Evanescence – Manchester Apollo

Evanescence seem to have swan-dived into 2003, for some reason. The music fits in with the general “nu-metal” style of bands like Linkin Park et al, only with female vocals. I’ve enjoyed the album over the last six months, so I was interested to see how they did on their first (to my knowledge) appearance in Manchester.

First, of course, we had to get through the support acts. First on the list were Apartment 26, who were OK, but nothing special. Second were Finger Eleven, who were much better. I haven’t yet worked out if they were serious or taking the piss though – the guitarist has definitely taken on the excesses of guitar-godism, although at least he provided some comedy moments while attempting to apparently kill himself with his own guitar strap.

Evanescence themselves though were bloody good. They appeared to have managed to fit an entire arena-level stage set into the Apollo – god only knows how. It was impressive. The sound quality was exceptional – with some very impressive bass lines that still rattled joints at the back of the venue. I think they played pretty much the entire album, as well as a couple of tracks I hadn’t heard before.

Some wanker was braying about how when he saw them somewhere else they’d got twice the people on stage, proper string section blah blah frigging blah, and yes OK, you could tell that the strings etc. were sampled on this occasion. But to my mind it was still a good concert – and it’s pointless comparing seeing them on a huge stage in front of 50,000+ people to a small 3,000-4,000ish venue like the Apollo. Vagaries like stage size and so on also play a part.

For myself, I’d go and see them again happily – but only once they’ve released another album, and built up some more material. All the same, well worth seeing, and thoroughly enjoyable.

Upromise

I don’t know why, but in the last couple of days I’ve suddenly started getting a shedload of spam from some bunch called Upromise. It’s bloody annoying, yank-centric, and has now been added to my spam filter.

Seven Days

This time next week, I’ll be 32. Not that the age bothers me – it doesn’t – but it’s the precursor to the thought process that’s been going on. This time last year I’d been broadcasting it around the net, Mike was wearing a special shirt as part of the “shirt off my back” project, and I was being about as unsublte as it’s possible to be, short of coshing someone round ther head with a breezeblock.

This year is slightly different – I’m not going out of my way to publicise it, but nor am I going far out of my way to tell all about it either. It’s one of those things – I want to see who remembers it of their own accord. Needless to say, in a state of cynicism, I’m not expecting much.

So there we go. A fairly memorable date, particularly for people in the UK, and I’ll be interested to see who’s got it in their memories.

Well, it pays the rent

Oops – I knew there was something I’d forgotten to do. I need £450 in my pocket by the end of the day, so I can pay my rent on time. No worries – I’ve got the money in the bank account. Bollocks, I forgot the cheque book – that means I’ll have to use the cashpoint. Arse-wit. Still, not to worry, I’ve got the cashpoint card with me, so all’s well. Ah look, there’s a machine, and it’s even one owned by my own brand of banking fuck-heads.

You have £xxx.xx in your account. You can take out £450 today Excellent, that’s what I need, so that’s what I’ll ask for.
Your request cannot be fulfilled. This machine can only dispense a maximum of £400.00. Please retrieve your card.
So why the fuck do you say I can have more than that, you piece of everloving monkey spunk? Not even an “Is this OK?” option – just bang, can’t give you the cash you requested so fuck off, tonto. Luckily there’s no queue behind me, so I feed the card back in, go through the bullshit about what I can take out, and get £400 instead. No problem.

Off to the next one. Available cash : £50. Fine, I’ll have that too. No problem. So now I’ve got the rent to pay – hope the office is open by the time I get there tonight.

Equality for All

I must admit, today’s news that an umbrella ‘Equality for All’ body may be formed by the government comes as no surprise whatsoever.

About two years ago, I worked on a contract for the Equal Opportunities Commission, and also got involved with stuff for Disability Rights Commission and Commision for Racial Equality. It always struck me as slightly bizarre that there should be three organisations, all with their own little fiefdom of responsibility for some form of non-discrimination. Three seperate teams of people, three call-centres, and none of them would deal with the problems of another commission – so for example a black woman facing harrassment at work would have to deal with two completely different organisations in order to deal with both issues.

It makes a load more sense to put all of these commissions under one roof – and also hopefully expand into other areas of discrimination – even though Committee for Equality and Human Rights is a bit of a wanky title for such an organisation…

Down

Why is it that people assume that I’m capable of telepathically connecting with remote sites, and ascertaining any problems on a minimum of information?

By the way, the intranet webmail appears to have been down for the last three days. Any ideas?

Frankly, no. It’s been working for me. An extra dose of clarity with regard to “down” might help, some kind of idea of symptoms. If I could work properly and trouble-shoot from that level of information, i wouldn’t be doing this, I’d be winning the fucking lottery every week.

Ill

Ah, the sensuous splat of snot-laden tissue in metal bin. The hacking wrack of a decent lumpy cough. The voice that could double for “sexy Nadia” on 0898 thingummy whatsit. The throat that feels like I’ve been gargling with razor-blades and following it with a dollop of Scotch. The head that feels like someone’s repeatedly hit it with a sack.

It must be a cold, and it must be a good ‘un.

Excellent

Not all Monday mornings are bad. I’ve just come out of a meeting with the manager of the IT department, and they’ve decided to extend my contract ’til the start of April 2004. Yet more money for old rope. *Grin*

Yes, the job has it’s low points – what doesn’t? – but at the same time, I’m still sat here, writing stuff for d4d™, and getting paid for it. Not a bad way to be. An extra 18 weeks, and there’s still the chance of a further extension past then – this one just takes me to the end of the financial year.

Seasonally Affected

Down in the comments on Friday, Pinky asked “How do I know if I’ve got SAD?“

Basically, the following sums up how to tell :

• regularly occurring symptoms of depression (excessive eating and sleeping, weight gain) during the autumn or winter months.
• full remission from depression occur in the spring and summer months.
• symptoms have occurred in the past two years, with no nonseasonal depression episodes.
• seasonal episodes substantially outnumber nonseasonal depression episodes.
• a craving for sugary and/or starchy foods.

© NMHA’s advice on SAD

The SAD Association for the UK also has some helpful advice on symptoms and suggestions on how to help deal with it, although the site is bloody nasty.

And now that the fecking clocks have gone back (about which there may or may not be a mini-rant later) it’s only going to get worse – we’ll be going home in the dark, and soon the mornings will be back to being murky, then dark as well. And all topped off with the rigours of the Festering Season™ – what more could you really hope for?

Winter Time

Scaryduck reveals the other name for UTC, itself the successor name to GMT. Thanks scary, I laughed so hard I coughed.

Additions

God, one of these days I think I’ll need to undergo some therapy for impulse purchases. Going shopping with friends, we ended up in Marks and Spencer at one point. They’ve got their cuddly toys for the Festering Season™ in store – cows (ahem, Lori, they’ve got bigger versions of the one you have), monkeys and – God help me – a trio of meese/moose/mooses. Yes, Moose in three sizes. They had to be purchased. I’ll do photos of them later. I’m tempted to name them Scaramoose, Scaramoose, and Fandango. But that’s not confirmed yet.

Thursday

Sod – I forgot to put this online too, but Thursday night’s sunset was absolutely spectacular. Enjoy.

Customer service

Yes, last night was the infamous Lyle “Kill or Cure”™ method of curing the cold. However, the following conversation pretty much summed things up…

“Hiya, I’d like three treble Stoli Raspberry please”
“I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to serve triples”
“OK, can I have three double Stoli Raspberry on ice, please, and three singles?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”

Oh, and it doesn’t appear to have killed me, nor cured the cold.

Bugger.

SAD

Regular readers/viewers will have noticed that over the last couple of weeks d4d™ hasn’t been at it’s normal levels of dry brilliance, sarcasm and modesty. I’m not sure myself of quite everything that’s been going on, but a lot of it has been due to the joys of SAD, coupled with generally feeling crap. The cold bug that I’ve picked up is one that specialises in being anti-social, particularly with regard to not letting me sleep all that well. This week it’s felt like my lungs are trying to escape through my rib-cage.

But that’s not been the major contributor. That really has been the general “down” period as nights draw in. It’s hit me fairly hard, although not as badly as some other years. But it’s meant that in general I haven’t felt like writing much, and so I haven’t. Simple as that really. I will, however, be writing more on the subject soon.

Frosty

Sometimes a site comes to my attention that’s just so silly it’s excellent. Frostywelcome is one of those – remember making up messages from magnetic letters on fridge doors? This is the electronic equivalent – including buidling a snap and being able to send it to friends. Perfect silliness for a friday.

Blast from the Past

I was planning on writing a post tonight about depression, SAD, and a whole load of other things. However, I’m now not in the mood to do so – silly, isn’t it?

Instead, I’m actually smiling. I’ve just spent 90 minutes on the phone with a friend who I hadn’t spoken to in at least two years. About a year ago I wrote to her, letting her know new address and phone number etc., and left it at that – we’d had our ups and downs over the previous year, and so I left it up to her to make contact. It never happened, and I’d pretty much written it off, never expecting to hear from her again. Such is life.

But she called tonight – and it’s like the two years hasn’t happened. Straight back to stupid conversations, idiot jokes, and completely Sweary Mary phases. Absolutely excellent. We’ll be meeting up before long – she doesn’t live overly far away – and it’ll be good to see her again. But for now I’m just all smiley anyway. And after the last couple of weeks, that’s a good thing.

Winter on the Horizon

According to the BBC’s weather site, the temperature in Manchester today is going to be about 9°-10°C. OK, that’s not the same as some of the summer temperatures we’ve had, but nor is it sub-zero freeze-the-bollocks-off-a-brass-monkey weather. Even with the added wind-chill factor, Mr BrassMonkey is still going to be OK to father other little monkeys.

So why is it that everyone else seems to have decided it’s now officially winter, that it’s time for scarves, gloves, big thick winter coats, and anything short of walking around covered in buffalo hide? I’m sorry, but to me it’s just not that cold. Wandering through the town centre, looking at the people around me swaddled up against the “cold” like Smiffy from the Bash Street Kids, all I keep on finding myself wondering is just what these people will do when it actully does get cold?

Men just can’t help acting on it

As today’s been remarkably linkless, I thought I’d just say that the first man to go over Niagara Falls unprotected and survive is incredibly lucky. I wonder if he really did act on an impulse, or if there’s more to it?

Friends and family say he’d been planning the stunt for months, so it remains to be seen whether he’ll be found guilty of performing an illegal stunt. It was definitely a cunning stunt though. (with apologies to Dr Spooner)

Ouch

One day I’ll learn.

Note to self : While in the throes of a cold, it really fucking hurts to sneeze in the middle of a (muted) burp caused by fizzy drink. I’ll write more when my eyes have stopped watering.

Diary Blockage

I knew it was going to get confusing. Two friends, both of whom have their 30th birthdays within a week of each other. They were going to share a birthday do, and then it all got horribly complicated, so they decided not to. I no longer know if one knows that the other one is still having a birthday celebration – allbeit a smaller one than initially planned. And here’s where it gets confusing.

Chez Lyle (AKA the flop-house) is being used by one friend and her other guests as a sleeping place. That’s fine. The other friend is having a day with food and cinema. That’s fine too. Except they’re both on the same day. I need to organise myself so that I can say to the one with people staying “when are you arriving, because I’m busy during the day” without dropping anyone else in it about birthday things that either are being kept quiet, or are just chaotic. And of course the one with the daytime do is now away ’til Friday. Aaargh.

Thankfully, neither of them read d4d (to my knowledge) so I can blither aimlessly about it for now. I know I’ll figure it all out, but it’ll involve running round like a blue-arsed fly.

I think that for my next hobby I’m going to start pogo-sticking through minefields. It’s fun, and sounds safer and easier.

Yawning

Why is it that all meeting rooms have their heating turned up 10 degrees higher than anywhere else? It’s not enough to be stuck in a tedious yawn-inducing highly stimulating and informative meeting, but it has to be warm enough that it hits the cerebral snooze button too…

God only knows how I stayed awake through the last 90 minutes. It came so close to sleep that I feel quite grouchy and “woken-up” again now. I’m sure I’m not the only one.

Schadenfreude

I know, I know, some people are just born to be unlucky. And I’m sure I’ve observed on this some where in the past – but I can’t be bothered to look through the archives to check.

However, regardless of whether someone’s unlucky in life or not, it has to be said that it is still utterly hilarious to see someone who’s not paying attention, and watch them walk slap bang into a glass wall. I can’t help it – it’s just funny. The one today was even better – walking slap-bang into the glass pane of a motorised revolving door. Maybe she’d got her timing wrong, maybe she was just unlucky. She wasn’t hurt, just surprised and embarassed at looking like a prat. But it brightened my whole morning.

Bah, Humbug

Now there’s a date to miss. Manchester’s christmas lights will be turned on at 6pm on November 16th. By Brian Conley. Would it be unreasonable for me to start praying for a thunderstorm on that day? And ideally for Conley’s fashion adviser to recommend tinfoil hats as this season’s alternative to the umbrella?

Thankfully I’ll miss it – I’ll be travelling back from Reading on that day. But all the same, November the bloody 16th for Christmas lights. My festering season™ cup runneth over.

Blair in medical shocker

I suspect that, like me, more people were shocked to discover that doctors reckon President Blair actually has a heart than that he’d been admitted to hospital with an irregular heartbeat.

What are the chances?

According to the BBC, Princess Diana ‘feared a plot involving a car crash’. Fucking hell, if she was that prescient, you’d think she’d never have got into a car with a pissed driver and belted through Paris roads tunnels at high speed without thinking “Oooh, I’ve suddenly remembered this premonition I had where I might die in a car”.

I don’t use the word often, but Paul Burrell is a complete charlatan, and items like this “that he’s kept secret for ten years” just make me think of the Hitler diaries.

Absolute bollocks.

Groggy

Well, yesterday was definitely a Day of Sleep™. Unfortunately, the main side-effect of that much sleep is that today I feel absolutely abysmal. Curling up and dying has rarely seemed as attractive an option as it does today. Alternatively, I hear that a certain transparent bed is now available, so I might consider using that.

Other than that, the DNS service through BT Broadband has been giving me shite all weekend, so if it’s still up the creek when I get home, then – what a shocker – BT are going to get another snotty call. Of course, their ‘technical help’ pages amount to being as useful as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest, and won’t even tell the happy user which servers are up, down, or just plain fucked. I wonder if I can wangle it to just cancel the BT contract and go back to Zen.

Day of Sleep

This weekend has been driven by the need for sleep. Over the last few weeks, I haven’t been sleeping well, and coupled with a heavy dose of cold, it’s left me pretty drained. Thankfully this weekend was a quiet one anyway – my last free weekend ’til 2004, disturbingly enough. And so the body has taken over, and insisted on sleep. I feel groggy as hell, really not at all with it, but also a whole lot better for having regained some sleep.

Now all I need to do is work on the stuff I was planning to do this weekend, and catch up a bit. Joy. Oh, and remember to turn the alarms back on for tomorrow morning…

Good news

One of the best pieces of news so far this year concerning the Festering Season™ is that MPs are now saying that shops should stay closed on December 25th. Good – halle-fucking-lujah, in fact – there should be at least one day a year where the materialistic bastards are closed.

Small world

One strange thing (among many) last night was discovering that Lori actually hails from a place less than 20 miles from where I grew up. Strange, but true.

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems odd that people can meet up in a city 200 miles from their home towns, and have originated from the same area, yet neither one knew it. I’ve done it so many times now that I suppose I shouldn’t find it surprising any more, but I still do.

However, it’s my parents who (so far) have the prize for “small-world”isms. While visiting my brother in Finland, they also took a couple of days in Stockholm. Having walked around for a while, they sat on a bench, and were heard to be speaking English by a guy from – as it turned out – Nepal. He knew someone in England, and wondered what region they were from. When told “Oxfordshire“, he asked if they knew Thame – which is where they live. The man who was known by the Nepalese guy was my father’s doctor.

It’s times like that when you realise that the Gods occasionally just have a day off, kicking back and having a laugh.

4am revisited

Following on from yesterday’s post, no, I don’t know what it is that wakes me at 4am, other than the body clock going “time to be awake!”. It’s not the only time I wake up during the night, but it’s the only one that’s consistent.

It’s hard to explain – 4am is when my brain feels it’s right to wake up – it’s not a sudden waking on hearing a noise, it’s a full waking process. (yes, I’m being careful with my typing there…) In general I’m lucky to get an indisturbed hour of sleep anyway – the joys of being on an insomnia cycle of disturbed sleep, as opposed to not going to sleep, or waking up early – but the 4am thing is just weird because it’s not part of the “normal” (oh, how I laugh to describe it as such) part of my sleep pattern. Oh, and yes, it is a pain in the arse.

Neal Stephenson, Waterstone’s Deansgate, Manchester

I’ve been a reader of Neal Stephenson’s books since ’94, when “Snow Crash” was released on an unsuspecting audience, hooked on a novel involving hacking, a close future, neurolinguistics and – um – Ancient Sumerian legends. Just my kind of book, really. After that, “Diamond Age” covered manners, 23rd century Victoriana, mediatronic paper, communications and a cracking story. There’ve been forays off into the fixing of Presidential Elections (“Interface“, and Iraqi bioweapons being produced in Iowa (“Cobweb“), and then the last biggie ’til now, “Cryptonomicon, concerning cyphers and codes, Alan Turing, the Enigma Machine, data havens, and 21st century business practices.

Now, three years later, Stephenson’s released “Quicksilver“, the first of his “Baroque cycle” trilogy, all prequels to Cryptonomicon. Well, dynastically linked to Cryptonomicon, if not actual prequels. As part of the “promotion” of this, he was in Manchester last night doing a reading and signing. (Guess what I’ll be reading this weekend? *Grin*)

Readings are a difficult thing to write about really – they’re pretty much how they sound. It’s interesting to get the author’s voice, the intonation to their words, and while some are good readers, others are abysmal. (William Gibson is one who’s awful at doing readings) Neal Stephenson’s somewhere in the middle – he seemed uncomfortable in the suit he’d chosen to wear, and was quite fidgetty. When I saw him last time, doing a similar event for Cryptonomicon, he was in jeans, boots, and shirt – and far more comfortable and relaxed. Some people just don’t seem to be designed to wear suits (whereas others appear to be born in them) and Neal’s one of them.

All the same, it was good to see him, interesting to hear the answers to some of the questions asked by the audience, and (of course) get the new book signed as well. Considering that the event cost £3, and if you buy the book at the event you get £3 knocked off it, it was good value, and an enjoyable 90 minutes or so.

4am Eternal

I don’t know why, but over the last three weeks my body has decided that I need to be woken up. At 4am. Every day. Without fail.

I’ve no idea why 4am is so important, because there’s naff all happening at that time, except for the sounds of pigeons farting across the road. Yes, pigeons fart – and snore. The fuckers.

Fortunately, the insomnia isn’t quite in full effect at the moment, and I manage to get to sleep after about fifteen to thirty minutes. But it’s still enough to stuff up the sleep I was getting, and leaves my eyes looking like they belong to a sleepwalking raccoon. Hopefully I’ll be able to batter my body-clock into submission sometime soon, because this 4am waking is beginning to annoy me now…

Time flies like an arrow
Fruit flies like bananas

Well, time has flown past, and the Manchester Blogmeet is still on for tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow – it doesn’t seem like a fortnight ago that it was two weeks ’til the meet. (I’ll let you lot work that one out)

And yes, fluffy toys are still a requirement – well, for the first few, so we know where we all are. It’s not completely confirmed yet (in other words I haven’t decided) but I suspect that the moose of choice for me will be Scrooge Moose, as per the mug-shot to the right. And yes, he does still play “rudolph the red-nosed reindeer” (so far), mainly because I haven’t been arsed to open the little sod up and re-record his voice chip.

“Ho fucking Ho” is current favourite. Any other suggestions gratefully received.

Morning Glory

The first thing I saw when I opened the curtains this morning was this set of glorious sky colours. Not a bad way to wake up…

Quiet

I don’t know why, but the last couple of days I’ve just not really been in the mood for writing much. I’m hoping it’s related to feeling crap, and that normal service will be restored as soon as possible.

For now though, I’m off to bed. G’night.

Snotty no more

Thank the lord for that – finally after two weeks of snottyness, the cold appears to have admitted defeat and naffed off back into the ether. Also, the lab-beagle cough from yesterday is an abeyance, so I generally feel much better.

I’d also like to point out that Strepsils are absolutely fuck-all use for anything except practice hockey-pucks for midgets.

Bigotry

Travelling home tonight, the seat in front of me was occupied by two people who I can only assume had been kicked out of the KKK for being too right-wing. The outright bigotry and bile spilling from the seat in front was vile – anyone walking past was fair game, anyone getting on the bus was equally fair game.

The bus stopped beside an inter-racial couple, doing absolutely nothing to anyone. Simply being together. Yet they attracted a stream of muttered invective – luckily they were outside, and couldfn’t hear it.

What’s the deal with things like that? While there are still bigoted cunts like that about, really, what hope is there for an integrated society?

Wooooaaaaahhhhh, Geek Out!

For those of you not entirely braindead about news of Matrix:Revolutions yet – it will be premiered on IMAX screens on Nov 5th in London and Bradford (at the bottom of the page), as well as normal screens worldwide.

Second

Well, the results are in over at MBIAT, and yours truly came in second. Ah well – I’m glad Peter won – he deserves it far more than I. In fact, out of the two, I voted for Naked Blog. How’s that for sporting? *Grin*

Introspection

Ah, normal service will be restored today. A weekend of travelling the arse-end of nowhere© (AKA North Wales) where GSM’s barely been heard of, let alone GPRS, or broadband. Couple that with plenty of introspection time following on from that piece in TD, and it all led to a desire for down-time.

During the next week there’s also seeing Neal Stephenson doing a reading/signing from Quicksilver, and the Mancunian Blog-meet (Still at the Fab Cafe, to my knowledge) on Thursday.

The days are just packed.

Legally Sane

I’d managed to miss this story ’til it was pointed out over on Greenfairy, but those wonderful caring people at the US Supreme court have decided that it’s OK to force convicted murderers with severe mental health problems to take medication that makes them legally sane, and thus executable.

To me, that’s just fucking disgraceful. As if it wasn’t cruel and unusual punishment to incarcerate someone in conditions where they slowly go insane (the case in point, Charles Singleton, has deteriorated to such a state that he believes his victim is still alive, that authorities had placed a device in his ear, and that the jail cell was under the control of demons) it’s now legal to drug them back into “sanity” just to kill ’em.

I’ve never been a particular advocate of capital punishment, and even less of the death penalty, but America seems happy to take these things to ever increasing lengths, and to hell with costs and damage to the Bill of Rights.

Keff

Ok, “normal” service is being resumed. For today at least. I would also, just for the record, like to thank Anna of Little Red Boat for being the main cause of my adopting the word “keff” as an alternative to various other epithets, including “fuck”, “bugger” and “cunt”. Keff is the d4d™ equivalent of Scary‘s “Twunt!” (and that mug is going to be great in the office) – and of course sometimes there’s nowt better than calling someone a Keffing Twunt.

Announcement

Missing.

One will to live. It’s been under a bit of stress lately, and the final straw appears to have been the resizing/cropping and editing of 500 images.

If found, please return to Lyle, c/o d4d™.

Thanks.

UPDATE : Gordon found it

Sweary Mode in 5.. 4.. 3..

According to Vodkabird, this week is National Customer Satisfaction Week. You’d never guess it, if you had to deal with B Keffing T. (Yes, it’s another in that series…).

The brief precis of what’s happened.

  A week ago Monday, BT were supposed to connect me back on to ADSL after three weeks on two baked bean tins and a length of string a 56k dial-up. The ADSL modem’s sat on the shelf, powered up, waiting to be connected. And waiting. And waiting. The connection doesn’t happen. So I ring BT, and try to find out what’s happening.

“It’s connected. We’ve got it on the system that it was connected and completed.”
“Guess again. The modem’s ADSL light is flashing, saying it can’t find ADSL at all“
“Oh. Ah – our system says you ordered the connection, then cancelled it again. So it’s on the system as completed.“
“Eh?“

Turns out that (hold me before I collapse in shock) their system can’t handle a request to change suppliers – which is what I was doing. If I’d stayed with the same supplier, allegedly it would’ve been easy. Anyway, Tuesday passes, still no connection. Wednesday ditto, although of course it was the day of THAT call. After that I was so furious I left it ’til Saturday, when I had all morning to fulminate, if necessary.

Saturday

90 minutes of talking to BT retards, who can only follow a script through the problem. Highlights…

“Well, our system says you’re connected, and were connected on Wednesday“
“Trust me, it’s not. I’ve tried it on three different ADSL modems, on two different PCs, and none of them are finding ADSL“
“Well, our system says it’s connected“
“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr“
…
“Have you checked your ADSL connection at a friend’s house?”
“Um, how the *pause* will that tell you whether the connection at my house is keffed?“
“I don’t know. It’s just another step on the script I’ve got to go through before we can report it as a fault“
“Ok then, <lie>Yes, I’ve taken it round to a friends, and the ADSL works there</lie>“
…
“Well, we’ve been through all of my script, there’s nothing else, you’ll have to call our technical faults people and see what they say.“
“Naff off, I’m on this call, and I’m not letting it release until this problem is sorted. Let me speak to your supervisor. Now, please“
3 minutes later
“Ok, sir, we’ll put you through to Technical Faults, and stay on the line so we can hear what’s being said“
“Fine“
“Technical faults. [5 minute blah repeating the problem] Oh yes, our system’s saying you’re not connected.
*first customer services person*”What? Our system says it’s connected.”
“Nope, definitely not been done.”
*first customer services person*”Oh. Shit“

Two hours later it was connected.

Last night

Finally, perfection in action.

(on answerphone)
“Hello, Mr Lyle, this is BT Broadband Faults Department. We’re calling to see if you still have a fault on your line”

Is it me, or shouldn’t it be them that know if there’s a fault on my bloody line?

As pointed out by Peter, you’re right, this isn’t actually a very sweary post. I never got to the point of exploding at them – purely and simply because the poor gonk I was on the phone to would’ve simply curled up and cried, and would’ve done chuff all else of use. When it comes to B Focking T, I want to curse and use lots of interesting words and spur-of-the-moment offensive expressions, but at the same time I don’t necessarily want it to be like Tourettes for Dummies. Well, not all the time, anyway. *Grin*

Once Upon A Time In Mexico

Robert Rodriguez directing the last in his El Mariachi trilogy, “Once upon a time in Mexico” – how could I resist? Antonio Banderas reprising his role, along with Jonny Depp, Willem Dafoe, Mickey Rourke, and Danny Trejo, as well as the potential for Enrique Iglesias to do a Jon Bon Jovi and get shot before the end of the film. Unmissable.

And yes, it’s enjoyable. Thoroughly enjoyable. Not quite as slammed together as it’s predecessors, ’92’s El Mariachi and ’95’s Desperado, but still majorly fun. Jonny Depp appears to be undergoing a real renaissance, which is definitely no bad thing as far as I’m concerned. Willem Dafoe has still cornered the market in looking evil and being bad. Mickey Rourke is impressive – to my eyes he looks one hell of a lot better than he used to in the 80s – although I acknowledge I’ve got lousy taste and still love “Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man” – he’s looking more relaxed and, well, lived in. I’ve no idea what Danny Trejo did in his life before acting, but god, he’s got some scars – and I love seeing him on film.

So all in all, even without the rest of it, we’re talking about a film full of eye-candy. There’s a story-line of sorts, there’s plenty of set-pieces, and it’s just utterly fun. More double-crosses than a Mission:Improbable film, and visually stylish as hell. Totally enjoyable – just don’t expect high-art, or anything with the same excesses as Desperado. It’s a more introspective film, with a brain and a heart – it’s got passion, rather than testosterone. And fair play to it in that respect – it would’ve been far easier to simply make Desperado 3, but that hasn’t been done. Well worth seeing.

Not quite taking the piss

On a completely non-blog-related subject, I’ve just had to laugh at the news about Linda Robson has apparently been mugged for – um – her dog shit. Priceless.

Manifesto

Fark – I’ve no idea what would go on this. In relation to Zoe’s popularity contest, it appears that Peter has already written his manifesto. Apparently I need to write one too. OK – here goes…

• All umbrella owners/users must have a certificate of proficiency before opening the bastards. Anyone who uses one without a licence should expect to have it shoved up their arse. And then opened.
• Anyone who walks past wittering inanities should expect to be punched. This is not assault, it is justified. Particularly heavy beatings will be permissible upon expressions such as “Smile, it might never happen”, “that Diet Coke’s bad for you, you know” (Yeah, and so is being a fucktard. *Boot*)
• Before typing text messages into phones while on the move, people should first learn to walk in straight lines, and be aware of the people around them.
• Public transport should be made efficient, cost-effective (for the user, not for the shareholder), and run on time.
• Prime Ministers and all high levels of UK government should be forced to spend at least one week a month in public stocks and pillories. Rotten eggs and vegetables will be supplied at no extra cost.

and the absolute winner…

• Christmas gubbins should only be allowed onto shop shelves etc. from December 1st until December 26th. No other times are acceptable. If you want to make it a shorter timespan, that’s even better – but no longer than the 26 days.

Popularity

Oh dear lord. As if it wasn’t enough stress this week to be guest-blogging and thinking up stuff for two sites (as well as helping qB fix the site when she buggers it up with naffing tables!), now that evil Belgian wench Zoe (My Boyfriend Is A Twat) has put me head-to-head against Peter (Naked Blog) in this week’s edition of her current blogger popularity contest. At this rate I’ll be a wreck by Sunday.

Still, at least the hits are ramping up again. Not that I’m some log-checking hits-whore at all. Oh no. Content is king here, honest. No, really, it is.

And at least it wasn’t me who whacked a giant golden knob onto Mike’s site. *Sigh* Some people, no sense of propriety.

Governator

So, we now have Governor Schwarzenegger. Great. I’m not sure how I feel about it – I wonder whether we’ll see him now standing in the next Presidential elections. Even then, I don’t think it can be any worse to have an actor in the White House, now they’ve had a horse’s arse for a few years.

Kindness of Strangers

Ah, there’s always one thing I forget to change address on. Luckily, that’s what mail redirections are for. Many thanks to Gordon for the surprise package of Gaiman and McKean’s “Signal to Noise“. Utterly unexpected, and hugely appreciated.

Moose!

Yes, the new moose (unofficially already named Scrooge – and yes, he’s a reindeer instead of a moose, but he’s receiving identity counselling now) did get purchased yesterday. It was just irresistable. The batteries have been removed (I can’t stick too many renditions of Rudolph the red-nosed bastard reindeer) so I’m happier now. I still want him to be reprogrammed with “Bah Humbug” or similar, but we’ll see.

Pictures of the complete collection are available here – and yes, I do need to get out more.

*fanfare*100,000

As predicted, the 100,000th page impression happened on Sunday (and yes, I forgot to do the logfile upload on Monday) – not bad for less than 14 months.

Broadband/wireless Gubbins.

OK, if you’re not into techie stuff, just look away now. There’s a slightly funny observation about Ian Duncan-Smith on the next post down, so just skip this one.

There, that’s the non-geeks sorted. For anyone else who’s interested (this means you, Gordon), the new ADSL modem and wireless networking gubbins are now all in place. The router is a job by Netgear, and the wireless gear is all by Belkin – wireless laptop card, PCI card for the main PC, and ethernet/wireless switch with 4 Ethernet ports. It’s 802.11g (the 54Mbps version) and works nicely, even when I’m also using the digital cordless phone.

As it is, the Netgear router does most of the firewall duties, as well as the IP address translation. Should anyone try hacking through it, both PC and laptop also have their own personal firewalls, and the wireless point between them has encryption built in and working too. I’m never going to say it’ll never be hacked or anything, but if it is then the little darlings will have had to work for their fun. The wireless gear’s lovely – I’ve halved the number of cables drifting around the floor, which is always a good thing. There’s no ethernet cable hanging around – the ADSL routes straight to the wireless network, which then connects with both PC and laptop. I’m much happier – and the hazard of tripping over stuff at night is much lessened.

Perfection

Sometimes I can say no more than what’s been given me. It would just ruin it. The Guardian managed one today…

Kosheen – Manchester Academy

Ooops. What with everything else that was happening yesterday, wireless network, bookcases etc. (of which more later) I completely forgot to do a quick write-up of Kosheen’s concert in Manchester on Saturday. Mea culpa. So…

Looking at the stage-set, we could see something wasn’t normal. Then it clicked – the drum riser was encased in what appeared to be a soundproof box, similar to in a recording studio. Ok… Might be interesting.

The support act hadn’t been advertised anywhere, and I’d never heard of them anyway when it was revealed that they were called Lockdown Project. However, they’re now definite additions to the “keep an eye open for” list – they were bloody good. My first feeling about them was that they were very much what the Streets should have been. “Urban” style, with a healthy dollop of ska-style sound, and acoustic guitar – very different to what I’d expected, and well worth seeing.

Kosheen, on the other hand, I’m still undecided about. They played pretty much everything they’ve recorded, and it was fantastic to see it done with a proper drummer instead of a bastard drum-machine. Regardless of what anyone says, live drums are an immense improvement on automated shite. But there was still something missing. Yes, it was a good concert, and they were excellent on stage – but somewhere in the middle I found most of the music kind of merged into one sound, tracks becoming virtually indistinguishable from each other. I’ve liked both albums they’ve released, and it was good to hear the crowd-pleasers and so on being performed – but somewhere along the line there’s just needs to be some variety.

Oh, and that soundproof box? Turned out it wasn’t soundproof – but needed to be drumstick proof. More than slightly manic – particularly when he was needing to do some serious work in order to keep up with a drum-machine generated original – and yet he managed fine each time. However, it looked like there was some experience of drumsticks making a connection with other members of the band, hence the protection. Bless.

 
 

Responsibility

Yes, it’s true. As well as writing all my normal bull for d4d™, this week I’m also one of Mike’s first guest bloggers at Troubled Diva. One whole week of coming up with stuff for both sites – talk about stress! *Grin*

Oh, and there’s likely to be (yet) another addition to the moose/reindeer collection by the end of the day. I saw it first thing this morning, and it needs to be done. A signing moving reindeer, that apparently sings “Rudolph”. I suspect the batteries for it may have an “accident”, and I may feel the need to hack the voice recording – the idea of a scrooge Reindeer really appeals, for some surreal reason.

Fark

Oops – when moving, make sure you keep all discs of drivers and so on in a safe place. I thought I had, but the gubbins for the wireless networking router appears to be AWOL. Joy. Downloading all the drivers etc. – still, it’ll be good when it’s all done.

At Fucking Last

Finally, after another hours call which ended in deep sarcasm and epic apologies from the fucktard script-following bint with less clue than an amnesiac crossword compiler, I’m finally back on ADSL. Wooo me.

Next step – wireless networking. But for now, I’m off to see Kosheen in concert. So there.

Another Note to Self

Following a night with friends, when coming down the next morning and grabbing the glass of “coke” that’s on the desk, it’s best to remember it also had vodka in it BEFORE draining the glass in one. It’s quite a shock to the system, shall we say?

100,000 (part 2)

That 100,000th page impression is just round the corner. 98,567 is the current total (well, the total at the end of yesterday), and yesterday on it’s own had just under 900 page impressions. So I reckon that by Sunday we’ll be well over the 100,000. Not a bad achievement at all…

Poor old sod

According to the BBC, Catholics around the world are preparing for the death of the Pope. He’s been getting steadily worse this year – personally, I kind of doubt he’ll make it into 2004, but he’s a tenacious old sod, so who knows.

I find it amazing that he’s been Pope now for 25 years – quarter of a century in a role like that would be enough to exhaust anyone. Technically, he could resign (I didn’t know this, but apparently it’s true) although it’d be pretty radical, as the last pope to resign was Celestine V in 1294. However, his view is that God gave him the job, God’ll take it away. To me, that’s a sign of the commitment that this Pope has always shown – despite my (much-publicised) dislike of organised religion in general, and Catholics in particular (not through sectarian reasons, but simply through personal experiences of Catholicism in all it’s “glory”) I think that he’s done an immense amount, both for Catholicism and Christianity. When he finally does pop his clogs, John Paul II is going to be a hard act to follow.

Oops

Oh, what a clumsy twat I am – I appear to have deleted my invite/confirmation for going to my work’s office Christmas Lunch. Alas, Alack, and Woe is me. How shall I live down this terrible trauma to my social life?

*Grin*

Mancunian Blogmeet thingy

Completely forgot to say, due to majorly sweary day – Lori has pretty much agreed that Thursday 16th October, 8pm at the Fab Cafe is going to be the time/date/venue. Anyone with comments can leave ’em here, or on her post for 25th September (Permalinks are, of course, keffed to within an inch of their life)

Bring a soft toy, so you can be recognised…

Or Not

Proof Positive that spammers don’t know me – or that they really crave attention of the vilest sort. I’ve just received a spam from “Kris Kringle” (American for Father Christmas/ Santa Claus/ that fat jolly bearded old cunt in the red suit) about “the hottest Christmas toy of 2003”. So hot, it’ll probably burn it’s way right onto the “most nicked pre-Christmas item” list.

Aaaaaaand Relax.

Ok, the Prince of Profanity (© Gordon Something) has been popped back into his room with the nice soft padded walls. It seems like in some cases quality (or indeed obscenity) is better than quantity – with three posts all day. yesterday was one of the busiest days on d4d™.

Of course, links from Gert, Gordon, Chasing Daisy as well as an apparent listing on Blogshares all helped. And never let it be said I’m behind the times, when it comes to mentioning Blogshares now. *Grin*

Anyway, today’s looking slightly improved – I got some sleep, and my brain’s not quite into Tourette’s mode. (<Tangent> Is it Tourettes or Tourette’s? I have no idea – I’m going on the theory that it’s the syndrome discovered by Tourette, hence the apostrophe.</Tangent>) Then again, I’ve still got to figure out the hacks needed for that putrid gangrenous swampdonkey known as IE, so there may just end up being another sweary post later.

Internet Exploder

One of these days, I want to meet that tosspot who implemented CSS rendering within Internet Explorer. I’d like to shake the fucker warmly by the throat, then proceed to give them a major kicking.

My day today has consisted of a task that took ten minutes at most to cover Netscape, Mozilla, Opera, Gecko in general, and any other graphical browser (i.e. non-text-only) on the planet. Except one. Fucking wanky bollock-sucking knob-jockey IE, and it’s rancid festering scumlicking minions. All that’s required was a simple bar across the top of the page that stays there while the graphic scrolls underneath it. Piece of piss in everything else – you just give it a “position:fixed;” property in the CSS. Bingo, job bloody well done.

Except of course for the shit-shifting piece of toss we know and love as IE. It doesn’t even fucking recognise the position:fixed attribute, let alone render the cunt properly. Instead you’ve got to go round the houses, hacking the shit out of CSS in order to make IE read bits that all the other browsers don’t fucking need. And the furtling spunk-monkey still doesn’t pissing well bastard work.

Yes, it’s been a stunning day. Thanks for fucking asking.

Bollocky Bastards

I’m so glad I don’t know where the BT Broadband office is. The supercilious fucktard I’ve just spoken to would be in receipt of a kick in the head if I did.

“According to our system, your ADSL was installed today“
“So why wasn’t it done on Monday, when it was arranged for?”
<supercilious smartarse sarcasm>
  “Well, obviously there was a pause put on it on the system somewhere“
</supercilious smartarse sarcasm>
“Well, would it be beyond your obvious charm and exceptional customer service skills to inform me why there was a pause within the system, and why your people couldn’t inform me of this prior to the installation date?”
“I refuse to be spoken to like that. Goodbye. “*Click*

Fucking little wankstick cunt. I’m going to leave it ’til I get home – that way I can swear properly while on hold. For now, it’s time to figure out what’ll bring my mood down to slightly less incandescent. Working on problems with IE’s handling of CSS isn’t helping either. Piece of hairy-arsed monkey-buggering shite that it is.

Ug.

Sparkling wit and scintillating conversation are not likely to be my forté today, I’m afraid. Last night insomnia reared it’s ugly head for the first time in a while, and as a result I’ve had a truly shit night. Time will tell, but I’ve a nagging suspicion that I may not update a lot today. Then again, I may do- it’s in the hands of the Gods for the moment.

You have been warned.