did you hear about the french woman who got pregagant off fucking a cow?
she gave bouef!
what d'you call an alternate history biopic of judy garland, where she lived as an unknown mechanic?
a part is worn!
did you hear about the web surfer, who wrinkled his brow when he couldn't find a webpage?
he had a furrow fore!
elvis was throwing a tantrum backstage; he wouldn't appear unless they changed the billing to include his middle name. "ok, ok," said colonel tom parker, "keep your aaron!"
why do they have electrical resistors in the tate?
because ohm is where the art is!
why did the juvenile delinquent with a lisp not know white from wong? because i couldn't make it work.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Monday, July 10, 2006
elswood
i seem to have got myself in a bit of an emotional pickle.
i'd lent marion there a cd, back when we talked. a release of m.j.hibbet and the validators complete with hand written note pad paper thanking me for my purchase, 'this is not a library', the title especially ironic to me as i decided to endevour it's return. this is an especially timely tale too, as mr. hibbett has just released his new album which i intend to purchase one of these days too, the mainstream-busting 'we validate!' (catch them on the evening session next monday). so ultimately, and consulting many friends, i sent her an email. having not spoken to her for what must be four months, i thought i'd keep it dry, impersonal and civil. 'there is nothing to say', i thought, 'so i will say nothing.'
one might wonder why i wanted the cd back at all. is it worth that much? let her hold on to some detritus. i can always buy it again.* but there's no reason why she should have it, and no reason why it should be a difficult matter to get back something i didn't mean for her to keep.
so i emailed her a plain and simple request for the cd, with no subject, signing off with 'ta'. and today she replied, a simple, civil reply. and i thought, oh god. look what i've done. for months there was silence; but a tacit silence, not a deliberate silence like ignoring each other in the street. but now i've made the lack of communication look so contrived, so particular, and made out that i am happy for it to be so. oh, i've got to learn the hard way, haven't i? i should have just left it. but now i so regret writing. and i want to reply, tell her i'm sorry for the way things turned out and it wasn't my idea, but leave it obvious that she doesn't have to read it.
shut up, grilly! shut the fuck up! no-one wants to read this garbage!
*oh shit, i've just convinced myself that this is what i should in fact have done. god i'm such a dick. so it gets worse. should i backtrack, send another email and say, 'nah, keep it'? oh the tangled webs we weave.. if i do then it looks like it was all a ploy.
on a completely unrelated point, i know there's already been 'myspace: the movie', but i'd love to remake charlie and the chocolate factory supplanting willie wonka with tom and the chocolate factory with his shitty office.
i'd lent marion there a cd, back when we talked. a release of m.j.hibbet and the validators complete with hand written note pad paper thanking me for my purchase, 'this is not a library', the title especially ironic to me as i decided to endevour it's return. this is an especially timely tale too, as mr. hibbett has just released his new album which i intend to purchase one of these days too, the mainstream-busting 'we validate!' (catch them on the evening session next monday). so ultimately, and consulting many friends, i sent her an email. having not spoken to her for what must be four months, i thought i'd keep it dry, impersonal and civil. 'there is nothing to say', i thought, 'so i will say nothing.'
one might wonder why i wanted the cd back at all. is it worth that much? let her hold on to some detritus. i can always buy it again.* but there's no reason why she should have it, and no reason why it should be a difficult matter to get back something i didn't mean for her to keep.
so i emailed her a plain and simple request for the cd, with no subject, signing off with 'ta'. and today she replied, a simple, civil reply. and i thought, oh god. look what i've done. for months there was silence; but a tacit silence, not a deliberate silence like ignoring each other in the street. but now i've made the lack of communication look so contrived, so particular, and made out that i am happy for it to be so. oh, i've got to learn the hard way, haven't i? i should have just left it. but now i so regret writing. and i want to reply, tell her i'm sorry for the way things turned out and it wasn't my idea, but leave it obvious that she doesn't have to read it.
shut up, grilly! shut the fuck up! no-one wants to read this garbage!
*oh shit, i've just convinced myself that this is what i should in fact have done. god i'm such a dick. so it gets worse. should i backtrack, send another email and say, 'nah, keep it'? oh the tangled webs we weave.. if i do then it looks like it was all a ploy.
on a completely unrelated point, i know there's already been 'myspace: the movie', but i'd love to remake charlie and the chocolate factory supplanting willie wonka with tom and the chocolate factory with his shitty office.
today's reading
if a virus destroyed every mp3 player on the planet, would it be a podcaust?
participate: thursday week is world jump day (see the huge entity below). i won't beable to as i will be in the air.
play: not pron.
gasp in awe at: the on-line encyclopedia of integer sequences.
listen to: pondman on radio cymru2 (and check out their album blog).
trawl: the huge entity.
participate: thursday week is world jump day (see the huge entity below). i won't beable to as i will be in the air.
play: not pron.
gasp in awe at: the on-line encyclopedia of integer sequences.
listen to: pondman on radio cymru2 (and check out their album blog).
trawl: the huge entity.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
impotance and frustration
i ring up 'special mail services' to see what's happened to the passport i sent off for renewal last month. i give them my name, my adress, and my reference number. "right," says the bright young lady handling my call, "how can i help you?" i thought it should be pretty obvious, given she's now got my account right in front of her face, but apparently i have to tell her that i've not received my passport. so it turns out they tried to deliver it twice last month. did they ring the door bell? no. they claim the address was insufficient, an attempt to make it sound like i fucked up, not them. given the volume of mail that comes through the usual route, i guess the 'special' in their name must refer to the mail they handle and not their bungling service itself.
they then returned it to the passport office without telling anyone - not me, not the passport office, who tried to fob me off with 'well, once it's left our office their's nothing we can do'. i told them it was in their office. they called me back a couple of hours later when they'd found it and asked if i could give a clearer address; "where in manchester is liverpool road?" she says. just fucking google it dot com. what is this, 2005? so hopefully i'll have it by the end of the week, three weeks late.
and for some reason, as you can probably tell, this ordeal realy irked me. i couldn't sleep, i was furious. normally i can deal with this kind of beaurucratic shit. i don't know what it was. maybe because i'm waiting to book flights upon receipt of the passport, which are becoming more expensive every day. maybe it's my general situation; i feel so 'trapped in my flat', like i've just realised 'what i thought were friendly pats on the back, were really the hands that drove me deeper down'. and then, remembering my mind hacks book, i realised it could be something completely inconsequential and irrelevant that sparked off the whole episode. or maybe i'd had too much caffeine that day. it was very reassuring to think how rediculous feeling anything at all is. but i still couln't sleep.
and then, despite waking up with the alarm, i was later for work today than i was yesterday when i slept through it.
they then returned it to the passport office without telling anyone - not me, not the passport office, who tried to fob me off with 'well, once it's left our office their's nothing we can do'. i told them it was in their office. they called me back a couple of hours later when they'd found it and asked if i could give a clearer address; "where in manchester is liverpool road?" she says. just fucking google it dot com. what is this, 2005? so hopefully i'll have it by the end of the week, three weeks late.
and for some reason, as you can probably tell, this ordeal realy irked me. i couldn't sleep, i was furious. normally i can deal with this kind of beaurucratic shit. i don't know what it was. maybe because i'm waiting to book flights upon receipt of the passport, which are becoming more expensive every day. maybe it's my general situation; i feel so 'trapped in my flat', like i've just realised 'what i thought were friendly pats on the back, were really the hands that drove me deeper down'. and then, remembering my mind hacks book, i realised it could be something completely inconsequential and irrelevant that sparked off the whole episode. or maybe i'd had too much caffeine that day. it was very reassuring to think how rediculous feeling anything at all is. but i still couln't sleep.
and then, despite waking up with the alarm, i was later for work today than i was yesterday when i slept through it.
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