Tuesday, August 31, 2004
How does the Internet work?
I think it works by suction.
When you click on a website - for example, someone's blog - it creates a vacuum somewhere in cyberspace and the internet 'sucks' the website or the blog ALL the way up the line to your computer through some kind of pipe. It works by air or hydraulics or something, I don't know. It could even be magnetism.
Then, when you click on comments, the internet once again sucks comments ALL the way up the pipe by the same process and opens all the comments. (Or no comments if nobody reads your blog.)
Sometimes my computer will open a website but it just doesn't have enough suction to suck comments up the line. (You have to understand, if you're in a far country, the internet has to suck a lot harder.)
That's when I have to turn my computer off.
I hate it when the internet runs out of breath.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
When you click on a website - for example, someone's blog - it creates a vacuum somewhere in cyberspace and the internet 'sucks' the website or the blog ALL the way up the line to your computer through some kind of pipe. It works by air or hydraulics or something, I don't know. It could even be magnetism.
Then, when you click on comments, the internet once again sucks comments ALL the way up the pipe by the same process and opens all the comments. (Or no comments if nobody reads your blog.)
Sometimes my computer will open a website but it just doesn't have enough suction to suck comments up the line. (You have to understand, if you're in a far country, the internet has to suck a lot harder.)
That's when I have to turn my computer off.
I hate it when the internet runs out of breath.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Suddenly 80.
A business executive hits 63 and retires with major regrets. He wishes he had divorced his wife at 46, bought that sportscar and taken off with his secretary to leave his boring life behind.
Now it's his retirement day and he's been given a gold watch (like that's any good, the first time in his life he doesn't need to take notice of the time and they give him a freakin' watch).
Depressed, he goes into the photocopy room towards 5 o'clock and climbs into the stationery storage cupboard. He shuts his eyes and makes a wish to be 46 again while sprinkling himself with magic dust from the spare photocopy ink cartridge.
When he wakes up, he is aged 80 and in a nursing home.
STUPID MAN! He was supposed to wish for something GOOD but, instead, wished for something BAD.
So the photocopy ink dust fairies PUNISHED him by ADDING seventeen years to his life instead of SUBTRACTING them.
Then he tries to remember his past life but he can't.
YOU KNOW WHY?
Because now he has Alzheimer's.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Now it's his retirement day and he's been given a gold watch (like that's any good, the first time in his life he doesn't need to take notice of the time and they give him a freakin' watch).
Depressed, he goes into the photocopy room towards 5 o'clock and climbs into the stationery storage cupboard. He shuts his eyes and makes a wish to be 46 again while sprinkling himself with magic dust from the spare photocopy ink cartridge.
When he wakes up, he is aged 80 and in a nursing home.
STUPID MAN! He was supposed to wish for something GOOD but, instead, wished for something BAD.
So the photocopy ink dust fairies PUNISHED him by ADDING seventeen years to his life instead of SUBTRACTING them.
Then he tries to remember his past life but he can't.
YOU KNOW WHY?
Because now he has Alzheimer's.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Suddenly 30.
I saw the movie.
Woman hits thirty and realises she is a first class cheatin', connivin' bitch. She goes home to mum and dad, climbs into the broom closet, shuts her eyes and wishes she could be thirteen again and start over.
GUESS WHAT!
IT WORKED!
I must try it sometime. Now, where's that broom closet?
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Woman hits thirty and realises she is a first class cheatin', connivin' bitch. She goes home to mum and dad, climbs into the broom closet, shuts her eyes and wishes she could be thirteen again and start over.
GUESS WHAT!
IT WORKED!
I must try it sometime. Now, where's that broom closet?
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Thursday, August 26, 2004
How high do flies fly?
'Cos I'm on the 48th floor of a building and a fly just landed on the outside of the window.
(What am I doing on the 48th floor of a building? Staring out the window, of course, what else would you do in a building that tall, work? Don't be silly. I couldn't work at that height, there's no oxygen up here.)
And don't nobody reply saying they saw a fly on their a solo ascent of Mt Everest, OK?
I want my fly to be the highest.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
(What am I doing on the 48th floor of a building? Staring out the window, of course, what else would you do in a building that tall, work? Don't be silly. I couldn't work at that height, there's no oxygen up here.)
And don't nobody reply saying they saw a fly on their a solo ascent of Mt Everest, OK?
I want my fly to be the highest.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
The soap pump-pack.
It's sitting there right by the sink in the kitchen at the place where I work (well, the place I go to during daylight hours, I don't actually do much work).
The label on the pump-pack lists a bunch of 'herbal' ingredients and has the word 'aromatherapy' over the ingredient list.
Under the soap brand name in large letters is 'anti-stress'.
You know what that is?
Baloney.
Excuse me, I'm stressed, I have to go and wash my hands with some anti-stress soap out of a pump-pack made of petrochemical-derived plastic.
Baloney.
If you're stressed out, washing your hands is NOT GOING TO HELP.
As for aromatherapy, what a crock.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
The label on the pump-pack lists a bunch of 'herbal' ingredients and has the word 'aromatherapy' over the ingredient list.
Under the soap brand name in large letters is 'anti-stress'.
You know what that is?
Baloney.
Excuse me, I'm stressed, I have to go and wash my hands with some anti-stress soap out of a pump-pack made of petrochemical-derived plastic.
Baloney.
If you're stressed out, washing your hands is NOT GOING TO HELP.
As for aromatherapy, what a crock.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
El Guerrouj's tears of joy.
The sweetest sound of the Athens Olympics.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Sunday, August 22, 2004
How much would you pay for a T-shirt?
When I go for a walk, I often visit the shops.
Lately I've been noticing that the prices of fashionable (i.e, ripped or with slogans or graphics printed on them) T-shirts have been rising sharply.
Last week, I saw one with a price tag that broke the hundred dollar barrier.
We're talking T-shirts, right?
Today, I walked through the department store. There was a rack of brightly coloured T-shirts. I checked the tag on one of them.
$349.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Lately I've been noticing that the prices of fashionable (i.e, ripped or with slogans or graphics printed on them) T-shirts have been rising sharply.
Last week, I saw one with a price tag that broke the hundred dollar barrier.
We're talking T-shirts, right?
Today, I walked through the department store. There was a rack of brightly coloured T-shirts. I checked the tag on one of them.
$349.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Thursday, August 19, 2004
The north wind.
The north wind does things to me.
On a summer day, a northerly stimulates and excites me. I don't know why but I feel more alive when a northerly is blowing.
I believe sprites and imps from the dead centre ride the north wind and cause the excitement and sometimes, trouble. Occasionally, a northerly will throw dirt in your face and fill your pockets with red sand. Then it will make you sweat and the dirt will streak on your face. If there's a bushfire somewhere, it will blow burned gum leaves hundreds of miles and dump them on your doorstep.
But it is not summer now. And the northerly blew at night. It soughed and sighed and blew and ranted and banged and then sighed again.
So the imps and sprites kept waking me.
I was in and out of slumber all night with all manner of fractured dreams. I can't remember them right now because of the interrupting, shrieking sprites.
In the morning, the wind was gone but the clothes on the washing line in the back yard were bone dry. That rarely happens in winter.
Good clothes-drying sprites!
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
On a summer day, a northerly stimulates and excites me. I don't know why but I feel more alive when a northerly is blowing.
I believe sprites and imps from the dead centre ride the north wind and cause the excitement and sometimes, trouble. Occasionally, a northerly will throw dirt in your face and fill your pockets with red sand. Then it will make you sweat and the dirt will streak on your face. If there's a bushfire somewhere, it will blow burned gum leaves hundreds of miles and dump them on your doorstep.
But it is not summer now. And the northerly blew at night. It soughed and sighed and blew and ranted and banged and then sighed again.
So the imps and sprites kept waking me.
I was in and out of slumber all night with all manner of fractured dreams. I can't remember them right now because of the interrupting, shrieking sprites.
In the morning, the wind was gone but the clothes on the washing line in the back yard were bone dry. That rarely happens in winter.
Good clothes-drying sprites!
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Time for more blatant posting of other peoples' work.
This blog seems to have become obsessed with idleness, the writings of Jerome K. Jerome, ghosts and furry animals.
I must get out more.
But in the meantime, here is something combining at least two of the above obsessions - Jerome K. Jerome writing about ghosts (I'm leaving it in Rom. because Ital. is hard to read in this font):
... the world grows very full of ghosts as we grow older. We need
not seek in dismal church-yards nor sleep in moated granges to see the
shadowy faces and hear the rustling of their garments in the night.
Every house, every room, every creaking chair has its own particular
ghost. They haunt the empty chambers of our lives, they throng around
us like dead leaves whirled in the autumn wind. Some are living, some
are dead. We know not. We clasped their hands once, loved them,
quarreled with them, laughed with them, told them our thoughts and
hopes and aims, as they told us theirs, till it seemed our very hearts
had joined in a grip that would defy the puny power of Death. They
are gone now; lost to us forever. Their eyes will never look into
ours again and their voices we shall never hear. Only their ghosts
come to us and talk with us. We see them, dim and shadowy, through
our tears. We stretch our yearning hands to them, but they are air.
Ghosts! They are with us night and day. They walk beside us in the
busy street under the glare of the sun. They sit by us in the
twilight at home. We see their little faces looking from the windows
of the old school-house. We meet them in the woods and lanes where we
shouted and played as boys. Hark! cannot you hear their low laughter
from behind the blackberry-bushes and their distant whoops along the
grassy glades? Down here, through the quiet fields and by the wood,
where the evening shadows are lurking, winds the path where we used to
watch for her at sunset. Look, she is there now, in the dainty white
frock we knew so well, with the big bonnet dangling from her little
hands and the sunny brown hair all tangled. Five thousand miles away!
Dead for all we know! What of that? She is beside us now, and we can
look into her laughing eyes and hear her voice. She will vanish at
the stile by the wood and we shall be alone; and the shadows will
creep out across the fields and the night wind will sweep past
moaning. Ghosts! they are always with us and always will be while the
sad old world keeps echoing to the sob of long good-bys, while the
cruel ships sail away across the great seas, and the cold green earth
lies heavy on the hearts of those we loved.
*
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
I must get out more.
But in the meantime, here is something combining at least two of the above obsessions - Jerome K. Jerome writing about ghosts (I'm leaving it in Rom. because Ital. is hard to read in this font):
... the world grows very full of ghosts as we grow older. We need
not seek in dismal church-yards nor sleep in moated granges to see the
shadowy faces and hear the rustling of their garments in the night.
Every house, every room, every creaking chair has its own particular
ghost. They haunt the empty chambers of our lives, they throng around
us like dead leaves whirled in the autumn wind. Some are living, some
are dead. We know not. We clasped their hands once, loved them,
quarreled with them, laughed with them, told them our thoughts and
hopes and aims, as they told us theirs, till it seemed our very hearts
had joined in a grip that would defy the puny power of Death. They
are gone now; lost to us forever. Their eyes will never look into
ours again and their voices we shall never hear. Only their ghosts
come to us and talk with us. We see them, dim and shadowy, through
our tears. We stretch our yearning hands to them, but they are air.
Ghosts! They are with us night and day. They walk beside us in the
busy street under the glare of the sun. They sit by us in the
twilight at home. We see their little faces looking from the windows
of the old school-house. We meet them in the woods and lanes where we
shouted and played as boys. Hark! cannot you hear their low laughter
from behind the blackberry-bushes and their distant whoops along the
grassy glades? Down here, through the quiet fields and by the wood,
where the evening shadows are lurking, winds the path where we used to
watch for her at sunset. Look, she is there now, in the dainty white
frock we knew so well, with the big bonnet dangling from her little
hands and the sunny brown hair all tangled. Five thousand miles away!
Dead for all we know! What of that? She is beside us now, and we can
look into her laughing eyes and hear her voice. She will vanish at
the stile by the wood and we shall be alone; and the shadows will
creep out across the fields and the night wind will sweep past
moaning. Ghosts! they are always with us and always will be while the
sad old world keeps echoing to the sob of long good-bys, while the
cruel ships sail away across the great seas, and the cold green earth
lies heavy on the hearts of those we loved.
*
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Sunday, August 15, 2004
Last night's horrible dream.
My regular readers may be aware that I sometimes post about some of the scary dreams I have. It's a good thing for me to post about because I do sleep a lot. So there's plenty of subject matter.
Last night I dreamt about a horror movie being made - it was some kind of medieval baroque horror story in which the actors were heavily made up in all these frightening costumes like something out of a Bosch painting (or was it Brueghel?).
In the film, much killing goes on and in the end, as the plotline resolves itself, one of the characters, a zombie, remains missing and is still 'out there'.
The shooting of the film had been a lot of fun. Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. Then the dream continued with the after-party following the wrap, held over a whole weekend in a big old castle in eastern Europe where filming had concluded.
Everyone was looking forward to the party, exhausted from the shoot and anticipating doing what actors and crew always get up to during a weekend of carousing.
As the weekend progresses, the actors start to go missing. Three of the remaining ones search the castle and then its surrounds. They find the missing actors dead in the forest, their bodies slashed with the word zombie. (The bodies include the guy who played the zombie in the movie, so it wasn't him.)
The three actors in the forest don't know whether to push on through the snow to safety elsewhere ... or return to the castle.
is it time for a nap yet? maybe not after a dream like that!
Last night I dreamt about a horror movie being made - it was some kind of medieval baroque horror story in which the actors were heavily made up in all these frightening costumes like something out of a Bosch painting (or was it Brueghel?).
In the film, much killing goes on and in the end, as the plotline resolves itself, one of the characters, a zombie, remains missing and is still 'out there'.
The shooting of the film had been a lot of fun. Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. Then the dream continued with the after-party following the wrap, held over a whole weekend in a big old castle in eastern Europe where filming had concluded.
Everyone was looking forward to the party, exhausted from the shoot and anticipating doing what actors and crew always get up to during a weekend of carousing.
As the weekend progresses, the actors start to go missing. Three of the remaining ones search the castle and then its surrounds. They find the missing actors dead in the forest, their bodies slashed with the word zombie. (The bodies include the guy who played the zombie in the movie, so it wasn't him.)
The three actors in the forest don't know whether to push on through the snow to safety elsewhere ... or return to the castle.
is it time for a nap yet? maybe not after a dream like that!
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Working? Sneak out and go and see a movie.
It's a great pleasure if you're in the city and have a cinema close by. You can slip out close to lunchtime, maybe catch a midday session and be back in your office by 2.30 or so.
I used to do this 'blind' i.e, I wouldn't check the listings but just turn up and catch the next movie, whatever it was.
In this way I saw a bunch of movies that maybe I would never have actually chosen to go and see, but quite enjoyed most of them.
(There was one absolute shocker - an Australian movie called Crackers starring - if the word 'starring' can be used in this movie, which I don't think - British comic actor Warren Mitchell. Crackers is possibly the single worst movie ever made. It should have ended up on the cutting room floor. The whole freakin' lot.)
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
I used to do this 'blind' i.e, I wouldn't check the listings but just turn up and catch the next movie, whatever it was.
In this way I saw a bunch of movies that maybe I would never have actually chosen to go and see, but quite enjoyed most of them.
(There was one absolute shocker - an Australian movie called Crackers starring - if the word 'starring' can be used in this movie, which I don't think - British comic actor Warren Mitchell. Crackers is possibly the single worst movie ever made. It should have ended up on the cutting room floor. The whole freakin' lot.)
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
I can't work it out.
There's this metal, deth, punk and goth music store in the city, hardcore, full-on. There are chains and razors, black decor and confronting posters everywhere and the music goes all day blasting ugly anti-social lyrics at about a hundred decibels.
The staff at this store are like, 'Man is that ever a great band, did you see them in concert!' and 'Sure we can get that in for you, it will be here tomorrow!' and 'I really like your choice, sir, that is one great CD, did you like their last one?'.
Then there's this other music store. It's a mainstream place playing happy pop hits and middle of the road music and attracts thousands of customers.
The staff are like, 'Well I don't know if it's in stock, did you look on the rack?' and 'No, I don't know when that is going to be released, what am I, a record company?' and 'Look, you'll have to wait, I'm busy.'
How does that work?
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
The staff at this store are like, 'Man is that ever a great band, did you see them in concert!' and 'Sure we can get that in for you, it will be here tomorrow!' and 'I really like your choice, sir, that is one great CD, did you like their last one?'.
Then there's this other music store. It's a mainstream place playing happy pop hits and middle of the road music and attracts thousands of customers.
The staff are like, 'Well I don't know if it's in stock, did you look on the rack?' and 'No, I don't know when that is going to be released, what am I, a record company?' and 'Look, you'll have to wait, I'm busy.'
How does that work?
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Rigid with fear ...
When I was a kid, I feared night like nothing else.
Sometimes I would lay awake in the middle of the night absolutely rigid with fear.
Drawing up the blankets tight around my neck, I could barely bring myself to glance over to the curtained window, especially if there was a full moon outside, because I KNEW that if I did, some evil ghoul's horrible silhouette would rise into view and if it saw me looking at it, it would come in and murder me.
I couldn't even glance over to the door handle because I knew that, if I did, it would immediately turn with a terrifying creak and some unspeakable horror would let itself into my room and suffocate me to death before dismembering me and taking away my remains to be dumped in some faraway drain.
I had to have my blankets tightly tucked in to prevent the tentacled horrors under the bed from sliding up under the covers down near my feet, slithering up my body and throttling me to death.
It was quite hard work being this much afraid, so eventually I would fall alseep and have horrible dreams.
I still have the most graphic horror story dreams, but these days I tend to actually enjoy them.
Occasionally, however, when I wake at night, I still feel a tingle of fear. For example, I might climb out of bed in the dead of night and walk to the cold kitchen in total blackness to get a drink of water or to turn off a dripping tap.
It's eerie, because I know that if I turn around suddenly, right there behind me will be a ghost and it will frighten the life out of me and I will have a heart attack and drop dead on the spot.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
Sometimes I would lay awake in the middle of the night absolutely rigid with fear.
Drawing up the blankets tight around my neck, I could barely bring myself to glance over to the curtained window, especially if there was a full moon outside, because I KNEW that if I did, some evil ghoul's horrible silhouette would rise into view and if it saw me looking at it, it would come in and murder me.
I couldn't even glance over to the door handle because I knew that, if I did, it would immediately turn with a terrifying creak and some unspeakable horror would let itself into my room and suffocate me to death before dismembering me and taking away my remains to be dumped in some faraway drain.
I had to have my blankets tightly tucked in to prevent the tentacled horrors under the bed from sliding up under the covers down near my feet, slithering up my body and throttling me to death.
It was quite hard work being this much afraid, so eventually I would fall alseep and have horrible dreams.
I still have the most graphic horror story dreams, but these days I tend to actually enjoy them.
Occasionally, however, when I wake at night, I still feel a tingle of fear. For example, I might climb out of bed in the dead of night and walk to the cold kitchen in total blackness to get a drink of water or to turn off a dripping tap.
It's eerie, because I know that if I turn around suddenly, right there behind me will be a ghost and it will frighten the life out of me and I will have a heart attack and drop dead on the spot.
is it time for a nap yet? i think so
