Have to say - the initial humorous magic of Facebook has gone. Some people's status updates are so annoying it's untrue. Some are very clever and funny, others are as funny as eating poo-flavoured glass.
There's the odd bright spot. Interesting videos from people, intelligent comment, and the boxing debates me and one of my old schoolmates Tony have are amongst them.
And the funny, quirky things, like "John needs". If you haven't done it, go to Google, type your name + needs, and see what ridiculous things come up.
For the record, mine include: John needs father, Don John needs charisma, John needs badly to impress, John needs a map of Thailand, Terrington St John needs help in effort for new village hall, Elton John needs a helipad at the O2, and John needs to be visible on every issue a la Obama. That's one needy guy.
But some status updates are really boring. I particularly hate this type (all names are made up by the way; when I say made-up I mean I don't have friends with those names. They are real names. If I was going for made up names I would have said something like Banzagrew or Trenevere. I digress...) of message:
Jamie cannot BELIEVE what he has done. Trevor is SO excited about tomorrow. Darren has just discovered something. Enid is in a dilemma...etc etc etc
If it/that is so good/exciting/erotic/flamboyant then just say it! Don't try and expect people to ask you what it is and start a boring and ultimately flaccid conversation.
Because when you do this you tend to find the most mundane answers.
I would love to find out that Jamie has eaten his own weight in Haribo sweets and can make people diabetic just by breathing on them.
And Trevor is excited about going jet ski-ing with Jessica Alba along the Welland on the back of two giant Kraken
And Darren has discovered that his Dad, brother and dog are all one and the same.
And Enid's dilemma is which of the slowly festering corpses of the Cheeky Girls she should remove from meathooks in her garage first.
But I'm always disappointed.
I could go on and mention the annoyance of repetitive messages, obsession with partners, and repetitive messages, but I won't.
Of course, the irony of this is that I'm going to post a link to it on Facebook. Which makes me a hypocrite. Never mind, I'll be too busy flying to Thailand from my impressive helipad in London to care.
*Had a bloke in court yesterday called Tarzan. Genuinely. In for motoring offences. He was given a vine. Ho ho.
*Hope there are some Blackburn fans reading this. I should point out for non-football fans that my beloved Sky Blues beat Rovers last night, despite them being in the league above us. We now play Chelsea in the next round of the FA Cup. Bring it on.
*Just a quick message about David Cameron. The Tory leader lost his young son Ivan this morning. Ivan fought illness virtually from birth and because of this his father put in many hours of charity work for various causes and became a patron for several of them. As someone who lost their brother when he was young - a brother who also suffered from illness - my heart is with Cameron and family now.
Wednesday 25 February 2009
Thursday 19 February 2009
Paris Hilton in winter
Sorry it took so long to put another post on, but I've been having some problems with disabled cookies, whatever that means.
Not that I've done bugger all in the intervening weeks. We had a house inspection, which we passed. Few minor quibbles - Bit of mildew on the shower, rat faeces in the toaster, immigrants in the lounge, all the usual crap. I become really anal when I clean up the house. I vacuum the floor 15 times, I wipe the dado rails, sponge the radiators. I don't think I'm homosexual, but there are sometimes echoes of it.
What else... been to court four times. A comedy foot fetish story can be found here:
http://www.spaldingtoday.co.uk/news/Foot-fetish-man-admits-harassment.4977597.jp.
Several other good drink drive stories. Read the paper for God's sake.
Currently watching Paris Hilton's British Best Friend. I recommend everyone watch it. 12 or 14 absolutely soulless people competing to be Paris' best friend. All taking part in games and challenges, all of them actors, models, PR assistant, a screamingly gay office assistant.
It is sickening, revolting, ghastly television. I love Paris Hilton, who is what she is - a very pretty talentless person who has been given everything, including warmth and a heart. These plebians
don't even have that.
One of them actually had the job title Model/blogger. Model/blogger! Blogging isn't a job. It's where sad, warped people bleed their corrupted minds onto a computer screen for equally warped people top digest (present company excepted, of course). I would love to do this as a job, but would be arrested within hours. I can see it now; even as my index finger relaxes on the enter key for the last line of an expose of the crack cocaine and goat-buggering exploits of Spalding's celebrities, a team of SWAT soldiers gun down the door, slap me in handcuffs, and drag me off to the South Holland version of Guantanamo Bay. I'm too coarse, too troubled, too silly, to do this as a job.
On the other side is ten years younger: the challenge. A woman aged 29, whose "appearance age" is 42, will compete against a 52-year old (appearance age 62) to see who can be made to look younger. One will have surgery, the other will have new make-up, and a third -a 30 year old journalist who looks 379 when he watches brainshite like this - will let rabid lemurs nibble on his eyelids before he watches it again.
Let me know if you agree x
Not that I've done bugger all in the intervening weeks. We had a house inspection, which we passed. Few minor quibbles - Bit of mildew on the shower, rat faeces in the toaster, immigrants in the lounge, all the usual crap. I become really anal when I clean up the house. I vacuum the floor 15 times, I wipe the dado rails, sponge the radiators. I don't think I'm homosexual, but there are sometimes echoes of it.
What else... been to court four times. A comedy foot fetish story can be found here:
http://www.spaldingtoday.co.uk/news/Foot-fetish-man-admits-harassment.4977597.jp.
Several other good drink drive stories. Read the paper for God's sake.
Currently watching Paris Hilton's British Best Friend. I recommend everyone watch it. 12 or 14 absolutely soulless people competing to be Paris' best friend. All taking part in games and challenges, all of them actors, models, PR assistant, a screamingly gay office assistant.
It is sickening, revolting, ghastly television. I love Paris Hilton, who is what she is - a very pretty talentless person who has been given everything, including warmth and a heart. These plebians
don't even have that.
One of them actually had the job title Model/blogger. Model/blogger! Blogging isn't a job. It's where sad, warped people bleed their corrupted minds onto a computer screen for equally warped people top digest (present company excepted, of course). I would love to do this as a job, but would be arrested within hours. I can see it now; even as my index finger relaxes on the enter key for the last line of an expose of the crack cocaine and goat-buggering exploits of Spalding's celebrities, a team of SWAT soldiers gun down the door, slap me in handcuffs, and drag me off to the South Holland version of Guantanamo Bay. I'm too coarse, too troubled, too silly, to do this as a job.
On the other side is ten years younger: the challenge. A woman aged 29, whose "appearance age" is 42, will compete against a 52-year old (appearance age 62) to see who can be made to look younger. One will have surgery, the other will have new make-up, and a third -a 30 year old journalist who looks 379 when he watches brainshite like this - will let rabid lemurs nibble on his eyelids before he watches it again.
Let me know if you agree x
Tuesday 3 February 2009
OK Computer
IBM have unveiled a new supercomputer which is capable of 20 quadrillion computations per second, but still apparently crashes halfway through Redtube videos:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2009/feb/03/fastest-supercomputer-ibm-sequoia
Also the word "petaflop" sounds a little but twee to me. For a machine of this magnitude it should be a word like "titancrax" or "midoplange".
http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2009/feb/03/fastest-supercomputer-ibm-sequoia
Also the word "petaflop" sounds a little but twee to me. For a machine of this magnitude it should be a word like "titancrax" or "midoplange".
Monday 2 February 2009
Wankee Doodle Dandy
I'm tempted to say this was the only physical activity of the whole evening knowing how flimsy and boring Grid Iron is:
http://uk.eurosport.yahoo.com/02022009/58/nfl-porn-ruins-super-bowl-coverage.html
http://uk.eurosport.yahoo.com/02022009/58/nfl-porn-ruins-super-bowl-coverage.html
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow and let Britain fall to its knees
Snow is one of those things that everyone loves as long as they don't actually have to deal with it. Imagine going outside and trying to sort out the roads today. Or any electricity lines which are down. Because Britain's temperature is naturally muggy and grim, a lot like many of its people, we are always excited by the annual February snow.
A few years ago I managed to skid my car off the road and into a ditch after hitting a patch of ice in Gedney. I took a corner and literally started spinning. Turning the wheel exacerbated the problem, and only five seconds after realising there was a problem at all, I was sat at 45 degrees with the door of my new Peugeot 306 resembling broken meringue. I was unhurt and climbed out before a kindly farmer helped me. I sat in the back of his range rover, surrounded by recently slain pheasants, wondering what the hell had just happened.
And the crowning irony - the final turd in the waterpipe? There was no work that day. My journey had been pointless.
Since then I've become a lot better at driving in the snow, more careful and observant. Part of that is a function of what happened to me, part is the inevitable outcome of seeing so many cars wrapped around trees and lampposts through my job over the years.
One of the most incredible things I've ever seen was when I boarded a bus in Lapland to take me to Santa Claus Village. Rovaniemi is about 8 miles from the village but there were several buses throughout the day to take people to meet the great man, and thankfully there was a stop just outside my hotel. So I climbed in and handed over my fare to the driver, who extended a hand with precisely zero fingers. Now bear in mind the journey I was about to take. Eight miles of snow track, icy roads with drops into alpine abyss on either side, sheer walls of blizzard, in several tonnes of rectangular metal. And I was being taken on this magical mystery tour by a guy whose grip of the steering wheel would be comparable to that of Steven Gerrard tackling astrophysics.
But he was very good, and only left the road 12 times during the journey.
At least the Finns know it's snowy pretty much all the time. I heard the other day that the state of Montana, which borders Canada, has a highest recorded temperature of 121c and a low of around -50c. Imagine putting the wrong clothes on for that bastard.
Just watched Calender news and there are some hilarious photos of rabbits playing with snow, and a snowman with a pepper for a nose to which the presenters poked fun in that false, cloying way that only local newsreaders can. It's enough to make an educated and hilarious political commentator like myself turn off his computer. Adios snowsters.
A few years ago I managed to skid my car off the road and into a ditch after hitting a patch of ice in Gedney. I took a corner and literally started spinning. Turning the wheel exacerbated the problem, and only five seconds after realising there was a problem at all, I was sat at 45 degrees with the door of my new Peugeot 306 resembling broken meringue. I was unhurt and climbed out before a kindly farmer helped me. I sat in the back of his range rover, surrounded by recently slain pheasants, wondering what the hell had just happened.
And the crowning irony - the final turd in the waterpipe? There was no work that day. My journey had been pointless.
Since then I've become a lot better at driving in the snow, more careful and observant. Part of that is a function of what happened to me, part is the inevitable outcome of seeing so many cars wrapped around trees and lampposts through my job over the years.
One of the most incredible things I've ever seen was when I boarded a bus in Lapland to take me to Santa Claus Village. Rovaniemi is about 8 miles from the village but there were several buses throughout the day to take people to meet the great man, and thankfully there was a stop just outside my hotel. So I climbed in and handed over my fare to the driver, who extended a hand with precisely zero fingers. Now bear in mind the journey I was about to take. Eight miles of snow track, icy roads with drops into alpine abyss on either side, sheer walls of blizzard, in several tonnes of rectangular metal. And I was being taken on this magical mystery tour by a guy whose grip of the steering wheel would be comparable to that of Steven Gerrard tackling astrophysics.
But he was very good, and only left the road 12 times during the journey.
At least the Finns know it's snowy pretty much all the time. I heard the other day that the state of Montana, which borders Canada, has a highest recorded temperature of 121c and a low of around -50c. Imagine putting the wrong clothes on for that bastard.
Just watched Calender news and there are some hilarious photos of rabbits playing with snow, and a snowman with a pepper for a nose to which the presenters poked fun in that false, cloying way that only local newsreaders can. It's enough to make an educated and hilarious political commentator like myself turn off his computer. Adios snowsters.
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