Friday, 30 September 2005
Now if we can only get the gorilla to use the stick to beat ID proponents. Meow!
The modern equivalent of the Scopes Monkey Trial continues. Slate magazine has compiled a couple of new stories, including a hilarious faux-supportive piece 'trumpeting' ID, written by Dahlia Lithwick:
'There are many thorny medical mysteries doctors can't explain: How can pluripotent stem cells give rise to any type of cell in the body? Why is the genetic marker for Huntington's disease characterized by an excess of trinucleotide repeats? What accounts for the phenomenon of spontaneous remission in some cancers? With intelligent design, we don't ever need to find out. Years from now, we'll all lie in our hospital beds while ID-trained doctors hold our hands and assure us that we are merely dying of God.'
Shuffle over to Man Bytes Hollywood for a link to the wacky adventures of Chakotay's Pillow.
Also, if you're into a bit of Fan Fiction, Kung Fu Monkey has a link to the AV Club's feature on FF. You can even find a few Smurf fics too.
I never realised ALF had FF devoted to it.
PS-- I couldn't finish Chakotay's Pillow. I got to where I found out the pillow had a name ... then I rinsed my eyes out with oven cleaner.
Actually, that's with Franz Ferdinand. Yes, in just a few short days their second album hits the stores, and the musik journo from the Guardian has written a thoroughly positive review.
I downloaded the first single, Do You Want To, from iTunes a few weeks ago and I must say it really is the duck's nuts. Can't wait for the rest of the album. Heh heh, alright.
Wednesday, 28 September 2005
Not too long to go now until the release of A Feast For Crows, and I can't wait. AFFC is the fourth book in George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, and I do not believe I'm dipping into hyperbole when I say it is most likely the best work of Fantasy since The Lord of the Rings.
There is not one word of narrative wasted, not one unbelievable character, not one passage of filler, not ... you get my drift. The scope of the work is staggering, with several complicated stories playing out within the main narrative. It is the kind of work that inspires would-be writers to try and, somehow, match it; it is the kind of work that is too terrifying for the would-be writer to try and contemplate undertaking something of that magnitude. I frown and sweat over stories of the 3,000-words length ... this is many, many thousands of words in length.
The world of Westeros is, in my humble opinion, just as well-crafted and furnished with a compelling history as the world of Middle-earth. Inhabiting Westeros is a large ensemble of memorable characters woven together by masterful storytelling.
Yeah, you could say it kicks arse.
I read the first instalment, A Game of Thrones, back in 2002. I quickly read the next instalments (A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords) and settled back to wait for the fourth book, which was originally supposed to come out in late-2002 or early-2003. I think. I got most of the publishing dates from Amazon ... which was most likely incorrect, now that I come to think of it.
Anywho, Martin would update his website and post the odd, and most-appreciated, chapter excerpt to tide us over. There was even a novella printed in Dragon magazine (The Arms of the Kraken), which was not only excellent, but also raised the stakes in the main narrative as yet more players in the Game of Thrones were added.
While this reader was admittedly impatient for the new instalment, I was always realistic that it was going to be a difficult book to write. I believe the author took some stick from a (hopefully) vocal minority over the length of time it was taking to write. I wonder why people who proclaim themselves loyal readers of a particular writer would harangue the author because his book was not finished? Personally, I would prefer the writer to write the best book they can, rather than rush something out because a collective of cocks are getting stroppy.
Thankfully, Martin told the cocks to piss off (in the nicest possible way) and in a little over five weeks I'll be putting my feet up with a veritable tome, which weighs in at 700-odd pages of bliss.
Tuesday, 27 September 2005
Shows you how much of a fan this writer is -- I didn't even realise Supergrass had a new album out. Shame.
I've listened to the excerpts on iTunes, and it sounds pretty cool. I wasn't that fond of Life On Other Planets, mainly because it was a continuation of the sound developed in the previous three albums; however, I did think the single, Grace, was bloody good.
Road to Rouen sounds like a nice departure.
I blogged earlier in the month about the upcoming Banned Books Week.
We're now in the middle of BBW, so why don't you flex the middle index finger of your right hand and use it on people -- like The Man -- who would prefer you didn't read "controversial" works.
And while you're giving The Man the finger, use your free hand to grab a couple of banned books.
I've already read two of the Harry Potter books and To Kill a Mockingbird as we approached this year's BBW, and I've got my sight fixed on reading Slaughterhouse-Five as well.
Remember, there are those who would prefer people didn't read certain works. Because with reading comes thoughts; and thoughts are dangerous because they are food for ideas. Ideas are anathema to the ignorant.
So read, think and have ideas. Do not give power to the ignorant.
Boing Boing's post on BBW.
Ah, I see. So PC means I won't be able to read columns written by Kerre Woodham, Garth George, Hone Harawira, and Matt McCarten unless I willingly fork over some bling for the, er, privilege?
What am I missing again?
Monday, 26 September 2005
Cinescape gave the episode, Pegasus, an A+ rating. Most of the chatter I've seen around the net has been positive and reflective of that grade. It was a bloody good episode, but not for the timid: some of the material was brutal, both shown and alluded to.
In other words it was excellent drama, and perfectly placed in the evolution of the story and that of the characters. It seems just when the characters start to turn the corner, they're hit with a curve ball that knocks them on their arse. Cool.
The only frustrating thing now is having to wait a few months to see the resolution.
TV Squad link on Pegasus.
The Killers - All These Things That I've Done
The Libertines - Can't Stand Me Now
Violent Femmes - Add It Up
Green Day - Holiday
Beck - Girl
Ash - Jack Names The Planets
The Chemical Brothers - Setting Sun
Death Cab For Cutie - Soul Meets Body
Gorillaz - Clint Eastwood
The White Stripes - You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Girl)
The mens restroom is a strange beast; a sort of necessary evil in some cases. Usually I try and avoid them like the plague -- unless it is totally necessary. For those less adept at pinching it off, the journey into the restroom can be a twisted lottery.
I remember this one occasion in Hamilton last year. I was on a bit of a bender with some friends, and we had gone into one of the Irish pubs. At this stage I had consumed a large amount of beer, and the Guinness I drank tipped me over the edge. The call of Nature waits for no man when it comes to amber fanta.
So, with a feeling of trepidation, into the restroom I went.
I spied a vacant urinal (the American style, with the individual white bowl thingy; not the antipodean style, which is like one big stainless steel wall with a cattle grate to stand on) and set about flushing away a portion of my weekly income.
Anywho, one of the stalls was occupied and someone was mumbling in there. It was quite early (about 1am) and drunken mumbling is common in, er, drunk people. Then this mumbler cleared his throat and started spouting something like Shakespeare. Actually, it was Shakespeare. The door opened, and I can see out the corner of my eye this middle-aged, sweaty and dishevelled dude leaning in the stall's doorway. He looked at me and said, 'One of my favourite quotes from Hamlet ... ''Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.''' Then he does this strange little leer.
Now my first instinct was to tell him that he was quoting from one of Shakespeare's sonnets, not from Hamlet. My second instinct overruled my first and instructed me, via internal monologue, to shut the fuck up because I had my dick in my hand and if this nutter became violent, that's no way to fight.
So I ignored him and he left. Then I waited, washed up, found my friends and left that pub never to return.
I still like Guinness, though. My opinion of restrooms hasn't changed.
Sunday, 25 September 2005
Saturday, 24 September 2005
Friday, 23 September 2005
The ECB is an essential item in any Kiwi's kitchen, providing sensible recipes for all occasions. Young university students are sent off to their first year of flatting with a newly minted copy in their collective back pockets. It's a right of gastronomic passage that most people's first attempt at making macaroni cheese comes about from following the recipe printed in the ECB. Mostly those first attempts turn out okay, although the cheese sauce can be a little tricky if you're not paying attention.
A few years back there was Marc Ellis's infamous 'Scarfies Cookbook'. Said cookbook tried to muscle in on the Edmonds territory, before fading away to obscurity. I was never fond of the Scarfies Cookbook: I had a sneaking suspicion there was some serious corporate cock sucking involved in its birth. Plus the recipes were pretty ave.
Anywho, now that I have a copy of the ECB here in the US I am looking forward to making some of my favourite recipes to wow my wife with. Oh yeah.
Thursday, 22 September 2005
'By its owner telling a whole lot of lies', was the answer the Electoral Enrolment Centre manager gave when asked how a dog could get through the enrolment system.
Hm, sounds like someone is a little upset. Obviously the Enrolment Centre peons do not check for things like, oh, a dog's paw print on the 'sign here' line ...
The manager also went on to say that it was common for people to sign with a mark. What, like an X? I thought it was the electoral role people were enrolling on, not a group of prospectors signing gold claims in Deadwood.
Yeah, it was silly what the dog's owner did; but it's also very funny and it makes the people who run the Enrolment Centre look silly for not being thorough in their job.
Wednesday, 21 September 2005
Er, well not much has gone down in the Life of Richard today. The weather outside looks soiled, owing to the rain and wind bands that passed overhead courtesy of Rita.
I woke up feeling out of it, so I promptly dozed on the couch for an hour. Dreamed some weird dreams as well ... one involved Listerine and Pepto-Bismol. Yep, strange.
But I eventually staggered from the couch feeling slighly fresher, which enabled my wife and I to make a journey to the Whole Foods Market. Bought some root beer, bread, and (most importantly) coffee. Mmm, coffee so good.
After laying back three cups of caf, and eating a big bowl of my wife's pasta dish (from a recipe found in the Whole Foods Market Cook Book, no less), I began to feel myself. It's amazing what coffee and food can do, aii.
I received an email from my friend Moose, and within its groovy contents was a request for some recipes that he and his girlfriend, Shona, could cook on their small stoveset in their apartment in South Korea. Needless to say this writer fired back a couple of chili recipes (one vegetarian; the other bursting with meaty goodness) and I hope they find them tasty should they decide to cook them.
I also sent a communal picture email to folks via Yahoo! Pictures. The pics were just a small selection from our wedding album. I had been meaning to upload them and share them with my friends for a while now ... just I never got around to it.
To be fair, the times I did get around to it the computer did not want to comply with my upload request, so I would put it on the backburner until the computer finished its tanny and respected my authoritah ...
Trouble is, the computer rarely respects my authoritah.
But they're out there now, so I hope the folks that received them liked them.
Tuesday, 20 September 2005
Of course nothing is truly exploited until celebrities are involved, and thus one finds Celebrity Poker.
The big question on everyone's lips seems to be this: why stop at poker? Why don't we have Celebrity Game of Life? Or Celebrity Monopoly (watch as Donald Trump aggressively tries to get Park Lane and Mayfair; or gawk as Britney Spears feels right at home in Old Kent and Whitechapel roads). Or perhaps Celebrity Scrabble tickles your fancy (laugh yourself silly when Rob Schneider gets a triple word score for PENIS).
Sure, we could stick to table games ... but why not go the whole hog and have Celebrity LAN Party? Oh, yeah.
Imagine the beautiful people playing Counterstrike -- who wouldn't like seeing them off the telly killing each other in a glorious spray of pixilated violence. I'm almost certain viewers would get all in a froth watching Rosie O'Donnell immolate Paris Hilton with the BFG while they played Celebrity Doom Deathmatch ...
The possibilities for this sure-fire winner are truly endless.
It's just a tropical storm, so nothing to get worried about if you're reading this worrying about us. It's projected to zoom across the Keys -- about 4 hours to the South from where I'm typing -- so all we should get is the aforementioned wind and rain. But on a lesser scale. I hope. Knock on wood.
Monday, 19 September 2005
The latest issue of Newsweek has an article on everyone's favourite castaway show, and the article's writer mentions the spoilers that have been floating around the internet concerning the first episode of season two.
I visited Ain't It Cool News a few days ago, and I think the reader who provided the "goodies" to that website might be the same chap who soiled ABC's Lost message board with tales of the upcoming season opener.
Being somewhat curious, I did read AICN's spoilers and my main thought is this: if an episode reveals no answers and only raises more questions, it's hard to argue whether said questions are really spoilers.
I guess it is easy to be cynical with such a thought, especially when one reads about the show's creators promising answers and delivering, well, none.
Which is probably part of the allure insofar as we do enjoy a good mystery and like to speculate on solutions to the mystery. Hell, as the Newsweek article also pointed out, the X-Files lasted several seasons by dangling a carrot just out of reach of viewers, and there's no reason to think Lost will not run for several seasons following a similar path.
But the question is, do viewers have the patience for it?
Link to my post about Lost's first season finale.
Saturday, 17 September 2005
For example, in each schwag bag one will find: mace; an electric fence; a taser; The Complete Idiots Guide to Excuses; Love Thy Neighbour bumper stickers; a Lonely Planet Guide to Purgatory (sure to come in handy); and a copy of William Joseph Simmon's autobiography, The Right of White.
So who are the mystery recipients of this week's influential and sought-after award? Well, without further delay, please come on down ...
One of the things I try to refrain from doing with this blog is the best/worst list. As I said, it's far too easy. Like wanking, you don't even have to think about it when you're doing it; just lie back and think of England.
For sure, we've all sent off that email to a friend/relative listing our favourite albums/books/films/comics of the past year. But is that really worth publishing?
By committing yourself to the 'worst' list, there is a natural inclination to be overly negative to appear smart and witty. Or hip and edgy. Down with the kids. All that and a packet of potato chips. The dog's bollocks. Etc.
Unless you are possessing sufficient knowledge in the field you're dissing via your spiffy list, one runs the risk of appearing uninformed and, frankly, as thick as pig shit.
Take this utimately worthless article. It looks like the author was wanking while writing it. It looks like he only just came in before a deadline, and decided that this would work as an editorial.
If you have nothing worthwhile to say then please stop. Miss your deadline, go play golf or head to your local nudie bar. Whatever you want to do, gosh. Just stop writing.
Thursday, 15 September 2005
Yahoo! gets some press they could probably do without ...
Wired has an interview with Huffington Post founder, Arianna Huffington ...
An alleged kidnapping has been added to the list of events in the leadup to the NZ election tomorrow ...
The Guardian has a story on the latest sculpture to be displayed on Trafalger Square's fourth plinth, Allison Lapper Pregnant ...
Slate questions whether the writer Zadie Smith is ready to receive the Man Booker Prize ...
And the NY Times has a story on David Spade's new show on Comedy Central, The Showbiz Show.
Wednesday, 14 September 2005
Possibly in an attempt to become the Kiwi Candace Bushnell, someone has written a rather obvious piece which poses the tough, important Question of Our Age: why are mini skirts sexy?
Usually, in times such as these, I defer to The Simpsons to help a brother out and answer this tricky little question ...
'Hello, I'm actor Troy McClure. You kids might remember me from such educational films as, "Lead Paint, Delicious but Deadly!" and "Here Comes the Metric System!" I'm here to provide the facts about sex in a frank and straightforward manner.
And now, here's ... "Fuzzy Bunny's Guide to You-Know-What."
This is Fuzzy Bunny. About a year ago he noticed his voice was changing; he had terrible acne; and had fur where there was no fur before. He also noticed Fluffy Bunny.
Fuzzy [and Fluffy] went to the park, the ice cream social, the boat show and various other wholesome activities. And they never ruined their fun by giving into their throbbing biological urges.'
And there you have it in one word: throbbing biological urges. Which is why mini skirts are sexy, you silly goose!
Personally, I think the name is hilarious. But then I would, I guess ...
Tuesday, 13 September 2005
It's not you, Awasu; it's me. It's just, you see, that I've met Abilon. Abilon is different: it likes long walks on the beach while discussing the migratory journey of the New Zealand Whitebait, and other stuff.
It's for the best, really. Er, could I have my cds back? You can keep my Macho Man Randy Savage doll, though.
Cory over at Boing Boing winds up on TiVo, displaying deft touches around the ring with exquisitely-placed jabs before administering the coup de grace ...
Christopher Hitchens has written an article about George Galloway under the title, 'George Galloway Is Gruesome ...'. It makes for an interesting read, but the important paragraph comes at the end when Hitchens informs the reader that he and Galloway will be having a jolly good debate on, well, tomorrow. I'll be keen to check that out and see what Galloway has to say in reply.
I'm sure between those two it'll be handbags at dawn stuff ...
Go Firefox, go! ...
The latest latest poll has National leading Labour by 6 points. The way the polls have been yo-yoing, you can bet this result has changed again. And just now. And again.
So that was terribly exciting. I also printed off some manuscripts for submission, as you can see in the new and improved Current Projects section to the right of this post. Uh huh. They'll be posted off to their respective destinations later in the week. I'm quite excited; I think these short stories are the best edits I can do, and I'm very pleased to finally bite the bullet and send something to an editor or three.
Am I expecting them to be bought? Not at all -- in fact I'm totally down with the stories being rejected. I've never heard of any writer today (and I'm open to correction) that has had a short story published first time up at bat.
What I would be interested in is getting a little bit of feedback with the rejection, even just a line of constructive criticism. That would go a long way to helping your fearless author improve on his craft. But then, from what I've discovered, editors are usually hard-pressed for time and I might not get any feedback. But ya never know!
It's just good to send the manuscripts out into the big, wide world. Fly my pretties, fly!
Monday, 12 September 2005
Basically he filled out about, oh, a bazillion forms and notes while telling me I was a clean, healthy boy. Which is good to know.
Of course he also did the usual things like taking blood pressure/pulse stuff. He said my heart rate was a little high, but I told him it was white coat syndrome. Basically, whenever someone of the medical profession comes at me with a stethoscope or a tongue depressor -- any of those funky tools in their possession -- your fearless author shows, well, fear.
But I usually get over it by reciting (via internal monologue, naturally), 'I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will permit my fear to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.'
Er, I kinda didn't recite that quote in the doctor's office. I wish I had, though -- maybe my heart wouldn't have ran like the Kentucky Derby ... ?
Oh, well. It's all good, and tomorrow I will send my forms back to Immigration Control and the ball will resume its rolling.
Saturday, 10 September 2005
Friday, 9 September 2005
However, beware the dreaded school adminstrators (easily spotted in their Puritan garb).
If I was there I would have told him to go across the food court to Maccas, or the sushi place next to it. Where he actually went to was MacFarlanes, possibly one of the more pretentious eateries one could ever drop in on. It's like mutton dressed up as lamb. Oh, and did I mention expensive? He wouldn't have got much change out of $20 for that little snack he ordered.
I do have a valid reason for my dislike of said eatery: two of my best friends, Moose and G, used to work for the Organisation and, despite being exemplary in their profession, the eatery decided to bend said friends over the counter and fuck them in the ass.
This is what happens, MacFarlanes, when you fuck my friends in the ass. This is what happens when you fuck my friends in the ass.
Er, so what's the moral of this story? One, don't fuck my friends in the ass; and, Two, don't eat at MacFarlanes unless you are a) incredibly rich; b) a cock; c) possessing no sense of taste; d) you're an incredibly rich cock possessing no sense of taste.
In fact, I can see the Blame Game entering the English language as one of those faux-excuses people use when they clearly are to blame, but wish to dodge any blame being apportioned to them. Much in the same way a small child will tell his parents that he did not eat all the ice cream when he actually has cream all over his face.
Just imagine if the Blame Game Defence (BGD) was around in times past ...
At the Nuremberg Trials:
Judge: 'Mr. Goering, were you aware of Hitler's Final Solution?'
Goering: 'Nein, nein; let's not play the Blame Game here, people.'
In a Galaxy Far, Far Away:
Luke Skywalker: 'Darth Vader, did you know of the order that allowed the Death Star to destroy Alderaan?'
Darth Vader: --Waves his hand-- 'We are not going to play the Blame Game.'
Luke Skywalker: 'We are not going to play the Blame Game.'
You get the idea. And before I end this post, I'll quote from Teresa Nielsen Hayden at Making Light; a quote which I think is rather good:
'I have just arrived at a personal decision. I am not going to listen to any more crap about “blame games” and “not pointing the finger” unless the person speaking has first made it clear that he or she didn’t vote for Bush. I want it explicit, and I want it persuasive. Because otherwise, I’m going to figure that what they’re really saying is this:“I knew what he was, I knew what he stands for and the kind of men he keeps around him, but I voted for him anyway. Now that it’s been made gut-wrenchingly clear that God won’t magically intervene to save
I'm usually nervous when waiting on blood tests, so I tend to take a drive down Pessimist's Lane until I get the results.
So make space for me at the bar, because everything is cool. Cool.
Anyway, I go back today for Part II, where I sit with the civil surgeon and he (hopefully) sings the correct forms so I can get my green card application back on track.
The video has Jon Stewart of The Daily Show ripping CNN's Crossfire a new one. It's grrreat!
(have to watch Army thingie first).
In fact, being somewhat of a Geek, I don't think I disliked any of the books we were given ... please don't tell the jocks I like to read.
Anywho, do you know what I discovered when trudging through the film section of the NY Times tonight? That Coppola has released a special edition of his film adaptation.
Now I don't know if Greedo shoots first in this one, or if the Feds carry big, fuck-off flashlights, or if the Yub Yub song has been replaced or whatever.
What I do know is that it's released on DVD September 20, and I'll probably rent it seeing as I enjoyed the non-special edition.
Did anyone else feel the end of Halo 2 was a bit of a gyp, though? I was all set to kick ass and chew bubblegum ... and then it ended. Bleh.
Thursday, 8 September 2005
What a groovy idea.
Yes, excessive consumption of salt isn't good for you, much in the same way sprinkling sodium hydroxide on your cornflakes isn't good for you. However, in a country that has a low levels of iodine in its soil, iodised salt is the best way to ensure your citizens do not succumb to that luminary of thyroid conditions, goitre.
I think the problem is that the Chinese believe too many things have aphrodisiacal properties. Shit, if one said sawdust was an aphrodisiac there'd be no trees left in China.
Wednesday, 7 September 2005
Apparently a conservative offshoot of the Exclusive Brethren Church were the perpetrators of the anti-Government postal drop a few days back. How interesting.
This offshoot seems to putting their muscle behind the National party. Well, duh! You never see extremist religious groups throwing their weight behind socialist-leaning parties, heaven forbid!
This is interesting because, as people have noted, the EBC has always been apolitical. I guess the moral of this story is beware the offshoot.
But it gets even more intriguing when one finds a leader (nah nah nah nah nah nah, leader) of the EBC warned supporters last year that if George and John were not returned to power in their respective countries, the rapture would be upon us.
That pesky rapture, huh? Since I'm not one of the saved I guess I would have been left behind with Kirk Cameron. Bugger.
Well thankfully kids, we dodged a bullet and George and John were returned to power. Whew!
Personally, I think the National Party will distance themselves from this. Having something like the EBC stick to them like a demented remora would be a death-sentance. As it is I don't think they will win the election, but this certainly doesn't help.
Thankfully the New Zealand political environment has, over the last 25 years, become increasingly more secular and long may it remain so, free from secret agendas based upon extremist views. That really is something to be enraptured by.
Oh, and the NZ Herald has a little chat back thing to measure the feelings of the public on this important, life-altering announcement.
I expect to see several Outraged, from Gore messages in the paper tomorrow, and if not I will be outraged!
Outraged, from Gore is a common letter to the editor seen reproduced in various newspapers around the country. No one knows quite what Outraged, from Gore will be raging against from one week to the other, but they usually find something to moan about.
They're not all from Gore, mind. Some are from Takapuna. You might get one from Huntly. The odd Outraged, from Templeview in Hamilton sneaks in under the radar as well. But the overwhelming majority are from Gore, and while the names have the same spelling they're not blood relatives as such; they're more whinge relatives, filling their pens with venom and keeping the local dairy owner flush from sales of postage stamps.
Outraged tends to spend his or herself's time in a state of perpetual outrage, seemingly unable to stem the flow of rage that boils beneath the surface. Complaints about certain television shows that might contain a booby, a bum, or perhaps the occasional expletive (like fuck, wanker, arsehole, moldy scrotum face, shit, shite, shitter, penis, winkle, et al) usually keep them trucking most months of the year.
But then, every so often, along comes their moment to shine. A spiritual meal ticket, if you like. Maybe Hooters will be that meal ticket?
Prove me wrong, Outraged, from Gore!
This blog passed 100 posts a couple of posts back. Yes I know, that is terribly exciting.
This is actually my third blog ... the first two were shit. Actually, the second one wasn't so bad but it kinda pittered away as I was finishing school last year.
But while this blog is sometimes shit, it's sometimes not so bad, either. I'd like to think the anonymous persons that read this blog every so often have enjoyed it. Or at least not vomited on their keyboards ...
Here's to the next 100 posts on this, the day of my blog's 100th post. Er, 102nd.
Regular readers might have noticed something different.
Okay, I'll kill the suspense. I have a favicon. It's a P, and you can see it stapled in the address bar, and on your Firefox¹ tabs. It's delicious.
I've been wanting to have one for ages, but never got around to it. Until now. And thanks to the groovy service at Ripway, that little P is gonna be around for a wee while yet.
I think the black P looks a little better than the orange B, especially as the P stands for -- gasp! -- Pluperfection. By having a P instead of a B, I give this blog a certain individuality. Not much of one, mind. Perhaps a smidgen. But it looks cool -- and if one is not cool in this shallow world, what are you?
You're uncool. The opposite of Fonzie. Ayyyyyy!
¹ You are using Firefox, right?
I also have to get some bling out of the ATM, and post my voting papers to the NZ Embassy in Washington, DC. Oooo, exciting! Which party did I vote for? Guess! Okay, don't guess.
C U l8r, tee hee!
Monday, 5 September 2005
I guess it is a little deja vu, 10 years on from the head-to-head battle between Blur and Oasis for the number one spot on the singles chart, eventually won by Blur.
Funny thing is, both of the songs weren't exactly top drawer for the two bands when you consider they had far better songs scattered throughout their respective discographies at that point. But, when Britpop was chugging along maniacally like a Flying Scotsman stoked with mescaline, those things didn't matter in the race to be top dawg.
J. M. W. Turner's The Fighting Temeraire has been voted as the greatest painting in a British art gallery. The public poll was organised by the BBC Radio 4's Today Programme in association with the National Gallery in London.
And it's a pretty cool painting, don't ya think?
Since I felt like viewing it again, I managed to track it down at IFILM, and have linked to it for your viewing pleasure.
(You have to watch an ad for the US Army before the film starts playing).
Sunday, 4 September 2005
Mind you, I shouldn't skite, as by all accounts what should have been a routine win was almost thrown away.
However, I'll take a win when on offer no matter how it comes and enjoy the fact that Australia have now lost five consecutive games. Which, if anyone thinks is being rather harsh, just remember the way the Aussies enjoyed our own Annus Horribilis back in 1998.
Payback's a bitch, ain't it?
However, owing to the lack of anything decent to see, we decided on a whim and pressed the delicious 'Order' button on the remote ...
And do you know what? We liked it. Actually it was rather good, and it was the perfect way to spend a Saturday evening digesting BBQ wings. Mmm, BBQ wings.
I thought the gradual decent to Loonville was disturbing to watch on the screen, as Howard Hughes singlehandedly sent kleenex stock prices soaring.
And Cate Blanchett was her usual excellent self in the Katherine Hepburn role.
So if you haven't seen it, perhaps you should. And if you have seen it, then perhaps you agree with my assessment of its good'ness. And if you don't want to see it ... well, that's cool as well.
Saturday, 3 September 2005
Friday, 2 September 2005
Hopefully the Blue Rinse Brigade will refrain from giving New Zealand First their party vote ... then we can all tuck NZ First into the comfy bed of political oblivion.
Certainly I would agree that there has been a monumental, hamfisted handling of this disaster and it just gets crazier by the hour. Goodness, how is it possible that potentially thousands of American citizens have needlessly died? Watching the poor people stranded in a long line on the freeways reminded me of footage of refugees fleeing from warzones. It's like seeing something from the Third World.
Shouldn't this type of rescue operation be bread and butter for a country of this size and ability? That there was an evacuation order given at almost the last minute was terrible; more so when you consider the poor bastards that didn't have a car to leg it like everyone else. And if they did have a car, did they have enough money for petrol? Accommodation? Food and water? I mean, fuck -- if a government cannot provide for its people and get them to safety before the storm strikes, then is it a total surprise when anarchy breaks out because people are 4 days and counting without anything?
It's one big fuckaroo.
Link to BBC story on horror situation.
Excerpt from a BBC reporter in NO:
The BBC's Matt Frei, in New Orleans, says conditions in the convention centre, where up to 20,000 people are stranded, are the most wretched he has seen anywhere, including crises in the Third World.
"You've got an entire nursing home evacuated five days ago - people in wheelchairs sitting there and slowly dying," he says.
Thursday, 1 September 2005
One of the films that I'm looking forward to seeing this year happens to be Polanski's Oliver Twist. The trailer looks very cool -- although I wouldn't put much stock in trailers, as more often than not they ejaculate the best bits of a film, leaving the final film decidedly flaccid.
Hopefully this will be one of the better films released this year.
Oh, and the writer earns extra points by mentioning the ending of Volcano, that truly terrible Tommy Lee Jones movie.
I cannot help but sense that there is a swelling tide of anger drifting toward the President over his seemingly indifferent attitude to the plight of the States affected by Katrina. At the moment there is sorrow and sacrifice to help those afflicted and in dire need of assistance; however, every so often, a damning story starts to appear about the lack of leadership being shown by the Federal government.
The former editor of the New York Times, Howell Raines, doesn't hold back his opinion of Bush's performance thus far:
"This president, who flew away on Monday to fundraisers in the west while the hurricane blew away entire towns in coastal Mississippi, is very much his father's son when it comes to the kinds of emergencies that used to call forth immediate White House action before its Bushite captivity. When he was president, his father did not visit Miami after Hurricane Andrew, nor for that matter, did he mind being photographed tooling his golf cart around Kennebunkport while American troops died in the first Iraq war. Now the younger Bush seems determined to show his successors how to holiday through an apocalypse."
PS - One cannot help but wonder that, if this were an election year, we might have seen Bush kayaking down one of the flooded streets in New Orleans. As it is ...