Monday, March 27, 2006

Must pay attention when shopping

I went shopping on Saturday. Not only did I forget milk, loo roll, washing up liquid and coffee (those that know me well will realise what an issue this is), but I also managed to remember to buy soap.

Great, you may think. Well, not exactly. I just grabbed the 4 pack of soap and didn't even look at the packaging. I only opened it today. Now I am resigned to an indeterminate length of time (about 4 bars of soap worth) where my hands smell of oranges. What the fuck? Who needs soap that smells of oranges? (You see at the moment, I still have the normal non-smelly bath soap, so it's only hand soap that I have in a fucking stupid scented version)*.

Man, I am so pissed off about it. My bathroom now smells of oranges. All the time. Surely only Oranges (and perhaps vodka) should smell of oranges? Oh. And Jaffa cakes. But it brings up some very serious issues that has clearly not been considered. What the fuck am I supposed to do if I eat an orange and want to wash the juice off my hands afterwards? HOW THE FUCK DO I KNOW WHEN THEY'RE CLEAN!!!!!!!!

Did they think of that, did they? DID they? No. They fucking didn't.

* Of course, there will soon come a time where I will use up the bath soap, and even my bits and pieces will smell of oranges. I rue that day. That may be the day I actually stop being tight and buy more soap. I think the idea of opening my flies and immediately smelling oranges may be a deeply surreal and pretty much 'wrong' moment. Yes. I think I shall buy more soap before that day.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Demonstration.

Every's Thang In They Boxes Be $1.00


Every's Thang In They Boxes Be $1.00
Originally uploaded by jfhatesmustard.

Genius. I often have moments when I 'enjoy' the massacre of the english language that is happening over the other side of the pond. I get irritated by the poor spelling (color versus colour, nite versus night), but this?

This is just taking the piss, isn't it? Every grammar and punctuation law beaten to the floor, stamped on then pissed on.

Gah.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Misplacing a feline

I happened across this picture today, and it reminded me of something. I thought I would share it:

A friend of my parents lost her cat. Her husband is a Doctor, and they have this huge old Georgian house in a small village (I think it may have once been a vicarage). Great big place it is, with about 7 bedrooms and a lovely, tree lined garden. I'm not sure if any of that (apart from the mention of the cat) was at all relevant, but it's a nice image, isn't it?

Anyway, the cat went missing. It continued to be, er, missing. And so it went on, this missing lark. No sign or sound of the cat, and the friend was going frantic with worry. Just a whole fat load of 'missing'. This went on for just over a week. She had looked everywhere for the cat - been all around the village, looking in bushes, up trees, in ditches (fearing the worst by this point) and calling its name at regular intervals. The usual 'lost cat' drill, basically.

I realise that this would be a perfect time to 'drop' the name of the cat into the story, but I have no idea what it was, as this was a long time ago and I have destroyed my memory through substance abuse. 'Years' seems to be the substance in question that is getting to it. Being alive longer seems to screw my ability to remember details. I swear if I get much older, I won't be able to remember last week. Or, at least, the week preceding the point that I am at that stage, if you know what I mean. I haven't a hope of remembering last week by then. No chance. Anyway, you get the point. Or maybe you don't, I'm not sure I recall what it was now.

Moving on. The cat was missing. (I didn't remember that, I had to read back over the post so far.)

So, over a week after the cat has gone missing, one morning the friend happened to be alone in the house and she woke up at 6 am with a start. Literally shocked her wide awake out of her sleep. Total clarity of thought drove her to jump up, throw her dressing gown on and run up to the little used attic storage room. She dragged a massive oak wardrobe full of clothes and crap out of the way (too heavy for her to move back afterward without help) so she could get to and rip off the board that had been nailed up to block the chimney place up with just her bare hands. There, covered in soot and very weak with hunger but otherwise unharmed, was the cat. It had been (presumably) chasing birds on the roof and had (definitely) fallen down the chimney. It can't have been many days before it would have just died quietly there, poor thing. After a brief period of nursing and a visit to the vets, the cat made a complete recovery. It also stayed off the roof.

The discovery and how it came about was a source of much subsequent discussion. The friend commented how weird it was - she just woke up and knew exactly where the cat was. Utterly and totally clearly knew, no doubt in her mind. Freaky, huh? She also knew that she had to get it out right then, no delay, which was what drove her to rip the house apart to get to it. I assume there must be some sort of subconscious element there, but I thought it was amazing.

Aw. Bless. A happy ending, see? Not only that, but as a postscript, I should mention that we had one of the kittens from her next litter (the cat, rather than the friend) a few years later. She was called Katie - I remember that one - and she stayed with us for years. I think she was 12 when she died. She was a bit mental, but very lovely and affectionate.

Ho hum. I think that anecdote should probably end there.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Um. I slipped


Um. I slipped
Originally uploaded by Brock.

Hmmm. It appears that old habits die hard. Due to the fact that I am in a bit of a general grump this morning, I decided I needed some therapy. So I went shopping.

I never buy clothes or shoes unless absolutely necessary, so some other kind was called for. I hate clothes shopping - they are functional at best, I get no enjoyment from them really. I'd rather not stupid, but as long as I have clean clothes that are confortable, that is about as far as I go.

So I went to Amazon and bought some things that I have been meaning to for ages. Particularly the incredibly expensive Blues Brothers DVD. It is shocking that such a magnificent film is out of print (or whatever the term is), and so the only way to get it is with a great big special edition. Still the extra two discs may actually be good, you never know.

Oh, and for reference for those that don't know, this sort of "Bah. Bastards. Right, fuck it. Where's my credit card?" attitude was what caused me to screw my finances at University...

I am in control now, though. I was much younger then, and I haven't actually done this for ages, and the bill is scary enough that I won't do it again for a while. Honest. Besides I was going to buy a new camera instead, and that would have been about twice as much. See? See how good I am?

Friday, March 10, 2006

Back in at the shit end

Ah, as the old memories come flooding back, the less glamorous side of motor racing becomes brutally apparent this week.

I have come home sneezing black snot from trimming carbon fibre bodywork without the right kit for dust extraction and my throat hurts from breathing it in. I am pretty knackered, and my back hurts from bending over to work on the car. I also have black fingernails and have knocked the tops of all my knuckles from going soft with too many years of driving a desk.

Oh, and the driver is being an arse and may be pulling the budget so I am probably out of a job in a week or so. And my last three pay cheques have bounced. If the one I am banking tomorrow bounces, it's 'toolbox in the car' time and just drive off. I have zero cash left.

Oh, how we laughed. All of a sudden, the reasons I left all this behind are being demonstrated in all it's fucking irritating and demoralising glory.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Menu translation

Ace. How is it possible to translate something that badly?

Sitck with it, it get's funnier toward the end.

Distracting

I keep hearing James Blunt being played on the radio when I am working. I generally tend to make up stupid lyrics (invariably disgusting) as alternatives to the various songs to liven the day up and amuse the people working with me; usually sang at high volume in "the club style" ( thank you, Mr Vic Reeves...). Mr Blunt's current single is a different matter, however. I just can't take it seriously, and now I have explained the image that it conjures up, neither can the guys I work with. Shall I spoil it for you too?

This is the chorus:

"
Look who's alone now,
It's not me. It's not me.
Those three Wise Men,
They've got a semi by the sea.
Got to ask yourself the question,
Where are you now?
Got to ask yourself the question,
Where are you now?
"



What? The Wise Men have "semi's by the sea"? What the fuck is that all about?

You see, I am totally unable to dismiss the image that those lines conjure - namely that of three old men walking along a windy sea front (possibly Brighton or perhaps Bournemouth) with their hands in their pockets as they desperately, uncomfortably and with tangible embarrassment, attempt to hide their slightly disfunctional partial erections...

Cracks me up every time. What? You mean it's just me that thinks of stuff like that? Never mind finding it amusing?

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Easter Eggs

No. I'm not getting overly seasonal or getting all chocolatey. I am having a rant.

DVD's. I bought it, I want to watch it, and I paid my money to see all the extra little snippets and treats that I get for buying the special edition. So why the fuck does hiding it in some obscure menu location that you have to scroll mostly off the screen to get to seem like a good idea? How the hell does making the good bits hard to find seem like customer service? I paid for it, I want a nice convenient interface to get to it.

While we're on the subject, why has the trend for extra 'hidden' tracks on the end of CD's been allowed to propagate? I used to find them mildly irritating before, but now that I more often listen to my music through iTunes I have to sit through a minute (sometimes many more) before I listen to it. I keep looking up and thinking "Why has iTunes shat and stopped? Oh. Wait it's one of those stupid fucking extra tracks!!!" Then I have to get up and drag the progress bar over until I can hit the beginning of the song hidden at the end of the massive file. Why are they filling my memory up with silence? I paid for the album, I am keeping you all in fancy shoes, so play me the bastard track and let me skip to the beginning through my standard CD player interface.

You fuckers. I bought it. It now belongs to me. Why are you making it difficult for me to use it?

Gah.