Silent in a heart of steel

Hello, I rarely blog.

That shows that I’m not afraid of blogging, that I am capable of blogging, and most importantly that I can be trusted to do so in moderation.

I’m quite aware that this is too small for adults, now that it’s been scaled to fit my blog.

The other day, I was walking along a cloister, and I passed a limping security guard muttering about how it was at the time “too bloody early in the morning” – though it was in fact early afternoon.  More notable was that he was followed at a short distance by a short (5′7″-ish) Indian man who looked very much like a dark Leon Trotsky.
This doesn’t go anywhere; that’s it.

I had a dream the other day, in which the rear tyre of my bicycle was flat.  The satisfaction you glean from this blog is like some unique drug, it’s dreamshit.  I just conveyed to you an entire dream in that one sentence – and not in such a way that you’d think Martin Luther King Jr. was unfamiliar with punctuation.  Oh, in my dream I kept forgetting that the tyre was flat, and I’d notice en route, and worry that I was damaging the rim.

More recently, I had a dream which may have begun with someone not entirely unlike Stephen Fry, and ended with me feeling profoundly inadequate.  And it had nothing to do with him, though it easily could have.  Stephen Fry makes us all feel inadequate, deep down – but only during our waking hours.

I’m well into reading the third last Hornblower book, and while I thirst for more, I’m also afraid of finishing the series.  C.S. Forester died 42 years ago, and I have no hopes of more.  I shed non-Euclidean tears t_t, they curve with sadness.  You’ve never wept Bézier curves.  Isaac Asimov’s estate authorised three Foundation novels from three of today’s respected Science Fiction authors – and we know how they turned out.

My hands are still very warm, as they have been all year.  We are in late spring, and I am not looking forward to the sweltering heat and swarming flies of summer.  Clare is escaping to Japan, and I will be all Clareless and alone for two months! D:

I’m plotting to hide in her suitcase or disguise myself as her mother, but there are several other people with designs on her luggage, and I’m too tall and hirsute to be her mum.  Also, I can’t speak Japanese. She objects strongly to me selling a kidney, so I’ll be down here, while she’s in the country responsible for Iron Chef.

If we swing away from organ trafficking and dreams (even the one I had at age four where I fell through a manhole down a long tunnel into my own bed through the hatch in the ceiling), I can return to discussing this blog, or perhaps blogging in general. To quote a demotivator, “Never before have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few.”

Also, Fi.  Fi blogs a lot.  If I had a dollar every time she posted a blog, I’d have $202 from the last 4.33 months.  At that rate, it would be $559.82 a year, which is far far below a taxable income.  But as an effortless supplement to any legal wage, it would be lovely.  I’ve noticed a slowing in the last couple of months – perhaps she has less to say, or perhaps she is being distracted by less worthy things such as her schooling, twitter, and her boyfriend.  N’awwwww.

I can ramble all I like.  But I won’t do it through that wretched mouthpiece that is twitter any more than fortnightly.  That’s what you get for slamming down your metaphorical hobnailed boot at 140 characters.

My blog.  My blog does not see me often, nor does it see many readers.

It does get a strange selection of Google search traffic, though.  I’ve taken this from my WordPress dashboard:

Whoever shouts the loudest gets the most attention

I’m faster than a Chihuahua – one decided to chase me as I rode home. It gave up. I was not on a white stallion but a mountain bike, should you be imagining me in a heroic light.

I’m living up my last teenage years, today I met Antho at the library. I returned those books on the Boer War, and took out some on Surrealism.

I’m breaking the habit of putting images at the very end of posts.  Mixing it up.  Because I’m exciting.

This Apple & Kiwi Fruit juice is very good, but is unattractive. It’s opaque and khaki. Like the shirts in the dress uniforms on M*A*S*H, or what you get when you mix all your paint together while washing it down the drain.
When I’m buying a drink, I want to be reminded of American courts martial in the early nineteen-fifties. Surgeons being tried for obscene behaviour make me thirsty, as does Alan Alda. I don’t have to explain why tipping acrylic paints down the drain is appetising.

Do not distress, the long drought of Peach Ice Tea has been remedied.

Today was slightly too warm. The supermarket in Unley has user-operated checkouts now, with a tall guy to watch over them.

Everything is painted woodland grey, except for the trimmings which are a strong green. The floorboards are real, but an unwelcoming dull stain. It’s all modern and clean, but it is neither coloured like a medical research centre or a trendy apartment building.

Bow-ties suit my personality too well for me to wear them. They would take me into the extreme. I should be tempered by my clothing.

I slept well last night.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired

Some things make me feel crushed or hollow, other things make me feel wonderful.  In life, right now.

I live in a meaningless void with people I love.

N’aww.

I woke up at 2 AM, it’s 5 PM now, don’t expect me to be coherent.  Crushing stuff is school-based, wonderful stuff is people based.

Also, Sarah Palin is disgusting.  She is a repulsive right-wing extremist, and I am offended that there are people excited “because she is a young woman”.  That’s so patronising, and I am truly disappointed that it seems to be working on some people.

No, I don’t even use segues when I’m awake.

I accidentally downloaded Windows Genuine Advantage, which is facepalm -inducing.  The weather is great.  I’m so tired, I will sleep as soon as I get these boots off.

I’m not sure what drives me to blog when I do.  I’m not apparently waiting for something interesting to say, and I don’t do it regularly.

Mmmm.

I’ve officially had too much of the Boer War.

Currently, my favourite typeface is Trebuchet MS.  Though, I did download a lot of novelty fonts a week or two back.  So I now have a veritable panoply of medieval and variously retro types.  Wow, I must be tired, I must be tiresome.

Why do I do this to you?

But when your heart skips a beat it’s ruthless and aimless

Shocking news: I found a curvy road! (Why yes, I do live in Adelaide, why do you ask?)
I’m serious about this, it was designed with neither a ruler nor a compass.  It’s almost as if it were not planned at all, merely a tarmacked track that was once … organic.  It both undulates and twists, it has massive trees in unusual places, and two-storey houses built into the slope.  It is strangely incongruous with the grid that goes in all directions, as far as buildings go.

I love it here, but I’d hate it if it were in SimCity.  I will have an uninterrupted grid pattern!  My current city is perfect, and it even makes frequent use of those trains with which my Sims have some strange infatuation.  SimCity 3000 Unlimited’s Asian building set really makes my city much more impressive, too.  This means things are taller and shinier, which is what really matters.  SimCity 4, on the other hand, will not let control freaks (the only people playing this series) place their own side-roads.  You have to be tricky with the zoning to fool the computer into putting things where you want them.  Also, it is too complicated.  This is why I cannot be bothered finding out who I am lending my copy to, and then reclaiming it.

My bicycle has had a full servicing from a friend of mine who has an intimate knowledge of bicycles bordering on the concerning.  I hope I will remember how to do everything.  He assures me that stores would charge about $60 for that, and I assured him that the Mi Goreng he got in return was worth that. =)
Aligned brakes and an oiled drive chain mean that my bicycle is now like a ninja – silent.  But less deadly, as the brakes are no longer fail.  “Fail” is an adjective, if you missed that.  It does of course make that quiet clicky noise (not unlike power lines on a humid day) when I’m not pedalling.
I have neglected it for years, but there is no damage, apart from inconsequential corrosion from riding on the beach.  It’s still a good bike, except for the shock absorbers, which will not accept the ring thingies.  This could mean any number of things, but do not fret.  Explanations are a courtesy that you must earn, but you can be assured that this one is not important.

I have new boots, in which I can wriggle my toes.  This is a plus.  I like being able to do that.
There is nothing like new footwear to remind you that your feet are different sizes. Any sneakers which I’ve worn for years have been trained (like bonsai) to fit perfectly.  Also, ankle support.

It is very easy to think (or be distracted) while looking at a waterfall, so I spent about 45 minutes sitting in that park, watching the water.
Also, ducks are cute.

I think that is all.  No, I don’t need to use segues.

A mystery object, large and perplexing! I’m not sure what this is.  It could be a cog – and the only things large enough to take that would be the epic-scaled mining mechs and hydroelectric dams.
On the other hand, it could be a pier for a bridge. A segment of a pier, that is.  And by pier, I mean massive column rather than jetty.

If you know what it is, or have a source, do share it.

Edit: Mystery solved! It’s the Large Hadron Collider, which will destroy everything~
Thanks to the commenter identifying as ‘This’.

Trapped in yourself, break out instead

Ok, I thought I’d cover the holidays, before it gets into the distant past.  It was a two week holiday between terms, and a week has already passed since it finished.  I could have blogged four times while it was happening, but it was a holiday, and I do not think that is time best spent blogging.

I took three friends over to Kangaroo Island at the beginning of the holidays, and this time it was not all on fire.  We were therefore able to go to the tourist spots, which we naturally decided to do on the day with the … least friendly weather.  I will be getting the photos of us leaning into the wind, tomorrow.

There is now a video on YouTube of me at Remarkable Rocks, in a corridor type formation, struggling against very strong wind.  You can hear their laughter, as it begins to hail, and I scream in pain.  This is, I think, the third video with me in it.  The first currently has 28,499 views merely because a certain someone uploaded it with a misleading name.

I put on a few kilos, which I have already lost.  All have conceded that both of my parents are excellent cooks.

We played Risk a couple of times, and there was much stomping of Ukraine.  We did this during Rugby matches and late night films.  Oh, we watched some good films, we watched some fun films, we watched an atrocity.

And to put this atrocity in perspective, The Godfather and V for Vendetta are good, Ninja Turtles II: Secret of the Ooze and Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie go in the “fun” category.  Yes, the 1992 Jim Henson Ninja Turtles film has the best opening sequence ever, involving a teen pizza deliveryman who knows martial arts fighting a large mob of thieves.  Did I mention that he’s asian?  The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles intervene, there are giant flowers, a snapping turtle, a wolf, a Samurai who lives in a car yard and Vanilla Ice doing the Ninja Rap.

Anyway, in Turbo, the lion Munchkin wizard creature from the planet with a blue filter was captured by the scantily clad woman who lives in a submarine with mutants, where the Munchkin’s mate and child are being held hostage.  He then reluctantly takes her to an island in a parallel dimension, so she can marry a lava monster (which she begins to have doubts about).  Being the “Queen of Evil” is not quite worth being married to a sentient molten rock formation.

Of course, the Power Rangers must also go to this parallel dimension, which they achieve by somehow getting their Zords (Transformers cars) onto the Ghost Ship.  Yes, a dilapidated wooden ship will take them to another dimension.

Did I mention that the police are stupid, the blue ranger is a child (yes, it’s a film of that season), and the pink ranger has an Australian accent?

Anyway, there are fight scenes, explosions, mecha fight scenes, dodgy cuts, volcanoes erupting and a bald man’s head in a giant tube..  If that doesn’t make sense, the good guys win.

So, that was the fun and bad one.  What about the atrocity I mentioned? I should skip to the far side of the next picture now, if I were you.  It’s more fun that way.

It is called Soul Plane, and stars ‘Snoop Dogg’ as an ex-con who was trained to fly by terrorists.  This is the poorest taste film I have ever seen.

When a man who is not Chris Tucker is stuck to a toilet seat in an aeroplane, and through the window sees his dog being sucked into a turbine, mid-flight, the jury of a civil court awards him one hundred million dollars.  I’m shocked that anyone would misrepresent the court system so.

This sounds like a lot of money, but it is not enough to build ‘Terminal X’ (or ‘Terminal Malcom X’ for long), buy a heavily customised full-size jumbo jet painted in purple livery, and hire a full crew.  A white family is transferred to the maiden flight, and they too are terrible caricatures.  The jet has hydraulics.  And I mean the pointless kind that rice-cars have, along with sub-woofers and furry dice.

I … don’t want to talk about how bad it is, any more.  It has the most juvenile humour I’ve ever come across.

I’m disgusted.  I’m insulted.

I’m ashamed for everyone in it.

It’s the most racist film I’ve ever seen.  The co-pilot is African, and there is a Muslim on the plane.  What is the least tasteful way these characters could be treated?  They did it.  They did it to women, blind people, white people, gays, and every black stereotype yet.  And I hate them all, and they deserve it.  The characters are all repulsive.

We laughed less and less, as we realised that it wasn’t going to get any better. I’m going to give you some links with which to follow this up, as I’m washing my hands of this.

(Link) IMDb User Comments

I am agreeing with the negative ones, naturally.  You can also look it up on Wikipedia if you like, but they are expected to follow the neutrality policies.

This is ruined now.  I don’t feel like blogging about the other awesome things we did, or things that have happened since.  Not how warm my hands are or a strange dream I had.

I may be gone for some time.  I hope this hasn’t spoiled everything.

I’d like to point out that we spent more time watching good movies than bad, and we had fun.  It was 2 in the morning, and this crime against man seemed funny at the time.

Nothing to do with me.

I’m ambivalent to Last.fm’s new look.  Some things are massively improved, but a lot of things are disappointing.  Unlike deviantArt, which looks better than ever – which is just great, for a site I never use.

DDoS, on my 4chan?

Yeah, so.  We’re back at school, and seeing everyone again is great.  Some lessons are dread.

Ooh, we had bonfires, to burn all the wattle that had fallen in the storm.

The title of this post is a lyric.  I’d be a bad person not to tell you that.

What fine veins you have

Like some sort of premium cheese.  I am a closet Belgian.

So I went to donate blood today.  Through sickness, dictatorial parents deciding that blood is important during exams, and other engagements, everyone pulled out except Fi and I.  Hmm.  Australia is a country where you are not paid for doing this, so we get to feel good about ourselves.

Well, the people there are very thorough, very friendly, and very efficient.
I have good iron levels, blood pressure, and all of that.  Hooray? I also pass all of the probing questionnaires about drugs, transfusions, illness, man-to-man sex, prostitution, time spent in foreign lands, time spent in Queensland.

The vampire guy … um.  They are all registered nurses, I think, and they are there to bleed you for an excellent cause.  I’m not saying that they consume the blood, oh no.
Anyway, I nominated my left arm, as that is my less used of the two.  I am more comfortable with a thin piece of metal being stuck into that.  After pressure was applied by the armband and I pumped the “foam thing” in my fist for a while, any veins that are theoretically present in my arm were still efficiently stealthed.
So we went to my right arm, where at last, my fine veins were found! They extracted just bit of blood out of me, and then the needle slipped through the vein in question, and flow ceased.  So they stopped.  They will find out my blood type, and that shall probably be all.

“Yes, I have had plenty to drink today.”
-For me.  Some days I do not drink at all, and do not feel thirst.  Sometimes I have 8 glasses of water.  By this time of day, I had had more than usual, but probably less than recommended.  Oh, I’m unhealthy; bicycle commuting and teetotalism aside.
But that is not all: my mother says my veins were very difficult to locate as an infant, when I was submitted to hospital for seizures.

As far as my rambles go, this one was less amusing than I expect of myself.  And I like to think I’m a man with very realistic expectations.  Oh, forgive me for not entertaining you.

I’ll just continue to string you along with not particularly engaging half-stories and the promise of an eventual laugh, and hope for a cult following.  Oh, those would be the driest acolytes ever.

And by this, do not think I am promising either consistency or variation.  We shall see.

Ethics, politics, Little Bear and computer games can wait indefinitely.  I owe these subjects nothing.
NOTHING.