestra. The problem with that kind of concert is that a many in the audience are tourists who have never been to a concert before, and are just pleased to recognize the tunes from some car commercial. It all got kind of surreal when half the audience clapped in between movements of the Haydn Piano Concerto. The pianist/conductor Ralf Gothóni would peer around, grin and make the Shhh sign, but they didn't seem to notice.

Anyhow, so that was my day.

2002-08-09T14:34:00.000Z

IM jamming (ja man)
I was doing the old Instant Message thing with Adam this morning, when he sent me a couple of songs from a band I'd never heard of before. I'm now officially placing The Moldy Peaches in my "so good I feel the need to preach of their strawberry scented goodness to the unconverted" box. All of which means that you, as a loyal and attractive reader of my blog, are now required to be mildy interested in their existence.

You can listen to one of their songs, the very cool "Steak for Chicken," by clicking here.

I love this band, and have loved them for almost 3 hours now so what are you waiting for? I have the Album on order, why don't you?.

So I've played games with people over the Internet before, but I've never listened to the same music with them before. We started the songs at the same time and IMed bits of lyrics and comments on releative coolness of the band, as the songs played in sync. Trust me, it was much more fun, and far less pathetically dweebish than it sounds. You should try it some time.

Bringing it home here folks, the real reason for posting all of this trivia -- One of the band members, the slightly scary Kimya Dawson (who looks suspiciously like the wife of an ex-workmate of mine) has her own Diaryland blog. And what's more it's pretty entertaining, so pop on over and take a look.

2002-08-08T17:14:00.000Z

Keeping you all up to date
For the record, there is still no news regarding the Coventry job. Yes, I am thoroughly annoyed.

But, being the glass is half full guy that I am, there is always a bright side. I had promised to whip off to visit Justin and Ramona and baby Selina in Germany if I got the job, but that would have meant missing Mahler's Eighth at the Proms on Saturday night. Getting drunk on German beer while sitting at a lakeside cafe versus Mahler conducted by Sir Simon Rattle.

Not the kind of decision I'm good at making.

2002-08-08T16:21:00.000Z

Spamwatch
Among the usual assortment of ads from Nigerian officals offering 50% of a fortune in return for your bank account number, folks offering legal herbal highs (and lengths), breast augmenters, get out of debt schemers and the like, my friend Adam today received what must rank amongst the oddest Spam messages ever sent. He forwarded it to me and now I'm going to pass it on to you. This is just too bizzare.

Do you suppose they really mean it? Adam's not too sure, and asks, quite rightly, "... am I being naive or has the world officially gone bonkers?!?"

Anyhow, here it is. Judge for yourself...

Subject: Win A Horse !!!

That's right, we are giving away a Horse!

Register to win a real live horse from Horse Trainer Pro.Click Here!
GoTo: http://www.htpro.net/win

Horse Trainer Pro, The Definitive Training Solution
The worlds 1st interactive software program for horse training. Now any horse owner can be a trainer.

Now Save 50% on Horse Trainer Pro!

goto: http://www.htpro.net
Nobody does horse training better than this.

2002-08-07T09:46:00.000Z

War on terror: Taking it to the nursery
All boys know instinctively that when they go to meet Granny at the airport there will be a toy secreted somewhere on her person. It's in the genes. But when George's grandmother returned to the UK from a trip to Los Angeles, she also brought with her more than just a toy. She brought a tale of woe.

Judy Powell knew just what to get her seven year old grandson, an exciting new G.I. Joe action figure. She couldn't wait to surprise him with it, but just before her departure from LAX, cautious Customs Agents decided to confiscate the plastic hero's tiny machine gun.

“I explained what had happened, but he just kept shaking his head saying it was silly and ‘Don’t those people understand the gun was a toy? and couldn’t shoot’.”

It's a new world out there, and we all have to make some concessions in the name of security; even seven year-old boys.

Barbie and Ken were unavailable for comment. You can read the full story here.

2002-08-06T16:50:00.000Z

Bandwagon jumping is now officially a sport
As a part of my never ending quest to jump on every bandwagon, to slavishly enjoin myself to any Fadish Blogspheric Meme, and to leave no notion unborrowed, I present unto you My Blogtree Pedigree.

Share and enjoy.

(Via Chain of Daisies)

2002-08-06T03:36:00.000Z

It's officially "early next week"
Don't phone me unless you mean it.

2002-08-05T14:15:00.000Z

Just don't let them breed
Did you hear the one about the South London couple who spent their savings on a once in a lifetime trip to Sydney? Apparently they're going to Australia next time. Click here for the whole pathetic story, or, if you don't have RealVideo, click here for Reuters' take on things.

2002-08-05T12:55:00.000Z

So close to Jesus she's number 3 on his speed dial
Mrs. Betty Bowers, that rock of inspiration, has been thinking about those poor miners in Pennsylvania. In her September newsletter, which just arrived like a fresh summer's breeze in my inbox, she has the following to say:

I'm sure that all of you were (seriously) as relieved as I to see the nine miners in Pennsylvania rise to the surface like Lazarus – alive. I was almost as pleased to note that they have now lived long enough to strike a deal with Disney (of course, their true reward will come when they overcome their gratitude for being alive long enough to sue the mining company!) Diligent, selfless souls toiled around the clock to rescue those miners. What a heroic effort by humanity! Of course, once the miners were actually saved, God jumped in and took all the credit.

Every night on the news in the past several weeks, someone has been attributing the rescues of miners and kidnap victims to the Lord. As a consequence, people with less faith than mine – well, people – have allowed themselves a dangerous lapse into the folly of logic. They wonder: "If God is all-powerful, always watching and inclined to intervene, isn't it axiomatic that if God always gets credit for those who live, He should also get the blame for those who die?"

As a True Christian, I know to greet the specter of annoying logic with intrusive inquires about the speaker's personal appearance, a flurry of overly loud recitations or, if there are no witnesses (be mindful of security cameras), a withering slap with a soft Italian kid glove. Some of you, however, might not be so cagey or conversant in the wiles employed to avoid intrusive scrutiny.

So, mind your Ps and Qs and leave the joie d'après vivre to Betty.

2002-08-05T12:24:00.000Z

The pharoah of beers
According to this BBC story, Japanese Brewer Kirin (named after me, dontcha know) is producing a limited amount of beer based on a four and a half thousand year old Ancient Egyptian recipe. They're calling this dark, Barley-based brew Old Kingdom Beer. It contains no Hopps and according the folks at Kirin, tastes a little like white wine.

Yum, Ra.

(Via Pop-Up Toaster)

2002-08-05T11:08:00.000Z

Bach to the Proms
I went to my first Prom concert of the year last night. For any American's, let me just explain that "The BBC Proms" have nothing to do with gawky High School students in ill-fitting tuxedos, but rather are an annual series of some 70+ classical concerts which take place each night of the Summer in London's Royal Albert Hall.

Yes, you can pay for moderately priced seats (as I mistakenly did last night), but the best and most enjoyable way to go is To Prom. That is, queue up on the day for one of the hundreds of £4 standing room seats in the oval centre of the arena. The atmosphere in the cauldron of the arena is electric, and you soon discover that these Prommers are among the most dedicated and knowledgeable music fans in the world.

Last night I went to see Bach's St. Matthews Passion. Clocking in at nearly four hours (including interval) I made the decision to go for a seat. Standing for four hours might get a tad uncomfortable, I reasoned. I got a pretty nice seat in The Choir section (behind the stage) and settled down to enjoy. What I failed to consider, however, was my damned left knee.

After three hours of being crimped up with no legroom and being unable to straighten or even move it, my dodgy joint began to play up. The final hour brought new and previously unsuspected definitions of agony. I sat there, tears of pain streaming down my face, desperately hoping that any onlookers would think me some sensitive soul moved by the beauty of the music. But, as glorious as the music was (I love the big choral works like St Matthew's Passion), I heard very little of the second half. In fact, all my brain heard was this constant refrain.

"Oh god, let it be over soon. I have to stand up. Do you think anyone would notice if I stood up now? Oh, the pain, the pain. Oooph!!! What if I squeeze my knee like this? Aaaarrgh! OK, what if I squeeze the knee of that cute girl sitting next to me? Ooooh, that was uncalled for, after all I'm in enough pain as it is without that smack!"

OK, so I made up the last bit, but you get the idea.

I don't know if you've ever found yourself actively willing something to be over; with all your heart and soul you try to somehow make time speed up, but in actual fact time seems to slow down. One hour takes ten, and pretty soon now becomes pretty much forever.

Oh, the pain, the pain.

Prom from the Arena floor or make sure you get an aisle seat. I've learnt my lesson.

Anyhow, if you take a look to the right, under the Notes to Self heading you can see a list of some of the Proms concerts which have sparked my interest this year. Those I won't attend I will be listening to. The BBC Radio 3 broadcast of each concert is also simulcast on the web, so no matter where you are in the world, you can listen in. Pain free.

2002-08-03T17:01:00.000Z

Oh dear
I've heard of guys begging for it, but this is just ridic..... Oh, just click.