It's interesting how quickly things can change. Yesterday it was Saturday, but today (just 24 hours later) it's Sunday; what will happen tomorrow is anybody's guess.
The same is true of my tweets on Twitter; one day, standalone brainfarts; the next, I'm having conversations. This is worrying; if you'd ever met idifficult you'd know what I mean.
But like a four-ton great white shark, we must move forward and eat the surfers in a flurry of blood and teeth. No wait. I think was supposed to be "or drown".
The following conversations (shown in blue) were harvested from my Twitter feed on Wednesday 27 May 2009. Where you see blue quotes with names in front of them, this is a tweet from someone else. If there's an unnamed plain blue lump following it, that's my clever reply.
The walls are splattered with poo, the water's ankle deep, and there's a 'Gator in the kitchen. It's no good; next time I call a plumber.
No idea where that came from. It helps me limber up for a tangle with the inscrutible idifficult. Some say he's ex-CIA. Others that he's a hitman for the mob. Braver souls call him a fat bastard who should delete PerfectPizza's number from his iPhone.
But those in the know swear he's Kaiser Soze.
idifficult: For the 2nd time since swine flu hit, I've been sent to work with a delectable selection of pork products. Is there a msg I'm not seeing?
I had noticed similar disturbing trends at the office.
Working lunches now contain a lot of pork. Very un-PC. Normally it's five vegetarian pizzas and one meat feast. Agony.
Paul pops up with news of his day and of his uber-hound, Oz. He's a terrific dog, Oz. Anyway, myself and idifficult move in and subvert this pleasant series of tweets.
PaulKilby: back on the rack in Colchester. Travelled down through the 1980s via Japan to Roxy Music.
My trip to the 80s was with a DeLorean and borrowed plutonium. Good grief, the Hair! Cell coverage sucked too; Doc was furious.
PaulKilby: Oz has an owwie on his foot & has been to the vet. He also has a very large Elizabethan collar on and is not a happy camper. Photo to follow.
One of those big conical dog collars? That sucks, poor little sod. Mind you, it'll curb his 20-a-day habit.
idifficult: Oh poor thing. Not good for a dog to look like a HMV advert with a misplaced trumpet.
We all vanish into work at that point. I surface later briefly with more of my "emotions as people" schtick. I'm clearly the only one laughing; nobody ever replies to them. This will not deter me; I'm stubborn that way.
Just had a prank call from Mischief; she asked if I was sure where my credit card and passport were. I bet Angst put her up to it.
Inspiration eludes me today. I thought I spotted her on the subway, but it just was a horsey girl in jodphurs and a riding crop. Still.
I really did; damn! I recover seamlesly and ask a genuine question; I like my job but I'd rather not do it forever.
I need a retirement plan. I might start a rival microblogging site; should I call it Twaddle(c) or BrainFart(c)? Illiterati(c) was taken.
idifficult: Twaddle and BrainFart are super names. Illiterati is not so go because I cannot spell it. I tried to get the domain arsebook.
He did, trust me. Behind his boyish good looks beats the heart of a true anarchist. He continues:
idifficult: Just got 3 more followers by tweeting olympics 2012 and swine flu. They're gonna be bloody disappointed.
This is genuinely interesting. Twitter monitors word usage and presents current trends in topics. But if someone searches for a word or phrase, such as when they're looking for news, your tweets can surface unexpectedly; you get new followers and replies to your tweets days after they're first posted. I cynically seize upon the listed trends at the time. It happens to be a couple of celebs, a new Trek movie and California rejecting a call to lift the ban on gay marriages. It's easy laughs, and may prove useful.
idifficult, you're a genius. Did I mention I had lunch with Ashton and Britney, after which we watched Star Trek and attended a gay marriage?
I've yet to discover whether this experiment bore fruit. Either way, I should try it again. Nobody gets popular on Twitter by keeping themselves to themselves; good content is not enough. Like most things in public life, I suspect it's all about hard work, socialising, and a bit of luck. Unless you're on reality TV.
This next sequence introduces a new friend, Fishoutofsea. I first spotted her feed a few days earlier because she categorised it as surreal on WeFollow, same as me. I liked (and still do like) the dreamlike, stream of consciousness flow of her writing. Anyway, this next sequence was actually spread over a couple of days. It took me ages to track it down, so here it is in a lump!
Fishoutofsea: The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher. #fact
I'm also told that chickens can't walk backwards. There was a 80s short film from the UK on that subject, in #fact
Fishoutofsea: REALLY? This I must see!
It was about two guys hiding in a shed! The only reference I can find is here: http://bit.ly/Ivyhg
I'm not making this up. Though I have been unable to find any significant details of this short British B-movie from the late 70s/early 80s, I remember seeing it. Details are sketchy in my mind, but it involved two guys in a shed, perhaps on a farm or an allotment. They might have been villains, or maybe just disgrunted workers. I seem to remember they were hiding something, perhaps themselves? Anyway, they get into an argument about whether a chicken can walk backwards. I forget the end! If you know what I'm on about, please let me know!
Fishoutofsea: I just ate... imaginary tuna fish
Was it dolphin-friendly imaginary tuna? Real tuna brings me out in a rash; perhaps I'd need less antihistimine in this case?
Fishoutofsea: xD I don't even like tuna but whatever I dreamed I was eating, it was delicious. ;)
A dreamfeast? Inspired! All the fun of a deep-bucket meaty pizza without all that pesky indigestion. Roll on bedtime!
I'd been enjoying the fun with playing spies. Fuelled by another evening at home with a Bond film, I return to the world of my mildly incompetent and world-weary special agent. Roth. Indigo Roth. This time he's off to Egypt; perhaps I'd watched The Spy Who Loved Me? Not that Roger Moore everhad trouble with the Post Office. There's a couple of repeated tweets here for the sake of continuity with previous events.
I'm HALO jumping into Cairo at dawn. I'm sure there's scheduled flights; the Quartermaster is obviously still annoyed about the sub I lost.
Cairo did not pan out. The flight was outsourced to the lowest bidder; I HALO'd into Cannes. 15 minutes of fame and a diplomatic incident.
The Cairo trip is back on. No HALO jump this time; I'm to be wrapped in brown paper, taped, stamped and sent Surface Mail. Very Old School.
Being mailed to Cairo bothers me; last time I did that I spent six days in a Marrakech Dead Letter Room stacked under a mail order elephant.
The Admiral relented and approved my new avatar. Yes, that's me; "overseas work" has been kind to me. Apart from the elephant in Marakech.
The Admiral is a reference to Bond's boss in the movies, M. Originally played by Bernard Lee, who for me is the best of the bunch. And yes, I had finally created an avatar with my photo on it. I'm rather proud of it; I use it here too.
Now the, where the hell did idifficult find this next story? I don't doubt it's authenticity; it sounds like the kind of daft things they give scientists money to do. It is also noteworthy for using the word "baboon", which is a comedy word in the same class as "badger".
idifficult: scientists have modified monkeys to glow green in UV light, and pass the trait on to their offspring. Disco Ape?
That's like fitting in-line skates to a trombone; time consuming and completely unnecessary. WHY for heaven's sake?
idifficult: Having a troupe of baboons glowing green in the UV down at the local nightclub could be considered by some as quite cool.
Oh. Well, yes. But APART from that!
idifficult: You could give the UV baboons a pair of little cymbals each and they could bash them together rhythmically.
White handkerchiefs would be impressive under UV also; techno-simian morris dancers? Imagine the merchandising!
idifficult: Merchandising? I plan on world domination with my troupe of techno-simian morris dancers. More stick hitting than G20 policing
idifficult: Have checked your new avatar. You're not American are you? You can admit it to me. No one else needs to know.
He's right; nobody IS listening. Nope, I'm not American. I serve Her Majesty. I have the teeth for it, though; they also look impressive under UV light.
idifficult: Servant of Her Majesty? Do you get to go to strange countries and insult them? Or does she still rely on Prince Philip?
The Queen's husband is a notorious ambassador. They write books about his numerous blunders. With full military bluster, I continue:
Insult them? No sir, I leave that to the professionals. I'm more of a "shake hands with Extreme Prejudice" diplomat.
idifficult: Are your impressive teeth shared with Hannah Montana? Them's the scariest teeth on planet earth...
The teeth are standard Government issue. Ms. Montana's were engineered by her North Korean paymasters.
Fishoutofsea resurfaces at this point. She'd been having internet woes. I'd been having similar issues; I think it was a Twitter problem.
Fishoutofsea: My phone's tweets did not go through. Prepare to have a tweet dump in a few hours xD
Yep, there's capacity issues. Somewhere a team of guru monkeys, possibly glowing under UV, are typing away madly to fix it.
Fishoutofsea: I think you mean robots and whales, after the fail robots and the infamous fail whale
This takes some explanation. If you use Twitter and there's problems, it displays a nice picture of a comedy robot or whale with a nice apology. Of course, these screens acquired names; the "fail robots" and the "fail whale". Kids, eh?
Those are just a smokescreen! Whales are calming but have keyboard issues. The power behind the throne are the UV monkeys.
Wringing the last laugh out of the unlikely UV monkeys, I headed off to bed.
And today, I shall do the same. But finally...
I was going to turn in but there's a lion in my bed. There's a half-eaten antelope on the landing. And don't even ask about the bathroom.
Nite, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Rubbing Shoulders with Giants
Lunch is behind me. In fact, most of the day is behind me, and I have done nothing that is materially productive. Despite this, I am calm; I suspect the lawn will still be there tomorrow. For those of steel nerve who would bet against it, my bookie will still give you good odds.
The following floaters (shown in blue) were scooped from my Twitter feed on Tuesday 26 May 2009. I returned to work that day, and the tweets are light. Well, I say light; they've definitely lost most of what they piled on over Christmas.
I dreamed of my perfect woman. I offered to buy her a drink; she said she was waiting for her boyfriend. My subconscious hates me.
I believe this to be fundamentally true. My dreams are vivid and memorable, and I never EVER have any success with the ladies. If Mr. Freud was still with us, I'd pay him a visit. *sobs quietly*
Deep breath. OK. I continue the spy arc started in my previous blog entry. The first tweet below is a repeat, but I've included it here for reference.
I'm HALO jumping into Cairo at dawn. I'm sure there's scheduled flights; the Quartermaster is obviously still annoyed about the sub I lost.
Cairo did not pan out. The flight was outsourced to the lowest bidder; I HALO'd into Cannes. 15 minutes of fame and a diplomatic incident.
I have a bee in my bonnet about outsourcing. That is, sending work overseas where labour is cheaper, or to contract staff who sit in the office with us. I have yet to see it work. It saves money, but in my experience the work is done by people with fewer skills, no emotional investment in the work, and they generally don't give a hoot about the finished product. As a result, the quality of work is generally poor and we spend more time straightening it out than it would have taken us to do it ourselves. Despite this, it is still enthusiastically pursued as a cost reduction device by people who really should know better.
Another deep breath is required at this point. Thank you.
I am still in need of followers for my feed on Twitter. Despite some wizard vaudeville turns by myself, my music hall is still empty. I note however, that I have picked up one follower from idifficult's herd, and that it's someone I know in "real life"; Gumley is young, funny, handsome as hell, and a wow with the ladies. The bastard. I drop him a note to say who I am, slightly embarrassed that I have to drop my mask. He responds:
Gumley: I was wondering whom you were :) I love twitter, it's where geeks unite!
I raise my mask again immediately, and retreat into my spy world, pretending it never happened. Mask? What mask?
*Realising his cover is blown, our hero retreats via tramp steamer to Buenos Aires and lives for 6 months as a Mardis Gras LadyMan*
I reply to a tweet from another celeb; Wil Wheaton. Mr. Wheaton, like Brent Spiner from my previous blog entry, was on Star Trek: The Next Generation. He played the young uber-nerd Wesley Crusher, and is best known for this. He's since carved out a formidable reputation as a blogger and author. I find his left-field output on any number of subjects to be funny and well observed; check out his blog and his Twitter feed to see what I mean. And yes, I'm sure he speaks very highly of me too.
wilw: Grape juice isn't supposed to taste like grapes. It's supposed to taste like purple.
This is wisdom. My reply lacks punch, and will probably register a zero on the Humour Richter Scale when he sees it. This might not even happen, remember. I know this as I type, but I dare to try; I am a creature of hope.
My grape juice tastes authentically purple, with a blissful mauve/violet aftertaste. Was yours spoiled? Did you check the date?
Time moves on; somehow I have got to 1am while tweeting.
Time seems to move faster these days. A super-dense object must be approaching critical mass nearby. Good grief, is it my VISA card?
OK, not my best work; most people prefer my early, funny movies.
I return to Roth before crawling into bed.
The Government finally settled my expense claim. Well, most of it; I'll face an oversight committee about the duck damage to the jetpack.
I chuckle my way into the sack with this; ducks are as funny as badgers; I think the platypus is funny too, but Disney's Phineas and Ferb has the egg-laying-mammal jokes cornered right now. I love that show, and won't get into the ring with it.
Good grief, another batch done.
Thanks for reading, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
The following floaters (shown in blue) were scooped from my Twitter feed on Tuesday 26 May 2009. I returned to work that day, and the tweets are light. Well, I say light; they've definitely lost most of what they piled on over Christmas.
I dreamed of my perfect woman. I offered to buy her a drink; she said she was waiting for her boyfriend. My subconscious hates me.
I believe this to be fundamentally true. My dreams are vivid and memorable, and I never EVER have any success with the ladies. If Mr. Freud was still with us, I'd pay him a visit. *sobs quietly*
Deep breath. OK. I continue the spy arc started in my previous blog entry. The first tweet below is a repeat, but I've included it here for reference.
I'm HALO jumping into Cairo at dawn. I'm sure there's scheduled flights; the Quartermaster is obviously still annoyed about the sub I lost.
Cairo did not pan out. The flight was outsourced to the lowest bidder; I HALO'd into Cannes. 15 minutes of fame and a diplomatic incident.
I have a bee in my bonnet about outsourcing. That is, sending work overseas where labour is cheaper, or to contract staff who sit in the office with us. I have yet to see it work. It saves money, but in my experience the work is done by people with fewer skills, no emotional investment in the work, and they generally don't give a hoot about the finished product. As a result, the quality of work is generally poor and we spend more time straightening it out than it would have taken us to do it ourselves. Despite this, it is still enthusiastically pursued as a cost reduction device by people who really should know better.
Another deep breath is required at this point. Thank you.
I am still in need of followers for my feed on Twitter. Despite some wizard vaudeville turns by myself, my music hall is still empty. I note however, that I have picked up one follower from idifficult's herd, and that it's someone I know in "real life"; Gumley is young, funny, handsome as hell, and a wow with the ladies. The bastard. I drop him a note to say who I am, slightly embarrassed that I have to drop my mask. He responds:
Gumley: I was wondering whom you were :) I love twitter, it's where geeks unite!
I raise my mask again immediately, and retreat into my spy world, pretending it never happened. Mask? What mask?
*Realising his cover is blown, our hero retreats via tramp steamer to Buenos Aires and lives for 6 months as a Mardis Gras LadyMan*
I reply to a tweet from another celeb; Wil Wheaton. Mr. Wheaton, like Brent Spiner from my previous blog entry, was on Star Trek: The Next Generation. He played the young uber-nerd Wesley Crusher, and is best known for this. He's since carved out a formidable reputation as a blogger and author. I find his left-field output on any number of subjects to be funny and well observed; check out his blog and his Twitter feed to see what I mean. And yes, I'm sure he speaks very highly of me too.
wilw: Grape juice isn't supposed to taste like grapes. It's supposed to taste like purple.
This is wisdom. My reply lacks punch, and will probably register a zero on the Humour Richter Scale when he sees it. This might not even happen, remember. I know this as I type, but I dare to try; I am a creature of hope.
My grape juice tastes authentically purple, with a blissful mauve/violet aftertaste. Was yours spoiled? Did you check the date?
Time moves on; somehow I have got to 1am while tweeting.
Time seems to move faster these days. A super-dense object must be approaching critical mass nearby. Good grief, is it my VISA card?
OK, not my best work; most people prefer my early, funny movies.
I return to Roth before crawling into bed.
The Government finally settled my expense claim. Well, most of it; I'll face an oversight committee about the duck damage to the jetpack.
I chuckle my way into the sack with this; ducks are as funny as badgers; I think the platypus is funny too, but Disney's Phineas and Ferb has the egg-laying-mammal jokes cornered right now. I love that show, and won't get into the ring with it.
Good grief, another batch done.
Thanks for reading, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Rolling the Stone Uphill
The archiving goes well. At this rate, if I may have caught up in a week. It goes without saying that I wish I'd thought of doing the blog a week earlier; catchup is always a slog. Still, this gives me an opportunity to remind myself about all those helpful and encouraging lessons someone tried to impart to me as a child about thinking ahead, being prepared, and not drinking the water.
The following bon mots (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Monday 25 May 2009. This may have been a public holiday; there may have been lawn mowing and light sunburn involved.
My neighbour died at 2am. Death stood at the foot of my bed and said he had come for him. I pointed out his error; he was very apologetic.
This one niggles at me; it's a terrific example of when, despite a lot of work, an 140-character tweet doesn't quite get the job done. Still, I hope Woody Allen would approve; I can imagine it as a silent scene in Love and Death. By the way, if you have no idea what Twitter is, read my previous blog entry.
I just lost 3.5 hours! My clock hands had snagged in my curtains. 7am wakeup was 10:30am; no wonder I had trouble getting back to sleep.
This last one is true; I didn't realise my error til 3:30pm, and then was in a rush for the rest of the day. As I get older, rushing is something that infuriates me. Of course, you'd think by now I'd have learned to manage my time better. I must have needed the sleep, anyway.
I consider leaking news of my death to boost my Followers. I then realise it might upset the three I have; family is funny that way.
Once again, art imitates life; I was finding my lack of progress accumulating an audience on Twitter to be frustrating; nobody likes to address an empty auditorium. It's also a gentle poke at some celebrity who was reported dead on the internet earlier that day; I forget who. Their number of followers on Twitter rocketed; everyone likes to slow down to watch the accident. The error was corrected later, but the followers remained. They didn't do too badly out of it, despite a day of being virtually dead.
BrentSpiner: I love how we celebrate memory of the men in uniform who gave their lives for this country. We eat copious amounts of barbeque. Huh?
Brent Spiner is an American actor. You will most likely remember him as Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm sure he's tired of hearing THAT little sound bite, but celebrity is as celebrity does; I'll hope he'll forgive me. I like reading his Twitter feed. I also like my reply, despite a niggling little voice that someone will misunderstand and think I'm disrespecting American servicemen:
Today was Late Spring Bank Holiday in the UK. I've no idea what that means; I'm pretty sure nobody died, but there was no BBQ.
Understandably, no response; remember, people don't see your replies unless they subscribe to your feed. This slightly chicken-and-egg situation is something I alluded to in my Twitter overview/brainfart blog entry, so I won't labour the point. I'm cool. No, really. *tears well up as Indigo reads the autocue offscreen* I coulda been a Contender, Charley!
"All evil needs is for good men to do nothing" - Einstein. While true, what evil WANTS is orbital lasers, odd henchmen and a volcano base.
I'm not entirely sure Einstein said exactly that, and if memory serves he was paraphrasing someone else anyway. Still, why spoil a gag with an accurate reference?
I'm HALO jumping into Cairo at dawn. I'm sure there's scheduled flights; the Quartermaster is obviously still annoyed about the sub I lost.
For those of you who sensibly keep their feet on the ground, HALO jumping is a dangerous military activity and extreme sport. James Bond fans will remember him hurling himself from an aeroplane at 30,000 feet in Tomorrow Never Dies. I won't be trying it anytime soon; I hate heights. In fact, I probably slept badly after just thinking about it.
The day's tweets are over? Well damn. I must have been busier than I thought, and possibly more sunburned.
I'll grab some lunch and continue this Director's Cut commentary later. Adios, Indigo.
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
The following bon mots (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Monday 25 May 2009. This may have been a public holiday; there may have been lawn mowing and light sunburn involved.
My neighbour died at 2am. Death stood at the foot of my bed and said he had come for him. I pointed out his error; he was very apologetic.
This one niggles at me; it's a terrific example of when, despite a lot of work, an 140-character tweet doesn't quite get the job done. Still, I hope Woody Allen would approve; I can imagine it as a silent scene in Love and Death. By the way, if you have no idea what Twitter is, read my previous blog entry.
I just lost 3.5 hours! My clock hands had snagged in my curtains. 7am wakeup was 10:30am; no wonder I had trouble getting back to sleep.
This last one is true; I didn't realise my error til 3:30pm, and then was in a rush for the rest of the day. As I get older, rushing is something that infuriates me. Of course, you'd think by now I'd have learned to manage my time better. I must have needed the sleep, anyway.
I consider leaking news of my death to boost my Followers. I then realise it might upset the three I have; family is funny that way.
Once again, art imitates life; I was finding my lack of progress accumulating an audience on Twitter to be frustrating; nobody likes to address an empty auditorium. It's also a gentle poke at some celebrity who was reported dead on the internet earlier that day; I forget who. Their number of followers on Twitter rocketed; everyone likes to slow down to watch the accident. The error was corrected later, but the followers remained. They didn't do too badly out of it, despite a day of being virtually dead.
BrentSpiner: I love how we celebrate memory of the men in uniform who gave their lives for this country. We eat copious amounts of barbeque. Huh?
Brent Spiner is an American actor. You will most likely remember him as Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm sure he's tired of hearing THAT little sound bite, but celebrity is as celebrity does; I'll hope he'll forgive me. I like reading his Twitter feed. I also like my reply, despite a niggling little voice that someone will misunderstand and think I'm disrespecting American servicemen:
Today was Late Spring Bank Holiday in the UK. I've no idea what that means; I'm pretty sure nobody died, but there was no BBQ.
Understandably, no response; remember, people don't see your replies unless they subscribe to your feed. This slightly chicken-and-egg situation is something I alluded to in my Twitter overview/brainfart blog entry, so I won't labour the point. I'm cool. No, really. *tears well up as Indigo reads the autocue offscreen* I coulda been a Contender, Charley!
"All evil needs is for good men to do nothing" - Einstein. While true, what evil WANTS is orbital lasers, odd henchmen and a volcano base.
I'm not entirely sure Einstein said exactly that, and if memory serves he was paraphrasing someone else anyway. Still, why spoil a gag with an accurate reference?
I'm HALO jumping into Cairo at dawn. I'm sure there's scheduled flights; the Quartermaster is obviously still annoyed about the sub I lost.
For those of you who sensibly keep their feet on the ground, HALO jumping is a dangerous military activity and extreme sport. James Bond fans will remember him hurling himself from an aeroplane at 30,000 feet in Tomorrow Never Dies. I won't be trying it anytime soon; I hate heights. In fact, I probably slept badly after just thinking about it.
The day's tweets are over? Well damn. I must have been busier than I thought, and possibly more sunburned.
I'll grab some lunch and continue this Director's Cut commentary later. Adios, Indigo.
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Fear and Loathing in Twitter
From now til bedtime, I am a free agent. Though I may have to pop into work to play catchup. Oh, and the lawn needs cutting, all fifty yards of it; a light trim should suffice. A bike ride will help clear my mind and ready me for the week; it IS a beautiful day. In the twenty minutes that is left, I'll update my blog from my Twitter archive.
I should face it; my day is mapped out. Free agent? Meh. Overrated.
These pearls of wisdom (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Sunday 24 May 2009. I'm only a week behind. Slow and steady wins the race, right? By the way, where you see blue quotes with names in front of them, this is a tweet from someone else.*
[* DISCLAIMER: The author of this blog is not responsible for the state of mind of other content providers, especially idifficult.]
idifficult: Used a shrug, palms up and a point at two climbing frames across a room for fluffy daughter. She got it. How do they learn such things?
I once trained a badger to run offshore pyramid schemes. Amazing head for numbers and very ambitious; he now runs Panama.
I have no ideas why the word "badger" tickles me; it must be a personal thing. I once had a friend who giggled whenever I said "dodgy" or "wheelarch". She was American, of course, but I didn't think my unfamiliar Queen's English was a sufficient reason for mirth. Still, as Descartes observed; it takes all sorts.
I ditched a couple of followers that day. Followers are good; it means your feed is visible in their timeline. Someone is paying attention! So, on the face of it, ditching followers is bad. However, Twitter is not all beer and skittles. There's plenty of morons, spammers, pond life and chancers out there. I'd like to accumulate an audience of people who genuinely want to read my feed. In a system where numbers impress people unduly, this is unrealistic, stupid, egotistical, needy; call it what you will. But it's my choice. As I said yesterday in my Twitter overview/brainfart, Twitter is a democracy, and I can choose how I want to contribute to it.
*looks around for toys he can throw out of his pushchair*
PaulKilby: Just did 3 hrs walk with Oz, would have been less but got a bit lost.
I get lost in the car constantly. In my 30s, I enjoyed the challenge; I followed my nose and recovered. Now I simply arrive late.
This is a true statement; humour doesn't come into it. I need SatNav; remind me, won't you? Oh, Oz is a dog, by the way.
Just joined http://wefollow.com twitter directory under: # surreal. These entries are all true, but I'm hiding in plain sight.
This was another attempt to find an audience; WeFollow is a third-party website that enables you to categorise your Twitter feed. This makes it easier for like-minded people to find you. You can choose three categories; unsure of where my tweets might lead over time, I popped myself into surreal. The results have been mixed; I'm not sure if any of my followers came from this, but I did strike up a conversation with the cool, left-field Fishoutofsea, so it was worth the journey.
I must go down to the sea again. I forgot the sub was moored off Crete and the Quartermaster is pestering me; it may come out of my wages.
Despite years ordering cocktails, I have no talent for making them. My Vesper tastes of two-stroke; appropriate, but more Lillet next time?
More spy stuff; I'm still finding my feet here. The cocktails are explained if you watch the magnificent Bond-franchise reboot Casino Royale. The adventure of "Roth. Indigo Roth." will blossom over the following week. I'm sure it will become obvious, but I'm a James Bond fan. The films are good fun, and I'm working my way through the original Ian Fleming books. Anyway, Roth does not have the talents of 007 in any department. I suppose there's more than a hint of Johnny English about him. I'll stop there; there's a huge blog entry there, so let's let's do that later.
Lunch may lift my spirits. Smoked salmon? Ham? Breakfast? At least I'm alone now; Ennui dropped in and got comfy, but I sent her packing.
Today's events left me tired and restless. A cycle ride blew the cobwebs away. My toupée was another casualty.
For reference, I have a full and luxuriant head of hair. My mother says it's my grandfather's hair, and that I will never go bald. I look closely at it occasionally, and wonder whether this was one of those things mother's say to their neurotic kids.
Bedtime. I expect I'll sleep badly; last night someone broke in and shampooed the carpets. Were they that bad?
Goodnight all, more tomorrow. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
I should face it; my day is mapped out. Free agent? Meh. Overrated.
These pearls of wisdom (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Sunday 24 May 2009. I'm only a week behind. Slow and steady wins the race, right? By the way, where you see blue quotes with names in front of them, this is a tweet from someone else.*
[* DISCLAIMER: The author of this blog is not responsible for the state of mind of other content providers, especially idifficult.]
idifficult: Used a shrug, palms up and a point at two climbing frames across a room for fluffy daughter. She got it. How do they learn such things?
I once trained a badger to run offshore pyramid schemes. Amazing head for numbers and very ambitious; he now runs Panama.
I have no ideas why the word "badger" tickles me; it must be a personal thing. I once had a friend who giggled whenever I said "dodgy" or "wheelarch". She was American, of course, but I didn't think my unfamiliar Queen's English was a sufficient reason for mirth. Still, as Descartes observed; it takes all sorts.
I ditched a couple of followers that day. Followers are good; it means your feed is visible in their timeline. Someone is paying attention! So, on the face of it, ditching followers is bad. However, Twitter is not all beer and skittles. There's plenty of morons, spammers, pond life and chancers out there. I'd like to accumulate an audience of people who genuinely want to read my feed. In a system where numbers impress people unduly, this is unrealistic, stupid, egotistical, needy; call it what you will. But it's my choice. As I said yesterday in my Twitter overview/brainfart, Twitter is a democracy, and I can choose how I want to contribute to it.
*looks around for toys he can throw out of his pushchair*
PaulKilby: Just did 3 hrs walk with Oz, would have been less but got a bit lost.
I get lost in the car constantly. In my 30s, I enjoyed the challenge; I followed my nose and recovered. Now I simply arrive late.
This is a true statement; humour doesn't come into it. I need SatNav; remind me, won't you? Oh, Oz is a dog, by the way.
Just joined http://wefollow.com twitter directory under: # surreal. These entries are all true, but I'm hiding in plain sight.
This was another attempt to find an audience; WeFollow is a third-party website that enables you to categorise your Twitter feed. This makes it easier for like-minded people to find you. You can choose three categories; unsure of where my tweets might lead over time, I popped myself into surreal. The results have been mixed; I'm not sure if any of my followers came from this, but I did strike up a conversation with the cool, left-field Fishoutofsea, so it was worth the journey.
I must go down to the sea again. I forgot the sub was moored off Crete and the Quartermaster is pestering me; it may come out of my wages.
Despite years ordering cocktails, I have no talent for making them. My Vesper tastes of two-stroke; appropriate, but more Lillet next time?
More spy stuff; I'm still finding my feet here. The cocktails are explained if you watch the magnificent Bond-franchise reboot Casino Royale. The adventure of "Roth. Indigo Roth." will blossom over the following week. I'm sure it will become obvious, but I'm a James Bond fan. The films are good fun, and I'm working my way through the original Ian Fleming books. Anyway, Roth does not have the talents of 007 in any department. I suppose there's more than a hint of Johnny English about him. I'll stop there; there's a huge blog entry there, so let's let's do that later.
Lunch may lift my spirits. Smoked salmon? Ham? Breakfast? At least I'm alone now; Ennui dropped in and got comfy, but I sent her packing.
Today's events left me tired and restless. A cycle ride blew the cobwebs away. My toupée was another casualty.
For reference, I have a full and luxuriant head of hair. My mother says it's my grandfather's hair, and that I will never go bald. I look closely at it occasionally, and wonder whether this was one of those things mother's say to their neurotic kids.
Bedtime. I expect I'll sleep badly; last night someone broke in and shampooed the carpets. Were they that bad?
Goodnight all, more tomorrow. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Tweeter Has Landed
I hope the title takes you back. Remember 1976? Michael Caine, Donald Sutherland, Bob Duvall, Jenny Agutter? And a shedload more stars, too. I must get a copy when it turns up on Bluray. If none of this makes sense, check it out at The Internet Movie Database (IMDB).
And so, to business. In absence on an audience, I shall continue to archive my Twitter feed and hope to attract attention over time. A bare blog says little about the author that is positive, so maybe this is a blessing in disguise, albeit a very good one. "Build it and they will come", as James Early Jones almost said to Kevin Costner. Failing that, I may resort to public nudity; "IndigoWrath inspired me to do it!" I shall shriek repeatedly (along with my URL) as they drag me away in front of the cameras.
These doubtful offerings (shown in blue) are from my twitter timeline from Saturday 23 May 2009. Don't blame me; I only write them. Oh. Wait a minute.
Last night I dreamed of Manderlay again. The heat was stifling, but all tables were by the kitchen; I went to the Star of India instead.
I dropped Eddie Izzard a tweet on Twitter and idifficult backs me up. Mr. Izzard is a surrealist/comedian who does terrific standup. Many years ago, we saw him perform at a local gig and he made a joke about being offered "BaboonBack" at the supermarket checkout instead of CashBack. At the time, it was topical, and tickled us; we still joke about it.
idifficult and I laughed in your honour on Thursday. I paid for fuel and he reminded me to get BaboonBack at the checkout.
idifficult: I still ask for BaboonBack. Occasionally being sectioned, and then freed by a machine from the future...
This was my first attempt at this kind of thing. It bore no fruit, no more than any of the handful that followed did. There's no slight or malice there; celebs often have hundreds of thousands of followers to entertain, and I doubt the have time to check the feeds of folks they DON'T follow. Demand outstrips supply by a few orders of magnitude; this is possibly like being a woman on a dating website.
idifficult: Often wonder who I am, but the introspection is stopped by things I need to do. Too few hours in a day. Work it out later, maybe.
Don't sweat it, mate. All identity is theft. Or was that "proper tea"? Come to think, why IS decaff tea exempt?
idifficult continues to provide terrific feedlines, and to be honest I'd be happy if I'd written most of his comebacks too. We could work together in comedy, but we'd quibble over who wanted to be the straight man. A curious truth is that while we're both left field thinkers and writers, in real life we're far more sensible and introspective. I have a suspicion this is true of comedians generally.
I picked up my first non-friend follower that night, a fella from Australia. This immediately inspired me back into the land of espionage. When applying for a job, the trick is to tailor your application, I'm told.
My yearly review went well: the Foreign Office want me sectioned; Number 10 is livid; Peru may still press charges. But the Aussies LOVE me!
Ah, Queensland. The Company runs the Pacific Rim from a pizza joint in Mackay: counter-terrorism, covert ops, and all you can eat for $5.
After this, he stopped following. Perhaps this is a record; I didn't even try to sell him anything. For the record, Mackay is a nice place not too far from the coast. I have friends there; they may not realise this. Anyway, proud of my offerings for the day, and blissfully unaware of how my output would spiral over the next few days, I relaxed back into familiar home territory:
The House is quiet tonight. Doubt keeps me company most evenings, but she's out with Angst; they "need to catch up". Bang goes next week.
I sat and chuckled over that. I know it's bad form, laughing at your own jokes. But it's nice to hear, nonetheless.
See you tomorrow, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
And so, to business. In absence on an audience, I shall continue to archive my Twitter feed and hope to attract attention over time. A bare blog says little about the author that is positive, so maybe this is a blessing in disguise, albeit a very good one. "Build it and they will come", as James Early Jones almost said to Kevin Costner. Failing that, I may resort to public nudity; "IndigoWrath inspired me to do it!" I shall shriek repeatedly (along with my URL) as they drag me away in front of the cameras.
These doubtful offerings (shown in blue) are from my twitter timeline from Saturday 23 May 2009. Don't blame me; I only write them. Oh. Wait a minute.
Last night I dreamed of Manderlay again. The heat was stifling, but all tables were by the kitchen; I went to the Star of India instead.
I dropped Eddie Izzard a tweet on Twitter and idifficult backs me up. Mr. Izzard is a surrealist/comedian who does terrific standup. Many years ago, we saw him perform at a local gig and he made a joke about being offered "BaboonBack" at the supermarket checkout instead of CashBack. At the time, it was topical, and tickled us; we still joke about it.
idifficult and I laughed in your honour on Thursday. I paid for fuel and he reminded me to get BaboonBack at the checkout.
idifficult: I still ask for BaboonBack. Occasionally being sectioned, and then freed by a machine from the future...
This was my first attempt at this kind of thing. It bore no fruit, no more than any of the handful that followed did. There's no slight or malice there; celebs often have hundreds of thousands of followers to entertain, and I doubt the have time to check the feeds of folks they DON'T follow. Demand outstrips supply by a few orders of magnitude; this is possibly like being a woman on a dating website.
idifficult: Often wonder who I am, but the introspection is stopped by things I need to do. Too few hours in a day. Work it out later, maybe.
Don't sweat it, mate. All identity is theft. Or was that "proper tea"? Come to think, why IS decaff tea exempt?
idifficult continues to provide terrific feedlines, and to be honest I'd be happy if I'd written most of his comebacks too. We could work together in comedy, but we'd quibble over who wanted to be the straight man. A curious truth is that while we're both left field thinkers and writers, in real life we're far more sensible and introspective. I have a suspicion this is true of comedians generally.
I picked up my first non-friend follower that night, a fella from Australia. This immediately inspired me back into the land of espionage. When applying for a job, the trick is to tailor your application, I'm told.
My yearly review went well: the Foreign Office want me sectioned; Number 10 is livid; Peru may still press charges. But the Aussies LOVE me!
Ah, Queensland. The Company runs the Pacific Rim from a pizza joint in Mackay: counter-terrorism, covert ops, and all you can eat for $5.
After this, he stopped following. Perhaps this is a record; I didn't even try to sell him anything. For the record, Mackay is a nice place not too far from the coast. I have friends there; they may not realise this. Anyway, proud of my offerings for the day, and blissfully unaware of how my output would spiral over the next few days, I relaxed back into familiar home territory:
The House is quiet tonight. Doubt keeps me company most evenings, but she's out with Angst; they "need to catch up". Bang goes next week.
I sat and chuckled over that. I know it's bad form, laughing at your own jokes. But it's nice to hear, nonetheless.
See you tomorrow, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
What On Earth is Twitter?
It's twilight out, and I'd like to get some more of my Twitter timeline archived into the blog. Before that, though...
For the folk out there who have no idea what Twitter is, it's explained in accurate-but-abstract detail here.
The "short" IndigoWrath layman's version? Ok, here goes:
Twitter is a "social interaction" website/tool; it lets you record your thoughts and read and respond to other people's. And they can do the same.
Once registered, you can write short, 140-character messages called "tweets" which are published on your own Twitter "feed". That's just a hip way of saying a stack of messages, with the most recent on the top.
In its purest form, a tweet is a brief description of what someone is doing. Across the day, the sum of a person's tweets (their Twitter feed) loosely equates to a blog entry. For this reason, tweeting is also known as microblogging.
OK - so far, so what? Well, there's more to it.
In general terms, you can read anyone else's feed. If you see a feed you like, you can choose to "follow" its author. What’s nice is that the tweets from their feed and yours are mixed together in time sequence and presented to you as a “timeline”; your timeline becomes the sum of the feeds and always includes the most recent tweets*. The other person can see that you are following them and may choose to follow you in return; this turns out to be important if you want to easily talk to them later!
[*The timeline always has the most recent tweets at the top. This is largely similar to entries posted in a forum, except your view of it is personalised; you only see tweets from feeds you have expressed an interest in.]
As you follow more people, your timeline includes more feeds and changes faster! So, you now have more to read, without all that pesky searching and navigating. This in itself is pretty useful and powerful.
But what about interaction? This starts when you reply to someone's tweet with one of your own. This gets added to your feed, so if the person you're replying to follows you, they see it in their timeline. If not, they have to be in the habit of looking to see what people are saying about/to them**. When they see your response, they may choose to check out your feed and follow you! Of course, they may not. Some folk regard this as a point of etiquette, but it's matter of choice. It's all very democratic.
[**Plenty of folk don't do this, so replies can often generate no response because the intended recipient is unaware they're there. This is a bit of wrinkle in the system which I'm not sure most users are aware of. It's not terribly intuitive; when you reply, it's natural to assume it works like e-mail; it doesn't. This can make it difficult to get the attention of someone who has lots of followers and is busy already! It's also easy to forget that the thing you're replying to isn't in your feed; your followers might not understand your reply unless you add "retweet" the original to your feed. But these cans of worms will require an army of badgers to eat them if I open them here.]
Some people have hundreds of thousands of followers. I’ll name no names; they didn’t choose to have these followers, the followers chose them. We get the leaders we deserve, it’s said.
That’s pretty much it, other than saying that writing meaningful content is 140 characters can be challenging. My old English teacher told me that the hardest thing to do when writing is to write concisely. She wasn’t kidding; expressing a coherent thought (perhaps even eloquent one) in a pithy way is time consuming, and downright frustrating if you’re not used to doing it.
Winston Churchill once gave an overly long, somewhat rambling speech to Parliament in the UK. Afterwards, he apologised for the long speech and said that he "did not have time to write a short one".
The upshot of all of this is that in absence of ingrained writing skills, the thoughts get simpler. As a result, content on Twitter is patchy. There's a lot of humorous content, much that is thoughtful or insightful, and occasional flurries of eloquence. However, there is plenty that might, at a glance, seem trivial, meaningless, pointless; "brainfart" in its deepest, dampest form. I could not possibly comment; if you read my tweets, I'll be grateful.
Hope that’s been helpful; there are some wrinkles I could wax on about, but I won’t; another day maybe.
On to the good stuff.
Ah hell, it's late; it's a job for tomorrow.
Sleep well when you get there, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
For the folk out there who have no idea what Twitter is, it's explained in accurate-but-abstract detail here.
The "short" IndigoWrath layman's version? Ok, here goes:
Twitter is a "social interaction" website/tool; it lets you record your thoughts and read and respond to other people's. And they can do the same.
Once registered, you can write short, 140-character messages called "tweets" which are published on your own Twitter "feed". That's just a hip way of saying a stack of messages, with the most recent on the top.
In its purest form, a tweet is a brief description of what someone is doing. Across the day, the sum of a person's tweets (their Twitter feed) loosely equates to a blog entry. For this reason, tweeting is also known as microblogging.
OK - so far, so what? Well, there's more to it.
In general terms, you can read anyone else's feed. If you see a feed you like, you can choose to "follow" its author. What’s nice is that the tweets from their feed and yours are mixed together in time sequence and presented to you as a “timeline”; your timeline becomes the sum of the feeds and always includes the most recent tweets*. The other person can see that you are following them and may choose to follow you in return; this turns out to be important if you want to easily talk to them later!
[*The timeline always has the most recent tweets at the top. This is largely similar to entries posted in a forum, except your view of it is personalised; you only see tweets from feeds you have expressed an interest in.]
As you follow more people, your timeline includes more feeds and changes faster! So, you now have more to read, without all that pesky searching and navigating. This in itself is pretty useful and powerful.
But what about interaction? This starts when you reply to someone's tweet with one of your own. This gets added to your feed, so if the person you're replying to follows you, they see it in their timeline. If not, they have to be in the habit of looking to see what people are saying about/to them**. When they see your response, they may choose to check out your feed and follow you! Of course, they may not. Some folk regard this as a point of etiquette, but it's matter of choice. It's all very democratic.
[**Plenty of folk don't do this, so replies can often generate no response because the intended recipient is unaware they're there. This is a bit of wrinkle in the system which I'm not sure most users are aware of. It's not terribly intuitive; when you reply, it's natural to assume it works like e-mail; it doesn't. This can make it difficult to get the attention of someone who has lots of followers and is busy already! It's also easy to forget that the thing you're replying to isn't in your feed; your followers might not understand your reply unless you add "retweet" the original to your feed. But these cans of worms will require an army of badgers to eat them if I open them here.]
Some people have hundreds of thousands of followers. I’ll name no names; they didn’t choose to have these followers, the followers chose them. We get the leaders we deserve, it’s said.
That’s pretty much it, other than saying that writing meaningful content is 140 characters can be challenging. My old English teacher told me that the hardest thing to do when writing is to write concisely. She wasn’t kidding; expressing a coherent thought (perhaps even eloquent one) in a pithy way is time consuming, and downright frustrating if you’re not used to doing it.
Winston Churchill once gave an overly long, somewhat rambling speech to Parliament in the UK. Afterwards, he apologised for the long speech and said that he "did not have time to write a short one".
The upshot of all of this is that in absence of ingrained writing skills, the thoughts get simpler. As a result, content on Twitter is patchy. There's a lot of humorous content, much that is thoughtful or insightful, and occasional flurries of eloquence. However, there is plenty that might, at a glance, seem trivial, meaningless, pointless; "brainfart" in its deepest, dampest form. I could not possibly comment; if you read my tweets, I'll be grateful.
Hope that’s been helpful; there are some wrinkles I could wax on about, but I won’t; another day maybe.
On to the good stuff.
Ah hell, it's late; it's a job for tomorrow.
Sleep well when you get there, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Day Zero
Here we are, Day Zero. I'm still finding my way about, and despite having both hands available, I still can't find my backside with SatNav.
This blog will serve two purposes. Mainly, it'll be a daily record of the tweets from my Twitter feed. But I'll also use it to record some slightly longer thoughts.
Right, that'll do for now; on with the show.
The following entries are from my Twitter feed on Thursday 21 May 2009. I enjoy writing on Twitter, but entries quickly drift out of view. Hence the blog; I can keep them alive here and perhaps more than half a dozen people will read them. Eight would be cool.
I gather my thoughts around me like unruly children, listening to Hope tattle on Avarice while she secretly prepares to give him a wedgie.
Sleep eludes me. Mischief is dancing round the bed. Though it may be Misery; the light is bad.
Okay, a light warm up there. You may notice an alarming tendency in my tweets to use emotions as characters. To which I say "yes, I do".
I have Rush's GRACE UNDER PRESSURE PLAYING at the moment. I've been drifting through their back catalogue tonight, as I often do when "making things".
From my Twitter feed on Friday 22 May 2009:
The Day Ahead lurks outside. I must conquer it with superior intellect, charm it with wit and guile, or beat it to death with a brick.
PaulKilby: orwite geezer?
Paul is Family. He greets me in glorious "Estuary" vernacular. That's "East London" to the rest of us. Not that he comes from there; it's a family thing, just go with it. Roughly translated: "Good day to you, sir". Cultural reference #1 for folks overseas: in the UK, a geezer is "a man", and not "an old man". The Oxford English Dictionary describes him as "an imposing man with a short haircut, a big angry dog, a half brick in his pocket and loose criminal associations". I'd use the word dodgy but I'd have to explain that too; it doesn't travel well. By the way, I am none of these things, though I have been accused of looming occasionally.
Hey, morning. Brains is sleeping late, and apparently Charm has been tied up in the basement since 1993. Has anyone seen Brick?
Not just emotions as characters. Now it's inanimate objects.
Lunch is large and healthy but not very tasty. It's a meal out of time; in the 70s it would have qualified for the East German Shot Put team.
My Government work is intrusive. Fear and Intrigue lurk in every shadow; if they're still here tonight they'll probably expect dinner.
Ah yes, "Government work". I was surprised how quickly some of this tweet style fell into place. In the course of a day I was a spy. And I never even went to Cambridge. Well, except at lunchtime. More spy stuff tomorrow.
I had a note from Brick. He's hiding in a hod-load of rustic red Bedfords on a local building site. Damn this cloak and dagger routine!
Cultural reference #2: they make lots of red bricks in Bedford. Bricks are carried in a hod by burly men on building sites; once again, explanation deflates the humour. The good news is that I have been thinking "internationally" in later tweets.
Zack Emmenthal's new book ZEN ERROR MESSAGES is underrated - "Your data is truly lost. And truth is beauty. Enjoy the beauty of this event."
I see a lot of folk tweeting about the cool books they're reading. I don't read much, but why not take fake beer to the party?
The neighbourhood smelled strong tonight; sewage with a hint of seaside. Gulls wheeled overhead. How I miss my time in the Greek Islands.
idifficult: I hate those skateboarding gulls.
idifficult is an old friend. We met 20 years ago; he taught me to code at my first job. Later on we did side projects together, and I did some graphic design work for him. We share tastes in books, music, movies, booze and pizza. He's my best mate. And of course, he's another geezer.
Hey. I was once mugged by a gull in Cornwall for a pastie; a blind man would have reported a feathered Sumo wrestler.
Cultural reference #3: a pasty/pastie is a folded savoury pastry. I could have said "hot meat pie", but the Cornwall reference would have been spoiled, dammit! Yep, that's where they make them.
Jose Ostermann's self-titled Cuban/Polka fusion album is pure gold. Think Buena Vista Club in Lederhosen; guitar, trumpet, tuba. Genius.
I saw a tweet about some obscure album or other; this one's a fake, but sounded more enjoyable.
With two days conquered, and Rush's HOLD YOUR FIRE drawing to a close, I shall retire to bed and continue the archive tomorrow.
Night all, thanks for reading. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
This blog will serve two purposes. Mainly, it'll be a daily record of the tweets from my Twitter feed. But I'll also use it to record some slightly longer thoughts.
Right, that'll do for now; on with the show.
The following entries are from my Twitter feed on Thursday 21 May 2009. I enjoy writing on Twitter, but entries quickly drift out of view. Hence the blog; I can keep them alive here and perhaps more than half a dozen people will read them. Eight would be cool.
I gather my thoughts around me like unruly children, listening to Hope tattle on Avarice while she secretly prepares to give him a wedgie.
Sleep eludes me. Mischief is dancing round the bed. Though it may be Misery; the light is bad.
Okay, a light warm up there. You may notice an alarming tendency in my tweets to use emotions as characters. To which I say "yes, I do".
I have Rush's GRACE UNDER PRESSURE PLAYING at the moment. I've been drifting through their back catalogue tonight, as I often do when "making things".
From my Twitter feed on Friday 22 May 2009:
The Day Ahead lurks outside. I must conquer it with superior intellect, charm it with wit and guile, or beat it to death with a brick.
PaulKilby: orwite geezer?
Paul is Family. He greets me in glorious "Estuary" vernacular. That's "East London" to the rest of us. Not that he comes from there; it's a family thing, just go with it. Roughly translated: "Good day to you, sir". Cultural reference #1 for folks overseas: in the UK, a geezer is "a man", and not "an old man". The Oxford English Dictionary describes him as "an imposing man with a short haircut, a big angry dog, a half brick in his pocket and loose criminal associations". I'd use the word dodgy but I'd have to explain that too; it doesn't travel well. By the way, I am none of these things, though I have been accused of looming occasionally.
Hey, morning. Brains is sleeping late, and apparently Charm has been tied up in the basement since 1993. Has anyone seen Brick?
Not just emotions as characters. Now it's inanimate objects.
Lunch is large and healthy but not very tasty. It's a meal out of time; in the 70s it would have qualified for the East German Shot Put team.
My Government work is intrusive. Fear and Intrigue lurk in every shadow; if they're still here tonight they'll probably expect dinner.
Ah yes, "Government work". I was surprised how quickly some of this tweet style fell into place. In the course of a day I was a spy. And I never even went to Cambridge. Well, except at lunchtime. More spy stuff tomorrow.
I had a note from Brick. He's hiding in a hod-load of rustic red Bedfords on a local building site. Damn this cloak and dagger routine!
Cultural reference #2: they make lots of red bricks in Bedford. Bricks are carried in a hod by burly men on building sites; once again, explanation deflates the humour. The good news is that I have been thinking "internationally" in later tweets.
Zack Emmenthal's new book ZEN ERROR MESSAGES is underrated - "Your data is truly lost. And truth is beauty. Enjoy the beauty of this event."
I see a lot of folk tweeting about the cool books they're reading. I don't read much, but why not take fake beer to the party?
The neighbourhood smelled strong tonight; sewage with a hint of seaside. Gulls wheeled overhead. How I miss my time in the Greek Islands.
idifficult: I hate those skateboarding gulls.
idifficult is an old friend. We met 20 years ago; he taught me to code at my first job. Later on we did side projects together, and I did some graphic design work for him. We share tastes in books, music, movies, booze and pizza. He's my best mate. And of course, he's another geezer.
Hey. I was once mugged by a gull in Cornwall for a pastie; a blind man would have reported a feathered Sumo wrestler.
Cultural reference #3: a pasty/pastie is a folded savoury pastry. I could have said "hot meat pie", but the Cornwall reference would have been spoiled, dammit! Yep, that's where they make them.
Jose Ostermann's self-titled Cuban/Polka fusion album is pure gold. Think Buena Vista Club in Lederhosen; guitar, trumpet, tuba. Genius.
I saw a tweet about some obscure album or other; this one's a fake, but sounded more enjoyable.
With two days conquered, and Rush's HOLD YOUR FIRE drawing to a close, I shall retire to bed and continue the archive tomorrow.
Night all, thanks for reading. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
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