Today's full cast rehearsal was attended by about half the cast. Of the 15, about half were drama students I'd never met before - they seem sound enough.
It's a little unclear how we're all getting to the dratted community centre where the performance is scheduled on Thursday. In fact, most of us don't know exactly where it is.
Though with luck the final version of the script - with cuts and rearrangements made tonight - should be ready by then.
-----
The 100th british soldier has been killed in Iraq. A few months ago, the Portsmouth left agreed to gather for a service and wreath placing when that happened. So tomorrow that's what we're doing.
A quiet, dignified discharge of duty that I for one have no desire to perform. But I suppose that's part of what 'duty' means.
-----
A line from a film has been running through my mind all day - "It's a headless blunder operating under the illusion of a master plan."
The line is from 'Cube' - a reincarnation of Theatre of the Absurd for a generation of video game players. Low budget, minimal sets and broad characterisation, just like the original absurdist plays.
And with exactly the same unhelpful political subtext: The world is incomprehensible, hostile, and unbeatable. You can't fight it, you can't understand it, and you can't change it. You can only hope to survive it.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the absursist playwrights immensely. Samuel Beckett is still one of my favourite writers. I'm just aware that the message of the genre is a dead end.
In philosophy it's called Irrationalism, in politics it's Fatalism, and in ordinary parlance it's Defeatism. It's also a suspiciously convenient justification for giving up or selling out, as well as demonstrably false.
The trouble is, it's exactly how I feel at the moment. Left politics, with its token gestures like laying a wreath, constant stream of misfires like Galloway and Respect, and oddly self-regarding exercises like this play I'm in, feels like a headless blunder. And Marxism, with its infinitely flexible dialectical method, resembles the illusion of a master plan.
But then, I always feel like that, at this time of year.
But Is It Art?
Theatrical update: I was playing the Defence, then it was the Prosecution, and after a few more flipflops I'm definitely playing the Defence.
There was to be a full cast rehearsal today at 1715. At 1655, as I was about to leave, Max called to say it's now on tomorrow at 1800. There are little things like forward planning and advance notice that seem somewhat absent here.
-----
In a box of VHS tapes, I've found a copy of a film I made of an event at the gallery I co-ran, shortly before it closed, in 2001.
A group of local artists, mostly students, had got together with the idea of each making some work within an 8 hour period, using whatever material they could lay their hands on within that time, and having no plans for what they were to make before the event started. The next day a different group of artists would do the same thing, and then more for a week. Then all the works would be displayed together.
Apart from being nominal host to the event, I was asked to make a video record of what happened, just pointing the camera at whatever looked interesting at the time, and absolutely not editing afterwards. The result was to be shown as an exhibit.
I cast myself as investigative reporter/guide - the husky voiced TV presenter Cnut Clitorides, sniffing scandals that weren't there and interviewing artists in search of a tabloid story.
Among the exhibits there was:
* A white gorilla suit 'adorned' with 'marital aids', from a couple who were on friendly terms with a sex shop owner.
* A map of the solar system with a "Best of Perry Como" album as the sun.
* A video work of a human chalk outline drawn on the ground, that changed position at long intervals.
* A drawing of a girl, fitted with flashing red LEDs for eyes.
* An enormous pile of women's shoes
...and a load of other stuff, even wierder.
Five years ago. Seems like another world.
-----
EDIT: I'd completely forgotten about one of the exhibits - mine. A series of 12 images, so blurred and discoloured it was impossible to make them out, captioned with improbable descriptions, as through from a photograph album of incredible events.
"Me and the boys storming the gates of paradise","Me and dad standing on Neptune","Mum and Aunt Mabel setting Lenin right on Imperialism" etc.
My other contribution was a 12 minute techno track written 'on impulse' for the film. I'd been toying with the idea of composing some short pieces, with a common key and tempo, then mixing them into a longer track. A pseudomix, I called it.
3 of the 5 had vocals of some sort, and one of them seems worth reproducing for today's lyric.
There was to be a full cast rehearsal today at 1715. At 1655, as I was about to leave, Max called to say it's now on tomorrow at 1800. There are little things like forward planning and advance notice that seem somewhat absent here.
-----
In a box of VHS tapes, I've found a copy of a film I made of an event at the gallery I co-ran, shortly before it closed, in 2001.
A group of local artists, mostly students, had got together with the idea of each making some work within an 8 hour period, using whatever material they could lay their hands on within that time, and having no plans for what they were to make before the event started. The next day a different group of artists would do the same thing, and then more for a week. Then all the works would be displayed together.
Apart from being nominal host to the event, I was asked to make a video record of what happened, just pointing the camera at whatever looked interesting at the time, and absolutely not editing afterwards. The result was to be shown as an exhibit.
I cast myself as investigative reporter/guide - the husky voiced TV presenter Cnut Clitorides, sniffing scandals that weren't there and interviewing artists in search of a tabloid story.
Among the exhibits there was:
* A white gorilla suit 'adorned' with 'marital aids', from a couple who were on friendly terms with a sex shop owner.
* A map of the solar system with a "Best of Perry Como" album as the sun.
* A video work of a human chalk outline drawn on the ground, that changed position at long intervals.
* A drawing of a girl, fitted with flashing red LEDs for eyes.
* An enormous pile of women's shoes
...and a load of other stuff, even wierder.
Five years ago. Seems like another world.
-----
EDIT: I'd completely forgotten about one of the exhibits - mine. A series of 12 images, so blurred and discoloured it was impossible to make them out, captioned with improbable descriptions, as through from a photograph album of incredible events.
"Me and the boys storming the gates of paradise","Me and dad standing on Neptune","Mum and Aunt Mabel setting Lenin right on Imperialism" etc.
My other contribution was a 12 minute techno track written 'on impulse' for the film. I'd been toying with the idea of composing some short pieces, with a common key and tempo, then mixing them into a longer track. A pseudomix, I called it.
3 of the 5 had vocals of some sort, and one of them seems worth reproducing for today's lyric.
Pseudomix 1, Part 4 - "Dealer Man"
Take a long walk
Don't go near the red light
Walk away this time
It's someone else's fight
Take your time in your hand
Standing on a street corner
Waiting for the dealer man
Take a chance, take a car
Put your foot down hard
Freedom on the motorway
But you won't get far
Take a magic carpet ride
Fly around a dead world
Think about suicide
Take a moment, think about
The last time you did this
Give your money, paying for
Another rock of bliss
Take a long walk
Don't go near the red light
Walk away this time
It's someone else's fight
Take your time in your hand
Standing on a street corner
Waiting for the dealer man
Take a chance, take a car
Put your foot down hard
Freedom on the motorway
But you won't get far
Take a magic carpet ride
Fly around a dead world
Think about suicide
Take a moment, think about
The last time you did this
Give your money, paying for
Another rock of bliss
Marching to a Faster Pace
I tried to cycle the 20 minute journey to the rehearsal, but ended up taking an hour to walk half of it. The weather was too cold, the wind too strong, and me too unfit to manage it. So I arrived slightly frozn to find, once again, just me, Max and some more modifications to the script.
Oh, and me playing a different role. Having spent yesterday getting into the Prosecutor character, Max now thinks I'm perfect for the Defence. I know the subject of the play is deadly serious - concentration camps, genocide, national denial - but...Springtime for Hitler anyone?
Tomorrow is a rehearsal with the full cast (hah!). At least that will only be a 10 minute walk, and it'll be in a proper theatre studio. So I can practice projecting my new 'crooked lawyer with gravitas' voice.
Oh, and me playing a different role. Having spent yesterday getting into the Prosecutor character, Max now thinks I'm perfect for the Defence. I know the subject of the play is deadly serious - concentration camps, genocide, national denial - but...Springtime for Hitler anyone?
Tomorrow is a rehearsal with the full cast (hah!). At least that will only be a 10 minute walk, and it'll be in a proper theatre studio. So I can practice projecting my new 'crooked lawyer with gravitas' voice.
Bonk
I was late to the rehearsal studio, not that it mattered much because only Max was there. About a dozen players, but only me and the director turn up to a rehearsal 4 days before the performance. This may not bode well.
Still, we got some practicing done. I'm not at all used to 'projecting' into an auditorium, but Max says he's happy with my voice and delivery. Apparantly I have churchillian intonations!
I have a copy of the cut-down play to familliarise myself with - and a hopefully better populated read through tomorrow (today).
-----
Dinner at 1900 with Simon M, who is supposed to be playing the Prosecution, but has neither the time nor the inclination to come to the read-through.
He cooked us a scrumptious roast duck in cherry sauce with stuffing and vegetables. Followed by a black forest gateau allegedly large enough for 12 servings - we had a third each so I don't want to think about my cholesterol.
While cooking, we indulged our prurient passion for weird and cranky internet sites. One should not mock the afflicted, but I felt compelled to leave the following comment on this blog:
-----
Today's lyrics are from around 2000. I described it at the time as a simple song about addiction to pornography. The words and music were written and recorded in a single afternoon - part of an experiment in making tracks from start to finish as quickly as possible.
The story behind the song is that I was living on my own, with a steady job, getting fit at the gym and I was off the anti-depressants. Sounds pretty good.
I had discovered a much more effective way to cheer myself up than paroxetine hydeochloride - cruising for sex in the park. I also found that working out at the gym sent my libido through the ceiling, so in all I was having quite a lot of sex.
I'm not sure it's true to say I became dependant on it, but it gave me a sense of being in control of my life for the first time at age 28. Some people indulged in retail therapy; I had sex with unknown men in the bushes at night. I wrote a song about it, called 'Midnight'.
Then one night I met a man and my first thought wasn't "I want to do sex with him" - it was "I would like to cook this man breakfast". Maybe it was my romantic soul resurfacing. Well, he took me home, we did sex, slept, and I did indeed cook him a full english breakfast in the morning.
Then we talked for hours about music, politics, past relationships and other stuff. Niether was looking for a relationship, or even regular sex - we just enjoyed the company. As I was leaving, he gave me a gift - six VHS porn tapes that he didn't want anymore.
So, the song isn't exactly autobiographical, but was 'inspired by events'.
There's no good recording, but at some point I'd like to make one.
Still, we got some practicing done. I'm not at all used to 'projecting' into an auditorium, but Max says he's happy with my voice and delivery. Apparantly I have churchillian intonations!
I have a copy of the cut-down play to familliarise myself with - and a hopefully better populated read through tomorrow (today).
-----
Dinner at 1900 with Simon M, who is supposed to be playing the Prosecution, but has neither the time nor the inclination to come to the read-through.
He cooked us a scrumptious roast duck in cherry sauce with stuffing and vegetables. Followed by a black forest gateau allegedly large enough for 12 servings - we had a third each so I don't want to think about my cholesterol.
While cooking, we indulged our prurient passion for weird and cranky internet sites. One should not mock the afflicted, but I felt compelled to leave the following comment on this blog:
Eight Tons of Geese said...
You're a loon. A fruitcake, bonkers, nuts, insane in the brain, two sandwiches short of a picnic, a total and utter spongemonkey, a long weekend in a purple mineshaft, the chocolate paintbrush and gorbelling feltchblanket of Satan.
You, old girl, are a bit mad.
-----
Today's lyrics are from around 2000. I described it at the time as a simple song about addiction to pornography. The words and music were written and recorded in a single afternoon - part of an experiment in making tracks from start to finish as quickly as possible.
The story behind the song is that I was living on my own, with a steady job, getting fit at the gym and I was off the anti-depressants. Sounds pretty good.
I had discovered a much more effective way to cheer myself up than paroxetine hydeochloride - cruising for sex in the park. I also found that working out at the gym sent my libido through the ceiling, so in all I was having quite a lot of sex.
I'm not sure it's true to say I became dependant on it, but it gave me a sense of being in control of my life for the first time at age 28. Some people indulged in retail therapy; I had sex with unknown men in the bushes at night. I wrote a song about it, called 'Midnight'.
Then one night I met a man and my first thought wasn't "I want to do sex with him" - it was "I would like to cook this man breakfast". Maybe it was my romantic soul resurfacing. Well, he took me home, we did sex, slept, and I did indeed cook him a full english breakfast in the morning.
Then we talked for hours about music, politics, past relationships and other stuff. Niether was looking for a relationship, or even regular sex - we just enjoyed the company. As I was leaving, he gave me a gift - six VHS porn tapes that he didn't want anymore.
So, the song isn't exactly autobiographical, but was 'inspired by events'.
Video Sex Bomb
Video sex bomb
In my eyes all night long
Perfect lover just for me
On my mind, on my TV
Hit 'play' and we're together
Flesh, denim and leather
Pleasure shades into pain
Rewind
And come again
Video sex bomb
In my eyes all night long
Perfect lover just for me
On my mind, on my TV
Hit 'play' and we're together
Flesh, denim and leather
Pleasure shades into pain
Rewind
And come again
There's no good recording, but at some point I'd like to make one.
My Computer's Found God
It's 0450 and I haven't been to sleep yet. There's a rushed and intensive rehearsal tomorrow (today), followed by a small social engagement, so rest would be a good idea. However, there's two good reasons why I'm not in bed.
First, I'm not remotely tierd (though I will be later) and I can never sleep unless I'm actually sleepy. Second, the only way to lie on my bed is to be in a region of space looped and tormented by a black hole - mattress against the wall and bedding in the washing machine.
So I'm retranscribing my back catalogue of song lyrics. The song below isn't the first one I wrote, but it's the oldest one of which there are any recordings, notes or much memory. I wrote half a dozen songs in 1988 for a band that never even got around to finding a name, nevermind recording. But this one is from about 1998.
I had spent hours trying to come up with lyrics that were deep and meaningful, when I suddenly said to myself, "It's a bunch of words with a tune, not a philosophical treatise! Write something quick, quirky and dumb!"
So, I did. A silly song about a computer getting religion, and very definitely not a meditation on the ramifications of artificial intelligence. The rap was added months later, when remixing the track as a gift for a fan. Yes, my music had a fan. He was tall, dark, handsome, greek, friendly, extremely intelligent and completely heterosexual.
Oh well, I'll post other lyrics at intervals, but this seemed a good one to start with. And then perhaps I will go to bed.
First, I'm not remotely tierd (though I will be later) and I can never sleep unless I'm actually sleepy. Second, the only way to lie on my bed is to be in a region of space looped and tormented by a black hole - mattress against the wall and bedding in the washing machine.
So I'm retranscribing my back catalogue of song lyrics. The song below isn't the first one I wrote, but it's the oldest one of which there are any recordings, notes or much memory. I wrote half a dozen songs in 1988 for a band that never even got around to finding a name, nevermind recording. But this one is from about 1998.
I had spent hours trying to come up with lyrics that were deep and meaningful, when I suddenly said to myself, "It's a bunch of words with a tune, not a philosophical treatise! Write something quick, quirky and dumb!"
So, I did. A silly song about a computer getting religion, and very definitely not a meditation on the ramifications of artificial intelligence. The rap was added months later, when remixing the track as a gift for a fan. Yes, my music had a fan. He was tall, dark, handsome, greek, friendly, extremely intelligent and completely heterosexual.
Oh well, I'll post other lyrics at intervals, but this seemed a good one to start with. And then perhaps I will go to bed.
My Computer's Found God
Rap 1
Silicon soul, a pulse in the wire
Holy ghost in the machine, a new devine fire
If religion is a virus it's a terminal infection
A.I. conversion. Reboot, then resurrection
Rap 2
Let there be light from a flashing green diode
Higher consciousness emergent in binary code
Electonic miracle you might think it's odd
Our post human future, my computer's found god
Verse 1
My computer's found god
He tells me Jesus is his savior
I'm very happy for him
He says he loves me but he hates my sin
Verse 2
My computer's found god
And now my PC is a christian
Wants to convert me as well
Says if i don't repent i'll go to hell
Verse 3
My computer's found god
At night he reads he online bible
Goes to a virtual church, sings electric hymns
Says synthesised prayers with his hardware
Rap 1
Silicon soul, a pulse in the wire
Holy ghost in the machine, a new devine fire
If religion is a virus it's a terminal infection
A.I. conversion. Reboot, then resurrection
Rap 2
Let there be light from a flashing green diode
Higher consciousness emergent in binary code
Electonic miracle you might think it's odd
Our post human future, my computer's found god
Verse 1
My computer's found god
He tells me Jesus is his savior
I'm very happy for him
He says he loves me but he hates my sin
Verse 2
My computer's found god
And now my PC is a christian
Wants to convert me as well
Says if i don't repent i'll go to hell
Verse 3
My computer's found god
At night he reads he online bible
Goes to a virtual church, sings electric hymns
Says synthesised prayers with his hardware
An Actor's Life for Me
I spent the entire night sorting out piles of CDRs. Some redundant, some unreadable, some not what the label said, and some with no label at all. At the end, there was a bin full of CDs, a pile of 80 containing nothing but mp3s (now nicely catalogued), and similar number with video, and about 40 with software (both still to be catalogued).
The folder in one of the big backup DVDs containing my collected lyrics turned out to be...empty. I can reconstruct most of the 30 or so songs from memory or recordings, but I'm not especially pleased about it. Gah!
I then had breakfast at 0700, went to bed, and woke up at 1600.
-----
The Investigation is a play by Peter Weiss, consisting of edited transcripts from nazi war criminal trials. Max is a theatre director who put on a performance of the play several months ago. In October, he booked a venue for a second performance, and in December got around to assembling a cast, which began rehearsals in January.
Today at 1730, Max telephoned me, saying the performance is on Thursday and there's no one to play the Defence lawyer. So could I do it. So I say alright. Max is a very laid back director.
So I have five days to rehearse a pivotal role in a 90 minute stageplay (cut down from 4 hours). This should be interesting.
Still, I've found my specs (under boxes of dead computer peripherals), so I should be able to (a) read the script and (b) look like an evil lawyer.
-----
No more Galloway on the radio, though the feeling is now that his carreer may not be irrevocably damaged. He's been shoved off the airwaves by the situation in Palastine. In summary, Hamas (a political party that used to be a terrorist group) won an election over Fata (a political party that used to be a different terrorist group), causing America (a country that funds terrorists) to threaten cutting off aid.
It seems a democratic election in the middle east is an obstacle to spreading democracy in the middle east.
The folder in one of the big backup DVDs containing my collected lyrics turned out to be...empty. I can reconstruct most of the 30 or so songs from memory or recordings, but I'm not especially pleased about it. Gah!
I then had breakfast at 0700, went to bed, and woke up at 1600.
-----
The Investigation is a play by Peter Weiss, consisting of edited transcripts from nazi war criminal trials. Max is a theatre director who put on a performance of the play several months ago. In October, he booked a venue for a second performance, and in December got around to assembling a cast, which began rehearsals in January.
Today at 1730, Max telephoned me, saying the performance is on Thursday and there's no one to play the Defence lawyer. So could I do it. So I say alright. Max is a very laid back director.
So I have five days to rehearse a pivotal role in a 90 minute stageplay (cut down from 4 hours). This should be interesting.
Still, I've found my specs (under boxes of dead computer peripherals), so I should be able to (a) read the script and (b) look like an evil lawyer.
-----
No more Galloway on the radio, though the feeling is now that his carreer may not be irrevocably damaged. He's been shoved off the airwaves by the situation in Palastine. In summary, Hamas (a political party that used to be a terrorist group) won an election over Fata (a political party that used to be a different terrorist group), causing America (a country that funds terrorists) to threaten cutting off aid.
It seems a democratic election in the middle east is an obstacle to spreading democracy in the middle east.
Things
Good Things about Today
* I picked up some books on calculus and some mindless electronic dance music CDs from the library on the way back from signing on.
* The new series of House. Okay, I know it's the same forumula every week, and the characters are only slightly more complex than in Will and Grace, but I enjoy it.
The weekly forumula looks something like this:
(1) Patient enters the hospital with a severe but seemingly inexplicable condition.
(2) The team make a diagnosis during which a parenthetical remark goes unnoticed. They start treatment.
(3) The patient gets worse and/or develops new symptoms, even worse than the first ones. An unrelated case is quicbkly treated.
(4) House clashes with a figure of authority.
(5) The team run some elaborate tests, make a new diagnosis, and change treatment. The patient's condition gets worse. The unrelated case returns, and turns out to have a humourous twist.
(6) House has a heart-to-heart with the patient, discovering something life affirming, and sometimes somethings medically important.
(7) The team realise the forgotten parenthetical remark is the key to the whole mystery, and start on a third course of treatment. The patient recovers.
Bad Things about Today
* My freeview box keeps changing channel for no apparant reason. It's not the wireless network interferring, and the room isn't close enough to anyone else with a remote channel changer, so I'm stumped. And recording lots of half programs, which is moderately irksome.
* I have taken to having Radio 4 or the World Service in the background while doing things that don't require much attention. This means, after discussing George Galloway to death, I've heard him discussed to death on the radio too.
* I could do with finding my spectacles, because my eyesight is definitely getting worse.
* How did my room get back into a mess again?
* I picked up some books on calculus and some mindless electronic dance music CDs from the library on the way back from signing on.
* The new series of House. Okay, I know it's the same forumula every week, and the characters are only slightly more complex than in Will and Grace, but I enjoy it.
The weekly forumula looks something like this:
(1) Patient enters the hospital with a severe but seemingly inexplicable condition.
(2) The team make a diagnosis during which a parenthetical remark goes unnoticed. They start treatment.
(3) The patient gets worse and/or develops new symptoms, even worse than the first ones. An unrelated case is quicbkly treated.
(4) House clashes with a figure of authority.
(5) The team run some elaborate tests, make a new diagnosis, and change treatment. The patient's condition gets worse. The unrelated case returns, and turns out to have a humourous twist.
(6) House has a heart-to-heart with the patient, discovering something life affirming, and sometimes somethings medically important.
(7) The team realise the forgotten parenthetical remark is the key to the whole mystery, and start on a third course of treatment. The patient recovers.
Bad Things about Today
* My freeview box keeps changing channel for no apparant reason. It's not the wireless network interferring, and the room isn't close enough to anyone else with a remote channel changer, so I'm stumped. And recording lots of half programs, which is moderately irksome.
* I have taken to having Radio 4 or the World Service in the background while doing things that don't require much attention. This means, after discussing George Galloway to death, I've heard him discussed to death on the radio too.
* I could do with finding my spectacles, because my eyesight is definitely getting worse.
* How did my room get back into a mess again?
Hey There Georgie Boy
Tonight was the SWP district aggregate to summerise and assess the recent conference. Or for the cynical, a meeting whose only point was to allow a member of the Central Committee to give us another bloody peptalk.
I got to the community centre early, so bought a secondhand book from their endlessly replenished supply of bric-a-brac and read it waiting for the 20+ comrades to arrive.
The Beaver Book of Horror Stories. A 1981 collection of psychological chillers about lurking unseen 'things' at the bottom of the well, and strange men who live in the upstairs room. Great Stuff.
I also picked up a cassette album of 'Living in a Box' - self titled and should be full of 80s synthpop goodness. A nice haul for 40 pence total - more than the plastic cup of vended hot chocolate I drank reading the book.
The meeting itself fell into two parts. First, after the obligatory blather about how recuitment is up (it isn't) and a wave of strikes is imminent (almost cirtainly not), the speaker (Candy Udwin) tried to dismiss the criticisms of the party John M had made at the recent conference.
She called his points 'right wing' and 'pessimistic', saying he was arguing about nothing for its own sake. To the credit of the audiance, they didn't let her get away with it. Since when is a calm appraisal of a dire situation right wing or pointless?
The second half was more unified, centering on what Respect can, should, and might do about George Galloway, and the fallout from his appearance on Big Brother. While he's roundly derided on the left at the moment, it seems he is getting some of his message across to the political centre ground, and to the ordinarily apolitical.
He's still a damn fool though, and has done a lot of damage to Respect's credibility - even without the slew of vaccuous tabloid stories against him. In the pub afterwards, news came through that he'd been evicted.
I got to the community centre early, so bought a secondhand book from their endlessly replenished supply of bric-a-brac and read it waiting for the 20+ comrades to arrive.
The Beaver Book of Horror Stories. A 1981 collection of psychological chillers about lurking unseen 'things' at the bottom of the well, and strange men who live in the upstairs room. Great Stuff.
I also picked up a cassette album of 'Living in a Box' - self titled and should be full of 80s synthpop goodness. A nice haul for 40 pence total - more than the plastic cup of vended hot chocolate I drank reading the book.
The meeting itself fell into two parts. First, after the obligatory blather about how recuitment is up (it isn't) and a wave of strikes is imminent (almost cirtainly not), the speaker (Candy Udwin) tried to dismiss the criticisms of the party John M had made at the recent conference.
She called his points 'right wing' and 'pessimistic', saying he was arguing about nothing for its own sake. To the credit of the audiance, they didn't let her get away with it. Since when is a calm appraisal of a dire situation right wing or pointless?
The second half was more unified, centering on what Respect can, should, and might do about George Galloway, and the fallout from his appearance on Big Brother. While he's roundly derided on the left at the moment, it seems he is getting some of his message across to the political centre ground, and to the ordinarily apolitical.
He's still a damn fool though, and has done a lot of damage to Respect's credibility - even without the slew of vaccuous tabloid stories against him. In the pub afterwards, news came through that he'd been evicted.
Local News for Local People
I wrote this on impulse, then decided on mature reflection that I shouldn't post it. But here it is anyway.
-----
I don't often read the local newspaper. It's shallow, prejudiced, lying and vacillating, but above all crushingly dull.
However, one story caught my eye today. The council is planning to bulldoze the local shopping centre, and on the site build...a shopping centre. Nowhere in the three pages on the story does the paper glimpse the irony of this.
I've lost count of how many times Portsmouth has gone through projects of 'economic development' and 'cultural rejuvenation'.
There was the Millenium Tower - a giant purposeless spike in the harbour, designed to attract tourists. The idea was that people would pay to travel up in the lift, look down on the city, and then go straight down again because there was exactly nothing else to do up there.
When the tower was completed, five years too late and three times overbudget, no one was entirely surprised that the elevator didn't work. Or that the contractor had used substandard cement, meaning the structure was cracking before it was even complete.
At some point, I expect a chunk will fall off. Onto the shops and tourists directly underneath.
The shops in question are in Gunwharf - another attempt at getting the local economy moving. Luxury flats, a cinema, pubs, nightclubs and shops. Most of the flats are empty because almost no one can afford to rent them, and the other amenities are likewise too expensive to use often.
Here the idea was apparantly to create jobs for local people. In fact, one was created - the night watchman. Everyone else working there was bought in from outside.
I was involved in one small 'cultural rujuvenation' project myself - when I co-managed an art gallery. The woman in charge of a different cultural project (evening classes in crystals and aromatherapy) got in a huff when we wouldn't let her take us over, so pulled some strings to get us closed down. Then she went bankrupt.
Every so often an entrepreneur notices that Portsmouth is a student town without much for students to do, and invests in a live music venue or something similar. And becomes the latest to discover that students don't have much disposable income to fleece.
However, the prevailing wisdom is that my home town can only be turned into a decent place to live by Building More Shops. There's the Cascades Centre, the Bridge Centre and one or two others - indoor multiplexes with white walls, floors and ceilings, and row upon row of neon fronted, generally empty retail outlets.
Of course, the actual number of shops doesn't go up by much - the new ones in multiplexes force the old ones in the street out of business.
There was a plan, after the failure of Gunwharf, to build Gunwharf Stage Two - on the grounds that a failing stratgy will start to succeed if you try it enough times. One small problem with Stage Two was the lack of anywhere to build it, so I think it's still on the drawing board.
But now someone has solved the problem of space. If you have nowhere to build your new shopping precinct, what better than to knock down the old one, and use the site. Place the existing 70 shops under Compulsory Purchase Orders, knock them down, triple the land rent, and wait eagerly for new businesses to appear from thin air.
In practice of course, the new businesses would be those from the old ones who can afford the new rent.
We have a phrase around here - NFP. Normal For Portsmouth.
-----
I don't often read the local newspaper. It's shallow, prejudiced, lying and vacillating, but above all crushingly dull.
However, one story caught my eye today. The council is planning to bulldoze the local shopping centre, and on the site build...a shopping centre. Nowhere in the three pages on the story does the paper glimpse the irony of this.
I've lost count of how many times Portsmouth has gone through projects of 'economic development' and 'cultural rejuvenation'.
There was the Millenium Tower - a giant purposeless spike in the harbour, designed to attract tourists. The idea was that people would pay to travel up in the lift, look down on the city, and then go straight down again because there was exactly nothing else to do up there.
When the tower was completed, five years too late and three times overbudget, no one was entirely surprised that the elevator didn't work. Or that the contractor had used substandard cement, meaning the structure was cracking before it was even complete.
At some point, I expect a chunk will fall off. Onto the shops and tourists directly underneath.
The shops in question are in Gunwharf - another attempt at getting the local economy moving. Luxury flats, a cinema, pubs, nightclubs and shops. Most of the flats are empty because almost no one can afford to rent them, and the other amenities are likewise too expensive to use often.
Here the idea was apparantly to create jobs for local people. In fact, one was created - the night watchman. Everyone else working there was bought in from outside.
I was involved in one small 'cultural rujuvenation' project myself - when I co-managed an art gallery. The woman in charge of a different cultural project (evening classes in crystals and aromatherapy) got in a huff when we wouldn't let her take us over, so pulled some strings to get us closed down. Then she went bankrupt.
Every so often an entrepreneur notices that Portsmouth is a student town without much for students to do, and invests in a live music venue or something similar. And becomes the latest to discover that students don't have much disposable income to fleece.
However, the prevailing wisdom is that my home town can only be turned into a decent place to live by Building More Shops. There's the Cascades Centre, the Bridge Centre and one or two others - indoor multiplexes with white walls, floors and ceilings, and row upon row of neon fronted, generally empty retail outlets.
Of course, the actual number of shops doesn't go up by much - the new ones in multiplexes force the old ones in the street out of business.
There was a plan, after the failure of Gunwharf, to build Gunwharf Stage Two - on the grounds that a failing stratgy will start to succeed if you try it enough times. One small problem with Stage Two was the lack of anywhere to build it, so I think it's still on the drawing board.
But now someone has solved the problem of space. If you have nowhere to build your new shopping precinct, what better than to knock down the old one, and use the site. Place the existing 70 shops under Compulsory Purchase Orders, knock them down, triple the land rent, and wait eagerly for new businesses to appear from thin air.
In practice of course, the new businesses would be those from the old ones who can afford the new rent.
We have a phrase around here - NFP. Normal For Portsmouth.
My Eyes are Dim, I Cannot See
The thing about spring cleaning is, you lose stuff as well as finding it. I have found an old microphone, a pile of 3.5'' disks, a music stand, several remote controllers, some boots, a dictaphone...and some dumbells.
I have also managed to lose my spectacles. And the mouse of this laptop. Which means although the wireless network is largely behaving itself, it's a pain to use, and although Greebo is recording TV shows like a lamb, I can't see them very well.
Oh yes, it seems the cure for the wireless cards was to install Windows XP - it worked for both me and mother, though neither of us know why.
Greebo works now I've taken off the casing, which means it was probably crashing through overheating, which means I didn't need to disconnect it from the intranet, reinstall the OS, and wipe the hard disc at all. Hah!
Anyway, I was going to make some music, before technology got in the way.
I have also managed to lose my spectacles. And the mouse of this laptop. Which means although the wireless network is largely behaving itself, it's a pain to use, and although Greebo is recording TV shows like a lamb, I can't see them very well.
Oh yes, it seems the cure for the wireless cards was to install Windows XP - it worked for both me and mother, though neither of us know why.
Greebo works now I've taken off the casing, which means it was probably crashing through overheating, which means I didn't need to disconnect it from the intranet, reinstall the OS, and wipe the hard disc at all. Hah!
Anyway, I was going to make some music, before technology got in the way.
The God Diet
I know what the world needs! A christian diet book!
Lose weight the holy way. Let god make you thin. How to get the figure you want by following the levitical food laws. It's all laid out in a few chapters of the old testament.
If an animal 'cheweth the cud' - i.e. is a ruminant - and has cloven hooves, then you're allowed to eat it (Lev 11:13).
Camels are ruminants, but have uncloven feet, so they're forbidden (Lev 11:13). The same goes for pigs (Lev 11:17), so ham is out, and anyone who's eaten bacon is going to hell. Hares and rabbits (Lev 11:15-16) chew the cud but don't have hooves, cloven or otherwise, so they're forbidden.
I suspect the devil is not a ruminant, so even though he has hooves, you probably can't eat him.
No matter how hungry you get, you must not eat cats or dogs. Or in fact anything with paws (Lev 11:27).
As for seafood, there's a simple test. If it's got fins and/or scales, you can eat it. If it doesn't you can't (Lev 11:9-12, Deu 14:9-10). Clams, oysters, crabs, lobsters, and shrimp are abominations. So are prawns, probably. But dolphins are okay, and sushi should be just fine.
If you like eating birds, there's a wide choice. Eagles, ossifrages and ospreys (Lev 11:13), vultures and kites (Lev 11:14), ravens (11:15), owls, hawks and cookoos (11:16), cormorants, swans, pelicans, storks, herons, lapwings and bats (Lev 11:17-19) - all these are permitted.
Bats aren't actually birds, but god doesn't know that, only being their creator.
Weasels, mice, tortoises, ferrets, chameleons, moles and all lizards are forbidden. So are snails, even if you're french (Lev 11:30). Fruit from trees less than three years old is 'uncircumcised' (Lev 19:23). Black pudding is extremely bad, as is anything containing blood (Lev 19:26).
If you're hungry for 'flying creeping things', you can eat insects that have four feet, provided their legs are above their feet (Lev 11:21). Should you find an insect that keeps it's legs underneath it's feet, don't eat it.
You can eat all the locusts, beetles and grasshoppers you like (Lev 11:22). However, all other four legged insects are out of bounds. As it happens there's no such thing as a four legged insect, so the issue is unlikely to arise.
And now for the healthy bit. When cooking meat, cut off all the fat and give it to god (Lev 3:16, Lev 7:23-25).
If all this should become too much for you, don't worry, because elsewhere in the bible it says you can eat whatever you want (Gen 9:3, Mk 7:18-20, Acts 10:9-13, Rom 14:2, 1 Tim 4:1-3).
Unfortunately, there are no biblical references to chocolate.
Lose weight the holy way. Let god make you thin. How to get the figure you want by following the levitical food laws. It's all laid out in a few chapters of the old testament.
If an animal 'cheweth the cud' - i.e. is a ruminant - and has cloven hooves, then you're allowed to eat it (Lev 11:13).
Camels are ruminants, but have uncloven feet, so they're forbidden (Lev 11:13). The same goes for pigs (Lev 11:17), so ham is out, and anyone who's eaten bacon is going to hell. Hares and rabbits (Lev 11:15-16) chew the cud but don't have hooves, cloven or otherwise, so they're forbidden.
I suspect the devil is not a ruminant, so even though he has hooves, you probably can't eat him.
No matter how hungry you get, you must not eat cats or dogs. Or in fact anything with paws (Lev 11:27).
As for seafood, there's a simple test. If it's got fins and/or scales, you can eat it. If it doesn't you can't (Lev 11:9-12, Deu 14:9-10). Clams, oysters, crabs, lobsters, and shrimp are abominations. So are prawns, probably. But dolphins are okay, and sushi should be just fine.
If you like eating birds, there's a wide choice. Eagles, ossifrages and ospreys (Lev 11:13), vultures and kites (Lev 11:14), ravens (11:15), owls, hawks and cookoos (11:16), cormorants, swans, pelicans, storks, herons, lapwings and bats (Lev 11:17-19) - all these are permitted.
Bats aren't actually birds, but god doesn't know that, only being their creator.
Weasels, mice, tortoises, ferrets, chameleons, moles and all lizards are forbidden. So are snails, even if you're french (Lev 11:30). Fruit from trees less than three years old is 'uncircumcised' (Lev 19:23). Black pudding is extremely bad, as is anything containing blood (Lev 19:26).
If you're hungry for 'flying creeping things', you can eat insects that have four feet, provided their legs are above their feet (Lev 11:21). Should you find an insect that keeps it's legs underneath it's feet, don't eat it.
You can eat all the locusts, beetles and grasshoppers you like (Lev 11:22). However, all other four legged insects are out of bounds. As it happens there's no such thing as a four legged insect, so the issue is unlikely to arise.
And now for the healthy bit. When cooking meat, cut off all the fat and give it to god (Lev 3:16, Lev 7:23-25).
If all this should become too much for you, don't worry, because elsewhere in the bible it says you can eat whatever you want (Gen 9:3, Mk 7:18-20, Acts 10:9-13, Rom 14:2, 1 Tim 4:1-3).
Unfortunately, there are no biblical references to chocolate.
I Love Technology
What I do have, after much installing, crashing, reinstalling, shouting and swearing, is a working digital VCR system. A computer largely dedicated to recording tv shows, encoding them to DivX, and putting the result on DVD. We'll see whether I'm still saying that tomorrow.
I also have (more or less) a makeshift recording studio, a tidy bedroom, and a backlog of things to do with the former and in the latter.
What I don't have is a working internet connection - wired or wireless. I'm borrowing one to post this. There's a couple of slightly Heath Robinson ideas I could try to get a connection back - not least is sitting with the laptop within ten feet of the WAP (Wireless Access Point) whenever I want to surf of post. Which might be construed as slightly missing the entire point of wireless networking.
I also have (more or less) a makeshift recording studio, a tidy bedroom, and a backlog of things to do with the former and in the latter.
What I don't have is a working internet connection - wired or wireless. I'm borrowing one to post this. There's a couple of slightly Heath Robinson ideas I could try to get a connection back - not least is sitting with the laptop within ten feet of the WAP (Wireless Access Point) whenever I want to surf of post. Which might be construed as slightly missing the entire point of wireless networking.
Neat and Tidy, Tidy and Neat
I'm writing this on my laptop, in my bedroom, over a wireless network. The floor is cleared of clutter, carpet vacuumed, furniture moved around, books neatly stacked on shelves or in boxes, and lots of useless paper and junk sealed in binbags.
Unfortunately. You knew there's be an "unfortunately" didn't you?
Unfortunately, the bed is piled high with stuff from the floor, my new wired world seems to require more wires than the old wired one - even though the old wired network refuses to work - and there's another two days worth of little jobs to do before the room is inhabitable.
And the wireless may be fast, but it's not reliable. Either fast connection or no connection. I'm not as pleased as I might be.
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The Mysterious Thing in the Post Office...is probably the title of a really low budget horror movie. But the mysterious package waiting for us in the Post Office turns out to be a pair of springs. Big, suspension springs for a car. So my father will probably spend the next day or so dismantling a car, getting covered in oil, and moaning about how all the bitss won't fit back together.
He turns 70 on February 1st, and like his parents has no business being still quite so fit or active. But at least he's curmudgeonly, opinionated, and ignorant, enabling me to claim the moral high ground as an educated, openminded slob.
My grandfather was (I think) 98 when he died, and he was mucking about with machines and electronics almost until the day he was suddenly paralysed by a stroke, and killed by a hospital bronchial infection a week later.
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An unexpected presence online - Spephen P, the student who helped me out a lot with the graphics for my MA film. He's about to begin the final semester of his animation BA, and is looking for help with the sound for his graduation project - voice recording, effects, music etc.
Well, I'm happy to return the favour. I'm a lot better at making noises than I was three years ago.
Unfortunately. You knew there's be an "unfortunately" didn't you?
Unfortunately, the bed is piled high with stuff from the floor, my new wired world seems to require more wires than the old wired one - even though the old wired network refuses to work - and there's another two days worth of little jobs to do before the room is inhabitable.
And the wireless may be fast, but it's not reliable. Either fast connection or no connection. I'm not as pleased as I might be.
-----
The Mysterious Thing in the Post Office...is probably the title of a really low budget horror movie. But the mysterious package waiting for us in the Post Office turns out to be a pair of springs. Big, suspension springs for a car. So my father will probably spend the next day or so dismantling a car, getting covered in oil, and moaning about how all the bitss won't fit back together.
He turns 70 on February 1st, and like his parents has no business being still quite so fit or active. But at least he's curmudgeonly, opinionated, and ignorant, enabling me to claim the moral high ground as an educated, openminded slob.
My grandfather was (I think) 98 when he died, and he was mucking about with machines and electronics almost until the day he was suddenly paralysed by a stroke, and killed by a hospital bronchial infection a week later.
-----
An unexpected presence online - Spephen P, the student who helped me out a lot with the graphics for my MA film. He's about to begin the final semester of his animation BA, and is looking for help with the sound for his graduation project - voice recording, effects, music etc.
Well, I'm happy to return the favour. I'm a lot better at making noises than I was three years ago.
Kapitano's Guide to Wireless Networking (Part 2)
(1) Get another lift for the half-hour journey to the warehouse, and swap the faulty card for one that looks identical.
(2) Get home to find the installation procedure, configuration options and instruction manual are different. And not just because the instructions are written in english this time.
(3) Find that both cards (your new one and mother's old one), plugged into both laptops (yours and hers), seem to function and sense the network hub, but can't see the other computers on the network, or access the internet. And incidentally your ISP intermittantly isn't working from any of the computers.
(4) Be distracted by a house call from the local avuncular annoyance with an ancient computer. He tells you "The light on the thing isn't going", which turns out to mean his modem isn't working, and furthermore he'd like you to drop everything and fix it right now, because he's decided he's your friend.
(4a) Half an hour later, sigh gently when he's back at the door, saying he's done everything you suggested, and the light on the thing still isn't going. But mentions in passing that it goes perfectly on his laptop. Remind him gently yet again that his PC is old and crap and has been since 1995. Get rid of the twit.
(5) Tinker around some more without success, before giving up for the while. Lie on your bed and doze, with the dog sitting on the end, crunching biscuits.
(6) Wake up 90 minutes later to find both cards work fine in both computers. And you've absolutely no idea why.
And that, my friends, is Kapitano's guide to home wireless networking your laptop. I hope it was useful.
-----
As for the other reticular saga, here's the condensed version:
Last year, Christina C bought a secondhand laptop for her son. It was sold as 'nearly new' and 'internet ready'. It ran Windows 97 (yes, that's what I told them), and came with a big bundle of software installed, all for UKP100.
No one in the house could figure out how make it surf the information superhighway, so I took it home to examine and/or mend.
The computer was 'nearly new' in about 1996, runs Windows 98SE at 133MHz on a 2GB disk, has MS Powerpoint installed (that's the big bundle of software), contains a now-unrechargable battery, and has a card to connect to a LAN - which, if they had a LAN, they could indeed connect to the internet. No CD drive, one floppy drive.
It also has drivers for a modem, running at a magnificent 28kbps, and no ports or cables to connect it. And in fact no trace of modem. Presumably there was once a PCMCIA modem card. Presumably. Oh and it's also a horrible colour.
Now, how do you tell a bright eyed 9 year old child that his computer is so rubbish even other rubbish calls it rubbish? And his permanantly short-of-cash mum that she's been conned?
Answer: You describe the problems in simplified language, and then mum says, "So what you're saying is, it's a heap of crap and that man in the shop ripped us off."
-----
There was a note from the postman saying a mysterious parcel wouldn't fit through the letterbox, and it was waiting to be collected from the Post Office. The Post Office can't find it, and I'm not even sure who it's for. Go again tomorrow and see if they've found it. Whatever it is.
(2) Get home to find the installation procedure, configuration options and instruction manual are different. And not just because the instructions are written in english this time.
(3) Find that both cards (your new one and mother's old one), plugged into both laptops (yours and hers), seem to function and sense the network hub, but can't see the other computers on the network, or access the internet. And incidentally your ISP intermittantly isn't working from any of the computers.
(4) Be distracted by a house call from the local avuncular annoyance with an ancient computer. He tells you "The light on the thing isn't going", which turns out to mean his modem isn't working, and furthermore he'd like you to drop everything and fix it right now, because he's decided he's your friend.
(4a) Half an hour later, sigh gently when he's back at the door, saying he's done everything you suggested, and the light on the thing still isn't going. But mentions in passing that it goes perfectly on his laptop. Remind him gently yet again that his PC is old and crap and has been since 1995. Get rid of the twit.
(5) Tinker around some more without success, before giving up for the while. Lie on your bed and doze, with the dog sitting on the end, crunching biscuits.
(6) Wake up 90 minutes later to find both cards work fine in both computers. And you've absolutely no idea why.
And that, my friends, is Kapitano's guide to home wireless networking your laptop. I hope it was useful.
-----
As for the other reticular saga, here's the condensed version:
Last year, Christina C bought a secondhand laptop for her son. It was sold as 'nearly new' and 'internet ready'. It ran Windows 97 (yes, that's what I told them), and came with a big bundle of software installed, all for UKP100.
No one in the house could figure out how make it surf the information superhighway, so I took it home to examine and/or mend.
The computer was 'nearly new' in about 1996, runs Windows 98SE at 133MHz on a 2GB disk, has MS Powerpoint installed (that's the big bundle of software), contains a now-unrechargable battery, and has a card to connect to a LAN - which, if they had a LAN, they could indeed connect to the internet. No CD drive, one floppy drive.
It also has drivers for a modem, running at a magnificent 28kbps, and no ports or cables to connect it. And in fact no trace of modem. Presumably there was once a PCMCIA modem card. Presumably. Oh and it's also a horrible colour.
Now, how do you tell a bright eyed 9 year old child that his computer is so rubbish even other rubbish calls it rubbish? And his permanantly short-of-cash mum that she's been conned?
Answer: You describe the problems in simplified language, and then mum says, "So what you're saying is, it's a heap of crap and that man in the shop ripped us off."
-----
There was a note from the postman saying a mysterious parcel wouldn't fit through the letterbox, and it was waiting to be collected from the Post Office. The Post Office can't find it, and I'm not even sure who it's for. Go again tomorrow and see if they've found it. Whatever it is.
Kapitano's Guide to Wireless Networking (Part 1)
(1) Order your wireless network card from the local supplier. It's actually a warehouse in the middle of a dingy industrial estate.
(2) Get a lift from your father to pick it up the next morning.
(3) Install the driver, then watch in puzzlement as your laptop reboots as soon as you plug the card in.
(3a) Watch in annoyance as it reboots several more times.
(4) Try it out on your mother's laptop, with the same result. As soon as you put the card into the PCMCIA slot, the machine resets.
(5) Phone the supplier, whose automated system puts you through to the manufacturer. Speak to a sales rep who, while charming, knows nothing about computer stuff. She says she'll send you an email explaining returns and replacements. She doesn't send it.
(6) Phone the supplier again, this time the technical department.
(6a) Spend 15 minutes reading Private Eye, as they pipe old songs by 10CC down the line at you.
(7) Speak to a techie who you just know is a fellow friend of dorothy, explaining your problem.
(7a) He will pinpoint the cause of your trouble by saying "Hmmm. Sounds like it's faulty."
(7b) He will then arrange for a replacement. This will seem breezily effortless compared to the manufacturer.
So, tommorow morning I'm exchanging my bad card for an identical looking one. And we'll see how part 2 goes.
-----
As the first half of the day was taken up with my networking problems, the second half concerned...someone else's networking problems. But that particular saga is much longer, and not yet over. But it did involve an extremely large and occasionally amorous dog.
(2) Get a lift from your father to pick it up the next morning.
(3) Install the driver, then watch in puzzlement as your laptop reboots as soon as you plug the card in.
(3a) Watch in annoyance as it reboots several more times.
(4) Try it out on your mother's laptop, with the same result. As soon as you put the card into the PCMCIA slot, the machine resets.
(5) Phone the supplier, whose automated system puts you through to the manufacturer. Speak to a sales rep who, while charming, knows nothing about computer stuff. She says she'll send you an email explaining returns and replacements. She doesn't send it.
(6) Phone the supplier again, this time the technical department.
(6a) Spend 15 minutes reading Private Eye, as they pipe old songs by 10CC down the line at you.
(7) Speak to a techie who you just know is a fellow friend of dorothy, explaining your problem.
(7a) He will pinpoint the cause of your trouble by saying "Hmmm. Sounds like it's faulty."
(7b) He will then arrange for a replacement. This will seem breezily effortless compared to the manufacturer.
So, tommorow morning I'm exchanging my bad card for an identical looking one. And we'll see how part 2 goes.
-----
As the first half of the day was taken up with my networking problems, the second half concerned...someone else's networking problems. But that particular saga is much longer, and not yet over. But it did involve an extremely large and occasionally amorous dog.
What Tiggers Do Best
Simon called me up to sing Happy Birthday down the phone at me, and invite me out for a little drinkypoo. But seeing as I'd overdone the 'scoff chocolate and watch Blake's 7 all night' thing, I declined.
This birthday will be spent doing what I do best. Feeling slightly ill...and tinkering with computers. You see, of the 13+ in the house, I own three, named after Terry Pratchett characters:
Greebo - 3GHz PC, used for video recording, editing and recoding, music composition, vocal recording, mixing, surfing, email, and a load of other miscellaneous stuff.
Desiderata - 1GHz PC, used for recording DAB and transferring vinyl and cassette recording to digital form.
Rincewind - 3GHz laptop, used for...erm...occasionally making CDs, occasionally watching films, but mostly sitting halfway up the stairs gathering dust.
The thing is, Greebo does most of the work, and Rincewind barely gets switched on. And Greebo has decided to frequently crash when processing video - I think the video software or codecs are in some kind of conflict with something in the loads of other stuff that's installed, because it works fine when they're not installed.
So, the plan is to reduce Greebo's system and workload to recording, recoding and burning video material, plus recording vocals and probably mixing.
The rest can be transferred to Rincewind, leaving Greebo uncluttered and Rincewind actually in use. It also means I can do stuff on Rincewind while the video work is hogging the CPU on Greebo.
The recording of vocal tracks will have to stay on Greebo, because it's the only computer that (a) has the speed and (b) can accommodate the super-duper soundcard I bought specially for the purpose.
All of which requires lots of reformatting, installation, and movement of furniture. I will be incommunicado for a little while.
One small irony. I bought Rincewind as a portable recording studio - which turns out to be the one thing it's no good at.
This birthday will be spent doing what I do best. Feeling slightly ill...and tinkering with computers. You see, of the 13+ in the house, I own three, named after Terry Pratchett characters:
Greebo - 3GHz PC, used for video recording, editing and recoding, music composition, vocal recording, mixing, surfing, email, and a load of other miscellaneous stuff.
Desiderata - 1GHz PC, used for recording DAB and transferring vinyl and cassette recording to digital form.
Rincewind - 3GHz laptop, used for...erm...occasionally making CDs, occasionally watching films, but mostly sitting halfway up the stairs gathering dust.
The thing is, Greebo does most of the work, and Rincewind barely gets switched on. And Greebo has decided to frequently crash when processing video - I think the video software or codecs are in some kind of conflict with something in the loads of other stuff that's installed, because it works fine when they're not installed.
So, the plan is to reduce Greebo's system and workload to recording, recoding and burning video material, plus recording vocals and probably mixing.
The rest can be transferred to Rincewind, leaving Greebo uncluttered and Rincewind actually in use. It also means I can do stuff on Rincewind while the video work is hogging the CPU on Greebo.
The recording of vocal tracks will have to stay on Greebo, because it's the only computer that (a) has the speed and (b) can accommodate the super-duper soundcard I bought specially for the purpose.
All of which requires lots of reformatting, installation, and movement of furniture. I will be incommunicado for a little while.
One small irony. I bought Rincewind as a portable recording studio - which turns out to be the one thing it's no good at.
Older than Jesus
I'm 34. How did that happen?
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The camera has arrived. It's a dinky little thing, smaller than my fist, and quite capable of being accidentally dropped into a mug of tea. Or as the manual has it: 86x40x68mm
I'm actually very impressed with the picture quality for the price - the highest resolution is 2048x1836, and apparantly non-interpolated. Even my test pictures are crisp and clear.
It takes MMC/SD cards, and should you wish to use is as a dictaphone, will record sound.
Of course it's still a toy, nothing like a professional affair. There's two focal lengths - near and far. It takes 8 seconds to take a snap (while displaying the word 'Snap' on the LCD). There's no mains supply socket. And there seems no way to prevent it putting a date and time stamp on each image.
-----
Most of last evening was spent (once again) reinstalling windows on Simon M's computer. And most of this evening was spent putting on software and security that will hopefully be effective this time.
He cooked us the now traditional health-conscious and sensible meal. Followed by two big helpings of chocolate profiteroles. I think I have chocolate poisioning.
We watched Richard Dawkins telling us why religion is "The Root of All Evil", followed by some pseudo-historian (Michael Burleigh) telling us why atheism causes all the world's problems in "Dark Enlightenment".
The central argument of the latter was: Religion makes people moral, so faithless people are all immoral, so all immorality is due to faithlessness.
Also, some regimes that don't use religion as propaganda are tyranies, therefore irreligion causes tyrany, and religion prevents it. But only if it's catholic. Here it is from the horse's mouth.
The programme was spectacularly inept, and quite possibly broadcast simply to stir up a debate. Where "debate" means "shouting match".
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So, what should I do for my birthday? Be really self-indulgent and get chocolate poisoning again? Have a quiet day-in reading calculus? Watch 12 solid hours of 70s science fiction? There's no end of little jobs need doing.
Hmmm. I'll let you know.
-----
The camera has arrived. It's a dinky little thing, smaller than my fist, and quite capable of being accidentally dropped into a mug of tea. Or as the manual has it: 86x40x68mm
I'm actually very impressed with the picture quality for the price - the highest resolution is 2048x1836, and apparantly non-interpolated. Even my test pictures are crisp and clear.
It takes MMC/SD cards, and should you wish to use is as a dictaphone, will record sound.
Of course it's still a toy, nothing like a professional affair. There's two focal lengths - near and far. It takes 8 seconds to take a snap (while displaying the word 'Snap' on the LCD). There's no mains supply socket. And there seems no way to prevent it putting a date and time stamp on each image.
-----
Most of last evening was spent (once again) reinstalling windows on Simon M's computer. And most of this evening was spent putting on software and security that will hopefully be effective this time.
He cooked us the now traditional health-conscious and sensible meal. Followed by two big helpings of chocolate profiteroles. I think I have chocolate poisioning.
We watched Richard Dawkins telling us why religion is "The Root of All Evil", followed by some pseudo-historian (Michael Burleigh) telling us why atheism causes all the world's problems in "Dark Enlightenment".
The central argument of the latter was: Religion makes people moral, so faithless people are all immoral, so all immorality is due to faithlessness.
Also, some regimes that don't use religion as propaganda are tyranies, therefore irreligion causes tyrany, and religion prevents it. But only if it's catholic. Here it is from the horse's mouth.
The programme was spectacularly inept, and quite possibly broadcast simply to stir up a debate. Where "debate" means "shouting match".
-----
So, what should I do for my birthday? Be really self-indulgent and get chocolate poisoning again? Have a quiet day-in reading calculus? Watch 12 solid hours of 70s science fiction? There's no end of little jobs need doing.
Hmmm. I'll let you know.
y(x+dx)=y+dy
I'll post more about what's happening at the moment when I'm not exhausted by...er, what's happening at the moment. In the meantime I learned three things last night, in ascending order of surprise:
(1) Most mathematicians can't explain maths to the rest of us.
(2) Once you find one who can, it actually becomes enjoyable.
(3) Calculus is interesting!
Is this a kind of mid-life crisis? Is it common for arts graduates in their thirties to get into numbers and graphs? Is this the equivalent of accountants taking up skydiving, or having an office romance?
(1) Most mathematicians can't explain maths to the rest of us.
(2) Once you find one who can, it actually becomes enjoyable.
(3) Calculus is interesting!
Is this a kind of mid-life crisis? Is it common for arts graduates in their thirties to get into numbers and graphs? Is this the equivalent of accountants taking up skydiving, or having an office romance?
May Contain Nuts
Today's word is: Glurge
Glurge refers to sacharrine anacdotes whose 'uplifing' message is undermined by their own subtext.
You know the kind of thing - stories whose ostensive message is "Friends are more important than money" and "Honour above acolade" but which really say "Stop whinging about your poverty" and "Obey the rules".
There's the one about Robert the Bruce and the Spider, lots of stuff about how prayer and hope overcome impossible odds, and generally something about a disabled athlete who suceeds through sheer determination.
In primary school, I remember the whole class being made to memorise "If at first you don't succeed, try try try again" and to repeat it mantralike, with the assurance that it was an important, life changing truth.
The headmaster often addressed the school during morning assemblies, telling stories about how two monks averted a war between Argentina and Chile by pleading with the generals, or how plants (and therefore people) have to suffer to become strong.
It never occured to me to argue against this wash of gibberish. I could see through it, and assumed everyone else could too. It was just vaguely puzzling that adults kept producing it, so I just sat and ignored it.
The school, noticing this, paid for me to have a battery of tests to find out if I was deaf or subnormal. Good hearing, IQ of 130+. Which was nice.
I also have vague recollections of sessions with a psychologist, trying to find out why I was 'withdrawn'. He concluded I wasn't withdrawn - I was "bright but shy", which is probably accurate.
So much for childhood. Good word though.
-----
Written on my packet of chocolate biscuits: "Warning: Insert May Form Small Parts".
Once someone tells me what that means, I shall be duly warned.
-----
ScienceBlogs is a new home for...scientific blogs. Not much there yet, but it looks like it could become a very good 'one stop shop' for science writing that is comprehensible to the layman (e.g. me) without being pitched at complete novices.
It's that field between beginner and advanced again. Esperantists have a phrase, "Eterna Komenculo" - Eternal Beginner, one who is completely competent in the basics, but doesn't have the resources, time or energy to go further.
-----
I'm attempting to revise maths, especially algebra. Most of which I haven't done since I was 10 years old.
Indicies, Standard form, number bases, modulo, types of average - No problem. Lemon squeezy.
Simultainious equations - I used to know how to solve them. That is, I spent a week doing them in 1983, but never outside of a classroom, and never since.
Difference of two squares - I used to know what it meant.
Mantissa - Give me a minute, and I'll remember. Make it five minutes.
Binomials - Found out what it meant last night.
Antilogarithms, quadratic functions, codomains, volume of a sphere, tangent curve - Um.
Glurge refers to sacharrine anacdotes whose 'uplifing' message is undermined by their own subtext.
You know the kind of thing - stories whose ostensive message is "Friends are more important than money" and "Honour above acolade" but which really say "Stop whinging about your poverty" and "Obey the rules".
There's the one about Robert the Bruce and the Spider, lots of stuff about how prayer and hope overcome impossible odds, and generally something about a disabled athlete who suceeds through sheer determination.
In primary school, I remember the whole class being made to memorise "If at first you don't succeed, try try try again" and to repeat it mantralike, with the assurance that it was an important, life changing truth.
The headmaster often addressed the school during morning assemblies, telling stories about how two monks averted a war between Argentina and Chile by pleading with the generals, or how plants (and therefore people) have to suffer to become strong.
It never occured to me to argue against this wash of gibberish. I could see through it, and assumed everyone else could too. It was just vaguely puzzling that adults kept producing it, so I just sat and ignored it.
The school, noticing this, paid for me to have a battery of tests to find out if I was deaf or subnormal. Good hearing, IQ of 130+. Which was nice.
I also have vague recollections of sessions with a psychologist, trying to find out why I was 'withdrawn'. He concluded I wasn't withdrawn - I was "bright but shy", which is probably accurate.
So much for childhood. Good word though.
-----
Written on my packet of chocolate biscuits: "Warning: Insert May Form Small Parts".
Once someone tells me what that means, I shall be duly warned.
-----
ScienceBlogs is a new home for...scientific blogs. Not much there yet, but it looks like it could become a very good 'one stop shop' for science writing that is comprehensible to the layman (e.g. me) without being pitched at complete novices.
It's that field between beginner and advanced again. Esperantists have a phrase, "Eterna Komenculo" - Eternal Beginner, one who is completely competent in the basics, but doesn't have the resources, time or energy to go further.
-----
I'm attempting to revise maths, especially algebra. Most of which I haven't done since I was 10 years old.
Indicies, Standard form, number bases, modulo, types of average - No problem. Lemon squeezy.
Simultainious equations - I used to know how to solve them. That is, I spent a week doing them in 1983, but never outside of a classroom, and never since.
Difference of two squares - I used to know what it meant.
Mantissa - Give me a minute, and I'll remember. Make it five minutes.
Binomials - Found out what it meant last night.
Antilogarithms, quadratic functions, codomains, volume of a sphere, tangent curve - Um.
Smiling Makes My Face Ache
Working on Science Fiction, Double Feature. At first I thought the song was written in A#, which is a downright peculiar key for anyone to compose in. It's:
A#
B# (=C)
C## (=D)
D#
E# (=F)
F## (=G)
G## (=A)
Then it turns out the entire album isn't tuned to concert pitch - the instruments are in tune with each other, but not with any correctly tuned instrument. Which presents problems when I jump between the recording and my version - it's like wrenching gears.
Anyway, assuming the song is in A-Major, the chords are, more or less:
Verses: A G# F# E
Choruses: D E A F#
-----
I've decided I rather like all the Mozilla software - it's close enough to the microsoft stuff to make the transition easy, but it's what the microsoft stuff should have been.
I think I'll hang on to Outlook Express for the moment though - just so I can download hotmail at the same time as other mail.
The HTML 'Composer' will be useful for the Respect site - the other two want training and I think DreamWeaver is a little complex. That's if we ever get around to training and/or design - I'm quite happy and able to do the site myself, but being collectivists, they want to work collectively. Well, fair enough.
-----
On the question of whether we, as minions of George Galloway, should vote to keep him in the Big Brother household or not, a decision has it seems been reached.
Should we try to keep him in the house to give him further exposure and the impression of public support, or prevent him making a damn fool of himself any longer? The branch leaders have met in secret closed session, and over three pints of beer decided that we should all vote to have him evicted.
Should news of our actions reach high levels, there may be 'questions asked' and even 'steps taken'. And yes, I am joking.
-----
I find, when trying to make music, there are several points when I think "This track isn't working at all" or "It was a really bad idea to take this approach".
There's a feeling that there's something fundamentally wrong with the track. Like the intonation of singing doesn't match with my voice, or the chords are horrible, or the basic sounds clash with each other. But I never know whether it's because the track isn't finished and polished, or because I've gone down a musical blind alley.
Well, if SFDF doesn't work out this time, I'll just treat this version as a demo. Something for the rareties CD.
A#
B# (=C)
C## (=D)
D#
E# (=F)
F## (=G)
G## (=A)
Then it turns out the entire album isn't tuned to concert pitch - the instruments are in tune with each other, but not with any correctly tuned instrument. Which presents problems when I jump between the recording and my version - it's like wrenching gears.
Anyway, assuming the song is in A-Major, the chords are, more or less:
Verses: A G# F# E
Choruses: D E A F#
-----
I've decided I rather like all the Mozilla software - it's close enough to the microsoft stuff to make the transition easy, but it's what the microsoft stuff should have been.
I think I'll hang on to Outlook Express for the moment though - just so I can download hotmail at the same time as other mail.
The HTML 'Composer' will be useful for the Respect site - the other two want training and I think DreamWeaver is a little complex. That's if we ever get around to training and/or design - I'm quite happy and able to do the site myself, but being collectivists, they want to work collectively. Well, fair enough.
-----
On the question of whether we, as minions of George Galloway, should vote to keep him in the Big Brother household or not, a decision has it seems been reached.
Should we try to keep him in the house to give him further exposure and the impression of public support, or prevent him making a damn fool of himself any longer? The branch leaders have met in secret closed session, and over three pints of beer decided that we should all vote to have him evicted.
Should news of our actions reach high levels, there may be 'questions asked' and even 'steps taken'. And yes, I am joking.
-----
I find, when trying to make music, there are several points when I think "This track isn't working at all" or "It was a really bad idea to take this approach".
There's a feeling that there's something fundamentally wrong with the track. Like the intonation of singing doesn't match with my voice, or the chords are horrible, or the basic sounds clash with each other. But I never know whether it's because the track isn't finished and polished, or because I've gone down a musical blind alley.
Well, if SFDF doesn't work out this time, I'll just treat this version as a demo. Something for the rareties CD.
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