Modern Communications

Sometimes words fail me. I’ve just received a call from someone in another department, telling me they’ve sent me an email. It’s not the first time either – this is a weekly process, a document that gets changed every Friday. Every week I get an email of the document, which goes up onto the intranet. Every week this moron calls me to tell me she’s sent it. No matter how many times I tell her I don’t need a call, come the next Friday she still calls.

Now, call me picky, but if you’re going to send an email, just send it. There’ll be a bounced message to say if there’s a problem with it. I don’t need a fucking phone call to back it up.

Gimp

Since writing the piece below about SAD and how hard it’s hit me, something suddenly occurred to me. When I moved in September, I didn’t take my daylight-imitating lightbulbs with me. Well, that’s some kind of proof that they work, I suppose. What a complete twat.

Ups and Downs

I wish we could get some dotty old whackjob to invent a time machine. It might allow days like today to draw out a bit so I’m not utterly swamped with stuff. It might also allow the next month or so to disappear into the past without affecting me quite so much on the SAD front.

On the high points of today, I’ve finally finished a big dollop of work in PHP. Considering that six months ago I knew PHP in the same way that I know the ins and outs of local morris-dancing customs in Mongolia, I’m quite ridiculously chuffed with myself. Yes, I’m sure a hardened PHP coder would look at it and wimper, but my concerns were that a) it works, and b) it’s easy to use. Both criteria have been well and truly fulfilled, and I’ve got a load more confidence in the stuff now. Of course, that means that it’s time to get Projects #2 and #3 off the ground, which are rather more complicated. Rod for my own back, and all that jazz.

Also on the high points, I’ve been getting in some new work, which will keep me busy for a while. There’s also a couple more bits on the horizon (although not – as yet – the website for that “web designer” talked about below) which look promising, as well as one huge dollop of on-spec work which may or may not result in a steady regular income.

On the low side, well, it’s December. The SAD is hitting harder and harder, but at the same time I know it’s nearly time for the recession to start. In eleven day’s time, to be exact. Roll on the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Once that’s done, the nights can start getting shorter again – and not a moment too soon, because this bollocks of getting up while it’s still dark, and then coming home while it’s dark too is really whacking me out this year.

So, this time machine. Any ideas?

Oh Dearie-Me

Sorry, Pogo, couldn’t resist the title. As the observant may have noticed, I’ve taken Dearie-Me off the Blogroll, because some cunt called Max Cady has hijacked a decent blog in order to host his own sack of shit. No links, because he doesn’t deserve them.

Hopefully, Pogo’ll have a new address as soon as poss, and can work from there. The link will be on here when he does.

It’s a Question of Tact

Hard as it may be to believe from d4d™’s appearance sometimes, but as most people know, I do a fair amount of website work, databases and the like. Yesterday, one of my clients forwarded an email from a “website designer” who had written to them on spec.

This dweeb is creating sites that don’t work on half the browsers, can’t even do simple tasks like remembering background colours for the page, aren’t standards compliant, and – frankly – look shit. For these, he’s charging £450.

His own homepage, supposedly an advert for how great he is, consists of exactly one page, with in-page links to different sections. It’s bollocks in it’s purest form – and as yet I haven’t decided whether I should put the link here, because people would only ridicule pity him – although in that context (along with piss-poor english) it’s quite funny.

Now, the question is this : Do I reply to his email, and offer to design his site for him so that it at least works? Or should I stay quiet, and simply up my rates? *Grin*

Sack of Shite

For currently unknown reasons, Blogger’s been an absolute cunt today. Hopefully we’re now back to situation “normal”. But come January, when (*please GOD*) things are slightly calmer and less socially intense chez Lyle then I’m going to be cursing installing MT.

Spearhead – Manchester Academy 2

I didn’t really know what to expect from the Spearhead concert, to be honest. I’ve been a fan of Michael Franti’s for years, right back to the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, and then also when he formed Spearhead. Most of their music is very political and intelligent rap/hiphop, so that was kind of what I was expecting, if I could be said to have any real expectations at all.

First semi-surprise comes when it turns out that a good 99% of the audience is white – OK, we’re in a Student Union Environment, but considering their material, it still came as a small surprise. Noticeable, if nothing else.

The support act was a very strange – and incredibly talented – single performer. Initially I wasn’t that impressed, but – like herpes – he grem on me. I’m hoping that Peter from Sapientum can remember the bugger’s name, because I can’t. Something like Kelley Williams, but that’s not bringing up any valid results on Google.

Spearhead themselves were obviously determined to have a good time. Bouncing all round the stage, bringing a true party feel to the crowd. Franti himself towered above the audience – helped by the stage, obviously, but he’s no shorty anyway – and quite obviously just loves being on stage, and performing his music. Well – his own music, and also Soft Cell’s Tainted Love, the Clash’s Guns of Brixton, and even Harry Belafonte’s Banana Boat Song (Hey Mr Tally Man). The supporting voice of Radio Activ, the “beatbox” was stunning – some of his solo performances were nothing short of stunning.

In conclusion, Spearhead managed to get all their political points across in a pectacular fashion that managed the clever trick of not sounding like preaching – it was a party with meaning.