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.
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.
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