Great news!
Readers! How often have you thought to yourself, "Darn, I wish I could watch When Come Back, Bring Pie translated into French, complete with tacky accordian music and berets" ? Well now-- thanks to the wonder of the internettywebtypething-- you can!
Also of interest is this helpful and informative page for epileptics. Ha bloody ha, you swines. Don't for god's sake click the link if you're flicker-sensitive.
(Smuggled away from the B3TA newsletter. In my pants.)
Sunday, July 14, 2002
| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid: | Moderate |
| Schizoid: | Low |
| Schizotypal: | Very High |
| Antisocial: | Low |
| Borderline: | Very High |
| Histrionic: | High |
| Narcissistic: | Moderate |
| Avoidant: | High |
| Dependent: | High |
| Obsessive-Compulsive: | High |
-- Click Here To Take The Test -- | |
"Moderate" paranoia? "Moderate"? I'm shocked and offended. I have mad paranoia skillz, goddammit! I am the Para Queen!
(From Fenwick Rysen's LiveJournal)
Saturday, July 13, 2002
Ugly Reject Seeks Modelling Work
Generation Xtras is a new agency, currently recruiting (and I quote) "Goths, Punks, Hippies, Bikers, Metalers, Rockers, Crusties, Pierced, Tattooed, Cyber, wild alternative people for FILM, TELEVISION & PHOTO WORK!"
UK residents & over-16s only, I'm afraid. If you're up for it, or know someone who is, then strike while the iron is hot-- they want new faces, NOW.
Generation Xtras is a new agency, currently recruiting (and I quote) "Goths, Punks, Hippies, Bikers, Metalers, Rockers, Crusties, Pierced, Tattooed, Cyber, wild alternative people for FILM, TELEVISION & PHOTO WORK!"
UK residents & over-16s only, I'm afraid. If you're up for it, or know someone who is, then strike while the iron is hot-- they want new faces, NOW.
Spiderman Will Make You Gay Apparently. (Found wrapped in a plasticbag.)
It's entertaining and all, in a totally juvenile way, but... eggy. Distinctly eggy. As Tom Coates says, "What the hell is it about the world that makes the word 'gay' so intrinsically funny to people?"
Incidentally, it's Tom's b-day soon. He's one of my favourite stalkees, but I'm currently too skint to send any creepy and inappropriate gifts :-( Maybe a passing 'Lither would like to do the honours?)
It's entertaining and all, in a totally juvenile way, but... eggy. Distinctly eggy. As Tom Coates says, "What the hell is it about the world that makes the word 'gay' so intrinsically funny to people?"
Incidentally, it's Tom's b-day soon. He's one of my favourite stalkees, but I'm currently too skint to send any creepy and inappropriate gifts :-( Maybe a passing 'Lither would like to do the honours?)
"HEY! Who are all you people?" mk II
I see from my site tracker that between The Guardian's weblog list and Lukelog, I notched up 89 hits yesterday and 49 so far today. So. Um. Hi! I see that one or two of you have been emailing my URL to your mates. Some of you have spent a full hour reading the damn archive. Some of you have come back two or three times a day.
You are strange. You disturb me, strange people. And you have put a terrible strain on my image host.
I see from my site tracker that between The Guardian's weblog list and Lukelog, I notched up 89 hits yesterday and 49 so far today. So. Um. Hi! I see that one or two of you have been emailing my URL to your mates. Some of you have spent a full hour reading the damn archive. Some of you have come back two or three times a day.
You are strange. You disturb me, strange people. And you have put a terrible strain on my image host.
Temp Hell
Was reading an article today, an extract from this book, Below the Breadline: Living on the Minimum Wage by Fran Adams. What the author has done, right, is go round Britain, taking minimum-wage jobs for a month. Then she's written about her experiences.
I nearly wet myself laughing. I mean, what the heck? She couldn't just go round the country and talk to folk on the minimum wage, oh no. She has to take a job away from someone who actually needs it, and then write about how hard it all was. Apparently people actually living on the minimum wage-- people who are stuck in rotten jobs working rotten hours in rotten conditions for rotten pay, people who are probably going to have to live in that wretched accommodation on that pittance for the rest of their miserable lives before they finally succumb to the ravages of occupational disease-- apparently they aren't qualified to talk about life on the minimum wage.
I suppose the lower orders lack the neccesary training, or maybe they're not articulate enough. Or perhaps it's just that they're untrustworthy. Yeah. That must be it.
Was reading an article today, an extract from this book, Below the Breadline: Living on the Minimum Wage by Fran Adams. What the author has done, right, is go round Britain, taking minimum-wage jobs for a month. Then she's written about her experiences.
I nearly wet myself laughing. I mean, what the heck? She couldn't just go round the country and talk to folk on the minimum wage, oh no. She has to take a job away from someone who actually needs it, and then write about how hard it all was. Apparently people actually living on the minimum wage-- people who are stuck in rotten jobs working rotten hours in rotten conditions for rotten pay, people who are probably going to have to live in that wretched accommodation on that pittance for the rest of their miserable lives before they finally succumb to the ravages of occupational disease-- apparently they aren't qualified to talk about life on the minimum wage.
I suppose the lower orders lack the neccesary training, or maybe they're not articulate enough. Or perhaps it's just that they're untrustworthy. Yeah. That must be it.
Friday, July 12, 2002
MediaGuardian.co.uk | Broadcast | HIV-positive vibes on Sesame Street
Quote:
This is great stuff, of course-- but why no HIV+ muppet elsewhere in the Sesame Street watching world? While S. Africa obviously has the direst, most urgent need, I'm inclined to feel that certain other nations are becoming way too complacent. Also, confining a move like this to an African nation might reinforce a whole pile of truly ugly stereotypes.
Quote:
An HIV-positive puppet character is to be introduced to the South African version of long-running children's favourite Sesame Street... "We know she'll be lively, alert, friendly, outgoing and HIV-positive. She'll be healthy, not sickly," Joel Schneider, the vice-president of Sesame Workshop, told the 14th international Aids conference in Barcelona.
This is great stuff, of course-- but why no HIV+ muppet elsewhere in the Sesame Street watching world? While S. Africa obviously has the direst, most urgent need, I'm inclined to feel that certain other nations are becoming way too complacent. Also, confining a move like this to an African nation might reinforce a whole pile of truly ugly stereotypes.
U.S. Drops Demand for War Court Immunity
Quote:
(Via the 9-11peace.org mailing list)
Quote:
UNITED NATIONS, July 10 -- The Bush administration agreed today to drop its demand that the U.N. Security Council grant Americans serving in U.N. peacekeeping missions permanent immunity from the international war crimes tribunal.
(Via the 9-11peace.org mailing list)
A random trawl through my endless list of silly and timewasting links throws up....
The Cthulhu Mythos Story Name Generator!
The Cthulhu Mythos Story Name Generator!
BOSS OF YOU.
Read it and weep, bloggybabies. Read. It. And. Weep.
Guardian Unlimited | Weblog | UK weblogs
I'm so utterly chuffed it's disgusting. I'm probably setting off some kind of Chuffedness alarm at GCHQ. My door will be kicked in any moment by the Suspicious Chuffedness Squad. That's how chuffed I am.
Of course, now my image hosting service is going to start wigging out again.
Read it and weep, bloggybabies. Read. It. And. Weep.
Guardian Unlimited | Weblog | UK weblogs
I'm so utterly chuffed it's disgusting. I'm probably setting off some kind of Chuffedness alarm at GCHQ. My door will be kicked in any moment by the Suspicious Chuffedness Squad. That's how chuffed I am.
Of course, now my image hosting service is going to start wigging out again.
Gun.
So last Wednesday I was half-an-hour from going home, right? And one of the people from the Tenants' Association buttonholes me and points out that:
a) There's been a police helicopter circling overhead for the last few minutes and
b) There's a coat shoved under her mate's car which wasn't there ten minutes previously.
Apparently since I am the caretaker, this is my problem. Gingerly approach coat, clock the fact that there's a package wrapped in a black plastic bag underneath it, panic slightly. Ask if anyone knows the number of the local nick. Nobody does. Local kids now home from school and starting to take an unhealthy interest in Suspect Package. Panic goes up a notch. Dial 999, explain situation to Plod. Plod tells me it's probably just some stolen property and generally makes me feel about 2 inches tall & mad, but says he'll send someone round.
Panic panic panic. Police turn up, stroll over to car, poke jacket, pull jacket, find cigarettes in binbag, laugh. Unwrap binbag further to find 1 (one) black balaclava and 1 (one) shotgun barrel made of two bits of pipe taped together, robbers, for the use of.
Police stop laughing, cordon off area, start yelling at kids to get away from the car, etc etc. Apparently someone had knocked off the turf accountant round the corner, hence helicopters and bruhaha.
CID turn up. Divers alarums and excursions. Hang around nervously for a bit then go home, reassured by police assertions that the gun is a dummy.
Go into work on Thursday moring to be informed that alleged fake gun was actually a real gun. A real, homemade gun. A real, dangerous, unreliable, blow-your-face-off, explode-if-you-look-at-it-funny
bloody
GUN.
I was never in any danger. I think. But if I'd just phoned the local police station instead of 999 and then hung around and waited while they decided whether or not to bother turning up, what's the betting that one of the kids would have gone over and kicked said homemade gun, or pointed it at someone-- with hilarious consequences? Homemade guns are not noted for their stability.
The next time I see something like that under a car, I am going to dial 999, snidey plod or no snidey plod.
So last Wednesday I was half-an-hour from going home, right? And one of the people from the Tenants' Association buttonholes me and points out that:
a) There's been a police helicopter circling overhead for the last few minutes and
b) There's a coat shoved under her mate's car which wasn't there ten minutes previously.
Apparently since I am the caretaker, this is my problem. Gingerly approach coat, clock the fact that there's a package wrapped in a black plastic bag underneath it, panic slightly. Ask if anyone knows the number of the local nick. Nobody does. Local kids now home from school and starting to take an unhealthy interest in Suspect Package. Panic goes up a notch. Dial 999, explain situation to Plod. Plod tells me it's probably just some stolen property and generally makes me feel about 2 inches tall & mad, but says he'll send someone round.
Panic panic panic. Police turn up, stroll over to car, poke jacket, pull jacket, find cigarettes in binbag, laugh. Unwrap binbag further to find 1 (one) black balaclava and 1 (one) shotgun barrel made of two bits of pipe taped together, robbers, for the use of.
Police stop laughing, cordon off area, start yelling at kids to get away from the car, etc etc. Apparently someone had knocked off the turf accountant round the corner, hence helicopters and bruhaha.
CID turn up. Divers alarums and excursions. Hang around nervously for a bit then go home, reassured by police assertions that the gun is a dummy.
Go into work on Thursday moring to be informed that alleged fake gun was actually a real gun. A real, homemade gun. A real, dangerous, unreliable, blow-your-face-off, explode-if-you-look-at-it-funny
bloody
GUN.
I was never in any danger. I think. But if I'd just phoned the local police station instead of 999 and then hung around and waited while they decided whether or not to bother turning up, what's the betting that one of the kids would have gone over and kicked said homemade gun, or pointed it at someone-- with hilarious consequences? Homemade guns are not noted for their stability.
The next time I see something like that under a car, I am going to dial 999, snidey plod or no snidey plod.
Wednesday, July 10, 2002
Whine II
Great. Another day of scraping chewing-gum, picking up rubbish, and humping buckets of dirty water up and down stairs. It's not so terrible, of course-- at least I've got a job-- but I find myself thinking, Is this it? Is this all there's ever going to be?
See, what my current situation brings to mind is this. As a kid I worked my backside off to get my BTec, and then I came out in the middle of a recession and found there was hardly any work for anyone, let alone a 17-year-old with a qualification that nobody's heard of. I spent about three and a half years on the dole, being turned down by fast-food joints. I wrote and wrote in those days, some of it better than others, and all I got was a pile of rejection letters.
And now here I am ten or eleven years on, in virtually the same position. Okay, I'm not on the jam roll anymore but Jesus, I've been at Uni for four years (what with doing a foundation course and all), I'm £20,000 in debt, I don't even have my degree yet, and it looks like I won't be signing up for that OU course anytime soon. And the punchline? The best job I've been able to find is caretaking on a housing estate, which leaves me aching all over by the end of the day and nearly too tired to think, let alone write. In another couple of weeks I won't even have that.
Is this it?
Great. Another day of scraping chewing-gum, picking up rubbish, and humping buckets of dirty water up and down stairs. It's not so terrible, of course-- at least I've got a job-- but I find myself thinking, Is this it? Is this all there's ever going to be?
See, what my current situation brings to mind is this. As a kid I worked my backside off to get my BTec, and then I came out in the middle of a recession and found there was hardly any work for anyone, let alone a 17-year-old with a qualification that nobody's heard of. I spent about three and a half years on the dole, being turned down by fast-food joints. I wrote and wrote in those days, some of it better than others, and all I got was a pile of rejection letters.
And now here I am ten or eleven years on, in virtually the same position. Okay, I'm not on the jam roll anymore but Jesus, I've been at Uni for four years (what with doing a foundation course and all), I'm £20,000 in debt, I don't even have my degree yet, and it looks like I won't be signing up for that OU course anytime soon. And the punchline? The best job I've been able to find is caretaking on a housing estate, which leaves me aching all over by the end of the day and nearly too tired to think, let alone write. In another couple of weeks I won't even have that.
Is this it?
Tuesday, July 09, 2002
New Scientist: Humanity's "massive overdraft" with Earth
Quote:
Quote:
"Humanity is currently overusing the Earth's resources by 20 per cent and, if current trends continue, then by 2050 we will need two planet Earths in order to live sustainably..."
A major five-year programme to develop the "holy grail" of HIV vaccine research has been launched... Biotech vapourware or new hope? Either way, I hope the nations where they really need this aren't holding their breath.
Monday, July 08, 2002
New Scientist: "Light can be turned into a glowing stream of liquid that splits into droplets and splatters off surfaces just like water...."
I love the New Scientist. It's better than drugs. And cheaper. And doesn't turn out to be chalk or shoe-polish or a bit of a fencepost.
(Torn from the numb, trembling fingers of Blogdex)
I love the New Scientist. It's better than drugs. And cheaper. And doesn't turn out to be chalk or shoe-polish or a bit of a fencepost.
(Torn from the numb, trembling fingers of Blogdex)
Whine.
It's 7:50, and I have to go to work in half an hour. I am dead. I was up half the night with asthma. Concentrating on anything is going to be interesting today, and I still have to finish that *$?! article. Goddammit.
I'm tired, I'm wheezing like a comics fan poring over a superheroine's clevage, I don't have any good drugs and I have to spend the next eight hours picking up litter for a bunch of rich people.
I hate you.
It's 7:50, and I have to go to work in half an hour. I am dead. I was up half the night with asthma. Concentrating on anything is going to be interesting today, and I still have to finish that *$?! article. Goddammit.
I'm tired, I'm wheezing like a comics fan poring over a superheroine's clevage, I don't have any good drugs and I have to spend the next eight hours picking up litter for a bunch of rich people.
I hate you.
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