I'm sure you remember an entry of days gone by, known only as Daylight Saving Time. Onwards.
Error 1336: Error 1337 Imminent.
My Internal Clock (which, the geekiest among my readers might like to know, is a binary blue led one, not unlike those avaliable at Think Geek) feels much better now. And nothing quite like a 49 hours weekend to celebrate. Now, I really can't help but wonder: Where is all the saved daylight stored? Can everyone help themselves to some? Is it for sale? I suppose it would dramatically reduce my electricity bill if I could just crack open a bottle of 2006 saved daylight instead of flicking on the light switch every night. And whenever some small object rolls under a bed or a couch, who wouldn't like to be able to just unscrew a little hip flask of saved daylight rather than feeling with your fingertips around the dirty floor or finding that the batteries in your torch are dead as can be and you've been trying to get yourself to buy some since forever?
On the not-so-bright side, I have a question for my esteemed readers (both of them): At 1:40 A.M. this sunday, would you have said it was twenty to two or twenty to one? On one hand, forty minutes past one makes it twenty to two, but in twenty minutes it would be one again. See the issue?
Trick or treat? Both, I say, both! Trick me, what a treat wouldn't that be! A little fright for jollies, come, come! Halloween is nigh, and I'll be busy... not trick or treating, but reaping the early benefiths of the impending holliday, so I might as well make my point now. All Hallows Eve, or so it was believed by Saxon druids, was the day when witches and their likes walked the earth, and so one would be wise to look like one of them, so they'd find one akin to them and spare them any harm (or so I've been told). Saxon druids no longer abound, not even in good old UK, but the tradition lives on, as even today in one of their former colonies which shall not be named, little children come out on the streets dressed as ghouls and other fantasy archetypes more or less related to the old superstition to knock on doors and extort candy with the threat of tricks. I judge them no, lest they judge me, and, really, any chance for the little angels (or fiends, if it suits the occasion better) to get their hands on a little treat should ge promtly grasped... by the dentist, at the very least. A few thousand kilometers across the Ocean (and I mean over here, should you need that I spell it out), it hasn't been long since that tradition became popular as well. Sure, kids aren't carying carved pumpkins around and they don't even do it propperly, they just knock on your door all dressed up in whatever most wierd rags they can find and plastered with ridiculous amounts of ghastly make up and drably say "It's like, you know, it's Halloween and so..." and they can be dissuaded with as little as "... so?". What saddens me (very slightly only, mind you) is that we used to have our own similar tradition, although entirely unrelated to any such belief as the wenches of Satan roaming amongst common folk, and the theme phrase which takes the place of "Trick or treat" roughly translates to "bread by God", but that tradittion was forgotten a long time ago. It saddens me (agin, very, very slightly) that kids would rather inherit (poorly) a tradition from beyond the sea than perpetuate a nearly equal tradition deeply rooted in their own history and ancestry. Oh, well, what are you going to do about it... Kids there days...
Speaking of which... having several relatives who are teachers, I'm often confounded with some acts of not-so-brightness (to use a kinder expression) from their students. Now, you should know these are Junior Hgih and High School students only that we're talking about, but seeing how daft these kids can be sometimes, it scares me that someday I might find myself turning to them for medical attention or any other life-or-death sort of service. Immigration... now that's a word with a nice ring to it. Off to...
Do I have an error 1337 yet? No?
New Zealand, which formearly had motto quite similar to my own, is as far as you can get from here without the help of Oxygen-Hydrogen powered engines and a wicked strong heat-proof and air tight hull. For those kind folks Daylight Saving has just begun. Stay strong, it's only six months.
How about now?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark wonders if he should start saving Nightlight Time. Ah, good ol' days when I had a nightlight... '94, you'll hardly be forgotten... in spite of all the ugly business therein.
Windows Experience
Hello there!
Thinking about a Windows XP related entry, are we? Well, then, we're plain wrong! Today's entry will be about something far deeper. Far more unfathomable. Far more... senseless. Senseless is good, right? Onwards.
Let's try not to fall into error 1337 agian, shall we?
Staring through a window, the whole world looks and feels so unlike it does through empty air, doesn't it? Much like a movie pales in comparison with reality, so does a window often show a bland and drab world. And yet, what ineffable sensation is it one gets from a window? What magic property does the plain sheet of glass endow? It it transparence? Or is it... invisibility!
Ninja!!! ... OK, let's not do that again.
This magically wondeful effect hardly ever works on a ground floor window. But part of the magic of it is that... it does work, on occasion.
Staring through a window, a small window, likely a dirty one, smudged with dirt and dust, high atop on a third floor, looking down at people on the street, going about their lives... it all can seem so surreal at times. Partially because you can't (usually) listen to them, partially because you can see a larger picture than when you're among them... it feels quite different. But most importantly, you know, or at least feel like they can't see you, that they're unnaware that you're there... looking at them... watching them... And so, while it should hardly strike you as surprising that a window, when looked through from the outside should become quite the voyeuristic object, isn't it strange that it should become just as voyeuristic an object when looked out of? But most strikingly, isn't it funny how invisible one can feel when just looking out a window?
Have no clue what the hell I'm talking about? Just look out any old window and wave at someone. And then at someone else. And then wave at some more people. Then count how many waves back you got.
Can you feel it now?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like to take this opportunity to discourage most other sharks to do any such thing. If, by any chance, there's a window a shark can look out of, most likely the people on the other side are indeed able and most willing to see it.
Thinking about a Windows XP related entry, are we? Well, then, we're plain wrong! Today's entry will be about something far deeper. Far more unfathomable. Far more... senseless. Senseless is good, right? Onwards.
Let's try not to fall into error 1337 agian, shall we?
Staring through a window, the whole world looks and feels so unlike it does through empty air, doesn't it? Much like a movie pales in comparison with reality, so does a window often show a bland and drab world. And yet, what ineffable sensation is it one gets from a window? What magic property does the plain sheet of glass endow? It it transparence? Or is it... invisibility!
Ninja!!! ... OK, let's not do that again.
This magically wondeful effect hardly ever works on a ground floor window. But part of the magic of it is that... it does work, on occasion.
Staring through a window, a small window, likely a dirty one, smudged with dirt and dust, high atop on a third floor, looking down at people on the street, going about their lives... it all can seem so surreal at times. Partially because you can't (usually) listen to them, partially because you can see a larger picture than when you're among them... it feels quite different. But most importantly, you know, or at least feel like they can't see you, that they're unnaware that you're there... looking at them... watching them... And so, while it should hardly strike you as surprising that a window, when looked through from the outside should become quite the voyeuristic object, isn't it strange that it should become just as voyeuristic an object when looked out of? But most strikingly, isn't it funny how invisible one can feel when just looking out a window?
Have no clue what the hell I'm talking about? Just look out any old window and wave at someone. And then at someone else. And then wave at some more people. Then count how many waves back you got.
Can you feel it now?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like to take this opportunity to discourage most other sharks to do any such thing. If, by any chance, there's a window a shark can look out of, most likely the people on the other side are indeed able and most willing to see it.
Never blog in anger...
Today's post wasn't going to be even remotely simillar to what it'll turn out to be. Nor will it be even slightly similar to the wide majority of all entries. Live with it!
Sir Austin Danger Powers, KBE's father, Nigel Powers (thank you very much, Mr. Caine), hated (or is it "hates"?) only two sorts of people: people intolerant of other cultures and the Dutch. I myself am yet to meet any Dutch person, nor have I ever been to the Netherlands, thus, I cannot possibly tell what might Mr. Powers hold against the Dutch. Now the French, however, are a pet peeve of mine.
Is it pollitically incorrect to say such a thing? I'm sure it is, but, really, I can't bring myself to lie on this. I've seen the French tourists in my country be nothing but obnoxious, refusing to even attempt to speak the native tongue (or any other tongue besides their own, not even any one the natives might be fluent in or at least familiar with. "English, motherfucker, do you speak it!?" Thank you, Mr. Jackson), I've seen the French being obnoxious abroad (Dominican Republic, Summer of 1999 and the UK, last week of 2005. Appearentely, it was my fault that I had a breathing condition and I was struggling and gasping for breath and thus I should take lip from some French snot because I was "ruining" her otherwise perfect evening at the opera.) and, needless to say, I've seen the French be obnoxious in France, where I should never return unless heavily (and, ironically, I mean heavilly) coherced. The French can have all of France to themselves, for all I care, and, by all means, never, ever leave. And really, I ask of you, what good things have come from France? Champagne? I'd very much settle for (prefer, actually) fine Itallian sparkling wine. Cognac? What's wrong with brandy? French movies? The endless futility of French fashion and cosmetics? Prolog? Oh please...
This, however, takes the cake. How is it that non-French scientists have never thought of this? Well, I suppose one could say they're all fatter than the French scientologists... ahem, scientists. I'd never think I'd say this, but now I very much support the Americans' decision of deprecating the phrase "french fries" in favour of "freedom fries". As for me, I'll never eat another francesinha until they change its name.
Well, then, my BMI, once of 34.259, is now 27.778 and I dare this bold statement: my overwheight tummy is smarter than all of your skinny French arses combined. Come prove me wrong!
Pax vobiscum atque vale. Unless you're French, that is, in which case "vale" won't really apply, would it? And "Pax"...
ArabianShark would like to take this chance to advertise to all man-eating sharks out there that Frenchman meat is, it would appear, extremely lean and quite the smart food. Get them while they last.
Sir Austin Danger Powers, KBE's father, Nigel Powers (thank you very much, Mr. Caine), hated (or is it "hates"?) only two sorts of people: people intolerant of other cultures and the Dutch. I myself am yet to meet any Dutch person, nor have I ever been to the Netherlands, thus, I cannot possibly tell what might Mr. Powers hold against the Dutch. Now the French, however, are a pet peeve of mine.
Is it pollitically incorrect to say such a thing? I'm sure it is, but, really, I can't bring myself to lie on this. I've seen the French tourists in my country be nothing but obnoxious, refusing to even attempt to speak the native tongue (or any other tongue besides their own, not even any one the natives might be fluent in or at least familiar with. "English, motherfucker, do you speak it!?" Thank you, Mr. Jackson), I've seen the French being obnoxious abroad (Dominican Republic, Summer of 1999 and the UK, last week of 2005. Appearentely, it was my fault that I had a breathing condition and I was struggling and gasping for breath and thus I should take lip from some French snot because I was "ruining" her otherwise perfect evening at the opera.) and, needless to say, I've seen the French be obnoxious in France, where I should never return unless heavily (and, ironically, I mean heavilly) coherced. The French can have all of France to themselves, for all I care, and, by all means, never, ever leave. And really, I ask of you, what good things have come from France? Champagne? I'd very much settle for (prefer, actually) fine Itallian sparkling wine. Cognac? What's wrong with brandy? French movies? The endless futility of French fashion and cosmetics? Prolog? Oh please...
This, however, takes the cake. How is it that non-French scientists have never thought of this? Well, I suppose one could say they're all fatter than the French scientologists... ahem, scientists. I'd never think I'd say this, but now I very much support the Americans' decision of deprecating the phrase "french fries" in favour of "freedom fries". As for me, I'll never eat another francesinha until they change its name.
Well, then, my BMI, once of 34.259, is now 27.778 and I dare this bold statement: my overwheight tummy is smarter than all of your skinny French arses combined. Come prove me wrong!
Pax vobiscum atque vale. Unless you're French, that is, in which case "vale" won't really apply, would it? And "Pax"...
ArabianShark would like to take this chance to advertise to all man-eating sharks out there that Frenchman meat is, it would appear, extremely lean and quite the smart food. Get them while they last.
Psyched
After a rocky start, it's one of those days. What sort of days, you ask? The sort of days when the fluffy sky blue tinted sunstruck cluds look all the more pretty and one feels ten feet tall and utterly unstoppable with as little encouragement as Beethoven's Fifth randomly popping up on his MP3 player. notice how I used a generic "MP3 player" instead of an all too common "iPod" and the likes.
You could say I'm high. You could then ask what I'm high on. Well, love, two words for you: Job Satisfaction. Nothing quite like it. Instant, long lasting high with no sided effects and perks upon perks.
Cue in guest voice: Mike Myers's Austin Powers.
"Yeah, baby!"
Back on track, then. What got me this high? And why do I ask all these questions? Well, one thing at the time, won't you! Firs things first. Do you know Magic: the Gathering? It's a Trading Card Game set in a mystical environment where two (or more) sorcerers battle amongst themselves with magic spells. If you'd like to know more about the game, here, have a link, they don't pay me to advertise their game for them. I'll merely state it's an aquired taste and not for the very meek, for it takes time, practice and preserveerance to get the hang of it, but once you do it's countless hours of fun. It's not for the very poor either, unless you find a casual circle where you can just scribble the cards' names on any old piece of paper you can shove into a propper card sleeve and call it a playable proxy. Either that or Apprentice. And here's the kicker: I managed to make my Systems Analysis project, which should carry on to Databases Handling next semester, be about that. Job satisfaction, love!
I rule!!!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is barely skimming on his territorial waters today. He's practically flying over them.
You could say I'm high. You could then ask what I'm high on. Well, love, two words for you: Job Satisfaction. Nothing quite like it. Instant, long lasting high with no sided effects and perks upon perks.
Cue in guest voice: Mike Myers's Austin Powers.
"Yeah, baby!"
Back on track, then. What got me this high? And why do I ask all these questions? Well, one thing at the time, won't you! Firs things first. Do you know Magic: the Gathering? It's a Trading Card Game set in a mystical environment where two (or more) sorcerers battle amongst themselves with magic spells. If you'd like to know more about the game, here, have a link, they don't pay me to advertise their game for them. I'll merely state it's an aquired taste and not for the very meek, for it takes time, practice and preserveerance to get the hang of it, but once you do it's countless hours of fun. It's not for the very poor either, unless you find a casual circle where you can just scribble the cards' names on any old piece of paper you can shove into a propper card sleeve and call it a playable proxy. Either that or Apprentice. And here's the kicker: I managed to make my Systems Analysis project, which should carry on to Databases Handling next semester, be about that. Job satisfaction, love!
I rule!!!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is barely skimming on his territorial waters today. He's practically flying over them.
Ephemerality
Have I ever told you about the place where I usually go for dinner? I figure now's as good a time as ever. Ergo...
Months ago (nearing twelve of them now) I went searching for a fast food place that wouldn't make my scale go "One at a time, please" or "No livestock!". I'm not much of a cook (or at least can't be bothered to be much of a cook night in and night out) and à la carte is a luxury my budget can't withstand on a daily basis. The fast food chain whose name starts with M, ends with s, contains the letters "cDonald" and shall remain unnamed was very obviously not a choice. Many other places provide a very narrow choice of two or three dishes and are very affordable (because you get no service to pay for, othar than putting the food on the tray you carry to a free table and busing the tray), but they too weren't all that kind to my scale. Enter the salad joint.
This place too offers little service: you pay (a little bit more than you'd like to) upfront, they make your salad (or sandwich) there and then, before your eyes and bus your tray when you're done and, if you're lucky, you get a good glimpse at a pair of the (second) most beautiful blue eyes... but I digress. Onwards.
Why do I go there every night? First off, it's a bit far from home. Now, I don't drive, so I walk, nearly a mile to get there and another on my way back, but, in my book, that's a perk. I love to walk, at my pace, no rush (or wait... my pace has been called "fast-ish"), and I don't get much of a chance to do it. Then, there's the healthy food factor. Salads and fruit do a body good, remember? And there's always the blue eyes...
A few days ago, I got a good snicker out of some character I spotted there. People there are usually like people everywhere: all the same, equal to myself and each other. Sure, they all have that little (or maybe not so little) something that makes them special and unique in their own ways, but you never notice it, unless you try. Not this character. He's prancing around in a brand new designer black pinstripped suit with a broad collar white shirt, top button undone in casual chic fashion, topped off with designer reading glasses, in a place where there isn't as much as a menu to read. Needless to say, he wasn't carying a book with him. I mean, really, where have you heard of a designer book? The only non-designer object about him was his top-of-the-line Nokia Communicator, which he boasted about with broad gestures, talking with his escort. I (almost) wonder why on Earth he was holding his phone if the person he was talking to was sitting right in front of him. Now I could tell you of the broad gestures (which I believe I did) or the arrongant disdain with which he looked around and down on everyone around him or the smugness of his every atitude, but I think you already get the picture of how much better than everyone else this character though himself to be.
Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against a healthy dose of materialism. I myself have some very prized posessions which I like very much and am very proud of, but they don't define me. I created them (um... bought them... ahem). They are mine, not the other way around, and I know, and don't fear, that some day I might just wake up and find that they are no longer what they used to be or not even there at all. Just as easily, they might be replaced. My point? Posession is good, much as the Jedi forbid it, but it's neither the beginning nor the end of the world as we know it. It's not the stake or the teeth, just the spice. (hey, it's a food entry after all)
You know what I realise about the charecter with the world at his fingertips? Someday he'll wake up and find that the suit doesn't fit him, the glasses are nowhere thick enough, the phone is some old piece of junk and his hair, once carefully cut and styled, has all but fallen off his scalp. All his possessions will then mean nothing to him, and the truth that he's not as better than everyone else as he once thought (or at all, for that matter) will strike him as all the more bitter. But, most importantly, and though he might not realise it, the salad he (thought he) bought was only rented, and if he ever logs on to World of Warcraft, he'll be pweend left and right like everyone else. And that's worth a little snicker to me.
In other news, the cat welded my fish to great effect. Thank you!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark will go on treasuring his posessions, for he has not all he likes, but he likes all he has.
Months ago (nearing twelve of them now) I went searching for a fast food place that wouldn't make my scale go "One at a time, please" or "No livestock!". I'm not much of a cook (or at least can't be bothered to be much of a cook night in and night out) and à la carte is a luxury my budget can't withstand on a daily basis. The fast food chain whose name starts with M, ends with s, contains the letters "cDonald" and shall remain unnamed was very obviously not a choice. Many other places provide a very narrow choice of two or three dishes and are very affordable (because you get no service to pay for, othar than putting the food on the tray you carry to a free table and busing the tray), but they too weren't all that kind to my scale. Enter the salad joint.
This place too offers little service: you pay (a little bit more than you'd like to) upfront, they make your salad (or sandwich) there and then, before your eyes and bus your tray when you're done and, if you're lucky, you get a good glimpse at a pair of the (second) most beautiful blue eyes... but I digress. Onwards.
Why do I go there every night? First off, it's a bit far from home. Now, I don't drive, so I walk, nearly a mile to get there and another on my way back, but, in my book, that's a perk. I love to walk, at my pace, no rush (or wait... my pace has been called "fast-ish"), and I don't get much of a chance to do it. Then, there's the healthy food factor. Salads and fruit do a body good, remember? And there's always the blue eyes...
A few days ago, I got a good snicker out of some character I spotted there. People there are usually like people everywhere: all the same, equal to myself and each other. Sure, they all have that little (or maybe not so little) something that makes them special and unique in their own ways, but you never notice it, unless you try. Not this character. He's prancing around in a brand new designer black pinstripped suit with a broad collar white shirt, top button undone in casual chic fashion, topped off with designer reading glasses, in a place where there isn't as much as a menu to read. Needless to say, he wasn't carying a book with him. I mean, really, where have you heard of a designer book? The only non-designer object about him was his top-of-the-line Nokia Communicator, which he boasted about with broad gestures, talking with his escort. I (almost) wonder why on Earth he was holding his phone if the person he was talking to was sitting right in front of him. Now I could tell you of the broad gestures (which I believe I did) or the arrongant disdain with which he looked around and down on everyone around him or the smugness of his every atitude, but I think you already get the picture of how much better than everyone else this character though himself to be.
Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against a healthy dose of materialism. I myself have some very prized posessions which I like very much and am very proud of, but they don't define me. I created them (um... bought them... ahem). They are mine, not the other way around, and I know, and don't fear, that some day I might just wake up and find that they are no longer what they used to be or not even there at all. Just as easily, they might be replaced. My point? Posession is good, much as the Jedi forbid it, but it's neither the beginning nor the end of the world as we know it. It's not the stake or the teeth, just the spice. (hey, it's a food entry after all)
You know what I realise about the charecter with the world at his fingertips? Someday he'll wake up and find that the suit doesn't fit him, the glasses are nowhere thick enough, the phone is some old piece of junk and his hair, once carefully cut and styled, has all but fallen off his scalp. All his possessions will then mean nothing to him, and the truth that he's not as better than everyone else as he once thought (or at all, for that matter) will strike him as all the more bitter. But, most importantly, and though he might not realise it, the salad he (thought he) bought was only rented, and if he ever logs on to World of Warcraft, he'll be pweend left and right like everyone else. And that's worth a little snicker to me.
In other news, the cat welded my fish to great effect. Thank you!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark will go on treasuring his posessions, for he has not all he likes, but he likes all he has.
Fairyland
Today's post was going to be a mellow one, about how things are turning out nicely this semester and how I've managed to nearly finish September without losing momentum. Well, that was this morning. Much (not really) has changed since then.
I still haven't lost momentum, that much is true. Onwards. Raving time.
Prolog - It's supposed to stand for Programming with (first order) Logic. Well, it doesn't seem all that logical to me that a variable can be instanciated, but not changed. It's a bloody variable! What part of "variable" don't you understand? It's supposed to change! That's why it's not called a bloody constant. That was half a seemester lost, a little over a year ago. LISP might have been more useful, or at least it's said to be useful when developing Artificial Inteligence, which is the course that stuck me with the hell-spawn (actually, France-spawn... coincidence? Stay tuneed for more on that sometime) interpreted language. I can't help to feel like I'd be better off with good ol' C.
Movies - "World Trade Center" has premiered over here, but when has anyone ever heard of such a thing as a screening of "Loose Change"? In case you don't know, "Loose Change" is a film about 9/11, suggesting (and corroborating it's implications with testimony and evidence) that the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon was not commited by Middle Eastern Terrorists. It's featured on Google video, just look it up and prepare for a very large download, but an interesting documentary. The warning at the end says the FBI (or some other law enforcing branch of the USA) has orders to arrest anyone carrying that film on DVD, so unless you live somewhere where there is no censorship, neither the blatant nor the hypocrit type, perhaps you shouldn't record it to a CD or a DVD. I'd say it should still be alright to download it and view it, but the laws of the Land of the Free baffle me: you can purchase ammunition for your 9mm handgun at most supermarkets, provided they have a license to sell hunting supplies, and don't ask who'd go hunting geese with a Glock 9mm, but you can't carry around a documentary on DVD. I'm not even sure you can be reading this blog without risking an FBI or CIA or TLA agent showing up at your door to protect your freedom. My advice: ... Oh, come on, you didn't come here looking for advice. At any rate, my point is that even movie studios are willing to show you a documentary on any given topic, but hardly willing (if willing at all) to show youa documentary about the very same topic from another point of view. Farenheit 911? With all due respect to Mr. Michael Moore, it doesn't even come close, even though it does cover several other areas. Come to think of it, I'll just sign my death sentence with the Bush Administration and say it: watch both. My point is (was?), even movies have become a vehicle for propaganda, and no, it hasnn't always been so. We can discuss this later.
Vampires - I can't write... I just can't. For the life of me, I can't. I have all this great imagery in my head, all these vivid details, all this great (I like it, and that suffices) story in my head, but for the life of me I can't put it in words. It's getting me down. Which makes me unable to write, which gets me down and so on and so forth. And don't give me non of that "sazonal depression" crap just because we're past the...
Equinox - At last, it's Autumn. No more "early evening meal", my favourite meal is back: dinner! Now, if we could only dial down the sun and the heat a little... Can we? Please? And can we make up our minds about the "water falling from above" thing? Get some rain down here, already. The foggy morning preceding the bright sunny day thin gets old really fast, now make the grass grow so cows can eat it and grow dreat juicy tender sirloin stakes so we can have... dinner! Did I mention dinner is back?
Management - It's a known fact that students love and hate courses based on who lectures them, so can we make up our minds about how is the Management Course for this season going to be? Will it be Monday-clear-and-concise, kind-management-department-teacher style or Thursday-obscure-football-metaphore-o-rama, aggressive-and-insecure-management-department-teacher style? Either way is fine, though I need not tell which one I'd prefer; I'll give my best anyhow, I just might (or not) enjoy it. Which brings me to...
Thursday-obscure-football-metaphore-o-rama, aggressive-and-insecure-management-department-teacher style - All my life, up until comming to college, I had been ostracised for not liking, not following and not having the slightest interest of some sport where 20 or so men run after a ball for nearly two hours, struggling to get some sort of unfair advantage without letting some manner of triumvirate of judges find out. I even got told off for not recognising the description of some so-called world-renowed football players. That Scottish redhead idiot... Thought I was tryng to be funny? Pulling a prank? How do you think that made me feel? I had enough ostracising without your help, thank you very much. And now, 10 years after that incident, after four blissfully football related ostracising free years, Mr. No-self-confidence-compensated-by-uncalled-aggressivity (I really must dedicate an entry to this topic...) decides it's a good idea to bring back the old recurring nightmare. Have you any idea of the self loathing the likes of you out me through because of my inability to like your silly little game until I realised there was nothing wrong with me, bastard? So put a worn, smelly, sweatty football sock in it already! Go root for your team and get forked! A play on words... how unusual of me.
Now, if you have your calendar handy, you'll notice this is being written on a Wednesday late night. See what I'm looking at in a few hours? So don't give me no "Sazonal depression" crap. I've every right to be upset. Furthermore, Have you ever had the feeling that everyone/thing is out to get you? It has been one of those days. On the other hand, I just know I'll feel better (much better indeed) in 90 days, and Christams will have little to do with it. Or rather, it might have something to do with it, but I just know I'll feel better regardless. 90 days, then... Might as well be 90 years from where I'm looking at it. "Patience, Grasshopper, patience."
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
Arabianshark would like to reassure his readers (both of them) that "vale", although discordant in number with "vobiscum", is well employed, as the form "valete" is not used with the same meaning. Now don't tell me that isn't a load off your chest...
I still haven't lost momentum, that much is true. Onwards. Raving time.
Prolog - It's supposed to stand for Programming with (first order) Logic. Well, it doesn't seem all that logical to me that a variable can be instanciated, but not changed. It's a bloody variable! What part of "variable" don't you understand? It's supposed to change! That's why it's not called a bloody constant. That was half a seemester lost, a little over a year ago. LISP might have been more useful, or at least it's said to be useful when developing Artificial Inteligence, which is the course that stuck me with the hell-spawn (actually, France-spawn... coincidence? Stay tuneed for more on that sometime) interpreted language. I can't help to feel like I'd be better off with good ol' C.
Movies - "World Trade Center" has premiered over here, but when has anyone ever heard of such a thing as a screening of "Loose Change"? In case you don't know, "Loose Change" is a film about 9/11, suggesting (and corroborating it's implications with testimony and evidence) that the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon was not commited by Middle Eastern Terrorists. It's featured on Google video, just look it up and prepare for a very large download, but an interesting documentary. The warning at the end says the FBI (or some other law enforcing branch of the USA) has orders to arrest anyone carrying that film on DVD, so unless you live somewhere where there is no censorship, neither the blatant nor the hypocrit type, perhaps you shouldn't record it to a CD or a DVD. I'd say it should still be alright to download it and view it, but the laws of the Land of the Free baffle me: you can purchase ammunition for your 9mm handgun at most supermarkets, provided they have a license to sell hunting supplies, and don't ask who'd go hunting geese with a Glock 9mm, but you can't carry around a documentary on DVD. I'm not even sure you can be reading this blog without risking an FBI or CIA or TLA agent showing up at your door to protect your freedom. My advice: ... Oh, come on, you didn't come here looking for advice. At any rate, my point is that even movie studios are willing to show you a documentary on any given topic, but hardly willing (if willing at all) to show youa documentary about the very same topic from another point of view. Farenheit 911? With all due respect to Mr. Michael Moore, it doesn't even come close, even though it does cover several other areas. Come to think of it, I'll just sign my death sentence with the Bush Administration and say it: watch both. My point is (was?), even movies have become a vehicle for propaganda, and no, it hasnn't always been so. We can discuss this later.
Vampires - I can't write... I just can't. For the life of me, I can't. I have all this great imagery in my head, all these vivid details, all this great (I like it, and that suffices) story in my head, but for the life of me I can't put it in words. It's getting me down. Which makes me unable to write, which gets me down and so on and so forth. And don't give me non of that "sazonal depression" crap just because we're past the...
Equinox - At last, it's Autumn. No more "early evening meal", my favourite meal is back: dinner! Now, if we could only dial down the sun and the heat a little... Can we? Please? And can we make up our minds about the "water falling from above" thing? Get some rain down here, already. The foggy morning preceding the bright sunny day thin gets old really fast, now make the grass grow so cows can eat it and grow dreat juicy tender sirloin stakes so we can have... dinner! Did I mention dinner is back?
Management - It's a known fact that students love and hate courses based on who lectures them, so can we make up our minds about how is the Management Course for this season going to be? Will it be Monday-clear-and-concise, kind-management-department-teacher style or Thursday-obscure-football-metaphore-o-rama, aggressive-and-insecure-management-department-teacher style? Either way is fine, though I need not tell which one I'd prefer; I'll give my best anyhow, I just might (or not) enjoy it. Which brings me to...
Thursday-obscure-football-metaphore-o-rama, aggressive-and-insecure-management-department-teacher style - All my life, up until comming to college, I had been ostracised for not liking, not following and not having the slightest interest of some sport where 20 or so men run after a ball for nearly two hours, struggling to get some sort of unfair advantage without letting some manner of triumvirate of judges find out. I even got told off for not recognising the description of some so-called world-renowed football players. That Scottish redhead idiot... Thought I was tryng to be funny? Pulling a prank? How do you think that made me feel? I had enough ostracising without your help, thank you very much. And now, 10 years after that incident, after four blissfully football related ostracising free years, Mr. No-self-confidence-compensated-by-uncalled-aggressivity (I really must dedicate an entry to this topic...) decides it's a good idea to bring back the old recurring nightmare. Have you any idea of the self loathing the likes of you out me through because of my inability to like your silly little game until I realised there was nothing wrong with me, bastard? So put a worn, smelly, sweatty football sock in it already! Go root for your team and get forked! A play on words... how unusual of me.
Now, if you have your calendar handy, you'll notice this is being written on a Wednesday late night. See what I'm looking at in a few hours? So don't give me no "Sazonal depression" crap. I've every right to be upset. Furthermore, Have you ever had the feeling that everyone/thing is out to get you? It has been one of those days. On the other hand, I just know I'll feel better (much better indeed) in 90 days, and Christams will have little to do with it. Or rather, it might have something to do with it, but I just know I'll feel better regardless. 90 days, then... Might as well be 90 years from where I'm looking at it. "Patience, Grasshopper, patience."
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
Arabianshark would like to reassure his readers (both of them) that "vale", although discordant in number with "vobiscum", is well employed, as the form "valete" is not used with the same meaning. Now don't tell me that isn't a load off your chest...
You haven't seen the last of me yet...
... but, damn, has it been some time since we last spoke. OK, since I last spoke... to you... to all of you... at once... oh, you get my point. Onwards.
So much could be told I thought of leaking it in several small(ish) posts over the next few days, but I really don't have the patience for it. Many posts on one day? I like my oversized rantings like my online video streams: continuous and seamless. So put your seating pants on and brace yourselves.
First blood has been drawn. The semester begun at last. Or already. I suppose it deppends on how your vacation was. I was pretty much looking forward to it, and so far, I haven't lost momentum. This could be the prelude of a good semester, despite that nasty currcular revision business and new evaluaion rules. Stay tuned.
Is a rounded V a U? I don't think so. An O? Not likely. A D? How about a DD? No, we're not talking about bra cup sizes (yet). By now you should know this sort of nutty rambling precedes some reference to "V for Vendetta", which is now (Oh, shock!) avaliable in DVD. Sure, I'm late to tell, but I got my hands on mine one day before the official release date. Chalk it up to incompetence, overzealousness or plain need for less-than-dinkum edge on the retailer's part. the malicious in me leans towards the first choice.
I'm not a hardcore gamer, but I like some gaming now and then... some polygonal escape from the drab and dull everyday hustle and bustle and a little pixelated parade of pleasures pertaining not to the pale paradigm of... you know what, I really can't alliterate, for the life of me, I can't. However, I still found this interesting and amusing. And I happen to agree with most of it too.
My vampires, who been on hiatus since early June might be comming back for the Triology soon. I know I'm looking forward to it. In other news, I just met someone today whose browser configuration bypassed the template for this page, showing my secret messages. Yes, I mean you. Or do I?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is glad to be back to all of those little things that make life neat. The courses, the blogs, the would-be witty lines...
So much could be told I thought of leaking it in several small(ish) posts over the next few days, but I really don't have the patience for it. Many posts on one day? I like my oversized rantings like my online video streams: continuous and seamless. So put your seating pants on and brace yourselves.
First blood has been drawn. The semester begun at last. Or already. I suppose it deppends on how your vacation was. I was pretty much looking forward to it, and so far, I haven't lost momentum. This could be the prelude of a good semester, despite that nasty currcular revision business and new evaluaion rules. Stay tuned.
Is a rounded V a U? I don't think so. An O? Not likely. A D? How about a DD? No, we're not talking about bra cup sizes (yet). By now you should know this sort of nutty rambling precedes some reference to "V for Vendetta", which is now (Oh, shock!) avaliable in DVD. Sure, I'm late to tell, but I got my hands on mine one day before the official release date. Chalk it up to incompetence, overzealousness or plain need for less-than-dinkum edge on the retailer's part. the malicious in me leans towards the first choice.
I'm not a hardcore gamer, but I like some gaming now and then... some polygonal escape from the drab and dull everyday hustle and bustle and a little pixelated parade of pleasures pertaining not to the pale paradigm of... you know what, I really can't alliterate, for the life of me, I can't. However, I still found this interesting and amusing. And I happen to agree with most of it too.
My vampires, who been on hiatus since early June might be comming back for the Triology soon. I know I'm looking forward to it. In other news, I just met someone today whose browser configuration bypassed the template for this page, showing my secret messages. Yes, I mean you. Or do I?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is glad to be back to all of those little things that make life neat. The courses, the blogs, the would-be witty lines...
When RTFM isn't enough
I'm assuming everyone here knows what RTFM means. If not, well, SNAFU, which, as you most likely know, means Situation Normal (or Nominal, in some cases), All Fouled (or a similar adjective, stemming from another four letter word beginning with f) Up. Likewise, RTFM means Read The Friendly (and, again, F can stand for other adjectives...) Manual. If you already knew this, then SUSFU. Onwards.SUSFU, by the way, means Situation Unchanged, Still Fucked Up.
The word of the day is Hoodwinked. Archaicaly, this meant blindfolded. An obsolete meaning of the word is that of concealed. Currently, it means decieved. Also, it's the title of a movie.
Before you profile it as a "kiddie movie", just because it's approved for all audiences and it's CG animation and it tells the ancient story of Little Red Riding Hood (with many a twist, mind you), I'd just like to say screw you, it's a bundle of laughs and if you can't find it in you to laugh at the many funnies in it, your loss. If, however, you weren't planning on profiling it in any way, then don't screw you. Be merry, read on.
I had had the pleasure of seeing this film before, although through the veil of a dubbing. Sure enough, in some countries, dubbings are of very high quality indeed (I'm told that in Germany, for example, the most renowed actors are dubbed by the same voice actor in every movie, so that his/her voice may be easily recognised in any dubbing), but over here someone even managed to translate a word processor cursor as if it were the word "I" (in Superman Returns. By the way, not impressive). This time I got to see it in it's untranslated glory. But that's not what this entry is about.
The young lady at the ticket counter must have misinterpreted my very odd accent (which, to this day, I didn't know I had) and was probably not sure if I had asked for a seat "in the centre of the room" or "way back and in a corner", so she gave me something in between. A waste of good seats, I say, the room was just about empty, except for myself, a couple or two and a very odd group, the very focus of this entry.
They were four, and four they were. Not three, not five, not six, but four. Four girls, two pre-teen girls, a very young child and (probably) her mother, nearly all with extra bright (hmm, not very catchy... how about Xtra-Brite?) cellphones, very crunchy popcorn and pretty slurpy drinks. Perfect...
At this point, I'd like to toss this little tidbit of meat to the beasts: what is it with popcorn at the movies? Bevrages i can understand, since even with air conditioning it gets pretty stuffy and dry in a theater, but popcorn? They always look and smell better than they taste, with artificial colorant and artificial butter-ish flavour, but in the end, they're just sugary, bland noisemakers, aren't they? Why do people still buy them? Why, o, why...
Onwards, then. Just as they find their seats they take their time to settle. Mathematics (Combinatory Calculus, to be more precise) tells us that four people can occupy four seats in a row in 4! (that's factorial, not "four!" as in "Oh my God, four!") different manners, that is, 4x3x2x1=24 manners. They tried nearly all of them until they found themselves comfortable. Then comes the crunching of popcorn, and the slurping of drinks and the beeping of cellphones and the lighting up half the room with them and we're not even done with the trailers yet. Also, they're talkers. I know... bliss, isn't it?
And then the movie starts. Just as the narrator begins his tale, the white subtitles sprinkle the bottom of the screen (you wouldn't believe the effort I've put into training myself not to get distracted by those things. I really don't need them, but I find myself rushing to read them out of reflex...) and the oldest (sounds a bit mean... let's say "least young" instead) of them says "It's in English?". Well, congratualtions, madam, you sure know your languages. I was hoping they'd be able to slip some five, maybe ten minutes of film before you noticed. What was it that tipped you off? Was it the "VO" (Stands for original version, in case you're wondering) next to the movie title above the room door? Was it the "VO" in the fliers outside? or was it the colossal sticker reading "Original Version" on the poster?
Dope...
Innevitably, pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark Sits idly by, grasping, to the best of his ability, the few remaining days of his vacation, yet ever aware that with each day gone by, he's one day closer to his dreams.
The word of the day is Hoodwinked. Archaicaly, this meant blindfolded. An obsolete meaning of the word is that of concealed. Currently, it means decieved. Also, it's the title of a movie.
Before you profile it as a "kiddie movie", just because it's approved for all audiences and it's CG animation and it tells the ancient story of Little Red Riding Hood (with many a twist, mind you), I'd just like to say screw you, it's a bundle of laughs and if you can't find it in you to laugh at the many funnies in it, your loss. If, however, you weren't planning on profiling it in any way, then don't screw you. Be merry, read on.
I had had the pleasure of seeing this film before, although through the veil of a dubbing. Sure enough, in some countries, dubbings are of very high quality indeed (I'm told that in Germany, for example, the most renowed actors are dubbed by the same voice actor in every movie, so that his/her voice may be easily recognised in any dubbing), but over here someone even managed to translate a word processor cursor as if it were the word "I" (in Superman Returns. By the way, not impressive). This time I got to see it in it's untranslated glory. But that's not what this entry is about.
The young lady at the ticket counter must have misinterpreted my very odd accent (which, to this day, I didn't know I had) and was probably not sure if I had asked for a seat "in the centre of the room" or "way back and in a corner", so she gave me something in between. A waste of good seats, I say, the room was just about empty, except for myself, a couple or two and a very odd group, the very focus of this entry.
They were four, and four they were. Not three, not five, not six, but four. Four girls, two pre-teen girls, a very young child and (probably) her mother, nearly all with extra bright (hmm, not very catchy... how about Xtra-Brite?) cellphones, very crunchy popcorn and pretty slurpy drinks. Perfect...
At this point, I'd like to toss this little tidbit of meat to the beasts: what is it with popcorn at the movies? Bevrages i can understand, since even with air conditioning it gets pretty stuffy and dry in a theater, but popcorn? They always look and smell better than they taste, with artificial colorant and artificial butter-ish flavour, but in the end, they're just sugary, bland noisemakers, aren't they? Why do people still buy them? Why, o, why...
Onwards, then. Just as they find their seats they take their time to settle. Mathematics (Combinatory Calculus, to be more precise) tells us that four people can occupy four seats in a row in 4! (that's factorial, not "four!" as in "Oh my God, four!") different manners, that is, 4x3x2x1=24 manners. They tried nearly all of them until they found themselves comfortable. Then comes the crunching of popcorn, and the slurping of drinks and the beeping of cellphones and the lighting up half the room with them and we're not even done with the trailers yet. Also, they're talkers. I know... bliss, isn't it?
And then the movie starts. Just as the narrator begins his tale, the white subtitles sprinkle the bottom of the screen (you wouldn't believe the effort I've put into training myself not to get distracted by those things. I really don't need them, but I find myself rushing to read them out of reflex...) and the oldest (sounds a bit mean... let's say "least young" instead) of them says "It's in English?". Well, congratualtions, madam, you sure know your languages. I was hoping they'd be able to slip some five, maybe ten minutes of film before you noticed. What was it that tipped you off? Was it the "VO" (Stands for original version, in case you're wondering) next to the movie title above the room door? Was it the "VO" in the fliers outside? or was it the colossal sticker reading "Original Version" on the poster?
Dope...
Innevitably, pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark Sits idly by, grasping, to the best of his ability, the few remaining days of his vacation, yet ever aware that with each day gone by, he's one day closer to his dreams.
Liebe schmeckt wie Kaviar
Some of you might recall this line from one of the (not quite) recommended titles from this post. It means "love tastes like caviar" (or at least I think it does). But then again, "Love is only any good when it hurts" (For 200 points, which misician was that from?), and caviar... I suppose something is very wrong when caviar hurts. And just what is all this talk about caviar all about? Patience! I'm getting to it! Since when do I tolerate you to be so pushy!?
I had never really enjoied caviar before, but then again, I don't think I had ever had propper caviar before. At any rate, it's not my fault. Do you know what kind of stuff gets peddled around as caviar? Ever had some very fine, pitch black roe from a tin labeled "Caviar"? In all probability, that wasn't caviar at all. Actual caviar, I'll have you know, doesn't need to be pitch black or very small eggs. Caviar can be grey, brownish and even reddish in colour and each individual egg can be anywhere from as small as one millimeter in diameter to as large as a pea. And don't you go buying Beluga caviar (unless you're in Russia, in which case I envy you), because you're lucky if that's even caviar at all. And I'm nowhere closer to making a point, but you know what, that's the beauty of being the blogger around here. My blog, my rules.
Me, I've just had some real osetra caviar, brouhgt by a beloved relative from a vacation in Russia, and, my, I can't believe I've waited this long to get my hands (and my taste buds) on the stuff. I've just split a tiny jar of it with... erm... never you mind who I split it with... and I'm almost glad it was such a tiny portion, otherwise I'd be hooked on it by now. Whoosh!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is very seriously considering a trip to the Caspian Sea to look for some Russian sturgeon. Not to eat it, mind you, but the roe...
I had never really enjoied caviar before, but then again, I don't think I had ever had propper caviar before. At any rate, it's not my fault. Do you know what kind of stuff gets peddled around as caviar? Ever had some very fine, pitch black roe from a tin labeled "Caviar"? In all probability, that wasn't caviar at all. Actual caviar, I'll have you know, doesn't need to be pitch black or very small eggs. Caviar can be grey, brownish and even reddish in colour and each individual egg can be anywhere from as small as one millimeter in diameter to as large as a pea. And don't you go buying Beluga caviar (unless you're in Russia, in which case I envy you), because you're lucky if that's even caviar at all. And I'm nowhere closer to making a point, but you know what, that's the beauty of being the blogger around here. My blog, my rules.
Me, I've just had some real osetra caviar, brouhgt by a beloved relative from a vacation in Russia, and, my, I can't believe I've waited this long to get my hands (and my taste buds) on the stuff. I've just split a tiny jar of it with... erm... never you mind who I split it with... and I'm almost glad it was such a tiny portion, otherwise I'd be hooked on it by now. Whoosh!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is very seriously considering a trip to the Caspian Sea to look for some Russian sturgeon. Not to eat it, mind you, but the roe...
Crickey!
Do remind me to get cable TV next time I go on vacation. Public Television (actually, Independent Television... a station that shall remain unnamed) would sooner make a silk purse out of a sow's ear than get their own programming right. My staying up until quite unhealthy hours in hopes of catching House M.D. was rewarded with a very generous delay, a first (they come in pairs. I guess the humble people of this network view themselves as Noah) episode that was defenitely not the one scheduled and a non-existing second episode. Thanks a bunch. But that's a rant for another day. Meanwhile, the pox on you, filthy scum who cannot find your own arse with both hands, and your kind!
Public Television (Government owned and all) sometimes has a brilliant idea. About once every thirty years or so. Last time it was colour picture, this time it was Discovery Moment. Little tidbiths of civilization in the form of Discovery Channel documentaries, ever so often, free of charge. These, believe it or not, are actually quite alright, if you're into the sort. I suppose I like it. Most of it, that is. The documentary explainig (or rather attempting to explain, with various degrees of success) the myth behind werewolves and the truth in the French werewolf trials was pretty good. The Australian zoologist whose aspiration in life was to touch a King Cobra was alright, although fellows who aren't really fond of snakes might have taken a rain check on that. Most docuentaries on Sharks are good as well (surprise surprise). Now, this Aussie the other day really takes the cake. And I'm not sure I mean it in a good way... you be the judge of that.
This fellow would like to give us an in-depth view of insects and the like in our own homes and ackyards in a segment he called "Bugs in the Burbs". I only caught the second half of it, but it was plenty. He told us how quickly aphids reproduce. He taught us that aphid females can even reproduce on their own, effectively cloning themselves. He even showed us that aphid clones are often born pregnant with their own clones (I gues being a copy of a copy of a copy works for them...). Then he reminded us that, although one could just kill them with an insecticide spray, we'd be wiser to introduce the aphid's natural predator to the scene, that is, the lady bug. Now things get strange. Sure, lady bugs love aphind in the way I love porterhouse stake grilled rare, that's hardly wierd, but seing this caring insectologist have a bunch (and a very large bunch at that) of lady bugs crawl over his arms, his face and into his clothes is... unnusual. Then come bigger fish, or should I say, bugs, as he finds his way into an africanised killer bees nest. Sure, he wears his protective gear and his bee net over his face he even locks off his cuffs and his pants with duct tape. you wouldn't think he'd go on and provoke the bees, now, would you? Yet he did, he went on and blew into the bees nest. sure enough, he got stung a couple of dozen times through his socks and, reportedly, couldn't walk for a few days. You'd think he's learn his lesson by now, but no, he goes on to mess with yet another type of bug: cockroaches. He seeks to demistify the myth that cockroaches byte, and so he sticks his bare leg and foot into a conrolled environment acrylic box and pours some roaches on himself. If you're not wierd out yet by now, perhaps you'd like to know that cockroaches do bite. not only that but also they can digest ceratonin, which means they can even ear your hair (appearently, very few animals can).
So... crickey, mate!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is cooking up another update for very very soon... but he'll reveal nothing at this point, leaving you to marinate in the atecipation. What do you mean, there's no sarcasm tag in html!?
Public Television (Government owned and all) sometimes has a brilliant idea. About once every thirty years or so. Last time it was colour picture, this time it was Discovery Moment. Little tidbiths of civilization in the form of Discovery Channel documentaries, ever so often, free of charge. These, believe it or not, are actually quite alright, if you're into the sort. I suppose I like it. Most of it, that is. The documentary explainig (or rather attempting to explain, with various degrees of success) the myth behind werewolves and the truth in the French werewolf trials was pretty good. The Australian zoologist whose aspiration in life was to touch a King Cobra was alright, although fellows who aren't really fond of snakes might have taken a rain check on that. Most docuentaries on Sharks are good as well (surprise surprise). Now, this Aussie the other day really takes the cake. And I'm not sure I mean it in a good way... you be the judge of that.
This fellow would like to give us an in-depth view of insects and the like in our own homes and ackyards in a segment he called "Bugs in the Burbs". I only caught the second half of it, but it was plenty. He told us how quickly aphids reproduce. He taught us that aphid females can even reproduce on their own, effectively cloning themselves. He even showed us that aphid clones are often born pregnant with their own clones (I gues being a copy of a copy of a copy works for them...). Then he reminded us that, although one could just kill them with an insecticide spray, we'd be wiser to introduce the aphid's natural predator to the scene, that is, the lady bug. Now things get strange. Sure, lady bugs love aphind in the way I love porterhouse stake grilled rare, that's hardly wierd, but seing this caring insectologist have a bunch (and a very large bunch at that) of lady bugs crawl over his arms, his face and into his clothes is... unnusual. Then come bigger fish, or should I say, bugs, as he finds his way into an africanised killer bees nest. Sure, he wears his protective gear and his bee net over his face he even locks off his cuffs and his pants with duct tape. you wouldn't think he'd go on and provoke the bees, now, would you? Yet he did, he went on and blew into the bees nest. sure enough, he got stung a couple of dozen times through his socks and, reportedly, couldn't walk for a few days. You'd think he's learn his lesson by now, but no, he goes on to mess with yet another type of bug: cockroaches. He seeks to demistify the myth that cockroaches byte, and so he sticks his bare leg and foot into a conrolled environment acrylic box and pours some roaches on himself. If you're not wierd out yet by now, perhaps you'd like to know that cockroaches do bite. not only that but also they can digest ceratonin, which means they can even ear your hair (appearently, very few animals can).
So... crickey, mate!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is cooking up another update for very very soon... but he'll reveal nothing at this point, leaving you to marinate in the atecipation. What do you mean, there's no sarcasm tag in html!?
Some like it hot...
... and, sure enough, some don't. Me, I like hot weather as much as The "Next" Bloke, who just so happens to be a guest on this blog today. How do you do, Mr. Bloke?
The, please.
Right, then. Tell, us, The, how was it that you came across that nickname, "Next"?
Well, now, it all started back when I was about twelve and I started going to the movies by myself. I remember being in line to the tickets and even though I would be first in line sometimes, nothing felt quite as nice as being "next" in line. You know, I'd just see whoever was in front of me get their turn and think, "Woohoo, I'm next"! When my mates found out how much I liked that special feeling, they began calling me "Next"."
And so you're known as The "Next" Bloke today.
Exactly
Now, then, what we'd all like to know is how much do you like warm weather, The?
Not one bit, Shark, old chap, not one bit.
Thank you, then, The. I hope we'll be seing plenty more of you around here.
My pleasure.
That was The "Next" Bloke on Shark Nibbles, and he doesn't like warm weather. And so, as previously stated, neither do I and, for the issue, neither does my laptop charger, who, just last night, overheated twice and scared the lights out of me when I thought it had sent its soul to its maker. Turns out ten minutes in the freezer (in a plastic bag, mind you) did the trick... for another half hour.
So, my advice on how to deal with the heat, keep to the shade, drink plenty of fluids (cold, preferably) and put an ice pack on that laptop charger. If you don't have any, you can fashion one by soaking a rag, wrapping it in a plastic bag and putting it in the freezer. Works fine, if you don't mind sitching the makeshift ice pck every twenty minutes or so. This little trick did wonders for me last night.
You didn't think I'd wrap up without a secret message, did you?
Sizzling hot farewells.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is dealing with the heat in his own way, i. e., dreaming of cooler places. Syberia sounds just right...
The, please.
Right, then. Tell, us, The, how was it that you came across that nickname, "Next"?
Well, now, it all started back when I was about twelve and I started going to the movies by myself. I remember being in line to the tickets and even though I would be first in line sometimes, nothing felt quite as nice as being "next" in line. You know, I'd just see whoever was in front of me get their turn and think, "Woohoo, I'm next"! When my mates found out how much I liked that special feeling, they began calling me "Next"."
And so you're known as The "Next" Bloke today.
Exactly
Now, then, what we'd all like to know is how much do you like warm weather, The?
Not one bit, Shark, old chap, not one bit.
Thank you, then, The. I hope we'll be seing plenty more of you around here.
My pleasure.
That was The "Next" Bloke on Shark Nibbles, and he doesn't like warm weather. And so, as previously stated, neither do I and, for the issue, neither does my laptop charger, who, just last night, overheated twice and scared the lights out of me when I thought it had sent its soul to its maker. Turns out ten minutes in the freezer (in a plastic bag, mind you) did the trick... for another half hour.
So, my advice on how to deal with the heat, keep to the shade, drink plenty of fluids (cold, preferably) and put an ice pack on that laptop charger. If you don't have any, you can fashion one by soaking a rag, wrapping it in a plastic bag and putting it in the freezer. Works fine, if you don't mind sitching the makeshift ice pck every twenty minutes or so. This little trick did wonders for me last night.
You didn't think I'd wrap up without a secret message, did you?
Sizzling hot farewells.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is dealing with the heat in his own way, i. e., dreaming of cooler places. Syberia sounds just right...
Blood drinkers, unite
Recently I found myself reading a would-be serious vampirism manual, by a Brazillian author, Paulo Coelho. If you have never read any of his work, count your blessings. If you've ever read anything by him then you'll understand how come my stomach churns every time I see six copies of "O Zahir" on display on a bookstore window like it's God's gift to readers.
This Practical Vampirism Manual, however, is different. It's not (supposed) to be fiction. This is (supposed) to lift the shroud of mysticism that surrounds vampires and bare the whole truth about them, that they exist and what's fact or fiction about them. Mind you, it's as poorly written as any other one of his works and has nary a speck of verifyable fact about it. In short, a bundle of laughs, if you think someone expected readers to swallow this codswallop.
One of the aspects it focusses on is how to recognise (and avoid, if you'd like) a vampire, and so I've compiled, from it's pages, a handy list of things to look out for:
Well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive Europeans looking for one night stands are likely to be vampires;
Bissexual men have "vampire" written all over them;
Bissexual women are all vampires;
Lesbians are vampires too. All of them.
If you can read this you might be a vampire too.
At this point I'd like to remind you that I myself would never label anyone as "vampire" or anything else based on his/her sexual orientation, but it seems Mr. Coelho would disagree. Bear in mind, though, this is just for laughs. It cannot be any other way.
ArabianShark wonders what are the odds of running into a well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive European bissexual woman looking for a one night stand. Now paging Dr. van Helsing.
This Practical Vampirism Manual, however, is different. It's not (supposed) to be fiction. This is (supposed) to lift the shroud of mysticism that surrounds vampires and bare the whole truth about them, that they exist and what's fact or fiction about them. Mind you, it's as poorly written as any other one of his works and has nary a speck of verifyable fact about it. In short, a bundle of laughs, if you think someone expected readers to swallow this codswallop.
One of the aspects it focusses on is how to recognise (and avoid, if you'd like) a vampire, and so I've compiled, from it's pages, a handy list of things to look out for:
Well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive Europeans looking for one night stands are likely to be vampires;
Bissexual men have "vampire" written all over them;
Bissexual women are all vampires;
Lesbians are vampires too. All of them.
If you can read this you might be a vampire too.
At this point I'd like to remind you that I myself would never label anyone as "vampire" or anything else based on his/her sexual orientation, but it seems Mr. Coelho would disagree. Bear in mind, though, this is just for laughs. It cannot be any other way.
ArabianShark wonders what are the odds of running into a well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive European bissexual woman looking for a one night stand. Now paging Dr. van Helsing.
That'll work...
I wonder what posesses someone to send a chain e-mail claiming that for each person the e-mail is sent to, something will happen. The list is endless: that you might win a free cellphone, that some organisation will donate a minute amount of money for each time the messge is forwarded to help some ill and dying person, that some organisation will donate a huge sum if the message is forwarded more than so many times, that one's e-mail/MSN Messenger account will be deleted if the message isn't forwarded, that MSN will cease to be a free service unless so many names are signed and sent to Microsoft, that one's MSN Messenger account will remain free whereas all others will become a paid service if the holder's name is on the list to be sent to Microsoft... I could type all day and not list half the story behind these messages. I wonder what posesses someone to start one of these things. I suppose one could do it as a prank, but I can't possibly understand how on earth does one believe a word of those messages. What on earth posesses people to believe anyone has a means to track where the messsages will end up?
Honorable mention and single exception: the bonsai cat. This is a truly horrific practice, IMO. It consists of locking a kitten in a jar where his bones will take the shape of the container he's stuck in as he grows for decorative purposes. I've recieved mail rallying people to lobby against this practice. Lobbying is one thing, expecting miracles is quite another.
Just today I recieved a PowerPoint presentation attatchement (those are the worse... forward these, people, help viruses spread, please, I beseech you), which I treat with a little special care, i. e., dump into a decaying old would-have-been excuse for a computer which may not be hooked up to any network lest the network becomes haunted by evils unspeakble of and run it. This one claims that some organisation will donate six cents (yes, it's not a typo, six whole cents. A full nickle and a free penny! Lets hear it poor old Uncle Ebeneezer, if you remember him) to a dying baby for each person I forward the potentially dangerous file to. If only I kept the e-mail addresses of people I don't like... Now I can just imagine the company representative talking to the sick baby's parents, going "We might have the money to cure your child and we might even give it to you, but only if some e-mail message featuring our company's name gets sent all over the world. And yes, in case you're wondering, we're all callous, money-driven, insenitive, cruel, petty and evil bastards, looking for a would-be humanitarian publicity campaign. We figure one person knowing how kind we are and that we'll help your child is worth a dime in potential profits, so we'll spare a whopping 60% of that to treat your beloved baby. And don't ask how we'll know just how many people have read the message; it's magic, we've a pact with Satan of which you should not have known. Well, chop chop, mail away." That would have gone nicely.
Let's make the best out of this. I declare a competition. Comment with the most riddiculous pretence you've ever had the displeasure of receiving and we'll have a poll. The winner just might win a free Nokia 5G cellphone, complete with live video call, wireless internet access, bluetooth connectivity, esspresso dispensing function, a 100 free SMS package and a non-retractable blade built into the vibra-call motor that might shred your thigh to minced meat if you have your phone in your pocket when someone calls, but is just so handy to chop onions (mind you, warranty void if removed)... or not.
Spam-free farewells (because there is no processed canned spiced pork meat in them).
ArabianShark wonders if all the hexes he's been cursed with for breaking e-mail chains will eventually cancel each other out. Two wrongs dont make a right, but, given enough wrongs... who knows?
Honorable mention and single exception: the bonsai cat. This is a truly horrific practice, IMO. It consists of locking a kitten in a jar where his bones will take the shape of the container he's stuck in as he grows for decorative purposes. I've recieved mail rallying people to lobby against this practice. Lobbying is one thing, expecting miracles is quite another.
Just today I recieved a PowerPoint presentation attatchement (those are the worse... forward these, people, help viruses spread, please, I beseech you), which I treat with a little special care, i. e., dump into a decaying old would-have-been excuse for a computer which may not be hooked up to any network lest the network becomes haunted by evils unspeakble of and run it. This one claims that some organisation will donate six cents (yes, it's not a typo, six whole cents. A full nickle and a free penny! Lets hear it poor old Uncle Ebeneezer, if you remember him) to a dying baby for each person I forward the potentially dangerous file to. If only I kept the e-mail addresses of people I don't like... Now I can just imagine the company representative talking to the sick baby's parents, going "We might have the money to cure your child and we might even give it to you, but only if some e-mail message featuring our company's name gets sent all over the world. And yes, in case you're wondering, we're all callous, money-driven, insenitive, cruel, petty and evil bastards, looking for a would-be humanitarian publicity campaign. We figure one person knowing how kind we are and that we'll help your child is worth a dime in potential profits, so we'll spare a whopping 60% of that to treat your beloved baby. And don't ask how we'll know just how many people have read the message; it's magic, we've a pact with Satan of which you should not have known. Well, chop chop, mail away." That would have gone nicely.
Let's make the best out of this. I declare a competition. Comment with the most riddiculous pretence you've ever had the displeasure of receiving and we'll have a poll. The winner just might win a free Nokia 5G cellphone, complete with live video call, wireless internet access, bluetooth connectivity, esspresso dispensing function, a 100 free SMS package and a non-retractable blade built into the vibra-call motor that might shred your thigh to minced meat if you have your phone in your pocket when someone calls, but is just so handy to chop onions (mind you, warranty void if removed)... or not.
Spam-free farewells (because there is no processed canned spiced pork meat in them).
ArabianShark wonders if all the hexes he's been cursed with for breaking e-mail chains will eventually cancel each other out. Two wrongs dont make a right, but, given enough wrongs... who knows?
I'm still not a comedian...
... so if you've com here in search for a laugh, you should know better. It would appear, however, that you don't. I could try to be funny; that would make sure you'd never come here for a laugh ever again. Or I could send you on your way to something funnier. And since I'm such a big nice softie (that could change. Keep on your toes), I'll just do it. I'll give you only one word... well, ok, make that two words... I'm too kind:
Comedy, Inc.
What can I say, it presses my buttons. I could come to like Aussie comedy as much as I like British humour. Or maybe that's just the best (as far as I'm concerned) example os Aussie comedy. Or perhaps I just caught one of the best episodes. Or it could be that Aussie comedy really is that good.
If you're unfamiliar with the show, there's nothing to be ashamed about it; I was once in your shoes, not that long ago, really. I can lend a hand. If you are, however, familiar with it, skip the paragraph. And thus, let the healing begin. Comedy, Inc. is made of short (and I mean short, for the most part) sketches, not unlike "Smack the Pony" or "Big Train" (as opposed to "Black Adder" or "'Allo, 'Allo", which tell a long story by comparison), but, unlike, say, "The Office", the said sketches aren't bound to a single theme, although recuring themes abound, especially with shorter sketches. Also unlike "Saturday Night Live" (how does that rate in the funny scale? Mild? Moderate? Doesn't really work for me...), there are no musical guests, no musical interludes every two sketches (or at all) and no monologue bits, at least not in the Jay Leno or Conan O'Brien sense of the word "monologue". Also no lengthy opening credits to make you wonder why don't they call the show "Sunday Dawn (barely a-) Live".
It just presses my buttons. As a rule of thumb, whatever mocks the Spice Girls is alright. Having a go at Las Ketchup is really just icing, but who doesn't like icing? Or maybe it's the general australian accent that makes everyting sound so great (doesn't it?).
Comedy, Inc., Stingers and House, M.D. (Jesse Spencer is in it. It counts as Australian Television. It does! No? Well, ok, but it's still alright) really make me want to flog myself to the bone for missing Neighbours all those years ago, when I had the chance to watch it. Really, I could just punch myself, if only I knew how to do it propperly (that's me, do it right or not at all... except when it matters). On the other hand, I just recently discovered I can put my hands in a reversal praying stance with minimal effort. Think of the implications! This could come so handy if only I weren't an atheist...
Until we meet again.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark really should have remembered that parting sentence for his previous update. Try to make a double entendre out of that.
Comedy, Inc.
What can I say, it presses my buttons. I could come to like Aussie comedy as much as I like British humour. Or maybe that's just the best (as far as I'm concerned) example os Aussie comedy. Or perhaps I just caught one of the best episodes. Or it could be that Aussie comedy really is that good.
If you're unfamiliar with the show, there's nothing to be ashamed about it; I was once in your shoes, not that long ago, really. I can lend a hand. If you are, however, familiar with it, skip the paragraph. And thus, let the healing begin. Comedy, Inc. is made of short (and I mean short, for the most part) sketches, not unlike "Smack the Pony" or "Big Train" (as opposed to "Black Adder" or "'Allo, 'Allo", which tell a long story by comparison), but, unlike, say, "The Office", the said sketches aren't bound to a single theme, although recuring themes abound, especially with shorter sketches. Also unlike "Saturday Night Live" (how does that rate in the funny scale? Mild? Moderate? Doesn't really work for me...), there are no musical guests, no musical interludes every two sketches (or at all) and no monologue bits, at least not in the Jay Leno or Conan O'Brien sense of the word "monologue". Also no lengthy opening credits to make you wonder why don't they call the show "Sunday Dawn (barely a-) Live".
It just presses my buttons. As a rule of thumb, whatever mocks the Spice Girls is alright. Having a go at Las Ketchup is really just icing, but who doesn't like icing? Or maybe it's the general australian accent that makes everyting sound so great (doesn't it?).
Comedy, Inc., Stingers and House, M.D. (Jesse Spencer is in it. It counts as Australian Television. It does! No? Well, ok, but it's still alright) really make me want to flog myself to the bone for missing Neighbours all those years ago, when I had the chance to watch it. Really, I could just punch myself, if only I knew how to do it propperly (that's me, do it right or not at all... except when it matters). On the other hand, I just recently discovered I can put my hands in a reversal praying stance with minimal effort. Think of the implications! This could come so handy if only I weren't an atheist...
Until we meet again.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark really should have remembered that parting sentence for his previous update. Try to make a double entendre out of that.
Mockba!
The above should be pronounced "Moskva".
Not only is Moscow a lovely vacation spot (I hear. I've never been there, much as I'd like to someday), but also the inspiration for two distinct German bands more than two decades apart. If we're going to talk (notice how I slip the words "we" and "talk" inconspicuously int the same sentence, creating the illusion that there's an actual dialogue in the making) about music, we (meaning I) should make sure we (for once, meaning we) both know the tunes being discussed. Hello, copyright laws. We wouldn't steal a song. I suppose I could direct you to the lyrics, but that's hardly any substitute, so I'll allow myself to be unburdened with a couple of links for your pleasure and Google Video can handle all the copyright fuss for me, with the added bonus of coloured, moving image.
Enough ado about only too little. Onwards then.
First, by alphabetic preference and chronological precedence, "Moskau", by the 1979 Disco Band Dschinghis Khan.
For those of you who don't speak German, I've taken the liberty of translating the first verse. It conveys the tone of the tune well enough:
Moscow
Beautiful and mysterious
Towers of red and gold
Cold as ice
Moscow
Who does really know you
A white fire burns
In you so warm
For those of you who do speak German and agree with my translation... uh, great.
For those of you who do speak German but do not agree with my translation, well, give me a break, people, I don't speak German myself, I'm using Babelfish, and we know how trustworthy that little gadget is.
Fast forward twenty something years and voilà, "Moskau", this time by the well known Metal (is it?) Band Rammstein.
Before we go into lyrics, do notice that the Google Video title mentions Tatu. Although it was rumored that they'd lend their voices to this theme, the female voice heard in Russian is actually of Viktoria Fersh, who, to the best of my knowledge, is not a member of t.A.T.u..
And onto the translated lyrics:
This city is a prostitute
It has red spots on her forehead
Her teeth are made of gold
She is fat and yet so lovely
Her mouth falls to my valley
When I pay her for it
She takes off her clothes but only for money
The city has me in suspense
And so on and so forth... it doesn't change much as the tune goes on.
Now picture this: Talking to a Russian person who very much loves his/her country and, specifically, the city of Moscow and who happens to have somewhat conservative moral values (just enough to take offense in hearing their Capital being compared to an old tart, how conservative would that have to be?), you casually drop into the conversation how much you like that "Moskau" song by some German band, can't quite remember the name off the top of your head... and neglect to mention the fact they sang at the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow... and, as luck would have it, your Russian acquaintance figures you're too young to remember the Disco Age... or perhaps they're too young to remember the Disco Age. Where does this leave us? With a very angry Russian, I trust. And all you wanted to evoke was that light-hearted, joyful tune about love tasting like kaviar and merrily dancing on tabletops under the (less than) slight influence of cold and pure Vodka. Makes you think, huh? That's why I've been trying to find words such as "joyful" and "light-hearted", because "gay" might have misled you.
And now that that's come up (Oy vey! At least I didn't say "come out"...), a question: has homophobia stripped us of gaiety? More importantly, why am I rambling about double entendres when I should be revising for my last exam of the season (Human-Computer Interfaces... doesn't sound like much? You should try it!)?
Mellow Farewells... as in relaxed and unhurried, easygoing farewells... as in kind farewells... as in... Oh, just peace out!
ArabianShark is polishing his favourite buzz-saw for the ritualistic June Deforestation of the Chin, also know as, the removal of the Exams Stubble. I never seem to find five minutes to shave in January or June...
Not only is Moscow a lovely vacation spot (I hear. I've never been there, much as I'd like to someday), but also the inspiration for two distinct German bands more than two decades apart. If we're going to talk (notice how I slip the words "we" and "talk" inconspicuously int the same sentence, creating the illusion that there's an actual dialogue in the making) about music, we (meaning I) should make sure we (for once, meaning we) both know the tunes being discussed. Hello, copyright laws. We wouldn't steal a song. I suppose I could direct you to the lyrics, but that's hardly any substitute, so I'll allow myself to be unburdened with a couple of links for your pleasure and Google Video can handle all the copyright fuss for me, with the added bonus of coloured, moving image.
Enough ado about only too little. Onwards then.
First, by alphabetic preference and chronological precedence, "Moskau", by the 1979 Disco Band Dschinghis Khan.
For those of you who don't speak German, I've taken the liberty of translating the first verse. It conveys the tone of the tune well enough:
Moscow
Beautiful and mysterious
Towers of red and gold
Cold as ice
Moscow
Who does really know you
A white fire burns
In you so warm
For those of you who do speak German and agree with my translation... uh, great.
For those of you who do speak German but do not agree with my translation, well, give me a break, people, I don't speak German myself, I'm using Babelfish, and we know how trustworthy that little gadget is.
Fast forward twenty something years and voilà, "Moskau", this time by the well known Metal (is it?) Band Rammstein.
Before we go into lyrics, do notice that the Google Video title mentions Tatu. Although it was rumored that they'd lend their voices to this theme, the female voice heard in Russian is actually of Viktoria Fersh, who, to the best of my knowledge, is not a member of t.A.T.u..
And onto the translated lyrics:
This city is a prostitute
It has red spots on her forehead
Her teeth are made of gold
She is fat and yet so lovely
Her mouth falls to my valley
When I pay her for it
She takes off her clothes but only for money
The city has me in suspense
And so on and so forth... it doesn't change much as the tune goes on.
Now picture this: Talking to a Russian person who very much loves his/her country and, specifically, the city of Moscow and who happens to have somewhat conservative moral values (just enough to take offense in hearing their Capital being compared to an old tart, how conservative would that have to be?), you casually drop into the conversation how much you like that "Moskau" song by some German band, can't quite remember the name off the top of your head... and neglect to mention the fact they sang at the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow... and, as luck would have it, your Russian acquaintance figures you're too young to remember the Disco Age... or perhaps they're too young to remember the Disco Age. Where does this leave us? With a very angry Russian, I trust. And all you wanted to evoke was that light-hearted, joyful tune about love tasting like kaviar and merrily dancing on tabletops under the (less than) slight influence of cold and pure Vodka. Makes you think, huh? That's why I've been trying to find words such as "joyful" and "light-hearted", because "gay" might have misled you.
And now that that's come up (Oy vey! At least I didn't say "come out"...), a question: has homophobia stripped us of gaiety? More importantly, why am I rambling about double entendres when I should be revising for my last exam of the season (Human-Computer Interfaces... doesn't sound like much? You should try it!)?
Mellow Farewells... as in relaxed and unhurried, easygoing farewells... as in kind farewells... as in... Oh, just peace out!
ArabianShark is polishing his favourite buzz-saw for the ritualistic June Deforestation of the Chin, also know as, the removal of the Exams Stubble. I never seem to find five minutes to shave in January or June...
Re-Runs
TV can have very odd efects on you, if you stare at it for long enough.
Just yesterday I thought it was yestersay, thus today, yet, sa I watched the very same shows I had wathcehs the day before, i.e, yesteday, I came to realise it was the day before yeaterday, that is, yesterday, since yesterday is actually today and today can only be tomorrow, when I'll undoubtedly write this post. Making sense? No? It's OK, it's no supposed to.
Still, what is it with re-runs? Fox channel has re-runs boiled down to a science. I know there's a pattern somewhere in there, and I just know I'll crack it as soon as I can be bothered to see a programming guide. Until then, I have other things in my mind. Things like Networking Fundaments II.
Meanwhile, there's no reason why you shouldn't have a bit of fun and games. How about 10 different puzzles? The rules are simple and half of the puzzle is figuring them out. Go on, give it a try.
Until I find another wacky reason to write a weired paragraph.
Senseless, but by no means nonsense farewells.
ArabianShark is swimming in circles. Whales often do that as a menas of rounding up prey in a cylinder of air bubbles, yet sharks have no means of producing such an effect. Why on earth and sea is lil' shark over there going about round and round beats the crap out of me, but there he goes again.
Round and round and round and round and...
Just yesterday I thought it was yestersay, thus today, yet, sa I watched the very same shows I had wathcehs the day before, i.e, yesteday, I came to realise it was the day before yeaterday, that is, yesterday, since yesterday is actually today and today can only be tomorrow, when I'll undoubtedly write this post. Making sense? No? It's OK, it's no supposed to.
Still, what is it with re-runs? Fox channel has re-runs boiled down to a science. I know there's a pattern somewhere in there, and I just know I'll crack it as soon as I can be bothered to see a programming guide. Until then, I have other things in my mind. Things like Networking Fundaments II.
Meanwhile, there's no reason why you shouldn't have a bit of fun and games. How about 10 different puzzles? The rules are simple and half of the puzzle is figuring them out. Go on, give it a try.
Until I find another wacky reason to write a weired paragraph.
Senseless, but by no means nonsense farewells.
ArabianShark is swimming in circles. Whales often do that as a menas of rounding up prey in a cylinder of air bubbles, yet sharks have no means of producing such an effect. Why on earth and sea is lil' shark over there going about round and round beats the crap out of me, but there he goes again.
Round and round and round and round and...
Do I look funny to you?
If you thought my last post was made in a bad mood, you have seen nothing yet. Last time I was slightly disgruntled; today, I'm angry. I mean angry angry. Or is it angry angry? You figure it out.
People, get this through your heads: I am not a comedian. If you're looking for comedy search google for Rowan Atkinson. Or John Cleese. Or Benny Hill. Or Pedro Tochas (Scotts and Aussies might know him, aside from the Portugese). Or rent a comedy flick. Or catch one at your local theater. If you've ever come here in search for a laugh, my, the joke's on you.
If ever you've found mirth in my words, good for you. If ever you've laughed at a pun you've found here, great, you managed to find the lighter side of my life. If ever you've laughed sadistically at my misfortune, I'm glad at least some good came out of it. If ever you've read (or heard, for that matter) a joke from me, it's time to cut down on those brownies. Or those muffins. Or whatever it is you're getting your hallucinogenics from. I don't tell jokes. I like jokes, I find (some of) them funny, but I don't tell them. If you care to know why, look up Rowan Atkinson's qoutes from IMDb. If you can't be bothered, I'll even lay it out for you. According to Mr. Atkinson, he himself is not a funny person, and one can't be expected to be made to laugh by him. He's a dull individual who happens to be a performer. And a great one, IMO. That said, I am neither funny nor a performer of any sort, thus a joke told by me is wasted on whoever should listen to it, for I couldn't make it sound funny if it was Monty Python's fabled "joke who makes whoever listens to it laught to death". If, from here on out, you think I might be telling a joke, here's a simple test to dismiss your doubts on that matter. If ever a story told here by me starts with "An englishman, a welshman, a scott, an aussie, a priest and a rabi all walk into a pub...", you're about to read a joke. Otherwise, no, I'm not telling a joke. I'm not even attempting to be funny. If you just happen to think otherwise and are amused by my words, that's fine, really. If you're not amused by my words and feel like complaining about my puns or my funnies, don't! I make no such things as puns, jokes or funnies and you'd be a fool to expect otherwise.
That said, I'll keep on blogging as usual from here on out. In fact, this whole raving is pretty much about my life outside this blog (yes, I have one of those). Bear with me.
ArabianShark has been counting quite the number of pet peeves. Perhaps he should drop a few. Do you think the yellow pages list "mercenary marksmen"?
People, get this through your heads: I am not a comedian. If you're looking for comedy search google for Rowan Atkinson. Or John Cleese. Or Benny Hill. Or Pedro Tochas (Scotts and Aussies might know him, aside from the Portugese). Or rent a comedy flick. Or catch one at your local theater. If you've ever come here in search for a laugh, my, the joke's on you.
If ever you've found mirth in my words, good for you. If ever you've laughed at a pun you've found here, great, you managed to find the lighter side of my life. If ever you've laughed sadistically at my misfortune, I'm glad at least some good came out of it. If ever you've read (or heard, for that matter) a joke from me, it's time to cut down on those brownies. Or those muffins. Or whatever it is you're getting your hallucinogenics from. I don't tell jokes. I like jokes, I find (some of) them funny, but I don't tell them. If you care to know why, look up Rowan Atkinson's qoutes from IMDb. If you can't be bothered, I'll even lay it out for you. According to Mr. Atkinson, he himself is not a funny person, and one can't be expected to be made to laugh by him. He's a dull individual who happens to be a performer. And a great one, IMO. That said, I am neither funny nor a performer of any sort, thus a joke told by me is wasted on whoever should listen to it, for I couldn't make it sound funny if it was Monty Python's fabled "joke who makes whoever listens to it laught to death". If, from here on out, you think I might be telling a joke, here's a simple test to dismiss your doubts on that matter. If ever a story told here by me starts with "An englishman, a welshman, a scott, an aussie, a priest and a rabi all walk into a pub...", you're about to read a joke. Otherwise, no, I'm not telling a joke. I'm not even attempting to be funny. If you just happen to think otherwise and are amused by my words, that's fine, really. If you're not amused by my words and feel like complaining about my puns or my funnies, don't! I make no such things as puns, jokes or funnies and you'd be a fool to expect otherwise.
That said, I'll keep on blogging as usual from here on out. In fact, this whole raving is pretty much about my life outside this blog (yes, I have one of those). Bear with me.
ArabianShark has been counting quite the number of pet peeves. Perhaps he should drop a few. Do you think the yellow pages list "mercenary marksmen"?
You wouldn't steal a car...
... or would you?
No? Not even an Aston Martin?? Good. Stealing is wrong. Unless you're stealing away from bad company. But I digress...
Sure, you wouldn't steal a car and you wouldn't steal a purse and you wouldn't steal a TV set, so you shouldn't steal a movie because unauthorised downloads are illegal and piracy is a crime punishible with up to 3 years of imprisionment in some countries... yada yada yada (not Yadda, who, if you don't know, is a Jedi master of the same species as Yoda). For those of you who don't recognise this gibberish, it's the ethics appeal you can often see at the beginning of a movie screening. And voilá, we have a topic for today's rant.
Dearest folks who push this copyright stuff;
We're aware of your message. We've been aware of it since the earliest days of good ol' departed Napster. Computer users, even the least savvy ones, are aware that if there is a way of acquiring goods or services for free whereas other ways would have one pay for the very same goods or services then the former must have some measure of illicity to it. Furthermore movie-goers pay for their tickets before they even see this very annoying advertisement of yours, often not knowing if the movie they are about to see is even worth the ticket price, only able to judge (or misjudge) from trailers, which can be deceiving. How many times has one sat through a screening of a movie they wouldn't have given the time of day just because the ticket was already paid for? However, stolen movies don't have your ethics appeal (I'm guessing. Not that I've ever stolen a movie, but why would one bother to steal such an annoying , not to mention utterly useless, little thing such as your silly ad?). So, bottom line is, you punish honest people (or less than straight-arrows in their moments of honesty) with your propaganda whereas the rotten get away with it. As if having to sit through blatantly capitalistic commercial publicity even before the trailers wasn't bad enough.
My advice to you: Sod off already! Ignorance isn't an excuse for any sort of crime, so don't even bother to argue that your piece of refuse you push on movie-goers serves the purpose of deterring copyright pirates with a warning-veiled threat. They, of all people, are aware of the risks they may be taking breaking your laws. Furthermore, even those laws are, ultimately, pointless, as there are quite a few ways around them. Hint: Sweeden has no copyright laws, China's government, who polices and censors Chinese web servers, offers great leniency to all forms of piracy, concerning itself with dissident anti-government propaganda and works of art which violate their laws, such as that no drawing may represent corpses or skeletons. So, really, pack your poorly shot would-be ad and find some lint underneath your beds. It must be way more interested in it than we are.
And for the humorous part, can you believe I've been shush!-ed by a talker for commenting on a trailer during the ethics appeal? Those crazy kids...
ArabianShark just loves the movies... like you hadn't guessed yet.
No? Not even an Aston Martin?? Good. Stealing is wrong. Unless you're stealing away from bad company. But I digress...
Sure, you wouldn't steal a car and you wouldn't steal a purse and you wouldn't steal a TV set, so you shouldn't steal a movie because unauthorised downloads are illegal and piracy is a crime punishible with up to 3 years of imprisionment in some countries... yada yada yada (not Yadda, who, if you don't know, is a Jedi master of the same species as Yoda). For those of you who don't recognise this gibberish, it's the ethics appeal you can often see at the beginning of a movie screening. And voilá, we have a topic for today's rant.
Dearest folks who push this copyright stuff;
We're aware of your message. We've been aware of it since the earliest days of good ol' departed Napster. Computer users, even the least savvy ones, are aware that if there is a way of acquiring goods or services for free whereas other ways would have one pay for the very same goods or services then the former must have some measure of illicity to it. Furthermore movie-goers pay for their tickets before they even see this very annoying advertisement of yours, often not knowing if the movie they are about to see is even worth the ticket price, only able to judge (or misjudge) from trailers, which can be deceiving. How many times has one sat through a screening of a movie they wouldn't have given the time of day just because the ticket was already paid for? However, stolen movies don't have your ethics appeal (I'm guessing. Not that I've ever stolen a movie, but why would one bother to steal such an annoying , not to mention utterly useless, little thing such as your silly ad?). So, bottom line is, you punish honest people (or less than straight-arrows in their moments of honesty) with your propaganda whereas the rotten get away with it. As if having to sit through blatantly capitalistic commercial publicity even before the trailers wasn't bad enough.
My advice to you: Sod off already! Ignorance isn't an excuse for any sort of crime, so don't even bother to argue that your piece of refuse you push on movie-goers serves the purpose of deterring copyright pirates with a warning-veiled threat. They, of all people, are aware of the risks they may be taking breaking your laws. Furthermore, even those laws are, ultimately, pointless, as there are quite a few ways around them. Hint: Sweeden has no copyright laws, China's government, who polices and censors Chinese web servers, offers great leniency to all forms of piracy, concerning itself with dissident anti-government propaganda and works of art which violate their laws, such as that no drawing may represent corpses or skeletons. So, really, pack your poorly shot would-be ad and find some lint underneath your beds. It must be way more interested in it than we are.
And for the humorous part, can you believe I've been shush!-ed by a talker for commenting on a trailer during the ethics appeal? Those crazy kids...
ArabianShark just loves the movies... like you hadn't guessed yet.
Blame it on the weather
Haven't I always?
Blogo ergo sum (or something along those lines), and so, for the past two weeks, I haven't been. One could argue it's the weather's fault, and really, one wouldn't be all thar wrong. It's not just the sun (I got me some fly shades), it's the heat and lately, it's been even worse. Somewhat overcast weather has been making for this awful stuffy weather. Fortunately today presented us with some late evening "rist", wich isn't a real word yet. I hereby proclaim "rist", meaning a mixture of rain and mist, a word. There, now it's a word. For those of you not familiar with rist, it happens when the air is so damp you can't actually go outside and not get wet, because the tiny raindrop-like droplets of water are actually suspended in mid-air very close to the ground (and not so close to the ground and everywhere in between). A very nice surprise after a stuffy day. Think cool moist towel. Ah, bliss.
Yes, one could blame it on the weather... but one would be, ultimately, wrong. The one to blame is not one alone, t's a whole team. Bethesda Softworks, it is. For the crime of unleashing upon humanity the evil known only as "The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion" and by the powers in me invested by... "it" (do remind me to fill in this gap more appropriately sometime), I hereby condemn you to be merry for the rest of your hopefully very long and rewarding lives. Now that is one good RPG. And it's not even D&D based. In fact, it's ruleset is quite original. The graphic beauty is mesmerizing to say the least and please don't anyone come bitchin' about clipping bugs, of course there are clipping bugs, it's a game, for Ctuchlu's sake. Just be glad there aren't any clipping bugs IRL. Now that that's settled and we all agree the graphics are, for want of a better word, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, where this here piece of work really shines is in the NPC's very advanced and independent AI. Yes, NPCs each have independent AIs which are not ruled by some would-be The Force-like entity, NPCs intercat with each other as they would with the player in each and every way, and I do mean every last way, from greeting each other as they pass by in the street to having heated discussions prone to end with the punctuation of clanging steel and the underlining of spilt blood. So, in short, get this game.
Hey, I almost forgot to give you my farewells. Almost...
ArabianShark is not, however, oblivious to the fact that some more movie-related ravings are due. Patience...
Blogo ergo sum (or something along those lines), and so, for the past two weeks, I haven't been. One could argue it's the weather's fault, and really, one wouldn't be all thar wrong. It's not just the sun (I got me some fly shades), it's the heat and lately, it's been even worse. Somewhat overcast weather has been making for this awful stuffy weather. Fortunately today presented us with some late evening "rist", wich isn't a real word yet. I hereby proclaim "rist", meaning a mixture of rain and mist, a word. There, now it's a word. For those of you not familiar with rist, it happens when the air is so damp you can't actually go outside and not get wet, because the tiny raindrop-like droplets of water are actually suspended in mid-air very close to the ground (and not so close to the ground and everywhere in between). A very nice surprise after a stuffy day. Think cool moist towel. Ah, bliss.
Yes, one could blame it on the weather... but one would be, ultimately, wrong. The one to blame is not one alone, t's a whole team. Bethesda Softworks, it is. For the crime of unleashing upon humanity the evil known only as "The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion" and by the powers in me invested by... "it" (do remind me to fill in this gap more appropriately sometime), I hereby condemn you to be merry for the rest of your hopefully very long and rewarding lives. Now that is one good RPG. And it's not even D&D based. In fact, it's ruleset is quite original. The graphic beauty is mesmerizing to say the least and please don't anyone come bitchin' about clipping bugs, of course there are clipping bugs, it's a game, for Ctuchlu's sake. Just be glad there aren't any clipping bugs IRL. Now that that's settled and we all agree the graphics are, for want of a better word, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, where this here piece of work really shines is in the NPC's very advanced and independent AI. Yes, NPCs each have independent AIs which are not ruled by some would-be The Force-like entity, NPCs intercat with each other as they would with the player in each and every way, and I do mean every last way, from greeting each other as they pass by in the street to having heated discussions prone to end with the punctuation of clanging steel and the underlining of spilt blood. So, in short, get this game.
Hey, I almost forgot to give you my farewells. Almost...
ArabianShark is not, however, oblivious to the fact that some more movie-related ravings are due. Patience...
Poll II: the Results
Thank you all who voted in last time's poll. Unfortunately, not even all of you were sufficient to make a good statistical sample. Thus, I'm forced to resort to other means to discover the answer to my question.
The question at hand is not one befitting the answer "42", but simply "Which one is the cooler car." I feel this is to petty a matter to figure in the universal source of all knowledge (Wikipedia), and certainly not worth disturbing the Powers (Usenet Oracle). But, in the end, coolness (is that a word?) is merely a popularity contest. That can be solved easily.
Here is the winner. So, at the date this is being written, Vanquish got... Vanquished.
Tune in tomorrow for some more movie-related raving. Farewell.
ArabianShark is at a loss for a witty last remark. One could argue it has always been so, but one would be kind not to... or get some vital organ bitten off.
The question at hand is not one befitting the answer "42", but simply "Which one is the cooler car." I feel this is to petty a matter to figure in the universal source of all knowledge (Wikipedia), and certainly not worth disturbing the Powers (Usenet Oracle). But, in the end, coolness (is that a word?) is merely a popularity contest. That can be solved easily.
Here is the winner. So, at the date this is being written, Vanquish got... Vanquished.
Tune in tomorrow for some more movie-related raving. Farewell.
ArabianShark is at a loss for a witty last remark. One could argue it has always been so, but one would be kind not to... or get some vital organ bitten off.
Poll
Polls, for the most part, as far as I'm concerned, are pretty much... useless. They don't define (ooh, define! Read with Hugo Weaving's tone!) reality, they don't shape reality, they merely report of reality, with varying levels of accuracy, depending on how well the poll was done. At this point I'd like to make a very clear difference between a poll such as this and a poll in which one goes around ringing doorbells to ask Everyday Joe how he/she(/it? Why not?) feels about this or that with aims to improve some product or service so that Everyday Joe and his wife/husband/children/parents/pets/furniture and such may have more fun and spend less time with their chores. Those aren't just use useless. They're also annoying.
Onwards...
My question: Which car do you like best: the Aston Martin DB9 or the Aston Martin Vanquish? One should hardly think you have never heard of them or that you don't know what either of them looks like... but if you don't, just go ahead and make an image search on google for either of them. What's that? Can't be bothered!? Why, of all the lazy... oh, alright! I spoil you!
Aston Martin DB9 (more)
Aston Martin Vanquish (more)
Sleek and shiny farewells.
ArabianShark looks forward to hearing your opinions in the shape of comments.
Onwards...
My question: Which car do you like best: the Aston Martin DB9 or the Aston Martin Vanquish? One should hardly think you have never heard of them or that you don't know what either of them looks like... but if you don't, just go ahead and make an image search on google for either of them. What's that? Can't be bothered!? Why, of all the lazy... oh, alright! I spoil you!
Aston Martin DB9 (more)
Aston Martin Vanquish (more)
Sleek and shiny farewells.
ArabianShark looks forward to hearing your opinions in the shape of comments.
Not even a full nibble...
Just a little tidbit...
We all know Google's "I'm feeling Lucky" button is a little prone to hilarious situations. Another one:
Make one such lucky search for "failure" (no quotes). Careful, now, no typos. Looking for "faliure" will return no hilarious first result.
ArabianShark would send his farewells, had he been here long enough.
We all know Google's "I'm feeling Lucky" button is a little prone to hilarious situations. Another one:
Make one such lucky search for "failure" (no quotes). Careful, now, no typos. Looking for "faliure" will return no hilarious first result.
ArabianShark would send his farewells, had he been here long enough.
It's been a while...
Right, I'm back. Anyone miss me? There's quite a bit of catching up to do, now, so let's get to it. What's on the menu for today...
Oranges: Actually, tangerines. I thought we'd have some fruit first. a bit of an appetizer. Loads of vitamin C in those. Great to keep the common cold at bay. Also, vitamin C is quite helpful in dealing with hangovers, as are natural non-refined sugars. A neat suggestion for a part of a day-after-a-bender breakfast. If no oranges are avaliable, another good source of vitamin C are kiwis (the fruit, not New Zealanders and certainly not birds). But, if you recall, the topic is tangerines. Is it me or do the ones with the most seeds always taste better? Does, likewise, a rose smell all the sweeter the more thorns it has?
Eagerly awaiting your comments, farewell.
ArabianShark settles in after quite the long absence. Not much has changed, however.
Oranges: Actually, tangerines. I thought we'd have some fruit first. a bit of an appetizer. Loads of vitamin C in those. Great to keep the common cold at bay. Also, vitamin C is quite helpful in dealing with hangovers, as are natural non-refined sugars. A neat suggestion for a part of a day-after-a-bender breakfast. If no oranges are avaliable, another good source of vitamin C are kiwis (the fruit, not New Zealanders and certainly not birds). But, if you recall, the topic is tangerines. Is it me or do the ones with the most seeds always taste better? Does, likewise, a rose smell all the sweeter the more thorns it has?
Eagerly awaiting your comments, farewell.
ArabianShark settles in after quite the long absence. Not much has changed, however.
Daylight saving time
Why are people afraid of running out of daylight? You know, the sun will (most likely) rise tomorrow too; there's no need of saving today's daylight when there's plenty of daylight for the picking tomorrow. Besides, where are you storing the daylight you are meant to be saving with the hour of sleep they took from me a week ago last Sunday?
Really, I don't get it. Right, so it might have been useful in the past, when they were still trying to invent a better lightbulb, but really, I find myself in brighter environments at night than during the day (well, not really. Except in the Winter). With this crazy Summer Hour, I find myself going for dinner barely at sunset. It messes with my internal clock (my most geeky readers will be glad to know that my other internal clock remains with equal up and down times and at the precise same frequency). It's weird. It's unnatural. There is no longer a "night meal", only an "early evening meal", and that's hardly dinner at all. Lunch is a drag for me, dinner was good. Now, dinner is no more. I take pleasure in food no more. Hey, that's going to help my weight loss program, eh? I guess some good may come from the whole daylight saving time after all.
Still I wonder how vampires are coping. It's still the first few days of Daylight Saving, I wonder if any of them are turning in their graves, going "Man, oh, man, I could so go for a neck right now, but I just can't go out yet." Or do you think they migrate like swallows? Going South?
Bright and Light farewells to you all, mortal and otherwise.
ArabianShark is now going for a bite. Not to the neck, though.
Really, I don't get it. Right, so it might have been useful in the past, when they were still trying to invent a better lightbulb, but really, I find myself in brighter environments at night than during the day (well, not really. Except in the Winter). With this crazy Summer Hour, I find myself going for dinner barely at sunset. It messes with my internal clock (my most geeky readers will be glad to know that my other internal clock remains with equal up and down times and at the precise same frequency). It's weird. It's unnatural. There is no longer a "night meal", only an "early evening meal", and that's hardly dinner at all. Lunch is a drag for me, dinner was good. Now, dinner is no more. I take pleasure in food no more. Hey, that's going to help my weight loss program, eh? I guess some good may come from the whole daylight saving time after all.
Still I wonder how vampires are coping. It's still the first few days of Daylight Saving, I wonder if any of them are turning in their graves, going "Man, oh, man, I could so go for a neck right now, but I just can't go out yet." Or do you think they migrate like swallows? Going South?
Bright and Light farewells to you all, mortal and otherwise.
ArabianShark is now going for a bite. Not to the neck, though.
Who's up for fishing?
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says that the Babelfish is simply the most wierd thing in the universe. What do you know, it could be right.
If you're not familiar with the Hichhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (tho original BBC series, not the more recently released film), shame on you. At any rate, to understand the Babelfish one must, right off the bat, know what a fish is. I'll be assuming you all know what a fish is. If, however, you don't know what a fish is... Right, this is plain silly, isn't it? Second, one must know of Babel. The tower of Babel was a great construction of man, made to challenge the heavens themselves and raise mankind to the statute of God. God, however, would sabotage this enterprise by mixing the tongues of man, thus creating the many languages spoken around the world. Thus, a Babelfish is a creature that can understand any language in the universe. In the Hitchhiker's guide to the Galaxy, you stick it in your ear and immediately you'll be able to understand any alien dialect as though it were your own mother tongue.
Of course Babelfish can also mean another thing. Out of waiting for a download to complete-induced boredom, I figured I could have some fun with it. give it a chunk of text, have it translated into another language, than yet another language without going back to the original language and back to the language you typed in. If you gave it a simple sentence, the result should be approximately the same sentence you gave it. An example:
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."
Translate from English to Portuguese, from Portuguese to French, form French to German and from German to English:
"The kastanienbraune fox fast reversal on the lazy dog."
Note: Just so you don't think I ever made any typos, I copy-pasted in between languages.
Fair enough. Small sentence, few mistakes. Now give it a large, complicated piece and add in a few more translations and watch the fish wiggle. Here's a suggestion:
(Form "V for Vendetta")
"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."
Give it a try.
Tongue tied farewells.
ArabianShark cannot possibly be tonge tied, because a shark's tongue is quite stiff, seeing as it is cartali... cartile... cartela... it's stiff.
(Incidentally, I meant, of course, cartilaginous)
If you're not familiar with the Hichhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (tho original BBC series, not the more recently released film), shame on you. At any rate, to understand the Babelfish one must, right off the bat, know what a fish is. I'll be assuming you all know what a fish is. If, however, you don't know what a fish is... Right, this is plain silly, isn't it? Second, one must know of Babel. The tower of Babel was a great construction of man, made to challenge the heavens themselves and raise mankind to the statute of God. God, however, would sabotage this enterprise by mixing the tongues of man, thus creating the many languages spoken around the world. Thus, a Babelfish is a creature that can understand any language in the universe. In the Hitchhiker's guide to the Galaxy, you stick it in your ear and immediately you'll be able to understand any alien dialect as though it were your own mother tongue.
Of course Babelfish can also mean another thing. Out of waiting for a download to complete-induced boredom, I figured I could have some fun with it. give it a chunk of text, have it translated into another language, than yet another language without going back to the original language and back to the language you typed in. If you gave it a simple sentence, the result should be approximately the same sentence you gave it. An example:
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."
Translate from English to Portuguese, from Portuguese to French, form French to German and from German to English:
"The kastanienbraune fox fast reversal on the lazy dog."
Note: Just so you don't think I ever made any typos, I copy-pasted in between languages.
Fair enough. Small sentence, few mistakes. Now give it a large, complicated piece and add in a few more translations and watch the fish wiggle. Here's a suggestion:
(Form "V for Vendetta")
"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."
Give it a try.
Tongue tied farewells.
ArabianShark cannot possibly be tonge tied, because a shark's tongue is quite stiff, seeing as it is cartali... cartile... cartela... it's stiff.
(Incidentally, I meant, of course, cartilaginous)
Hypergraphy
Lately I've been posting far too long updates and comments, and I've heard complaints that my blog entries won't fit some screens, even at high resolution and in full screen mode. Mea culpa. A post to indulge those of you who can't be bothered to read for too long.
And for those who'd whine about there not being any content to it, it's sunny, Daylight Saving Time took night hours from me and I'm disgruntled about it all.
Bye.
ArabianShark is gone.
And for those who'd whine about there not being any content to it, it's sunny, Daylight Saving Time took night hours from me and I'm disgruntled about it all.
Bye.
ArabianShark is gone.
What's a W but a stuttered V?
A very silly title, wasn't it? I suppose that's the best I could come up with, attempting to get W and V in the same sentence tongue-in-cheek. Right, then; onwards.
At any rate, why W and V? W is the initial of the last name of many famous people, such as Andy Wachowsky, Larry Wachowsky and Hugo Weaving, to name a few. Where am I going with this? And how come there's a V in it as well? What is the V for, why should there be a V, why, why?
Why, for Vendetta, of course.
(And that's what it's all about. A whole rant just to introduce yet another movie review. Well, then, here be slight spoilers, none of which about the plot (and most certeinly none about the gunpowder plot), yet some about the other aspects of the movie. Read on.)
First and foremost, Hugo Weaving makes my skin crawl. In a good way, that is. Every single line he delivers my hair stands on end. Picture that, sitting next to a porcupine at the movies.
Before the review, how about an overview? The place is London; the time is in the near future, most likely in the next 20's or about that time. A totalitarian regime has taken over the United Kingdom. Media, politics and police are all about a single goal, that of a single man; a Chancellor set on total domination of the people of England. Enter V, a man behind a Guy Fawkes mask, a man who wont sit and be spoon fed whatever laws, whatever lies "they", whoever they might be, see fit that he abide by. Enter the villain.
Despite being set in the future, this is no Sci-Fic flick.
The shooting and directing is much like those of The Matrix (as one would expect), with great results as well. Unlike The Matrix series, however, great emphasis is put on the little things, or rather lack thereof. Not that there aren't any little things, for they are many, but because the little things are not allowed to be or remain little. (I still have Mr. Weaving's voice in my head. Try to read this paragraph as though Weaving were delivering it.) Every little thud or tap of small objects being dropped, flung or merely knocked over is emphatised and exagerated until it becomes quite simply and delightfully ominous, grown or overgrown to a thunderous boom.
The main character draws from several sources, not quite copycatting any yet merging several elements with all which is only his own to a most exquisite result. First and foremost there is the black cloak and hat from which shines a white mask, à la Phantom of the Opera. Also the cloak and mask, the colour black and the fact the V is more than merely man, but the icon of a concept, a recurring theme of fear and hatred, that he is no more hero than anti-hero, that he is such a charismatic villain, that his voice was probably dubbed in in post producing (I should think that it should be rather hard to accurately record voice from beyond the mask of from within it, for that matter)and even that his name is the letter V spell out Darth Vader. Besides the impecable conception of the character is Weaving's spectacular performance, not just as vocal talent but also as physical talent. Unlike David Prowse's interpretation of Darth Vader, V is hardly the masked character that makes you wonder weather there's actually a person underneath the costume; Weaving's body language convey every last little twitch that his face would, were not for the mask.
Other elements drawn upon are mainly of historical nature, most strikingly, a very deliberate resemblance to Adolph Hitler whenever the Chancellor is seen adressing the public and (skip the remainder of this paragraph, lest you read spoilers) in the scene when thousands of ordinary people don Guy Fawkes masks and black cloaks and hats to join in the revolution, which draws upon Mahatma Ghandi's gathering of 4000 people to collect a bowl of sea water to produce their own salt (which, if you recall your history, was illegal at the time).
Where the movie really shines, however, is in its music. Not just background, taylor-made music for any specific scene (which I have nothing against, on the contrary), but the usage of music an element of a scene, particularly classical music. I won't go in much depth, but, again, mind the little things. The keyword is sync.
The lighting is to be commended as well. Hard contrasts of light and shaddow are cleverly applied to establish moods and even mislead the viewer for some more plot twists. Softer transictions set different moods, some with warm lights to express comfort and intimacy, some eerie shadows to induce a sense of mistery and deceit.
Much powerful imagery was used to great effect. Many short shots of episodes of violence, passion, death and love succeed masterfully at conveying simple concepts in flashbacks and minor subplots.
Right, that's enough. Just go and see the movie. It's well worth it.
Sighing for the streets of London... Farewell.
ArabianShark will now be setting off for a journey towards the North Sea, up the Thames and off to a little vacation in London... In his dreams.
At any rate, why W and V? W is the initial of the last name of many famous people, such as Andy Wachowsky, Larry Wachowsky and Hugo Weaving, to name a few. Where am I going with this? And how come there's a V in it as well? What is the V for, why should there be a V, why, why?
Why, for Vendetta, of course.
(And that's what it's all about. A whole rant just to introduce yet another movie review. Well, then, here be slight spoilers, none of which about the plot (and most certeinly none about the gunpowder plot), yet some about the other aspects of the movie. Read on.)
First and foremost, Hugo Weaving makes my skin crawl. In a good way, that is. Every single line he delivers my hair stands on end. Picture that, sitting next to a porcupine at the movies.
Before the review, how about an overview? The place is London; the time is in the near future, most likely in the next 20's or about that time. A totalitarian regime has taken over the United Kingdom. Media, politics and police are all about a single goal, that of a single man; a Chancellor set on total domination of the people of England. Enter V, a man behind a Guy Fawkes mask, a man who wont sit and be spoon fed whatever laws, whatever lies "they", whoever they might be, see fit that he abide by. Enter the villain.
Despite being set in the future, this is no Sci-Fic flick.
The shooting and directing is much like those of The Matrix (as one would expect), with great results as well. Unlike The Matrix series, however, great emphasis is put on the little things, or rather lack thereof. Not that there aren't any little things, for they are many, but because the little things are not allowed to be or remain little. (I still have Mr. Weaving's voice in my head. Try to read this paragraph as though Weaving were delivering it.) Every little thud or tap of small objects being dropped, flung or merely knocked over is emphatised and exagerated until it becomes quite simply and delightfully ominous, grown or overgrown to a thunderous boom.
The main character draws from several sources, not quite copycatting any yet merging several elements with all which is only his own to a most exquisite result. First and foremost there is the black cloak and hat from which shines a white mask, à la Phantom of the Opera. Also the cloak and mask, the colour black and the fact the V is more than merely man, but the icon of a concept, a recurring theme of fear and hatred, that he is no more hero than anti-hero, that he is such a charismatic villain, that his voice was probably dubbed in in post producing (I should think that it should be rather hard to accurately record voice from beyond the mask of from within it, for that matter)and even that his name is the letter V spell out Darth Vader. Besides the impecable conception of the character is Weaving's spectacular performance, not just as vocal talent but also as physical talent. Unlike David Prowse's interpretation of Darth Vader, V is hardly the masked character that makes you wonder weather there's actually a person underneath the costume; Weaving's body language convey every last little twitch that his face would, were not for the mask.
Other elements drawn upon are mainly of historical nature, most strikingly, a very deliberate resemblance to Adolph Hitler whenever the Chancellor is seen adressing the public and (skip the remainder of this paragraph, lest you read spoilers) in the scene when thousands of ordinary people don Guy Fawkes masks and black cloaks and hats to join in the revolution, which draws upon Mahatma Ghandi's gathering of 4000 people to collect a bowl of sea water to produce their own salt (which, if you recall your history, was illegal at the time).
Where the movie really shines, however, is in its music. Not just background, taylor-made music for any specific scene (which I have nothing against, on the contrary), but the usage of music an element of a scene, particularly classical music. I won't go in much depth, but, again, mind the little things. The keyword is sync.
The lighting is to be commended as well. Hard contrasts of light and shaddow are cleverly applied to establish moods and even mislead the viewer for some more plot twists. Softer transictions set different moods, some with warm lights to express comfort and intimacy, some eerie shadows to induce a sense of mistery and deceit.
Much powerful imagery was used to great effect. Many short shots of episodes of violence, passion, death and love succeed masterfully at conveying simple concepts in flashbacks and minor subplots.
Right, that's enough. Just go and see the movie. It's well worth it.
Sighing for the streets of London... Farewell.
ArabianShark will now be setting off for a journey towards the North Sea, up the Thames and off to a little vacation in London... In his dreams.
Full Moon
Right off the bat, if you're looking for a sane and sensible read, you're all out of luck. Right, then, onwards.
Full moon, at last! Come, O, come, sweet Silver Queen of the Night, come; come and bestow us thy blessing, the healing glare of your light. Let us crude creatures of blood and bone be bathed in thy shiny grace, for yours is the flameless fire and the dark light with which our shadowy paths yearn to be ablaze with. Shine through and spread your beam in the hazy mists of the night you make light and make the inky black heavens lit with the sparkling web of deceit only one as yourself can weave. Come, O, come; come and leave us never.
Right, then, that's that. Oh, by the way, there's a full moon tonight. Beware of werewolves and such, like, you know... bed bugs. They bite!
Wishing you all the sanity I... misplaced.
ArabianShark is hardly a basker shark, yet he'll be surfacing for a bit of basking tonight. I't a pretty night after all, you know.
Full moon, at last! Come, O, come, sweet Silver Queen of the Night, come; come and bestow us thy blessing, the healing glare of your light. Let us crude creatures of blood and bone be bathed in thy shiny grace, for yours is the flameless fire and the dark light with which our shadowy paths yearn to be ablaze with. Shine through and spread your beam in the hazy mists of the night you make light and make the inky black heavens lit with the sparkling web of deceit only one as yourself can weave. Come, O, come; come and leave us never.
Right, then, that's that. Oh, by the way, there's a full moon tonight. Beware of werewolves and such, like, you know... bed bugs. They bite!
Wishing you all the sanity I... misplaced.
ArabianShark is hardly a basker shark, yet he'll be surfacing for a bit of basking tonight. I't a pretty night after all, you know.
Hail to the Empire
Yes, of course, Hail to the Empire, the one political power over the whole galaxy, under the Rule of Emperor Palpatine and the drive of Drk Lord of the Sith Darth Vader.
Hold on... wrong empire... oops.
Right then. See if I get it right this time. Hail to the Brittas Empire... no?
Close enough. Ok, third time is a charm. Hail to the British Empire.
At least I got the right empire this time around, only it's hardly an Empire these days. However, what it became (for the most part, anyway) has its day today. It's Commonwealth Day.
If you're wondering, the Commonwealth a loose confederation of nations, most of which formerly of the British Empire. Another Commonwealth (the Commonwealth of Independent States - CIS, for the many fellow geeks - as opposed to the Commonwealth of Nations, aforementioned as "the Commonwealth") is a similar confederation of former Soviet Republics. For another day, perhaps.
Farewell now, and don't miss the cerimony on BBC, if you read this in time (which I don't suppose you can, since it's waaaay too late).
ArabianShark is now going on tour of the Commonwealth realms. All the lovely vacation spots and more.
Hold on... wrong empire... oops.
Right then. See if I get it right this time. Hail to the Brittas Empire... no?
Close enough. Ok, third time is a charm. Hail to the British Empire.
At least I got the right empire this time around, only it's hardly an Empire these days. However, what it became (for the most part, anyway) has its day today. It's Commonwealth Day.
If you're wondering, the Commonwealth a loose confederation of nations, most of which formerly of the British Empire. Another Commonwealth (the Commonwealth of Independent States - CIS, for the many fellow geeks - as opposed to the Commonwealth of Nations, aforementioned as "the Commonwealth") is a similar confederation of former Soviet Republics. For another day, perhaps.
Farewell now, and don't miss the cerimony on BBC, if you read this in time (which I don't suppose you can, since it's waaaay too late).
ArabianShark is now going on tour of the Commonwealth realms. All the lovely vacation spots and more.
Ladies night
Today is interantional woman's day.
How do you make a blog entry about that? I gues I'll be taking the French kid way out of this.
What is the French kid way out, you ask? It is nothing like the spoon, I promise. It is rather more fun.
A French kid was once to write an essay for school on the subject "the cow". If my memory serves me right, his essay rougly translates into something like this:
"The bird I'm supposed to write about is the owl. By night it can't see and by day it's blind as a bat. I don't know much about the owl, so I'll continue about another animal I'll chose, the cow."
From then on, it's a bundle of laughs as odd approaches to the subject ensue, such as "the cow has six sides: top, bottom, front, back, left and right", "the head is for the horns to come out and because it's mouth had to be somewhere" and "it's legs reach the ground", up until the final lines, "the cow has a very keen sense of smell, and that's why you can smell it from far away."
So there, I had my owl, I found my cow and I applied the French kid way out of swampy grounds. Time for goodbye.
ArabianShark will rest on the bottom for a while, now. Only few species of sharks can actually rest and pump water over their gills without moving, most others must swim constantly so they don't asphixiate. Next time you think you're tired, think again!
How do you make a blog entry about that? I gues I'll be taking the French kid way out of this.
What is the French kid way out, you ask? It is nothing like the spoon, I promise. It is rather more fun.
A French kid was once to write an essay for school on the subject "the cow". If my memory serves me right, his essay rougly translates into something like this:
"The bird I'm supposed to write about is the owl. By night it can't see and by day it's blind as a bat. I don't know much about the owl, so I'll continue about another animal I'll chose, the cow."
From then on, it's a bundle of laughs as odd approaches to the subject ensue, such as "the cow has six sides: top, bottom, front, back, left and right", "the head is for the horns to come out and because it's mouth had to be somewhere" and "it's legs reach the ground", up until the final lines, "the cow has a very keen sense of smell, and that's why you can smell it from far away."
So there, I had my owl, I found my cow and I applied the French kid way out of swampy grounds. Time for goodbye.
ArabianShark will rest on the bottom for a while, now. Only few species of sharks can actually rest and pump water over their gills without moving, most others must swim constantly so they don't asphixiate. Next time you think you're tired, think again!
I don't usually do this...
I've posted links before, but you might remember me saying I wouldn't link to other blogs. That just might be about to change.
I don't mean to make this a habit, but there is one blog especially noteworthy (actually, there are several such blogs... just read on). It's funny and often thought provoking. Furthermore, the fellow bloggers who write it were kind enough to put a link to my blog on their template, and by no means because I asked. They did it out of the kindness in their hearts. Cheers, mates! Gotta love that bunch. The ones I've met, at any rate.
So, ladies and gents, without further ado... The disco-bar!
Now before you all go rushing there and storming the place, I should warn you that it is, more often than not, in Portuguese, so if you don't speak the language, here's a good excuse to learn it.
I'll be adding the link permanently on the side bar too, so you may never forget to drop by whenever you think of ol' Sharky here.
Right, enough said. Live long, and prosper.
ArabianShark has a splitting headache... and a Networking Fundaments II report due soon. Bugger!
I don't mean to make this a habit, but there is one blog especially noteworthy (actually, there are several such blogs... just read on). It's funny and often thought provoking. Furthermore, the fellow bloggers who write it were kind enough to put a link to my blog on their template, and by no means because I asked. They did it out of the kindness in their hearts. Cheers, mates! Gotta love that bunch. The ones I've met, at any rate.
So, ladies and gents, without further ado... The disco-bar!
Now before you all go rushing there and storming the place, I should warn you that it is, more often than not, in Portuguese, so if you don't speak the language, here's a good excuse to learn it.
I'll be adding the link permanently on the side bar too, so you may never forget to drop by whenever you think of ol' Sharky here.
Right, enough said. Live long, and prosper.
ArabianShark has a splitting headache... and a Networking Fundaments II report due soon. Bugger!
Marching up and down the square
The title is only funny if you read it with Jahn Cleese's voice while he's doing an army bit for Monty Python. I suppose you have to be John Cleese to do that properly, so... amused yoet, Mr. Cleese? No? Let's get that sorted, then shall we?
So you're all looking for comedy, eh? Tough luck, today is just not a funny day. Check back tomorrow, perhaps we'll have some funnies then.
Today is Ash Wednesady. That means only forty days (plus Sundays) until Easter. It also means yesterday was Mardi Gras. Enough with the all too abvious factoids, on with my usual style of blogging. I'm stuck with it, for better or worse.
The time to burn away the undesired memories is gone, and March we shall into 2006. Sure, you may think you already have, but really, it's only been 59 days so far, you still have 306 days ahead of you (counting today), so it's still fairly early in the year. That means that if you have not been up to a great start, it can still change. If, on the other hand, everything's been peaches and cream left and right, great, carry on!
March is the third month of the Roman Calendar. What else is new, you ask. Well, pretty damn nearly nothing, really. I just meat to say it is dedicated to Mars, Roman god of war, but, by no means, any more belligerent a month than any. If you believe in the meaning of coincidence, this year the month of Mars (March, duh) begins on the day of Venus (Wednesday, or so I think, if I remember that paper I wrote about the origin of the names of the days of the week all those years ago correctly), his lover, in spite of her arranged marriage with Volcano, in Roman mythology.
For the first time in my life I envy San Franciscans. Why, you ask? Well, then, be more specific. Why is it the first time? Some time would have to be the first, right? Why do I envy San Franciscans? Because Lestat, the musical is due to premier in SF this Spring. If you don't know who or what Lestat is, picture me giving you a very sternly disapointed glare right now. This should be tricky, if you've never seen me and don't know what I look like, but I'm sure you'll manage. Lestat is the main character of Anne Rice's "The Vampire Lestat" (Captain Obvious strikes again), and, IMO, the greatest vampire (literarily speaking, of course) ever. Forget about Dracula and Nosferatu.
My very own little vampires (yes, I breed them in my socks drawer) are growing nicely too, with the second tale nearly completed.
Farewell for now, for I still have much work ahead of me tonight...
ArabianShark smells blood on the water. Must be chum.
So you're all looking for comedy, eh? Tough luck, today is just not a funny day. Check back tomorrow, perhaps we'll have some funnies then.
Today is Ash Wednesady. That means only forty days (plus Sundays) until Easter. It also means yesterday was Mardi Gras. Enough with the all too abvious factoids, on with my usual style of blogging. I'm stuck with it, for better or worse.
The time to burn away the undesired memories is gone, and March we shall into 2006. Sure, you may think you already have, but really, it's only been 59 days so far, you still have 306 days ahead of you (counting today), so it's still fairly early in the year. That means that if you have not been up to a great start, it can still change. If, on the other hand, everything's been peaches and cream left and right, great, carry on!
March is the third month of the Roman Calendar. What else is new, you ask. Well, pretty damn nearly nothing, really. I just meat to say it is dedicated to Mars, Roman god of war, but, by no means, any more belligerent a month than any. If you believe in the meaning of coincidence, this year the month of Mars (March, duh) begins on the day of Venus (Wednesday, or so I think, if I remember that paper I wrote about the origin of the names of the days of the week all those years ago correctly), his lover, in spite of her arranged marriage with Volcano, in Roman mythology.
For the first time in my life I envy San Franciscans. Why, you ask? Well, then, be more specific. Why is it the first time? Some time would have to be the first, right? Why do I envy San Franciscans? Because Lestat, the musical is due to premier in SF this Spring. If you don't know who or what Lestat is, picture me giving you a very sternly disapointed glare right now. This should be tricky, if you've never seen me and don't know what I look like, but I'm sure you'll manage. Lestat is the main character of Anne Rice's "The Vampire Lestat" (Captain Obvious strikes again), and, IMO, the greatest vampire (literarily speaking, of course) ever. Forget about Dracula and Nosferatu.
My very own little vampires (yes, I breed them in my socks drawer) are growing nicely too, with the second tale nearly completed.
Farewell for now, for I still have much work ahead of me tonight...
ArabianShark smells blood on the water. Must be chum.
Vibes... silly?
Ever since I got to bloggigng I regularly check out several blogs. Most of them rather amuse me in a quiet way, but some actually grip me to them. I have this theory that you can infer some (or a lot) about a person from their writing. Certainly a blog is hardly the proper source for accurate and relevant information about a person, since when writing a blog one is prone to make tols of nistakes, seeing as it's a casual thing one does for fun, really, and being overly serious about fun is a bit of an oxymoron. Still, grammar and spelling apart, and even beyond the content of one's writing, perhaps hidden amidst the choice of words, the punctuation, the lenght of the sentences or the odd exclamation of LOL and LOLOLOL and even LMAO, I believe, lies something to be known about the author. What that is... How am I supposed to know, if I'm hardly sure that there is anything at all. perhaps whatever I'm trying to find is the proverbial spoon.
What spoon, you ask? Do you really have to ask? You don't? Then you're welcome to skip this paragraph. If you do, read on. "Do no try to bend the spoon." The little kid with appearent telepathical powers said. "That is impossible. Instead try to realise that there is no spoon and that it is only you that bends." Neo took the mirror-polished spoon and, gazing at his own reflexion in it, cocked his head and, to his own bewilderment, the silver stem bowed to the side, mimicking his gesture. Soon he'd be able to spring the spoon in whatever form he'd wish. What do I mean by quoting "The Matrix"? Simply that I might be all too willing to believe there is something to be read beyond words that I raise my expectations about other bloggers to the statute of educated guesses.
Of course, I could be wrong.
I still wonder, though, what if I'm not? What if there is something to be understood in a blog beyond what the blogger is trying to say? Should this mean that the vibes I geet from some blogs are genuine (and I don't mean accurate, only that I'm not imagining things)? Or am I just being silly? Do you get any vibes from my writing? Should I have taken the red pill?
Vibrant goodbyes to all my vibe getting and non vibe getting readers alike.
ArabianShark's lateral line picks up some very yummy vibes right now. Snack time!
What spoon, you ask? Do you really have to ask? You don't? Then you're welcome to skip this paragraph. If you do, read on. "Do no try to bend the spoon." The little kid with appearent telepathical powers said. "That is impossible. Instead try to realise that there is no spoon and that it is only you that bends." Neo took the mirror-polished spoon and, gazing at his own reflexion in it, cocked his head and, to his own bewilderment, the silver stem bowed to the side, mimicking his gesture. Soon he'd be able to spring the spoon in whatever form he'd wish. What do I mean by quoting "The Matrix"? Simply that I might be all too willing to believe there is something to be read beyond words that I raise my expectations about other bloggers to the statute of educated guesses.
Of course, I could be wrong.
I still wonder, though, what if I'm not? What if there is something to be understood in a blog beyond what the blogger is trying to say? Should this mean that the vibes I geet from some blogs are genuine (and I don't mean accurate, only that I'm not imagining things)? Or am I just being silly? Do you get any vibes from my writing? Should I have taken the red pill?
Vibrant goodbyes to all my vibe getting and non vibe getting readers alike.
ArabianShark's lateral line picks up some very yummy vibes right now. Snack time!
Ow, my eyes hurt.
Is there no rest for the wicked? How about for good ol' me? Do I qualify as a 'wicked', just for the issue? At any rate...
First off, it's not raining any more. It's not even cloudy. That's the first and foremost reason for my eyes to hurt. This time of the year the sun never seems to rise very high over the horizon, so wherever I go it seems I'm stuck with staring into the sun half the time. Call me vampire (and some of you *do*, thank you very much...), but I'd take blizzards and halestorms over this "lightfest" (which is hardly a word, but what the hell) any day.
Second, there's the matter of an investigation paper I have to write. Writing comes easily to me (dare you say otherwise?), for as long as it is either fiction writing or something... light, for want of a better word. You know, like a blog or something. Research papers... I guess it mostly depends on the matter being researched (this is to say I'm doing another unrelated research thing at the same time... which has me thrilled). This one is supposed to be on the Apple iPod player. Now, Apple doesn't pay me a red penny to advertise for them (even though they do have some pretty neat stuff), but I must say I rather like that thing. The problem is I'm supposed to document my paper with pictures of the menus. Now this would hardly be any daunting a task, if I could handle a camera properly. Right off the bat my hands tremble too much to take any clear pictures of minute objects. That's anxiety for you. Then one should consider the fact that I don't know the first thing about photography. Last, but not least, the camera I'd be using won't focus the dispaly propperly, even in the hands of my colleague. So, where does that leave me? Replicating the iPod menu screens as accurately as I can. That means counting the pixels in the tiny LCD screen and reproducing them, dot per dot, on some graphics program. Tools of the trade? A magnifying glass and a sewing needle.
Now, sharks are, in general, severey myopic, which isn't much of a handicap for them, seeing as their sense of smell is pretty much unmatched in the water and they have unique sensorial organs (Ampullae of Lorenzini, if I'm not mistaken) which enable them to sense nerve impulses within their prey, not to mention that sound travels approximately five times faster in water than in air, and they have a custom-made sense of 'hearing' which allows them to sense movement in the water, so they're pretty much well attired for most tasks... except maybe telling a surfer lying on his board with his limbs in the water from a seal or a manatee. That and counting the pixels on an iPod. I can't even see straight out of my good eye anymore.
Wide-eyed (you wouldn't believe how much so!) farewells to all my water- and land dwelling readers alike.
ArabianShark is now putting his eyelids to use. Yes, sharks do have eyelids, but they don't blink, not only because water cleans their eyes all he time but also because they don't want to miss a single detail of their very exciting lives!
First off, it's not raining any more. It's not even cloudy. That's the first and foremost reason for my eyes to hurt. This time of the year the sun never seems to rise very high over the horizon, so wherever I go it seems I'm stuck with staring into the sun half the time. Call me vampire (and some of you *do*, thank you very much...), but I'd take blizzards and halestorms over this "lightfest" (which is hardly a word, but what the hell) any day.
Second, there's the matter of an investigation paper I have to write. Writing comes easily to me (dare you say otherwise?), for as long as it is either fiction writing or something... light, for want of a better word. You know, like a blog or something. Research papers... I guess it mostly depends on the matter being researched (this is to say I'm doing another unrelated research thing at the same time... which has me thrilled). This one is supposed to be on the Apple iPod player. Now, Apple doesn't pay me a red penny to advertise for them (even though they do have some pretty neat stuff), but I must say I rather like that thing. The problem is I'm supposed to document my paper with pictures of the menus. Now this would hardly be any daunting a task, if I could handle a camera properly. Right off the bat my hands tremble too much to take any clear pictures of minute objects. That's anxiety for you. Then one should consider the fact that I don't know the first thing about photography. Last, but not least, the camera I'd be using won't focus the dispaly propperly, even in the hands of my colleague. So, where does that leave me? Replicating the iPod menu screens as accurately as I can. That means counting the pixels in the tiny LCD screen and reproducing them, dot per dot, on some graphics program. Tools of the trade? A magnifying glass and a sewing needle.
Now, sharks are, in general, severey myopic, which isn't much of a handicap for them, seeing as their sense of smell is pretty much unmatched in the water and they have unique sensorial organs (Ampullae of Lorenzini, if I'm not mistaken) which enable them to sense nerve impulses within their prey, not to mention that sound travels approximately five times faster in water than in air, and they have a custom-made sense of 'hearing' which allows them to sense movement in the water, so they're pretty much well attired for most tasks... except maybe telling a surfer lying on his board with his limbs in the water from a seal or a manatee. That and counting the pixels on an iPod. I can't even see straight out of my good eye anymore.
Wide-eyed (you wouldn't believe how much so!) farewells to all my water- and land dwelling readers alike.
ArabianShark is now putting his eyelids to use. Yes, sharks do have eyelids, but they don't blink, not only because water cleans their eyes all he time but also because they don't want to miss a single detail of their very exciting lives!
Woo Hoo!
The Shark is in his element, Ladies and Gents. It's not raining; it's absolutely pouring outside. A true deluge. Also, as you should know, if you're in my area, the wind is a force to be reckoned. This weather is not for the weak of... umbrella. Right, that didn't sound very well, let me rephrase that. This is hardly the weather for weak umbrellas. Bus stops now serve not a dual but a triple purpose: They serve as stopping points for buses (can you believe it?); they serve as shelter from the rain for "unprepared" or "caught off guard" pedestrians and they shelter those of feeble umbrellas from the wind on the outrside. That's right, a commonplace sight around here, groups of people standing in the rain behind bus stops, not in them, with their umbrellas open, waiting for the strong gusts to settle, lest the brittle structures snap. That's hardly an issue for my umbrella, however. It's quite old, the fabric of the canopy is beginning to unweave and some of the seams have had to be re-stitched, but the wiring on the canopy is quite sturdy, as is the main shaft. I fear no wind.
It is raining cats and dogs, yes. Already I've been bitten and clawed by several of those furries. One such cat was surely Erwin Schröedinger's. How do I know, you ask? Well, it was alive.
At any rate, it's a real flood out there. Who's up for skinnydipping?
Soaking wet (and, if you'd like, messy) farewells.
ArabianShark merrily swims away... past the bus station, around the corner of the coffee shop, left at the intersection and off for a stroll. It *is* that flooded outside.
It is raining cats and dogs, yes. Already I've been bitten and clawed by several of those furries. One such cat was surely Erwin Schröedinger's. How do I know, you ask? Well, it was alive.
At any rate, it's a real flood out there. Who's up for skinnydipping?
Soaking wet (and, if you'd like, messy) farewells.
ArabianShark merrily swims away... past the bus station, around the corner of the coffee shop, left at the intersection and off for a stroll. It *is* that flooded outside.
St. Valentine's Day
Ah, Valentines day. The day to re-kindle to flames of your love towards your significant other, add another log to the fire or set the fire in the first place. Of course, if that's your case, you'd be better off during the months of June, July and August, statistically. Unless you're in Oz, in which case even the weather should be in your favour. Go on, mate!
Tis the day for a date, no? A quiet romantic dinner by candle light, a movie perhaps? A few tips you you take this line of thinking:
a) No matter how long you waited for the latest gore/blood/shooting/hack & slash fest, these have "WRONG" printed in great bold red letters all over;
b) Romantic Comedies are the genre of choice of a very large number of people of both genders. This is not, however, one hundred percent guaranteed to be your best pick;
c) Fellow geeks, your lady friend isn't bound to be thrilled about watching all of the Star Wars/Lord of the Rings/Matrix movies back to back.
A Valenine's card may be regarded as a very romantic gesture either to begin or to resume a lovely relationship. It is costumary to write a little poem inside. Again, guys, my pointers:
a) Roses are red, violets are blue. Why do I live? I live to love you. - This never worked for me. Try something else;
b) R0535 r r3d, vi01375 r b1u3... - Leetspeak. Deadly effective, if you're planing a quiet evening all by yourself;
c) Roses are #FF0000, violets are #0000FF... - Geekspeak. Not much better. Perhaps if you're infatuation is a geek as well (yes, there ARE female geeks)... but still not likely;
d) Violets are #0000FF, roses are #FF0000, all my base are belong to you - this is plainly disatrous...
Now is about the time you ask, "Hey, Sharky boy, what are you doing for Valentine's Day?"
Here's a hint...
***I'M WRITTING A BLOG ON ST. VALENTINE'S DAY!!!***
Wishing you all better luck than mine in the tides of love.
ArabianShark has left the building.
Tis the day for a date, no? A quiet romantic dinner by candle light, a movie perhaps? A few tips you you take this line of thinking:
a) No matter how long you waited for the latest gore/blood/shooting/hack & slash fest, these have "WRONG" printed in great bold red letters all over;
b) Romantic Comedies are the genre of choice of a very large number of people of both genders. This is not, however, one hundred percent guaranteed to be your best pick;
c) Fellow geeks, your lady friend isn't bound to be thrilled about watching all of the Star Wars/Lord of the Rings/Matrix movies back to back.
A Valenine's card may be regarded as a very romantic gesture either to begin or to resume a lovely relationship. It is costumary to write a little poem inside. Again, guys, my pointers:
a) Roses are red, violets are blue. Why do I live? I live to love you. - This never worked for me. Try something else;
b) R0535 r r3d, vi01375 r b1u3... - Leetspeak. Deadly effective, if you're planing a quiet evening all by yourself;
c) Roses are #FF0000, violets are #0000FF... - Geekspeak. Not much better. Perhaps if you're infatuation is a geek as well (yes, there ARE female geeks)... but still not likely;
d) Violets are #0000FF, roses are #FF0000, all my base are belong to you - this is plainly disatrous...
Now is about the time you ask, "Hey, Sharky boy, what are you doing for Valentine's Day?"
Here's a hint...
***I'M WRITTING A BLOG ON ST. VALENTINE'S DAY!!!***
Wishing you all better luck than mine in the tides of love.
ArabianShark has left the building.
White faces on the Silver Screen
Everyone's a critic, I'm someone, ergo, I'm a critic. A cinema critic. Not quite, but I needed an opening line.
Today I thought I'd make my review of Memoirs of a Geisha, which I mentioned some time ago. If you remember, I had my hopes up for it. Addressing the sole quesion I raised at that time, I did dislike the shade of blue in Sayuri's eyes. But that's just splitting hairs.
It's hard for me to review this movie as a movie alone, regardless of the novel it's adapted from. Even though I as pretty much had at "Amblin" in the opening credits (really, don't you just love everything that comes from there? With the sole exception of ET, perhaps...), I was put off by some not always minor details that got trampled. Of course I realise that, in order for the movie to have an acceptable run time some of the book has to be cut, and that is an art on itself. Think Bram Stoker's Dracula. Francis Ford Coppola did a superb job there. Nevertheless, and even though I think much of the left out information wouldn't really have made it a better film, I still feel some things should not have been left out. Also, some changes in the adaptation weren't great, such as Nobu having both arms. Others work just as fine or even better than the original, perhaps, such as the confrontation between Sayuri and Hatsumomo in the tea house. That Colonel Derricks should replace the minister doesn't work so good, IMO. That Sayuri should meet the Chairman shortly after breaking her arm rather than at the age of fourteen really has little to no impact on the storyline.
The overall look and feel of the picture is quite nice, with the moving shots following the characters as they run quite well done, unlike some movies that plainly remind you of Blair Witch Project in that area.
John Williams, who, by the way, passed on making the music for the fourth Harry Potter film so he could work on this movie, delivered all that was expected once again. The original score is superb and every single piece of background music is awesome. I particularly rememeber an almost tribalistic drumming as Chiyo first becomes a maiko. Incidentally, during that scene a shot of her at the hairdresser shows her visibly upset as her hair is combed with some liquid. In case you wonder what upsets her so much, and even though this isn't evident, the liquid is molten wax, which I wouldn't like to coat my hair in either. Hair gel, anyone?
Lastly, I'd like to call your attention to the fact that very few elements, if any at all, are out of place or time in this movie, which gave painstaking attention to deatil in scenery, props and historical fact so that, even though the plot is a work of fiction, for all you know, could have happened.
Right, that about does it.
Sayonra. Until tomorrow.
ArabianShark's skelleton, unlike other sharks, is made of bone, not cartilage, yet I bow in farewell.
*CRACK*! Ow! Is there a doctor in the house?
Today I thought I'd make my review of Memoirs of a Geisha, which I mentioned some time ago. If you remember, I had my hopes up for it. Addressing the sole quesion I raised at that time, I did dislike the shade of blue in Sayuri's eyes. But that's just splitting hairs.
It's hard for me to review this movie as a movie alone, regardless of the novel it's adapted from. Even though I as pretty much had at "Amblin" in the opening credits (really, don't you just love everything that comes from there? With the sole exception of ET, perhaps...), I was put off by some not always minor details that got trampled. Of course I realise that, in order for the movie to have an acceptable run time some of the book has to be cut, and that is an art on itself. Think Bram Stoker's Dracula. Francis Ford Coppola did a superb job there. Nevertheless, and even though I think much of the left out information wouldn't really have made it a better film, I still feel some things should not have been left out. Also, some changes in the adaptation weren't great, such as Nobu having both arms. Others work just as fine or even better than the original, perhaps, such as the confrontation between Sayuri and Hatsumomo in the tea house. That Colonel Derricks should replace the minister doesn't work so good, IMO. That Sayuri should meet the Chairman shortly after breaking her arm rather than at the age of fourteen really has little to no impact on the storyline.
The overall look and feel of the picture is quite nice, with the moving shots following the characters as they run quite well done, unlike some movies that plainly remind you of Blair Witch Project in that area.
John Williams, who, by the way, passed on making the music for the fourth Harry Potter film so he could work on this movie, delivered all that was expected once again. The original score is superb and every single piece of background music is awesome. I particularly rememeber an almost tribalistic drumming as Chiyo first becomes a maiko. Incidentally, during that scene a shot of her at the hairdresser shows her visibly upset as her hair is combed with some liquid. In case you wonder what upsets her so much, and even though this isn't evident, the liquid is molten wax, which I wouldn't like to coat my hair in either. Hair gel, anyone?
Lastly, I'd like to call your attention to the fact that very few elements, if any at all, are out of place or time in this movie, which gave painstaking attention to deatil in scenery, props and historical fact so that, even though the plot is a work of fiction, for all you know, could have happened.
Right, that about does it.
Sayonra. Until tomorrow.
ArabianShark's skelleton, unlike other sharks, is made of bone, not cartilage, yet I bow in farewell.
*CRACK*! Ow! Is there a doctor in the house?
Pie!
Yes, Pie! That's the word of the day, pie, and the topic for today's entry.
Pie, for those who don't know, is a dish of pastry containing either custard, cream, fruit or other sweet relish. Alternatively, pie as a main course or snack, rather than a dessert or a sweet snack, may be prepared with meat or cheese (quiche, pronounced kee-she, not quicky). As an expression, pie may be used to denote the whole of a pool, generally of money, e. g., "I want a piece of the pie".
Oh, what's that? Right. Check that, the word is Phi, not Pie. My bad...
Phi, which I asked my readers to clarify upon some weeks ago, is a number. If you remember correctly, my question is how is it defined as an irrational number. Today I'm glad, nay, proud to say I have an answer. Phi is half of the sum of one and the square root of five. That's (sqrt(5)+1)/2, if you'd rather see it in formula. This tidbit of knowledge was courtesy of my Algorithms professor. Kudos to him.
Wishing you well a very pleasent weekend, golden fairwells.
ArabianShark now leaves to pack. Yay, away for the weekend!
Pie, for those who don't know, is a dish of pastry containing either custard, cream, fruit or other sweet relish. Alternatively, pie as a main course or snack, rather than a dessert or a sweet snack, may be prepared with meat or cheese (quiche, pronounced kee-she, not quicky). As an expression, pie may be used to denote the whole of a pool, generally of money, e. g., "I want a piece of the pie".
Oh, what's that? Right. Check that, the word is Phi, not Pie. My bad...
Phi, which I asked my readers to clarify upon some weeks ago, is a number. If you remember correctly, my question is how is it defined as an irrational number. Today I'm glad, nay, proud to say I have an answer. Phi is half of the sum of one and the square root of five. That's (sqrt(5)+1)/2, if you'd rather see it in formula. This tidbit of knowledge was courtesy of my Algorithms professor. Kudos to him.
Wishing you well a very pleasent weekend, golden fairwells.
ArabianShark now leaves to pack. Yay, away for the weekend!
The Big Oh
As it seems, the Big Oh will be a subject of study for one of my courses this semester. I'll be looking at a lot of Big Ohs and having some Big Ohs myself. I'll also have plenty of Big Ohs to spread around, if you'd like some. Now that I might have your attention, to further explain.
The Big Oh in question is, as you no doubt have guessed by now, not pleasurable sensation. It is a method of gauging an algorithm's complexity by counting the number of arithmetic operations (hence the Oh) it performs and merely stating that it is less than some other number (hence the Big). Shame...
The Big Oh in question is, as you no doubt have guessed by now, not pleasurable sensation. It is a method of gauging an algorithm's complexity by counting the number of arithmetic operations (hence the Oh) it performs and merely stating that it is less than some other number (hence the Big). Shame...
Speaking of movies...
It had been quite the while since I had gone to the movies. Today I saw Munich. Even though it's a bit early in 2006 to be saying this, I'd boldly state it's a strong candidate to best movie of the year. I really think it's going to be hard to top it. Something in the imagery, apart from the blood and gore in the more brutal scenes, was quite reminescent of Saving private Ryan, which shuould come as no surprise, seeing as they are both directed by Steven Spielberg and set in similar moods. Eric Bana, with whom I was slightly disappointed after Hulk came back with a vengeance and a stunning performance.
Noteworthy as well was the music of John Williams, who had already proven his outstanding skill in Star Wars. The music for this film, although entirely different, was masterfully composed, especially the track for the final scene, in which shots of lovemaking are alternated withthose of gruesome slaughter.
The violence portrayed could be considered exagerated, but hardly excessive. Make no mistake, killings abound in this film, yet there is hardly any or no gratuitous violence at all. Hardly a movie for the faint of heart, at any rate. I remember being upset by the very horrible scene at Omaha Beach in Saving private Ryan and some scenes resemble that, yet aren't quite as strong.
On the comic side, I have no idea what came over the movie-going people around me today. The "comedy", if you will, started soon enough as a couple thought i was in their rights to take three seats: one for each of them plus one for their bag. Their lap or the floor between their legs couldn't possibly be good enough for an ordinary, plastic, shopping bag. Evidentely enough, that was my seat. Gladly, that was solved easily enough, as a mere "excuse me" beckoned them to free the extra chair. Very shortly after two ladies entered the room and found their seats also occupied... by the same couple. Turned out they weren't sitting anywhere near their designated seats. What was that all about? The seat numbers are printed on the ticket in large print, larger than that of the movie title. Just as they got up to take their seats, half of the people already in the room did the same. I've heard of some unwritten rule according to which, if a seat is empty by the end of the first half of the movie, you're free to take it, but the movie hadn't even started... how odd.
Lastly, I'm greatly expecting Memoirs of a Geisha, which I'm fairly certain has already premiered in several theaters near you, but not near me. I remember reading the book over five years ago and loving every single line of it. With the movie the book has gone to print again with Ziyi Zhang on the cover in full white make-up with bright red lips. ( Image from allposters.com)I'm assuming that's not her real eye colour. At any rate, I wonder how accurate an interpretation of Arthur Golden's words it is. I can think of at least one pair of blue eyes a shade closer to what I suppose Golden meant... and, to the best of my knowledge, they're real (you'd think one would nearly always mean breasts when using this phrase whenever a woman's anatomy is concerned... guess again). Nevertheless, I await it eagrly.
Animated, coloured and CG ridden farewells with plenty of special efects... and a mildly interesting plot.
ArabianShark would very much like to see one of his works of fiction made into a screenplay and a movie sometime. Any volunteers?
Noteworthy as well was the music of John Williams, who had already proven his outstanding skill in Star Wars. The music for this film, although entirely different, was masterfully composed, especially the track for the final scene, in which shots of lovemaking are alternated withthose of gruesome slaughter.
The violence portrayed could be considered exagerated, but hardly excessive. Make no mistake, killings abound in this film, yet there is hardly any or no gratuitous violence at all. Hardly a movie for the faint of heart, at any rate. I remember being upset by the very horrible scene at Omaha Beach in Saving private Ryan and some scenes resemble that, yet aren't quite as strong.
On the comic side, I have no idea what came over the movie-going people around me today. The "comedy", if you will, started soon enough as a couple thought i was in their rights to take three seats: one for each of them plus one for their bag. Their lap or the floor between their legs couldn't possibly be good enough for an ordinary, plastic, shopping bag. Evidentely enough, that was my seat. Gladly, that was solved easily enough, as a mere "excuse me" beckoned them to free the extra chair. Very shortly after two ladies entered the room and found their seats also occupied... by the same couple. Turned out they weren't sitting anywhere near their designated seats. What was that all about? The seat numbers are printed on the ticket in large print, larger than that of the movie title. Just as they got up to take their seats, half of the people already in the room did the same. I've heard of some unwritten rule according to which, if a seat is empty by the end of the first half of the movie, you're free to take it, but the movie hadn't even started... how odd.
Lastly, I'm greatly expecting Memoirs of a Geisha, which I'm fairly certain has already premiered in several theaters near you, but not near me. I remember reading the book over five years ago and loving every single line of it. With the movie the book has gone to print again with Ziyi Zhang on the cover in full white make-up with bright red lips. ( Image from allposters.com)I'm assuming that's not her real eye colour. At any rate, I wonder how accurate an interpretation of Arthur Golden's words it is. I can think of at least one pair of blue eyes a shade closer to what I suppose Golden meant... and, to the best of my knowledge, they're real (you'd think one would nearly always mean breasts when using this phrase whenever a woman's anatomy is concerned... guess again). Nevertheless, I await it eagrly.
Animated, coloured and CG ridden farewells with plenty of special efects... and a mildly interesting plot.
ArabianShark would very much like to see one of his works of fiction made into a screenplay and a movie sometime. Any volunteers?
Cleansing Flames
February, at last. From the Latin word "februare", meaning to burn, this is the time we no longer glance at our past while gazing into the future, but shed and burn all the wrong done unto ourselves (and by ourselves, lets not forget...). 2005 had some good times, which we should only hope to remember always, and some bad times, of which we should all let go now. In four weeks time we should have reburked it all and be truly ready to live out the rest of our lives... ideally. Of course, there's always someone who thought that God-awful embariasing moment we'd rather forget altogeather was the funniest thing since Monty Python (don't like Monty Python? Really!? Well, then... Jerry Sinefeld? Still no? Figure it out yourself then!) and won't ever let us forget. Or, on the serious track again, some scar of wounds never truly closed. Still, this is the time to take heart and believe all will be better from now on. Happy thoughts!
Mellow farewells.
ArabianShark wonders how in blazes he's going to light up a fire to burn his bad memories in underwater. Any thoughts?
Mellow farewells.
ArabianShark wonders how in blazes he's going to light up a fire to burn his bad memories in underwater. Any thoughts?
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