Someone asked me today why I blogged. What was the point? Where was I going with it? I had no idea what to say; either the question was idiotic, or I was for not knowing the answer.
I remember someone telling me once that reaching the destination was not the point of a trip; it was the journey that was important. And while a suicide jumper might not agree with this cheesy sentiment, I think in most cases it’s probably the truth.
And that’s what you’ll always get from me – the truth.
Oh, I know I make stuff up.
But the fiction is honest, and if you want to know who I am, just read me. It's all there.
Ask anyone that knows me. Except idifficult. He's crazy.
The following pocketful of thoughts (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Sunday 21 June 2009. If there's a name before the blue, it's a message from someone else.
Hmmm. On first glance at my notes and my sparkly new archive file, I think I've screwed up somewhere; there's very little Twitter activity there is. It's quite possible; yesterday was not a good day. But on reflection, there may have been substantial gardening chores on that Sunday. Yes indeed, sometimes I stoop that low. And can't get up again; my back really isn't what it used to be.
idifficult: Cooked breakfast this morning. So hard to fry porridge correctly.
I have a vague memory that cold porridge CAN be cut into slices and fried, but I doubt that it's a traditional recipe. Mind you, Scotland gave deep fried mars bars and deep fried pizza to the world, so why not porridge? Mmmm, crispy battered porridge.
I posted this next tweet after talking offline with Fishoutofsea. I explained to her that no man could resist the opportunity to dress up like a pirate. Especially if there was a good reason.
Ahoy mateys! I be ready to set sail for #swashbucklingsunday! A day of pirates, treasure and dressing up! How many scurvy dogs be with me?
Of course, I was totally incorrect; not a flicker of interest. Though to be fair Gumley was on holiday and idifficult dresses like a pirate most days anyway. It gets him a seat on the train in the morning. The stuffed parrot is the clincher, especially when he does the squawky voice.
*checks his badly scrawled notes*
I think the gardening goes here? Hours that feel like aeons pass. Empires crumble. Glaciers form. Well, figuratively speaking; it was way too hot for that. At the end of it, I have that warm glow that can only be found in hard work or a bottle. Not that I drink.
We now rejoin our scheduled program in the early evening
I then receive news of the scientific kind. This is welcome; I've had my suspicions about New Scientist for a while now; everything seems speculative where it used to be conclusive. This is just like the early morning news; I'm tired of hearing what is anticipated for the day ahead, rather than what happened since the last bulletin. That's not news, it's gossip or preparatory spin. Even the BBC has caught the bug, gawd bless 'em.
idifficult: "Mammoths survived late in Britain". Oh, so the slightly fuzzy footprints in my butter wasn't due to elephants. Good to clear that up.
I thought they were yours. I mean, there was PIZZA in there, man! Sometimes at 2am, it's hard to resist. I know how it is.
idifficult: Can I be clear no pizza lasts 'til 2am here.
It's a good point. I had one delivered yesterday that was the size of a truck's hubcap. It vanished mysteriously, to be replaced with Indigestion. I'm looking into the causal relationship of that one.
Now, anyone who knows me will roll their eyes when Monty Python is mentioned. And they will equally groan if Star Trek enters the conversation. I know too much, I have opinions. Many are long and you really had to be there. But wait, just wait. What happens if you mix them together?
Damn, I wish I'd created this; it's genius. There is love in that song. Meticulous, knowledgeable, geekboy love. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Then, happier than a clam, and full of the joy of Python, I finish the day's blog entry. It's about a Python subject close to my heart: spam.
For your consideration and enjoyment, I humbly submit EMBRACING THE ZERO SUM: LINK #spam #spam #spam #wonderfulspam #vikings
It's been a good day. A spamtastic one in fact.
I foolishly look forward to tomorrow.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
A Distant Squeal of Delight
The gremlins came to play today. It had to happen eventually.
Every day, I carefully copy the tweets from my timeline on Twitter to a WORD file. I use this archive as the basis for my blog every day; I'm sure you've noticed. It's all been working a treat.
But tonight, something went wrong and suddenly my archive was empty. Not so much as a tumbleweed or dust bunny. Now, I'm no slouch with this kind of technical problem, but today I was unable to find a solution. It was gone.
So, for the last five hours I've been trawling through Twitter to get it all back. Slow, painful, frustrating, bloody annoying. Browser, select, copy, WORD, paste. Rinse and repeat.
There are worse scenarios; the source material still existed at least, though it was a pain to get at. I was lazy, and temporarily lost some work. I've not done that since my final project at university twenty years ago. Not a bad track record really; here's to another twenty.
Overall, it was a useful and not-too-wounding reminder to take care with backups. And while I've not had the best evening, everything is now back where it should be.
Deep breath.
Continue.
This is out of sequence, but here's a snippet from my Twitter feed on Monday 29 June 2009. I've done this partly to cover my arse after the technical nonsense I've gone through today. But mostly it's too nice to sit on for a week until the archive catches up.
My esteemed colleague idifficult gets the ball rolling nice and early, with a tale involving our surreal Midwestern American friend Fishoutofsea.
idifficult: Weird dream. I was in my local pet shop. There was a "FishOutOfSea" t-shirt for sale. Thought wow good for her. Odd, no?
I have to agree, but in my head the gears are starting to turn; I see endless fields of wheat and blue skies. Yes, my latent artistic tendencies come out of the closet at times like this.
It sounds kinda cool. I have a daft image of the t-shirt in my head; I must commit it to paper later.
idifficult: There was a really cool logo in my dream. But can I remember it? Nope!!
Fishoutofsea: I'm famous?
idifficult: Wish I could remember "your" logo. It was really good.
Fishoutofsea: I HAVE A LOGO?!
This is too good to pass up; the lady is giddy at the thought of a cool design. It takes maybe an hour but there's a design in front of me. Whether it's cool or not is another matter.
Five minutes later idifficult has kindly posted it for me and I drop Fishoutofsea a note.
I get lucky; there's a distant squeal of delight from the States.
I consider the day conquered.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
FishOutOfSea picture is copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Every day, I carefully copy the tweets from my timeline on Twitter to a WORD file. I use this archive as the basis for my blog every day; I'm sure you've noticed. It's all been working a treat.
But tonight, something went wrong and suddenly my archive was empty. Not so much as a tumbleweed or dust bunny. Now, I'm no slouch with this kind of technical problem, but today I was unable to find a solution. It was gone.
So, for the last five hours I've been trawling through Twitter to get it all back. Slow, painful, frustrating, bloody annoying. Browser, select, copy, WORD, paste. Rinse and repeat.
There are worse scenarios; the source material still existed at least, though it was a pain to get at. I was lazy, and temporarily lost some work. I've not done that since my final project at university twenty years ago. Not a bad track record really; here's to another twenty.
Overall, it was a useful and not-too-wounding reminder to take care with backups. And while I've not had the best evening, everything is now back where it should be.
Deep breath.
Continue.
This is out of sequence, but here's a snippet from my Twitter feed on Monday 29 June 2009. I've done this partly to cover my arse after the technical nonsense I've gone through today. But mostly it's too nice to sit on for a week until the archive catches up.
My esteemed colleague idifficult gets the ball rolling nice and early, with a tale involving our surreal Midwestern American friend Fishoutofsea.
idifficult: Weird dream. I was in my local pet shop. There was a "FishOutOfSea" t-shirt for sale. Thought wow good for her. Odd, no?
I have to agree, but in my head the gears are starting to turn; I see endless fields of wheat and blue skies. Yes, my latent artistic tendencies come out of the closet at times like this.
It sounds kinda cool. I have a daft image of the t-shirt in my head; I must commit it to paper later.
idifficult: There was a really cool logo in my dream. But can I remember it? Nope!!
Fishoutofsea: I'm famous?
idifficult: Wish I could remember "your" logo. It was really good.
Fishoutofsea: I HAVE A LOGO?!
This is too good to pass up; the lady is giddy at the thought of a cool design. It takes maybe an hour but there's a design in front of me. Whether it's cool or not is another matter.
Five minutes later idifficult has kindly posted it for me and I drop Fishoutofsea a note.I get lucky; there's a distant squeal of delight from the States.
I consider the day conquered.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
FishOutOfSea picture is copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Old School Percentage Call
A quiet success story for the week is the progress of the audience for my blog. It is, as those in the know would say, "getting there".
My stats indicate that there's more interest there than there was seven days ago. I will reasonably claim that part of this is down to me, the fact that I'm writing something worth reading, something pithy and entertaining?
But I also know that most of it is the expensive "Blog Highlight" advert I bought on BlogCatalog.
Before you ask; no, I don't think this is cheating.
There are literally millions of blog out there (seventy million at the last guess), and while there's a myriad that are worthy of note, almost all of them toil away in obscurity.
I toil, sometimes quite late, and I'd rather it wasn't in obscurity.
To get a bigger blog audience you either need one of those random Socks of Armageddon events I mentioned yesterday, or a bloody great advert. I went for the latter; it was a percentage call.
Of course, all the advert does is bring people to your door; you then have to keep them.
This is trickier, but a far better dilemma than an empty doorstep.
The following random thoughts (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Saturday 20 June 2009. As with most Saturdays, I am rather busy, and don't plan to get onto Twitter much.
However, the tempation so slack off lurks in every dark corner. For example, check out the following Twitter tags from idifficult:
idifficult: I present to you #soditsaturday. Like #whateverwednesday, but with a much more achieveable requirement to do nothing.
Hey, that works. "Shall I mow the lawn? Ah, forget it. It's #soditsaturday, it can wait." Washing, ironing, housework. Gone.
So, with the day's tasks dismissed, I consider my options. Go to the movies? Go for a bike ride? Have a nap? Have a snack? Hmmm, there is a certain inevitability about the outcome.
There's pizza in the fridge. Greed is urging me on; it's a biggie. Indigestion is keeping quiet; he wants me to be his bitch later.
My emotions have not had much of an airing of late. It's not that I've bottled them up, it's just that I've had so little free time to contemplate them. Oddly enough, I was having this very discussion with Apathy last night; I found him difficult to engage on the subject. Any subject, in fact.
*Indigo shuffles off to work on a new blog entry. He's nearly hit the giddy heights of 400 hits. All this AND good looks, life is kind*
idifficult: 400 hits on your blog? You're doing good. I don't think I'd manage the self discipline or the colour scheme...
It's one of those 50/50 things; it's an order of magnitude more than I expected, but one less than I hoped. Ok, two. Patience.
*Indigo whoops as his blog hits reach 400* And this is the baby that did it, the curiously leonine BUT NEVER JAM TODAY: LINK
Yes, leonine. There was a lion involved. He's waving in the photo.
idifficult: Relax. Your blog will go viral I expect. Bit like pig flu or Ebola. We'll all be dressed like Dustin Hoffman in "Outbreak"
If we do get to that OUTBREAK moment, I wanna be Donnie Sutherland.
Donald Sutherland's characters are always barking mad. I liked him in OUTBREAK, and the X-Files bandwagon flick THE PUPPET MASTERS. The remake of SALEM'S LOT less so. And hey, what about the final scene of INVASION OF THE BODYSNATCHERS? I'm sure he'd like to be remembered for something more artistic, mind.
But now, ladies and gentlemen, hang onto your hats. In fine Captain Kirk tradition, the bridge of the Enterprise is about to lurch savagely to the left! Into curried territory. Wait. What?
idifficult: Just ate really nice lamb ticka rogan. Feel like a mal-adjusted chemical works now.
Put your launderer on Danger Money, baby.
I hope Douglas Adams would approve of this misquote. If he'd ever sat through TREMORS on the sofa next to idifficult after a belly-busting meal at our local Indian restaurant, I think he'd at least understand. Moving on, the next topic of conversation is unexpectedly thoughtful. It's not that we're incapable, but we so rarely punch out ticket in that respect.
We put so much emphasis on the 3Rs. Should spend more time on Curiosity, Creativity and Compassion. 3Cs.
I assume the term "3R's" makes sense around the world? I have a suspicion that it's a curious English thing, and a famous minomer. The "Three R's" are Reading (w)Riting and (a)Rithmetic*. Which says more about our attitude to education than it should.
[* GEEK ZONE: This is a misquote in itself. The original "Three R's" were Reading, (w)Riting and Reckoning. I tried to get a definitive quote for this, but failed; I'd be terribly grateful if you'd pretend I found one.]
Perhaps a different 3Rs? Reliable, Reasonable, Responsible. Old School values, and not much fun, I know. But still admirable.
I'd also welcome Sane, Smart and Sexy of course...
There are no takers. *sigh* The next offering from idifficult does little to distract me from this sad fact. Still, the brevity of his tweet is pleasantly refreshing.
idifficult: Quick Quiz: Why?
That's easy: "BECAUSE". Do I win anything?
We used to do this kind of thing years ago on e-mail. There was a Quick Quiz that had a single question. There was a Quicker Quiz that needed a one word answer. And then this evolved into its final form; Quickest Quiz, where there was no question but a random winner was announced.
My nostalgia has distracted me for too long; he’s gone to bed. But no matter; he’ll be back in a coupla hours. And sure enough, he was. How can anyone who gets that little sleep be remotely sane? Ah. Yes. Wrong question, I suppose.
idifficult: I'm sure I can find something at the bottom of the fridge
The last thing I found in the bottom of my fridge tried to climb out. And talking of surprises, there is a sudden visit from the Talented Mr. Gumley. We've seen practically nothing of him for over a week. And, it turns out, we won't be seeing much of him for another one.
Gumley: Traversing the Norfolk Broads on a posh boat - bliss! But no signal so will be out off Twitter for a week.
NOOOO! Don't leave us!
But he did. And I must away too; bedtime calls.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
My stats indicate that there's more interest there than there was seven days ago. I will reasonably claim that part of this is down to me, the fact that I'm writing something worth reading, something pithy and entertaining?
But I also know that most of it is the expensive "Blog Highlight" advert I bought on BlogCatalog.
Before you ask; no, I don't think this is cheating.
There are literally millions of blog out there (seventy million at the last guess), and while there's a myriad that are worthy of note, almost all of them toil away in obscurity.
I toil, sometimes quite late, and I'd rather it wasn't in obscurity.
To get a bigger blog audience you either need one of those random Socks of Armageddon events I mentioned yesterday, or a bloody great advert. I went for the latter; it was a percentage call.
Of course, all the advert does is bring people to your door; you then have to keep them.
This is trickier, but a far better dilemma than an empty doorstep.
The following random thoughts (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Saturday 20 June 2009. As with most Saturdays, I am rather busy, and don't plan to get onto Twitter much.
However, the tempation so slack off lurks in every dark corner. For example, check out the following Twitter tags from idifficult:
idifficult: I present to you #soditsaturday. Like #whateverwednesday, but with a much more achieveable requirement to do nothing.
Hey, that works. "Shall I mow the lawn? Ah, forget it. It's #soditsaturday, it can wait." Washing, ironing, housework. Gone.
So, with the day's tasks dismissed, I consider my options. Go to the movies? Go for a bike ride? Have a nap? Have a snack? Hmmm, there is a certain inevitability about the outcome.
There's pizza in the fridge. Greed is urging me on; it's a biggie. Indigestion is keeping quiet; he wants me to be his bitch later.
My emotions have not had much of an airing of late. It's not that I've bottled them up, it's just that I've had so little free time to contemplate them. Oddly enough, I was having this very discussion with Apathy last night; I found him difficult to engage on the subject. Any subject, in fact.
*Indigo shuffles off to work on a new blog entry. He's nearly hit the giddy heights of 400 hits. All this AND good looks, life is kind*
idifficult: 400 hits on your blog? You're doing good. I don't think I'd manage the self discipline or the colour scheme...
It's one of those 50/50 things; it's an order of magnitude more than I expected, but one less than I hoped. Ok, two. Patience.
*Indigo whoops as his blog hits reach 400* And this is the baby that did it, the curiously leonine BUT NEVER JAM TODAY: LINK
Yes, leonine. There was a lion involved. He's waving in the photo.
idifficult: Relax. Your blog will go viral I expect. Bit like pig flu or Ebola. We'll all be dressed like Dustin Hoffman in "Outbreak"
If we do get to that OUTBREAK moment, I wanna be Donnie Sutherland.
Donald Sutherland's characters are always barking mad. I liked him in OUTBREAK, and the X-Files bandwagon flick THE PUPPET MASTERS. The remake of SALEM'S LOT less so. And hey, what about the final scene of INVASION OF THE BODYSNATCHERS? I'm sure he'd like to be remembered for something more artistic, mind.
But now, ladies and gentlemen, hang onto your hats. In fine Captain Kirk tradition, the bridge of the Enterprise is about to lurch savagely to the left! Into curried territory. Wait. What?
idifficult: Just ate really nice lamb ticka rogan. Feel like a mal-adjusted chemical works now.
Put your launderer on Danger Money, baby.
I hope Douglas Adams would approve of this misquote. If he'd ever sat through TREMORS on the sofa next to idifficult after a belly-busting meal at our local Indian restaurant, I think he'd at least understand. Moving on, the next topic of conversation is unexpectedly thoughtful. It's not that we're incapable, but we so rarely punch out ticket in that respect.
We put so much emphasis on the 3Rs. Should spend more time on Curiosity, Creativity and Compassion. 3Cs.
I assume the term "3R's" makes sense around the world? I have a suspicion that it's a curious English thing, and a famous minomer. The "Three R's" are Reading (w)Riting and (a)Rithmetic*. Which says more about our attitude to education than it should.
[* GEEK ZONE: This is a misquote in itself. The original "Three R's" were Reading, (w)Riting and Reckoning. I tried to get a definitive quote for this, but failed; I'd be terribly grateful if you'd pretend I found one.]
Perhaps a different 3Rs? Reliable, Reasonable, Responsible. Old School values, and not much fun, I know. But still admirable.
I'd also welcome Sane, Smart and Sexy of course...
There are no takers. *sigh* The next offering from idifficult does little to distract me from this sad fact. Still, the brevity of his tweet is pleasantly refreshing.
idifficult: Quick Quiz: Why?
That's easy: "BECAUSE". Do I win anything?
We used to do this kind of thing years ago on e-mail. There was a Quick Quiz that had a single question. There was a Quicker Quiz that needed a one word answer. And then this evolved into its final form; Quickest Quiz, where there was no question but a random winner was announced.
My nostalgia has distracted me for too long; he’s gone to bed. But no matter; he’ll be back in a coupla hours. And sure enough, he was. How can anyone who gets that little sleep be remotely sane? Ah. Yes. Wrong question, I suppose.
idifficult: I'm sure I can find something at the bottom of the fridge
The last thing I found in the bottom of my fridge tried to climb out. And talking of surprises, there is a sudden visit from the Talented Mr. Gumley. We've seen practically nothing of him for over a week. And, it turns out, we won't be seeing much of him for another one.
Gumley: Traversing the Norfolk Broads on a posh boat - bliss! But no signal so will be out off Twitter for a week.
NOOOO! Don't leave us!
But he did. And I must away too; bedtime calls.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Socks of Armageddon
I've been in my recent job for a few years now.
I got the job under odd circumstances. I met the company owner in hospital after I'd taken his teenage son there following a road accident. It wasn't serious; his son was fine. However, it was my fault. The lad had fallen off his bike while swerving to avoid me reversing out of my driveway.
On a typical day I wouldn't have driven into town. But I was in a hurry that morning; I'd missed the bus and was late for work. The bus had pulled away just as I reached the bus stop. I'd run all the way there, too; I'd left the house late.
I normally leave the house punctually at 8:30, but I'd had to go back upstairs to change my socks; I'd found a hole in the heel of one as I put my shoes on. I had seven pairs of socks, all different colours. I'd selected a black pair that morning for no particular reason. It wasn't much of a decision; I mean, what difference would it make?
What indeed.
As I sat happily having dinner that night, rather pleased with myself, I reflected on the events of the day. Everything had turned out pretty well from an odd start.
But something niggled at me.
My qualifications made me suitable for the job, but meeting the company owner had been important. I'd done the right thing and helped his son; I'd impressed him with my character. But that was the result of a chance occurrence; the car accident. Which in turn was because I'd missed the bus. Because I was late leaving the house. Because I had to change my socks.
Because I chose the black ones.
This was an epiphany.
The huge decisions of my life had paved the way for me to take advantage of events as they unfolded. Chance favours the prepared mind, as my father would say.
But the paths to those big events were paved with much smaller events. Tiny, inconsequential happenings that could change the course of a day in ways that could never be predicted at the point they occurred.
On that day, I had chosen black socks. And I had a new job.
Had I chosen blue, I would have been on the bus and not writing this blog entry. Though of course I may have been writing a different one about some other trivial event that netted me a lottery win. Damn. Blue, shoulda gone for blue.
You see the problem?
I'm not suggesting anybody stops worrying about the "big" choices in life. The subjects we choose, the university we attend, the career we pursue, the partners we make our beds with, the cars we buy. The jobs we accept. These things are important, and deserve consideration.
Nor am I saying that instead we must fixate over every small decision, to worry about the manifold and ultimately unknowable consequences of our actions. Quite the opposite. We can't do that, and shouldn't; we'd never make it out of bed for fear of Armageddon.
But maybe we can ease up on ourselves a bit, and realise that perhaps our lives are steered by far smaller events than the ones we spend so much time worrying about.
Perhaps that clichéd chaos butterfly flutters around all of us?
No archive today, see you tomorrow.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
I got the job under odd circumstances. I met the company owner in hospital after I'd taken his teenage son there following a road accident. It wasn't serious; his son was fine. However, it was my fault. The lad had fallen off his bike while swerving to avoid me reversing out of my driveway.
On a typical day I wouldn't have driven into town. But I was in a hurry that morning; I'd missed the bus and was late for work. The bus had pulled away just as I reached the bus stop. I'd run all the way there, too; I'd left the house late.
I normally leave the house punctually at 8:30, but I'd had to go back upstairs to change my socks; I'd found a hole in the heel of one as I put my shoes on. I had seven pairs of socks, all different colours. I'd selected a black pair that morning for no particular reason. It wasn't much of a decision; I mean, what difference would it make?
What indeed.
As I sat happily having dinner that night, rather pleased with myself, I reflected on the events of the day. Everything had turned out pretty well from an odd start.
But something niggled at me.
My qualifications made me suitable for the job, but meeting the company owner had been important. I'd done the right thing and helped his son; I'd impressed him with my character. But that was the result of a chance occurrence; the car accident. Which in turn was because I'd missed the bus. Because I was late leaving the house. Because I had to change my socks.
Because I chose the black ones.
This was an epiphany.
The huge decisions of my life had paved the way for me to take advantage of events as they unfolded. Chance favours the prepared mind, as my father would say.
But the paths to those big events were paved with much smaller events. Tiny, inconsequential happenings that could change the course of a day in ways that could never be predicted at the point they occurred.
On that day, I had chosen black socks. And I had a new job.
Had I chosen blue, I would have been on the bus and not writing this blog entry. Though of course I may have been writing a different one about some other trivial event that netted me a lottery win. Damn. Blue, shoulda gone for blue.
You see the problem?
I'm not suggesting anybody stops worrying about the "big" choices in life. The subjects we choose, the university we attend, the career we pursue, the partners we make our beds with, the cars we buy. The jobs we accept. These things are important, and deserve consideration.
Nor am I saying that instead we must fixate over every small decision, to worry about the manifold and ultimately unknowable consequences of our actions. Quite the opposite. We can't do that, and shouldn't; we'd never make it out of bed for fear of Armageddon.
But maybe we can ease up on ourselves a bit, and realise that perhaps our lives are steered by far smaller events than the ones we spend so much time worrying about.
Perhaps that clichéd chaos butterfly flutters around all of us?
No archive today, see you tomorrow.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Murdered by Lunchtime
I bought new bed today. It's bigger than the old one.
It's going to play hell with the Feng Shui in my bedroom. I had a bed, a mirror, some bookshelves, a TV, a desk and chair, and a vase of flowers. All placed perfectly, a veritable shrine to Balance and Harmony.
But now I have the bigger bed? Something has to go.
I can't do without the flowers, so maybe I'll put the mirror on the ceiling and drag the booksheves out onto the landing.
Or stand the bed on end and sleep in the chair?
In fact, there may be no option but to move the window.
What's a metrosexual guy to do?
The following bargains (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed between Thursday 18 June and Friday 19 June 2009. Yes indeed, I've finally done it; two for the price of one. Remember to keep your receipt and demand your money back tomorrow.
The path into the day on Twitter is gentle, happy, and (for once) surprisingly easy to follow. I am wary of this; it's beyond the edge of the map, marked Here Be Dragons.
Fishoutofsea: May the force be with you. Huzzah.
As I mentioned in a blog a long time ago, it was never cool to say "May the Force Be With You". But I'm 40 and have never heard of post-modern irony. I reply as best I can, and in character just to be on the safe side.
Mornings. Fatigue. Thursdays. Boredom. These things to the Dark Side lead. Yes. Hmmm.
Other points of view are available, of course. These may be more "reality challenged". For example:
idifficult: Another day in work, pushing blancmange up a steep rocky slope using a blowtorch and with one leg tied behind my back.
You got it easy, lad. I'm a Scorpio; I'll have been murdered by lunchtime. Perhaps several times. It's a terrible burden.
And once again, idifficult proves what you can do online in just a few minutes.
idifficult: I've taken out life insurance on you. Hoping to win big.
I want a piece of that action; better odds than the Lottery.
I am suddenly distracted; I just noticed that eolistpetite has a blog! And a very good blog it is too, full of quirky little tales and some downright spooky stuff. I mention this to idifficult, but he's put his "evil genius" outfit on, complete with bald wig and monacle.
idifficult: The black swivel chair, the white cat, the bad accent, the pool of piranha. I know how things should be done. Standards slip.
You are a man of wit and discretion. Evil geniuses aren't what they used to be. And menacing henchmen? Virtually a lost art.
idifficult: Glad to see you're back and the tux is impeccable. I have been busy cloning myself, but with different amounts of beard.
I thought so. I had to kill two of you yesterday.
idifficult: My six clones vary from goatee to Osama's Bed Linen.
I eliminated a Kirk Hemmett and a Jimmy Hill. So, Numbers 2 and 5?
idifficult: You killed three henchmen on our last encounter. DO YOU THINK THEY COME IN SIX-PACKS?!
As the day draws to a close, I withdraw to create my daily blog entry. It's a tricky little number, full of philosophy, latin, aeroplanes and a really good pun that confounds the mighty Fishoutofsea.
I salute the genius of idifficult as I announce my new blog entry - THE WORD IS AARDVARK: LINK
On the following morning, it's déjà vu all over again. A sleek silver bullet rushes past me with barely a wave. I'd settle for breakfast first occasionally. Coffee, even.
Fishoutofsea: You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy to save you from your old ways.
How did you know? His name was Pedro; it was a long, hot summer.
Such simple thoughts, such innocence expressed. It cannot last.
idifficult: "You sit there in your heartache?" - no, no, that's a cardboard box...
Yes, but in your mind it's The Alamo.
eolistpetite: there are no beautiful boys. tell her/him to stop waiting.
idifficult: You've been quiet, eolistpetite. There I was a' tweeting by myself!
Squawking more like. That box has gone to your head.
The conversation heads sideways as the S.S.Fishy pulls hard a' port. We're all expecting it and are braced for impact. I pull off a heroic slide with nary a wobble.
Fishoutofsea: Mmmm leftover enchiladas
Isn't that a hairless Mexican dog? Is there good eating on one? Hardly enough for a burger!
With that said, I once again promote my blog. The latest entry contains a reference to Fishoutofsea as a "renegade crop duster". As a landlocked fish from the Midwest, this tickles her; I'm just pleased she read it with a smile on her face. I don't like to mess with Yoof; they're so damned fickle.
Fishoutofsea: A renegade crop duster? Where do I apply for that?
You don't apply. Just steal the plane. Seriously.
Fishoutofsea: I WILL
Hmm. Suddenly, I regret the advice; I hope the local farms are insured. I have visions of Fishy giggling insanely as she buzzes downtown Smallville in a Piper Pawnee, scattering rainbow Skittles as she goes.
Fishoutofsea: And your comment about being doggedly Sirius was so humorous I didn't have a comeback
This is another blog reference, and surely it can't be right; she's young and cool and hip and...
*Indigo does an uncool victory dance*
There's no time for these kinds of shennanigans, though. The moveable feast has moved on.
Fishoutofsea: We've become a white elephant and I don't want to be an elephant
Fear not; you're far more like a marlin or a barracuda.
She's unconvinced; it reads like a compliment, but could easily be a slur in a poor disguise. Is this revenge on my part?
Fishoutofsea: Yay?
Hell, yes; sleek, silver bullets, sunlight dancing on them. Fast and dangerous, masters of their own fishy destiny.
Fishoutofsea: Exactly. That's why I love fish.
I think perhaps this is why I love the sea so much. It's big, deep and scary but there's no roads, no houses, no jobs, no debt, and no trouble except for occasional schools of delinquent mullet. No boundaries. A fish is free. Even a big one, like that shark with the cello. I'll swim with him one day, and dive below him to make him think I'm going to attack.
You can mess with 'em, oh yes.
It sounds like idifficult is still coming to terms with the day. His solution is intriguing, however. And on any day, you have to love a Shakespearean plot.
idifficult: Friday: Let slip the Dogs of War. Or at least the Puppies of Panic. Let's nail this one and go home.
The Dogs of War? Not in the house, you don't, young man. Not again. I'm not having another weekend scrubbing carpets.
Excuse me; I'm channelling the spirit of my mother. This surprises me, as she's expecting me over for dinner tomorrow.
Fishoutofsea: Done watching ****ed-up videos and skimming IndigoWrath's blog for the time being. Goodnight all <3
Colourful metaphors aside; "SKIMMING"?! NOOOOOOOOOOOO! You gotta reeeeead them! I play it cool.
And to you. Sleep well, and dream of the dark glorious depths. But beware, idifficult lurks there.
He does; I wake up screaming, kicking my legs. I think in his mind he's some deadly lured Angler Fish, attracting tasty aquatic pizzas into range with his tempting luminescence.
By now, the sun is sliding away, and a wise tiny friend is feeling introspective. It suits her, though I remember her more vividly clinging onto the Mustang's dashboard and squealing like a cheerleader as we took the hairpin bends on the clifftop sections of Highway One in California. She did not travel well.
eolistpetite: sometimes i just sits and thinks and sometimes i just sits and sometimes i actually do something productive.
And sometimes darlin', you just sits and looks purty =)
This is wonderfully true. One day soon I'll gather photos of all of us and show everyone what an array of hot tasty treats we are. Me, eolistpetite, idifficult, Fishoutofsea and the jewel in the crown, Gumley. It'll be a Sunday project. Not this week though; scuba diving beckons. No shark baiting yet; that's the advanced class.
As my final act for the day, I crystallise my thoughts into yet another blog entry, a tightly packed offering, brimming with film stars, horoscopes and me playing a tuba in a loud shirt. I must confess I'm pleased with how it's all going; one blog entry per day for all of June is the target, and I'm getting there steadily, reliably, sleepily.
Another early entry into the archives! I dubiously present THE PRIVET HEDGE OF INSOMNIA: LINK #movies #meganfox #insomnia
And so to sleep, with two days archiving conquered. This means I am still a week behind, but at least the days match now. Tomorrow is Saturday. I am confident of this.
Goodnight all, see you tomorrow. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
It's going to play hell with the Feng Shui in my bedroom. I had a bed, a mirror, some bookshelves, a TV, a desk and chair, and a vase of flowers. All placed perfectly, a veritable shrine to Balance and Harmony.
But now I have the bigger bed? Something has to go.
I can't do without the flowers, so maybe I'll put the mirror on the ceiling and drag the booksheves out onto the landing.
Or stand the bed on end and sleep in the chair?
In fact, there may be no option but to move the window.
What's a metrosexual guy to do?
The following bargains (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed between Thursday 18 June and Friday 19 June 2009. Yes indeed, I've finally done it; two for the price of one. Remember to keep your receipt and demand your money back tomorrow.
The path into the day on Twitter is gentle, happy, and (for once) surprisingly easy to follow. I am wary of this; it's beyond the edge of the map, marked Here Be Dragons.
Fishoutofsea: May the force be with you. Huzzah.
As I mentioned in a blog a long time ago, it was never cool to say "May the Force Be With You". But I'm 40 and have never heard of post-modern irony. I reply as best I can, and in character just to be on the safe side.
Mornings. Fatigue. Thursdays. Boredom. These things to the Dark Side lead. Yes. Hmmm.
Other points of view are available, of course. These may be more "reality challenged". For example:
idifficult: Another day in work, pushing blancmange up a steep rocky slope using a blowtorch and with one leg tied behind my back.
You got it easy, lad. I'm a Scorpio; I'll have been murdered by lunchtime. Perhaps several times. It's a terrible burden.
And once again, idifficult proves what you can do online in just a few minutes.
idifficult: I've taken out life insurance on you. Hoping to win big.
I want a piece of that action; better odds than the Lottery.
I am suddenly distracted; I just noticed that eolistpetite has a blog! And a very good blog it is too, full of quirky little tales and some downright spooky stuff. I mention this to idifficult, but he's put his "evil genius" outfit on, complete with bald wig and monacle.
idifficult: The black swivel chair, the white cat, the bad accent, the pool of piranha. I know how things should be done. Standards slip.
You are a man of wit and discretion. Evil geniuses aren't what they used to be. And menacing henchmen? Virtually a lost art.
idifficult: Glad to see you're back and the tux is impeccable. I have been busy cloning myself, but with different amounts of beard.
I thought so. I had to kill two of you yesterday.
idifficult: My six clones vary from goatee to Osama's Bed Linen.
I eliminated a Kirk Hemmett and a Jimmy Hill. So, Numbers 2 and 5?
idifficult: You killed three henchmen on our last encounter. DO YOU THINK THEY COME IN SIX-PACKS?!
As the day draws to a close, I withdraw to create my daily blog entry. It's a tricky little number, full of philosophy, latin, aeroplanes and a really good pun that confounds the mighty Fishoutofsea.
I salute the genius of idifficult as I announce my new blog entry - THE WORD IS AARDVARK: LINK
On the following morning, it's déjà vu all over again. A sleek silver bullet rushes past me with barely a wave. I'd settle for breakfast first occasionally. Coffee, even.
Fishoutofsea: You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy to save you from your old ways.
How did you know? His name was Pedro; it was a long, hot summer.
Such simple thoughts, such innocence expressed. It cannot last.
idifficult: "You sit there in your heartache?" - no, no, that's a cardboard box...
Yes, but in your mind it's The Alamo.
eolistpetite: there are no beautiful boys. tell her/him to stop waiting.
idifficult: You've been quiet, eolistpetite. There I was a' tweeting by myself!
Squawking more like. That box has gone to your head.
The conversation heads sideways as the S.S.Fishy pulls hard a' port. We're all expecting it and are braced for impact. I pull off a heroic slide with nary a wobble.
Fishoutofsea: Mmmm leftover enchiladas
Isn't that a hairless Mexican dog? Is there good eating on one? Hardly enough for a burger!
With that said, I once again promote my blog. The latest entry contains a reference to Fishoutofsea as a "renegade crop duster". As a landlocked fish from the Midwest, this tickles her; I'm just pleased she read it with a smile on her face. I don't like to mess with Yoof; they're so damned fickle.
Fishoutofsea: A renegade crop duster? Where do I apply for that?
You don't apply. Just steal the plane. Seriously.
Fishoutofsea: I WILL
Hmm. Suddenly, I regret the advice; I hope the local farms are insured. I have visions of Fishy giggling insanely as she buzzes downtown Smallville in a Piper Pawnee, scattering rainbow Skittles as she goes.
Fishoutofsea: And your comment about being doggedly Sirius was so humorous I didn't have a comeback
This is another blog reference, and surely it can't be right; she's young and cool and hip and...
*Indigo does an uncool victory dance*
There's no time for these kinds of shennanigans, though. The moveable feast has moved on.
Fishoutofsea: We've become a white elephant and I don't want to be an elephant
Fear not; you're far more like a marlin or a barracuda.
She's unconvinced; it reads like a compliment, but could easily be a slur in a poor disguise. Is this revenge on my part?
Fishoutofsea: Yay?
Hell, yes; sleek, silver bullets, sunlight dancing on them. Fast and dangerous, masters of their own fishy destiny.
Fishoutofsea: Exactly. That's why I love fish.
I think perhaps this is why I love the sea so much. It's big, deep and scary but there's no roads, no houses, no jobs, no debt, and no trouble except for occasional schools of delinquent mullet. No boundaries. A fish is free. Even a big one, like that shark with the cello. I'll swim with him one day, and dive below him to make him think I'm going to attack.
You can mess with 'em, oh yes.
It sounds like idifficult is still coming to terms with the day. His solution is intriguing, however. And on any day, you have to love a Shakespearean plot.
idifficult: Friday: Let slip the Dogs of War. Or at least the Puppies of Panic. Let's nail this one and go home.
The Dogs of War? Not in the house, you don't, young man. Not again. I'm not having another weekend scrubbing carpets.
Excuse me; I'm channelling the spirit of my mother. This surprises me, as she's expecting me over for dinner tomorrow.
Fishoutofsea: Done watching ****ed-up videos and skimming IndigoWrath's blog for the time being. Goodnight all <3
Colourful metaphors aside; "SKIMMING"?! NOOOOOOOOOOOO! You gotta reeeeead them! I play it cool.
And to you. Sleep well, and dream of the dark glorious depths. But beware, idifficult lurks there.
He does; I wake up screaming, kicking my legs. I think in his mind he's some deadly lured Angler Fish, attracting tasty aquatic pizzas into range with his tempting luminescence.
By now, the sun is sliding away, and a wise tiny friend is feeling introspective. It suits her, though I remember her more vividly clinging onto the Mustang's dashboard and squealing like a cheerleader as we took the hairpin bends on the clifftop sections of Highway One in California. She did not travel well.
eolistpetite: sometimes i just sits and thinks and sometimes i just sits and sometimes i actually do something productive.
And sometimes darlin', you just sits and looks purty =)
This is wonderfully true. One day soon I'll gather photos of all of us and show everyone what an array of hot tasty treats we are. Me, eolistpetite, idifficult, Fishoutofsea and the jewel in the crown, Gumley. It'll be a Sunday project. Not this week though; scuba diving beckons. No shark baiting yet; that's the advanced class.
As my final act for the day, I crystallise my thoughts into yet another blog entry, a tightly packed offering, brimming with film stars, horoscopes and me playing a tuba in a loud shirt. I must confess I'm pleased with how it's all going; one blog entry per day for all of June is the target, and I'm getting there steadily, reliably, sleepily.
Another early entry into the archives! I dubiously present THE PRIVET HEDGE OF INSOMNIA: LINK #movies #meganfox #insomnia
And so to sleep, with two days archiving conquered. This means I am still a week behind, but at least the days match now. Tomorrow is Saturday. I am confident of this.
Goodnight all, see you tomorrow. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Mission Log: Spy Another Day
People grumble to me that the adventures of "Roth. Indigo Roth" are hard to follow. I have some sympathy with that point of view; they're hard to write.
So, in place of today's Twitter archive, and as an aide savoir to folks who want to catch up on Roth without all that pesky blog-combing, here is the entirety of his first adventure.
You lucky devils. Enjoy.
Indigo
SPY ANOTHER DAY
ACT ONE - LONDON
My Government work is intrusive. Fear and Intrigue lurk in every shadow; if they're still here tonight they'll probably expect dinner.
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.
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?
ACT TWO - CAIRO
"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 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's back on. No HALO jump this time; I'll 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.
They overnighted me to Cairo in the end. The sense of history here is awesome. I'm awaiting my Contact at Starbucks in the Great Pyramid.
Codeword problems. Contact hissed DAISIES ARE SUMMER BLOOMS; I expected THE CUCKOOS ARE FLYING SOUTH. Red faces. We'll try again in an hour.
Codeword problem solved; we settled on CHICKENS NEVER WALK BACKWARDS followed by one verse of SHE'LL BE COMING ROUND THE MOUNTAIN.
The Contact looks like my chiropodist. In fact, it IS my chiropodist; no wonder I still have problems with my arches. Bloody moonlighter.
ACT THREE - BOLIVIA
Adios Cairo; I was snatched last night by a Bolivian death squad. They asked if I could spare them some guns; I think they were outsourced.
The Deathsquad leader is Cruz. Excellent henchman material; tall, menacing, with a chrome nose. I hope Mr. Big has also made an effort.
We reached Bolivia by hot air balloon. I was hogtied in First Class. No olive in my dry martini; I guess we're all feeling The Crunch.
Mr. Big greeted us. Short, tanned, gleaming teeth, immaculately dressed, charming. French. Well, evil geniuses NEED that fatal flaw...
Mr. Big was apologetic; he wasn't ready for me. The piranhas were delayed, the volcano base was behind schedule. We've pencilled in 2011.
Flying back to London. Cruz beat me savagely before I left; "a memento from La Paz, Mr. Roth". He'll go far. The bandages are itchy.
EPILOGUE
The Admiral's lackey Bing Heston drops by earlier with a message. His news is never good; he's like a tax demand that married an obituary.
The Admiral would like to see me in Australia. He's not there, he just wants to see ME there; wedgie-ing the King of Spain still haunts me.
That brings Roth's first adventure to a close. A lovely warm up, a jog round the block. Don't worry, Cruz will be back; he's to good to waste. And Bing Heston? Sadly, yes; I despise him already and that's a good sign. But Mr. Big? Well, he served his purpose as a one-dimensional wet Frenchman; for now, I've no plans.
But Never Say Never, eh?
There are huge adventures to come. Ooh, I feel the inevitable teaser coming on.
INDIGO ROTH WILL RETURN IN "DR. WANG"
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
So, in place of today's Twitter archive, and as an aide savoir to folks who want to catch up on Roth without all that pesky blog-combing, here is the entirety of his first adventure.
You lucky devils. Enjoy.
Indigo
SPY ANOTHER DAY
ACT ONE - LONDON
My Government work is intrusive. Fear and Intrigue lurk in every shadow; if they're still here tonight they'll probably expect dinner.
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.
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?
ACT TWO - CAIRO
"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 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's back on. No HALO jump this time; I'll 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.
They overnighted me to Cairo in the end. The sense of history here is awesome. I'm awaiting my Contact at Starbucks in the Great Pyramid.
Codeword problems. Contact hissed DAISIES ARE SUMMER BLOOMS; I expected THE CUCKOOS ARE FLYING SOUTH. Red faces. We'll try again in an hour.
Codeword problem solved; we settled on CHICKENS NEVER WALK BACKWARDS followed by one verse of SHE'LL BE COMING ROUND THE MOUNTAIN.
The Contact looks like my chiropodist. In fact, it IS my chiropodist; no wonder I still have problems with my arches. Bloody moonlighter.
ACT THREE - BOLIVIA
Adios Cairo; I was snatched last night by a Bolivian death squad. They asked if I could spare them some guns; I think they were outsourced.
The Deathsquad leader is Cruz. Excellent henchman material; tall, menacing, with a chrome nose. I hope Mr. Big has also made an effort.
We reached Bolivia by hot air balloon. I was hogtied in First Class. No olive in my dry martini; I guess we're all feeling The Crunch.
Mr. Big greeted us. Short, tanned, gleaming teeth, immaculately dressed, charming. French. Well, evil geniuses NEED that fatal flaw...
Mr. Big was apologetic; he wasn't ready for me. The piranhas were delayed, the volcano base was behind schedule. We've pencilled in 2011.
Flying back to London. Cruz beat me savagely before I left; "a memento from La Paz, Mr. Roth". He'll go far. The bandages are itchy.
EPILOGUE
The Admiral's lackey Bing Heston drops by earlier with a message. His news is never good; he's like a tax demand that married an obituary.
The Admiral would like to see me in Australia. He's not there, he just wants to see ME there; wedgie-ing the King of Spain still haunts me.
That brings Roth's first adventure to a close. A lovely warm up, a jog round the block. Don't worry, Cruz will be back; he's to good to waste. And Bing Heston? Sadly, yes; I despise him already and that's a good sign. But Mr. Big? Well, he served his purpose as a one-dimensional wet Frenchman; for now, I've no plans.
But Never Say Never, eh?
There are huge adventures to come. Ooh, I feel the inevitable teaser coming on.
INDIGO ROTH WILL RETURN IN "DR. WANG"
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Armed Robbery with Rhubarb
If scientists ruled the world, we would gather the greatest minds together in one place with infinite resources, and through rigorous empirical process we would unlock the secrets of the universe.
If athletes ruled the world, we would all strive for physical perfection, and through good health and exercise and noble competition, we would rise above our maladies and rid ourselves of disease and hunger.
If artists ruled the world, we would all feel free to express ourselves in words, pictures, sculpture and music, and through our love of all such things we would see the beauty in the hearts of every person and love them in return.
But if I ruled the world, there would be no indigestion.
The following framents of my day (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Wednesday 17 June, 2009. I'm sure you know by now, but if there's a name in front of it, it was said by someone else. Hey, bear with me; there's new folk here every day. Honestly.
It's a good day; I make a new friend. After smiling myself silly over a blog called Provocation on Mine(d) in the morning, I then went to find its author RebeccaHasWrote on Twitter in the afternoon. Hmmm. Maybe it was the other way round; my notes are vague. Either way, I'm glad I did. Rebecca's blog entries are thoughtful, funny and to-the-point.
RebeccaHasWrote: Goodmorning Twitterverse~ Has anyone been able to get the Tweetdeck update/download to work? My keeps trying but ends in error
TweetDeck is a Client application for your Mac/PC/phone that gives you a configurable way of working with tweets and profiles. You use Tweetdeck, and Tweetdeck talks to Twitter on your behalf. I gave it a go, but it didn't suit my peculiar tastes. I know plenty of folks who can't live without it though. Anyway, I extend Rebecca some courteous, well-intentioned advice to try and help her along.
Wish I could help on this one. Sometimes the ghost is just in the machine; we may need to sacrifice a chicken to fix it.
In fact, I heard idifficult sharpening his hammers that morning; he's a TweetDeck fan, so perhaps he was having the same trouble? Anyway, my suggestion is clearly a winner:
RebeccaHasWrote: I'm about to sacrifice a hefty chicken to make this application work properly. Still working on it...
I admire her open-mindedness, and keep my fingers crossed for success. I wonder if she has the right head-dress? Ah well, too late to ask now. At that point, a figure dressed as a Bedouin nomad strolls past, tossing sand in front of him from a bucket.
idifficult: applying for a Twitter verified account. I'm very worried I might be someone else.
We're worried that you're for real.
I was tickled by this new Twitter feature when it was introduced. Verified Accounts came about because people were setting themselves up on Twitter and pretending to be celebs. Some did it out of a sense of fun, but others did it to accumulate followers for spam purposes. Whatever the motivation, the celebs didn't like it much. And as a genuine celeb might have hundreds of thousand of followers, they have a some influence with Twitter's owners. Voilà! Verified Accounts. Twitter takes pains to confirm the identify of an "important" celeb, and probably kicks all the imposters off at the same time.
Ironically, the celebs then often employ a ghost-writer to tweet on their behalf.
idifficult: Am beta testing Wednesday. Very unsure if it will be an improvement on Tuesday.
No matter how much they test it, I bet it screws with lunchtime. Again.
It's always nice when someone pats you on the back and says they like something you wrote.
idifficult: Indigo's latest epic: PAINT IT CHEWING GUM WHITE: LINK - Made me wee my star spangled knickers.
I think him kindly, and quietly hope that everyone can remember my earlier blog entry about Star Spangled Underpants; this all sounds unnecessarily lavatorial otherwise. He continues:
idifficult: Lemon and coriander flavour. Damn, I picked up a packet of chicken sauce not Lemsip cold and flu remedy.
I mistook Crack for Aspirin once. There were some side effects: headache, palpitations and holding up a local post office with a stick of rhubarb.
I'm on a roll with the story of Her Majesty's finest secret agent. Indigo Roth is at the casino, dressed to kill, and is staring down the evil genius Dr. Juju Wang. The stakes are high, the tension rising, the conclusion of the story unlikely.
We play a few hands of baccarat. I take him for thirty grand, and hint I know his evil plan. Works like a charm; he invites me to dinner.
I arrive at midday at Dr. Wang's house, PALOMINO. He's delighted to see me and a gracious host; I feel far more welcome here than at home.
PALOMINO is a tasteful, five-star villa: sauna; solarium; gym; home cinema; dock; shark pool. They should invent a sixth star just for that.
Dr. Wang insists we should put our checkered past behind us. He is a reformed man, he tells me: no more world domination; no more piranhas.
Our lunch is interrupted by a henchman. Good grief, it's Cruz! Not seen him since Bolivia; his new chrome ear complements his nose well.
I should step in here and mention that Cruz was introduced in the first of Roth's adventures. It was a quiet little outing to Bolivia, but the man with the chrome nose made a big impression. As men like that do. Besides, I am lazy; why invent a new henchman when there's a perfectly good one laying about?
Cruz confirms a delivery; a crate of diamonds and a dozen giant Tesla coils. Wang is embarrassed. A hobby, he assures me, nothing more.
Note to self: I really must look up Tesla coils before I write any more. It might be relevant!
[GEEK ZONE: Nikola Tesla was a hugely important scientist and inventor. He is credited with inventing radio, AC electricity and the wireless transmission of electricity. You may remember a semi-fictionalised version of him played by David Bowie in the Jackman/Bale flick The Prestige? Anyway, he also invented the Tesla coil. Cool!]
Moving on, I do an odd thing; I post a link to something I feel passionately about. It's not a cause, it's just music, but it feels a bit like spamming followers. However, it costs them nothing, I get nothing, and amazingly it's legal! It may even lift their day, so I think that's ok; I'm confident I will sleep well, my conscience clear.
If you do nothing else today, visit the Marillion page on iLike and play the video for BEAUTIFUL. Nothing in it for me. LINK
Rebecca pops up a final time for the day. There's no clue as to the health of the chicken. That said, I'm pretty sure I heard someone scream "Clear!" earlier, so perhaps the defibrillator worked on TweetDeck before the feathers flew.
RebeccaHasWrote: Ok, I'm off for some salmon fishing for a few days. Hold the twitter fort down while I'm gone
Did I say final time for the day? I meant "week". Damn, I'm jealous. I remember fishing with my dad as a kid, and though I really didn't have the patience for it, the excitedment of catching a "big" fish (all of a pound) stayed with me. This memory was happily stirred when I read Rebecca's blog entry about fishing.
All this excitement has me fired up. I rattle off a curious "little" blog entry involving car noises, bad French translation, Death, and the theft of expensive neck ties by someone who really should know better:
I am surprisingly upbeat about today's epic - LOCAL LION UNLOCKS WARDROBE: LINK #lion #tigers #bears #ohmy
And that, as they say, is that.
Tomorrow beckons, and thankfully there's time for some sleep too.
Sometimes it all dovetails perfectly.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
If athletes ruled the world, we would all strive for physical perfection, and through good health and exercise and noble competition, we would rise above our maladies and rid ourselves of disease and hunger.
If artists ruled the world, we would all feel free to express ourselves in words, pictures, sculpture and music, and through our love of all such things we would see the beauty in the hearts of every person and love them in return.
But if I ruled the world, there would be no indigestion.
The following framents of my day (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Wednesday 17 June, 2009. I'm sure you know by now, but if there's a name in front of it, it was said by someone else. Hey, bear with me; there's new folk here every day. Honestly.
It's a good day; I make a new friend. After smiling myself silly over a blog called Provocation on Mine(d) in the morning, I then went to find its author RebeccaHasWrote on Twitter in the afternoon. Hmmm. Maybe it was the other way round; my notes are vague. Either way, I'm glad I did. Rebecca's blog entries are thoughtful, funny and to-the-point.
RebeccaHasWrote: Goodmorning Twitterverse~ Has anyone been able to get the Tweetdeck update/download to work? My keeps trying but ends in error
TweetDeck is a Client application for your Mac/PC/phone that gives you a configurable way of working with tweets and profiles. You use Tweetdeck, and Tweetdeck talks to Twitter on your behalf. I gave it a go, but it didn't suit my peculiar tastes. I know plenty of folks who can't live without it though. Anyway, I extend Rebecca some courteous, well-intentioned advice to try and help her along.
Wish I could help on this one. Sometimes the ghost is just in the machine; we may need to sacrifice a chicken to fix it.
In fact, I heard idifficult sharpening his hammers that morning; he's a TweetDeck fan, so perhaps he was having the same trouble? Anyway, my suggestion is clearly a winner:
RebeccaHasWrote: I'm about to sacrifice a hefty chicken to make this application work properly. Still working on it...
I admire her open-mindedness, and keep my fingers crossed for success. I wonder if she has the right head-dress? Ah well, too late to ask now. At that point, a figure dressed as a Bedouin nomad strolls past, tossing sand in front of him from a bucket.
idifficult: applying for a Twitter verified account. I'm very worried I might be someone else.
We're worried that you're for real.
I was tickled by this new Twitter feature when it was introduced. Verified Accounts came about because people were setting themselves up on Twitter and pretending to be celebs. Some did it out of a sense of fun, but others did it to accumulate followers for spam purposes. Whatever the motivation, the celebs didn't like it much. And as a genuine celeb might have hundreds of thousand of followers, they have a some influence with Twitter's owners. Voilà! Verified Accounts. Twitter takes pains to confirm the identify of an "important" celeb, and probably kicks all the imposters off at the same time.
Ironically, the celebs then often employ a ghost-writer to tweet on their behalf.
idifficult: Am beta testing Wednesday. Very unsure if it will be an improvement on Tuesday.
No matter how much they test it, I bet it screws with lunchtime. Again.
It's always nice when someone pats you on the back and says they like something you wrote.
idifficult: Indigo's latest epic: PAINT IT CHEWING GUM WHITE: LINK - Made me wee my star spangled knickers.
I think him kindly, and quietly hope that everyone can remember my earlier blog entry about Star Spangled Underpants; this all sounds unnecessarily lavatorial otherwise. He continues:
idifficult: Lemon and coriander flavour. Damn, I picked up a packet of chicken sauce not Lemsip cold and flu remedy.
I mistook Crack for Aspirin once. There were some side effects: headache, palpitations and holding up a local post office with a stick of rhubarb.
I'm on a roll with the story of Her Majesty's finest secret agent. Indigo Roth is at the casino, dressed to kill, and is staring down the evil genius Dr. Juju Wang. The stakes are high, the tension rising, the conclusion of the story unlikely.
We play a few hands of baccarat. I take him for thirty grand, and hint I know his evil plan. Works like a charm; he invites me to dinner.
I arrive at midday at Dr. Wang's house, PALOMINO. He's delighted to see me and a gracious host; I feel far more welcome here than at home.
PALOMINO is a tasteful, five-star villa: sauna; solarium; gym; home cinema; dock; shark pool. They should invent a sixth star just for that.
Dr. Wang insists we should put our checkered past behind us. He is a reformed man, he tells me: no more world domination; no more piranhas.
Our lunch is interrupted by a henchman. Good grief, it's Cruz! Not seen him since Bolivia; his new chrome ear complements his nose well.
I should step in here and mention that Cruz was introduced in the first of Roth's adventures. It was a quiet little outing to Bolivia, but the man with the chrome nose made a big impression. As men like that do. Besides, I am lazy; why invent a new henchman when there's a perfectly good one laying about?
Cruz confirms a delivery; a crate of diamonds and a dozen giant Tesla coils. Wang is embarrassed. A hobby, he assures me, nothing more.
Note to self: I really must look up Tesla coils before I write any more. It might be relevant!
[GEEK ZONE: Nikola Tesla was a hugely important scientist and inventor. He is credited with inventing radio, AC electricity and the wireless transmission of electricity. You may remember a semi-fictionalised version of him played by David Bowie in the Jackman/Bale flick The Prestige? Anyway, he also invented the Tesla coil. Cool!]
Moving on, I do an odd thing; I post a link to something I feel passionately about. It's not a cause, it's just music, but it feels a bit like spamming followers. However, it costs them nothing, I get nothing, and amazingly it's legal! It may even lift their day, so I think that's ok; I'm confident I will sleep well, my conscience clear.
If you do nothing else today, visit the Marillion page on iLike and play the video for BEAUTIFUL. Nothing in it for me. LINK
Rebecca pops up a final time for the day. There's no clue as to the health of the chicken. That said, I'm pretty sure I heard someone scream "Clear!" earlier, so perhaps the defibrillator worked on TweetDeck before the feathers flew.
RebeccaHasWrote: Ok, I'm off for some salmon fishing for a few days. Hold the twitter fort down while I'm gone
Did I say final time for the day? I meant "week". Damn, I'm jealous. I remember fishing with my dad as a kid, and though I really didn't have the patience for it, the excitedment of catching a "big" fish (all of a pound) stayed with me. This memory was happily stirred when I read Rebecca's blog entry about fishing.
All this excitement has me fired up. I rattle off a curious "little" blog entry involving car noises, bad French translation, Death, and the theft of expensive neck ties by someone who really should know better:
I am surprisingly upbeat about today's epic - LOCAL LION UNLOCKS WARDROBE: LINK #lion #tigers #bears #ohmy
And that, as they say, is that.
Tomorrow beckons, and thankfully there's time for some sleep too.
Sometimes it all dovetails perfectly.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
An Irrational Fear of Ladders
I often wonder what Wildebeest talk about.
They look so damned cool; all black fur and horns, standing shoulder to shoulder, gazing to the horizon, occasionally flicking a tail at a fly. And all the time talking quietly, never meeting each other's eyes.
I bet those guys can really chew the fat.
The following fistful of tweets (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Tuesday 16 June 2009. It may read like activity was light, but actually I've stripped a lot of the lighter chit-chat out. What's left are the good bits; the bits that, like good wine, travelled well. The Director's Cut.
I kick off, as I always do, with a quick scan around on Twitter. I spot my favourite Juvenile Deliberant, Fishoutofsea. Damn, I hope that's as funny on paper as it is in my head. I wave her a good morning, almost spilling my coffee on her in the process.
As ever, my day starts as yours ends. It's like shift workers leaving each other notes at the breakfast table
Fishoutofsea: Except I work the night shift so we really only miss each other by THIS much
It's true; tweeting in the wee hours from the States more or less lines up here. It's why idifficult has so many friends in Japan; "idifficult-san" is aligned with Tokyo time. Just ask his wife.
It's 7:15, I have a meeting at 8am. What's up with that? Stupid, stupid. I shoulda said I couldn't find a room. #implausible.
Fishoutofsea: Suckorz xD Should've planned ahead ;D
OBJECTION! Your honour, this testimony is irrelevant!
OVERRULED! Bear with me, this is going somewhere. Imagine this is some glorious Samuel Beckett play. I'll even slip some Sam in to keep you sweet. *ahem*
It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter.
Hell yeah, I can quote that without a single cut-and-paste error. I may even throw a few more in later for good measure. I continue:
Yes indeed. Had to go back home to get my phone too. Now have ten minutes for brekkie!
And I still left my damned media player behind. I hate it when I do that, perhaps because it happens so often. If I was a boffin, they'd say I was "absent minded" and think it was endearing. But being me, I'm just "forgetful" and annoying.
Gumley: I went to a Brekkie convention once, a proper one where you had to get around the whole experience before 11am.
It wasn't one of those Star Brek conventions, was it? Those Brekkies are weird. Dressing up like Tony Tiger and Lucky Charms!
I went to a Star Trek convention years back. Lovely folks, very friendly. But damn, they were totally bonkers.
Gumley: Nestle baked me a shredded wheat costume which I foolishly ate thoughout the morning. A bad day to go "commando".
eolistpetite: right. time for breakfast. thanks to Gumley i keep thinking of shredded wheat.
Me too. I'm all hungry for cereal now. Where's my box of Chilli-Frosted Colon Blow?
This is actually one of idifficult's creations. Right before he came up with virtually fat-free lard. It's genius; totally clean insides, and the milk helps the burn. We slide sideways into horoscopes; I imagine the blogging world heaving a sigh of relief.
Fishoutofsea: My fortune telling skills are not so hot. But just in case, avoid anyone with a axe today. It just might be aimed for you
That'll be idifficult with the axe. He's hunting wild pizza amongst the commuters. He loves it when they run.
idifficult: My axe vs your blunderbuss. What fun we had.
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
Scorpio: "The balloons at your desk are boobytraps. Plan for the worst, hope for a vest. Avoid axes today." Oh, Fishoutofsea was right.
Fishoutofsea: Yay!
I'm pretty sure I mentioned eolistpetite's haunted basement. It's a spooky place; voices, doors shutting, and "orbs" in photos of it. Not as bad as the photo I took in the woods in California, mind; dozens of cell-like orbs in broad daylight. Just like another photo posted recently by another guy I'd never met. Of the same tree. That was plain freaky.
eolistpetite: i have a telephone line to install and the connections are in the 'ghost room' anybody wanna help?
Well... I'd LOVE to help, obviously... but...
eolistpetite: it's your fear of ladders, right?
You have LADDERS as well?! How do you sleep at night with all those RUNGS about?!
I hide under my desk, and a mountain of work collapses on top of me. Hours later, after digging myself out, I head home. My final determined act of the day is to continue the dubious adventures of Roth. Indigo Roth.
Dr. Wang pretends to not know me so that I can introduce myself. The name's Roth. Indigo Roth. This is how The Game is played by Gentlemen.
[GEEK ZONE: Fans of the Bond movies may see aspects of Thunderball here, especially the simple but strategic card game, baccarat. What can I tell you? It's a loving pastiche of many books and movies. Besides, I've never been to that sort of casino.]
I will return Dr. Wang's courtesy later; after I'm captured I'll listen to his mad plan and ask all the obvious questions. It's expected.
I notice that Dr. Wang is alone; there's no exotic girlfriend. This is an unexpected snag. Who else can I sweet-talking into betraying him?
He introduces me to his new assistant, Helga Cribbage. She's plain, badly dressed, and has body odour. And a lesbian. He's daring me to try.
[GEEK ZONE: Did you realise Pussy Galore from Goldfinger was a lesbian? I never did from the movie. But go read the book (you have my sympathy) and then watch the movie again. It's all there.]
We play a few hands of baccarat. I take him for thirty grand, and hint I know his evil plan. Works like a charm; he invites me to dinner.
Starling really should be here taking notes. I hear through channels that he ran into big trouble at the docks. I'm pleased he's learning.
I love the idea that these two old warhorses are playing out an an elaborate, gentlemanly game that they both know will ultimately end in Juju Wang's defeat by his nemesis, Roth. Perhaps Wang is not evil; perhaps he is lonely? I wonder what he'd do if he won?
Perhaps this tale may yet yield some surprises.
Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Oh yeah.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
They look so damned cool; all black fur and horns, standing shoulder to shoulder, gazing to the horizon, occasionally flicking a tail at a fly. And all the time talking quietly, never meeting each other's eyes.
I bet those guys can really chew the fat.
The following fistful of tweets (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Tuesday 16 June 2009. It may read like activity was light, but actually I've stripped a lot of the lighter chit-chat out. What's left are the good bits; the bits that, like good wine, travelled well. The Director's Cut.
I kick off, as I always do, with a quick scan around on Twitter. I spot my favourite Juvenile Deliberant, Fishoutofsea. Damn, I hope that's as funny on paper as it is in my head. I wave her a good morning, almost spilling my coffee on her in the process.
As ever, my day starts as yours ends. It's like shift workers leaving each other notes at the breakfast table
Fishoutofsea: Except I work the night shift so we really only miss each other by THIS much
It's true; tweeting in the wee hours from the States more or less lines up here. It's why idifficult has so many friends in Japan; "idifficult-san" is aligned with Tokyo time. Just ask his wife.
It's 7:15, I have a meeting at 8am. What's up with that? Stupid, stupid. I shoulda said I couldn't find a room. #implausible.
Fishoutofsea: Suckorz xD Should've planned ahead ;D
OBJECTION! Your honour, this testimony is irrelevant!
OVERRULED! Bear with me, this is going somewhere. Imagine this is some glorious Samuel Beckett play. I'll even slip some Sam in to keep you sweet. *ahem*
It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter.
Hell yeah, I can quote that without a single cut-and-paste error. I may even throw a few more in later for good measure. I continue:
Yes indeed. Had to go back home to get my phone too. Now have ten minutes for brekkie!
And I still left my damned media player behind. I hate it when I do that, perhaps because it happens so often. If I was a boffin, they'd say I was "absent minded" and think it was endearing. But being me, I'm just "forgetful" and annoying.
Gumley: I went to a Brekkie convention once, a proper one where you had to get around the whole experience before 11am.
It wasn't one of those Star Brek conventions, was it? Those Brekkies are weird. Dressing up like Tony Tiger and Lucky Charms!
I went to a Star Trek convention years back. Lovely folks, very friendly. But damn, they were totally bonkers.
Gumley: Nestle baked me a shredded wheat costume which I foolishly ate thoughout the morning. A bad day to go "commando".
eolistpetite: right. time for breakfast. thanks to Gumley i keep thinking of shredded wheat.
Me too. I'm all hungry for cereal now. Where's my box of Chilli-Frosted Colon Blow?
This is actually one of idifficult's creations. Right before he came up with virtually fat-free lard. It's genius; totally clean insides, and the milk helps the burn. We slide sideways into horoscopes; I imagine the blogging world heaving a sigh of relief.
Fishoutofsea: My fortune telling skills are not so hot. But just in case, avoid anyone with a axe today. It just might be aimed for you
That'll be idifficult with the axe. He's hunting wild pizza amongst the commuters. He loves it when they run.
idifficult: My axe vs your blunderbuss. What fun we had.
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
Scorpio: "The balloons at your desk are boobytraps. Plan for the worst, hope for a vest. Avoid axes today." Oh, Fishoutofsea was right.
Fishoutofsea: Yay!
I'm pretty sure I mentioned eolistpetite's haunted basement. It's a spooky place; voices, doors shutting, and "orbs" in photos of it. Not as bad as the photo I took in the woods in California, mind; dozens of cell-like orbs in broad daylight. Just like another photo posted recently by another guy I'd never met. Of the same tree. That was plain freaky.
eolistpetite: i have a telephone line to install and the connections are in the 'ghost room' anybody wanna help?
Well... I'd LOVE to help, obviously... but...
eolistpetite: it's your fear of ladders, right?
You have LADDERS as well?! How do you sleep at night with all those RUNGS about?!
I hide under my desk, and a mountain of work collapses on top of me. Hours later, after digging myself out, I head home. My final determined act of the day is to continue the dubious adventures of Roth. Indigo Roth.
Dr. Wang pretends to not know me so that I can introduce myself. The name's Roth. Indigo Roth. This is how The Game is played by Gentlemen.
[GEEK ZONE: Fans of the Bond movies may see aspects of Thunderball here, especially the simple but strategic card game, baccarat. What can I tell you? It's a loving pastiche of many books and movies. Besides, I've never been to that sort of casino.]
I will return Dr. Wang's courtesy later; after I'm captured I'll listen to his mad plan and ask all the obvious questions. It's expected.
I notice that Dr. Wang is alone; there's no exotic girlfriend. This is an unexpected snag. Who else can I sweet-talking into betraying him?
He introduces me to his new assistant, Helga Cribbage. She's plain, badly dressed, and has body odour. And a lesbian. He's daring me to try.
[GEEK ZONE: Did you realise Pussy Galore from Goldfinger was a lesbian? I never did from the movie. But go read the book (you have my sympathy) and then watch the movie again. It's all there.]
We play a few hands of baccarat. I take him for thirty grand, and hint I know his evil plan. Works like a charm; he invites me to dinner.
Starling really should be here taking notes. I hear through channels that he ran into big trouble at the docks. I'm pleased he's learning.
I love the idea that these two old warhorses are playing out an an elaborate, gentlemanly game that they both know will ultimately end in Juju Wang's defeat by his nemesis, Roth. Perhaps Wang is not evil; perhaps he is lonely? I wonder what he'd do if he won?
Perhaps this tale may yet yield some surprises.
Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Oh yeah.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Spiced Apricot and Anchovy
My neighbourhood is very quiet at midnight. It's a wonderfully transitional time of day, a calm between storms.
The yobs who were burning a car outside earlier have finished and gone home to bed. I suppose they have school tomorrow.
And the birds haven't quite started tweeting yet. They kick off early round here. They usually wait til I'm asleep, and just enjoying my first dream. This is invariably weird, and I wake from it with a start, confused. I've only been asleep for twenty minutes, when I hear their pre-dawn chorus, my brain tells me it's almost time to get up.
But at midnight, I find the silence I've been looking for all day.
Ten deep breaths; not a sound, not even a car.
Same time tomorrow?
The following rough gems (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Monday 15 June 2009. If there's a name before it, I didn't say it; you can prove nothing. The plain blue ones are fair game. Do your worst.
As I prise open my lids and stare blearily at the screen, it's obvious they've started on Twitter without me. All the usual suspects are here; idifficult, eolistpetite, Fishoutofsea. I love these guys, but right now I curse them for being more awake and amusing than I am.
idifficult: Am gutted. I have followers who have more followers than me and haven't tweeted once. Talk about know you're a nobody.
idifficult: I'm so random even porn-bots don't follow me. Banana, hairnets, catfood, baboons, kumquat, flange.
I am tired of spambots too; I even wrote about it yesterday. Though from the point of view of Monday 15 June, that was in the future. Erm. Hang on. Let me get this straight; John Connor sent Kyle Rees back through time...
Apropos of nothing, the next tweet squawks into view. It is the sparkling, piscine magnificence of the most landlocked fish on the planet.
Fishoutofsea: "I can do anything~ *NAME THAT MOVIE*"
Good grief, that's kinda broad. I try my best.
Brody to Hooper in Jaws? "I can do anything. I'm the chief of police."?
This is a guess. It's totally accurate, of course, but who knows what the Mistress of Mystery had in mind. Actually, my first thought was David Lynch’s BLUE VELVET, but I don’t think Dennis Hopper said he could “do anything". I forget what it was. Well, I won't repeat it here anyway; the Pottymouth Police are listening.
Fishoutofsea: Nope! It has a golden retriever named Genevieve in it too. Little girls that speak french. Is that helpful?
It is, but I’m beaten to the punch. She's tiny, but she must have been lurking, dammit.
eolistpetite: "Madeleine"
Fishoutofsea: Yep Yep. You win! A million gold stars to you!
D'OH! I love stars! That's just mean; I was right, dammit! I think idifficult feels similarly slighted and backs me up:
idifficult: Fix!!!
Fishoutofsea: How could it have possibly be fixed? ;D
idifficult: it couldn't, but I'm mad you know :-) Was it Terminator 3?
Fishoutofsea: Nope. Not even close
Someone says this next bit. My notes don't say who. It must have been The Unknown Tweeter. I visited the grave recently; the headstone had a spam avatar on it. It was hard to make the carved picture out, but I swear it looked like Britney. Poor lass, she must be tired by now. And full.
Monday is as Monday does. Every problem a ballbreaker. Every new follower a spambot. Every opportunity a millstone in disguise.
This is bad news to me; 10am, and I should be at work.
*Indigo sits blearily reading* It's MONDAY? You're kidding. I have to go to WORK now? eolistpetite, idifficult, Fishoutofsea I need backup.
idifficult: I'm right behind you. Hiding.
eolistpetite: and i think i'm right behind him. he hides well.
I feel beaten down already. Finally, after much baiting, I feel I can join in again.
idifficult: Every silver lining has a cloud. Even the soupbot is doing a flavour I don't like.
Not spiced apricot and anchovy again?
He suffers from pornbots, spambots and soupbots. I'd explain, but it wouldn't help. But hark, what light from yonder duvet breaks? It is my base Emotion, and it's messing with my head. Gosh, maybe that's Hamlet? No, hang on, that's "neither a burrower or a blender be." God bless my classical education.
Apathy tells me that the bed is still warm. That the world won't end if I go back to sleep. It all sounds reasonable; can I trust her?
Fishoutofsea: Monday, monday. It's here to stay. Sometimes it just works out that way
Good grief, it's a bit early for Sixties San Francisco kitsch, but still:
Is that The Mamas and Papas? It sounds like wisdom. COFFEE. IS. NEEDED.
Inspiration arrives. Ladies, hold onto your hearts. He's here. For one night only. Put your hands together for Gumley!
Gumley: Monday is super dandy so far, lovely ride in, lots of work done, lunch on the sun, life is groovy!
Oh, to be young and in love. I do remember, though I had to dump the memories of some very heavy university courses so that I could hang onto it. Comparitive Programming Paradigms or First Kiss? It's easy if you think about it.
idifficult: Gumley, please check in for re-adjustment. I believe Roth has the baseball bat.
I could never do that to the Kettle Chips poster child.
Gumley: Avoided Roth's bat by pointing out it wasn't Gov issue, so any attempt at "realignment" would not be covered by his insurance
The ice floe is sliding sideways and cracking under my feet. Still, I like a challenge.
Sir, I don't even own a bat. I believe it was idifficult who had to hastily eat one when he was last pulled over by the cops. With no salt!
idifficult: Of course you own a bat. Turn the watch dial left for "bat" or right for a "blancmange"
Ah, spy-toy chat. He's right of course, but I'm admitting nothing.
That's the old model. Left is the ejector seat now. Which is handy.
This prompts me to post a few more despatches from Roth's latest mission. He's in the Bahamas with the uber-annoying agent Jack Starling. They're on the trail of evil genius Dr. Juju Wang.
The driver says Goverment House sent him, but he's one or Dr. Wang's boys. We thank him and go along. They lie, we lie; it all evens out.
After five miles Starling pulls his gun; they fight. He drops some good puns, but kills the guy. *sigh* Save them for the ones that escape.
Starling and I split up. He'll track Dr. Wang down with technology. Silly. He'll be at the Casino. Why don't they teach the basics any more?
I dress for the Casino; white dinner suit, black bow tie, red carnation. It wouldn't do to win big while badly dressed; it would look lucky.
I play some baccarat til I find myself opposite a handsome black man in chinese evening dress. Dr. Wang, I presume? He's had some work done.
Dr. Wang pretends to not know me so that I can introduce myself. The name's Roth. Indigo Roth. This is how The Game is played by Gentlemen.
I will return Dr. Wang's courtesy later; after I'm captured I'll listen to his mad plan and ask all the obvious questions. It's expected.
Perhaps it's all been too much. After dinner, I knock off a quick blog (this is a lie, they're always cut and dried) and post a tweet about it.
On a sleepy early night, I present the blogging substitute that is DREAMS OF MY LARDER: LINK #godsavethequeen
And for that name alone, I apologise to President Obama. Not an inch further, though; that cheapskate owes me a ride on Air Force One. Nicuragua; we don't talk about it.
Bedtime, good night all. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
The yobs who were burning a car outside earlier have finished and gone home to bed. I suppose they have school tomorrow.
And the birds haven't quite started tweeting yet. They kick off early round here. They usually wait til I'm asleep, and just enjoying my first dream. This is invariably weird, and I wake from it with a start, confused. I've only been asleep for twenty minutes, when I hear their pre-dawn chorus, my brain tells me it's almost time to get up.
But at midnight, I find the silence I've been looking for all day.
Ten deep breaths; not a sound, not even a car.
Same time tomorrow?
The following rough gems (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Monday 15 June 2009. If there's a name before it, I didn't say it; you can prove nothing. The plain blue ones are fair game. Do your worst.
As I prise open my lids and stare blearily at the screen, it's obvious they've started on Twitter without me. All the usual suspects are here; idifficult, eolistpetite, Fishoutofsea. I love these guys, but right now I curse them for being more awake and amusing than I am.
idifficult: Am gutted. I have followers who have more followers than me and haven't tweeted once. Talk about know you're a nobody.
idifficult: I'm so random even porn-bots don't follow me. Banana, hairnets, catfood, baboons, kumquat, flange.
I am tired of spambots too; I even wrote about it yesterday. Though from the point of view of Monday 15 June, that was in the future. Erm. Hang on. Let me get this straight; John Connor sent Kyle Rees back through time...
Apropos of nothing, the next tweet squawks into view. It is the sparkling, piscine magnificence of the most landlocked fish on the planet.
Fishoutofsea: "I can do anything~ *NAME THAT MOVIE*"
Good grief, that's kinda broad. I try my best.
Brody to Hooper in Jaws? "I can do anything. I'm the chief of police."?
This is a guess. It's totally accurate, of course, but who knows what the Mistress of Mystery had in mind. Actually, my first thought was David Lynch’s BLUE VELVET, but I don’t think Dennis Hopper said he could “do anything". I forget what it was. Well, I won't repeat it here anyway; the Pottymouth Police are listening.
Fishoutofsea: Nope! It has a golden retriever named Genevieve in it too. Little girls that speak french. Is that helpful?
It is, but I’m beaten to the punch. She's tiny, but she must have been lurking, dammit.
eolistpetite: "Madeleine"
Fishoutofsea: Yep Yep. You win! A million gold stars to you!
D'OH! I love stars! That's just mean; I was right, dammit! I think idifficult feels similarly slighted and backs me up:
idifficult: Fix!!!
Fishoutofsea: How could it have possibly be fixed? ;D
idifficult: it couldn't, but I'm mad you know :-) Was it Terminator 3?
Fishoutofsea: Nope. Not even close
Someone says this next bit. My notes don't say who. It must have been The Unknown Tweeter. I visited the grave recently; the headstone had a spam avatar on it. It was hard to make the carved picture out, but I swear it looked like Britney. Poor lass, she must be tired by now. And full.
Monday is as Monday does. Every problem a ballbreaker. Every new follower a spambot. Every opportunity a millstone in disguise.
This is bad news to me; 10am, and I should be at work.
*Indigo sits blearily reading* It's MONDAY? You're kidding. I have to go to WORK now? eolistpetite, idifficult, Fishoutofsea I need backup.
idifficult: I'm right behind you. Hiding.
eolistpetite: and i think i'm right behind him. he hides well.
I feel beaten down already. Finally, after much baiting, I feel I can join in again.
idifficult: Every silver lining has a cloud. Even the soupbot is doing a flavour I don't like.
Not spiced apricot and anchovy again?
He suffers from pornbots, spambots and soupbots. I'd explain, but it wouldn't help. But hark, what light from yonder duvet breaks? It is my base Emotion, and it's messing with my head. Gosh, maybe that's Hamlet? No, hang on, that's "neither a burrower or a blender be." God bless my classical education.
Apathy tells me that the bed is still warm. That the world won't end if I go back to sleep. It all sounds reasonable; can I trust her?
Fishoutofsea: Monday, monday. It's here to stay. Sometimes it just works out that way
Good grief, it's a bit early for Sixties San Francisco kitsch, but still:
Is that The Mamas and Papas? It sounds like wisdom. COFFEE. IS. NEEDED.
Inspiration arrives. Ladies, hold onto your hearts. He's here. For one night only. Put your hands together for Gumley!
Gumley: Monday is super dandy so far, lovely ride in, lots of work done, lunch on the sun, life is groovy!
Oh, to be young and in love. I do remember, though I had to dump the memories of some very heavy university courses so that I could hang onto it. Comparitive Programming Paradigms or First Kiss? It's easy if you think about it.
idifficult: Gumley, please check in for re-adjustment. I believe Roth has the baseball bat.
I could never do that to the Kettle Chips poster child.
Gumley: Avoided Roth's bat by pointing out it wasn't Gov issue, so any attempt at "realignment" would not be covered by his insurance
The ice floe is sliding sideways and cracking under my feet. Still, I like a challenge.
Sir, I don't even own a bat. I believe it was idifficult who had to hastily eat one when he was last pulled over by the cops. With no salt!
idifficult: Of course you own a bat. Turn the watch dial left for "bat" or right for a "blancmange"
Ah, spy-toy chat. He's right of course, but I'm admitting nothing.
That's the old model. Left is the ejector seat now. Which is handy.
This prompts me to post a few more despatches from Roth's latest mission. He's in the Bahamas with the uber-annoying agent Jack Starling. They're on the trail of evil genius Dr. Juju Wang.
The driver says Goverment House sent him, but he's one or Dr. Wang's boys. We thank him and go along. They lie, we lie; it all evens out.
After five miles Starling pulls his gun; they fight. He drops some good puns, but kills the guy. *sigh* Save them for the ones that escape.
Starling and I split up. He'll track Dr. Wang down with technology. Silly. He'll be at the Casino. Why don't they teach the basics any more?
I dress for the Casino; white dinner suit, black bow tie, red carnation. It wouldn't do to win big while badly dressed; it would look lucky.
I play some baccarat til I find myself opposite a handsome black man in chinese evening dress. Dr. Wang, I presume? He's had some work done.
Dr. Wang pretends to not know me so that I can introduce myself. The name's Roth. Indigo Roth. This is how The Game is played by Gentlemen.
I will return Dr. Wang's courtesy later; after I'm captured I'll listen to his mad plan and ask all the obvious questions. It's expected.
Perhaps it's all been too much. After dinner, I knock off a quick blog (this is a lie, they're always cut and dried) and post a tweet about it.
On a sleepy early night, I present the blogging substitute that is DREAMS OF MY LARDER: LINK #godsavethequeen
And for that name alone, I apologise to President Obama. Not an inch further, though; that cheapskate owes me a ride on Air Force One. Nicuragua; we don't talk about it.
Bedtime, good night all. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Embracing the Zero Sum
Today I received sixteen new followers on Twitter.
I was feeling pretty good about that til I looked at them. Half of them wanted me to click a link to a sexually explicit video so they could earn a cent; this is spam. The others wanted to sell me something; today's fad was for printing products and business cards. This is also spam.
None of them actually wanted to read my Twitter feed. The fools.
I also picked up two new blog followers, which provided some solace. But it turns out that neither were bloggers, they just ran blogs that sold blogging tools to other bloggers. I think even Uroboros would choke on that one. Perhaps they have read this and decided I need help? I'm not sure how to block them, but it's more bloody spam.
And as Graham Chapman once observed, I don't like spam.
So my sum total for the day was zero. No new friends, no new fans, but By Jiminy I'm a regular hive of activity. One might almost compare me to a bucket of something fragrant that's irresistible to flies.
Realists would argue that these systems don't pay for themselves. That an element of spam is inevitable. I accept this. But man, there seems to be little else this week. For those of you who are real people, thank you for reading. Perhaps tomorrow will be better?
Until then I have no choice; I must embrace the zero sum.
And the final, sad, crushing truth of all this is that they've all forgotten the True Meaning of Spam.
Where's Perry Como when you need him?
The following offerings (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Sunday 14 June 2009. The day's tweets are a bit like a live album from your favourite band, or a new disc of their “rarities”; the quality is rather uneven, and overall it's rather disjointed and unsatisfactory.
It’s been a frustrating week; illness, commitments, responsibilities. I salute those folks who prop me up and give me material to work with. They make this blog, and that's not false modesty. I have plenty of the real thing, unless you talk to me about Scrabble.
Much love to all those I have been ignoring for the past two days; sometimes my time is not my own. What did I miss? Anyone get wedgied?
Nobody admits to it, though there’s something over idifficult’s face; I think it’s his underpants.
idifficult: I have collided with Sunday and spun off into the barriers.
He's peaked too soon! Surely he had more experience than this?!
I love hysterical sports commentators; myself and idifficult are big David Coleman fans. He retired from BBC sports commentary in 2000, and he's sorely missed for all the wrong reasons. The man was a legend, and I take my hat off to him wherever he is.
idifficult: Sunday. Fluffy daughter sick last night, FuzzyBumble on nights tonight. I feel knackered for no reason. What is going on?
I think the weekend conspires to beat us up occasionally so we appreciate the boring ones a bit more.
My own Sunday proceeds strangely; I finish my blog for the day just after 8pm. It’s a miracle. It’s only taken six hours, including a cool photograph. I have too much time on my hands. I post my blog and try to retreat; I’d really like an early night.
I am determined to go to bed early tonight. So I present POURING JAM INTO THE GEARS: LINK. Pizza and a movie await!
No such luck. Ten seconds earlier and I would have been in bed. But no, that would be too boring. Why sleep when there’s pals like these to play with?
eolistpetite: I remember and i wish i didn't.
This is another one of those trick statements; I fielded one unsuccessfully from Fishoutofsea the other day. I keep my head down and let idifficult make the opening gambit. I only hope he can remember how the pieces move.
idifficult: I don't, but mostly because my marbles are going
eolistpetite: think my marbles are still there but scattered all over the place.
Despite the subject material, it seems safe to join the conversation. I reply to idifficult in one of those "everyone's talking at the same time about the same thing" moments; this is the mother of many a misunderstanding.
Don't fret about your marbles; they're safe. It was ME that bought them from you on eBay. By the way, you TOTALLY stiffed me on postage.
eolistpetite: if you'd not been stiffed on ebay postage for my marbles i'd not've made any money at all and the earwax was free.
I had to open my mouth. Just one statement and I've been misunderstood; eolistpetite thinks I bought her marbles. This is not true; I was outbid. Still, the earwax came in useful.
The conversation then strays into a lighthearted and somewhat irreverant religious discussion, which I'm far too sensible to blog. This world is full of crazy people. I'm sure you've noticed.
idifficult: We're you also the mystery bidder who bought my soul on ebay? I didn't think £480 for postage too unreasonable.
No, not me. I think the military/industrial complex purchased it as a souvenir after you helped them fake the moon landings.
idifficult: Wasn't it after I got the Skynet/Nuke control interface working properly?
Of course! My mistake. Either way, I think they got a great deal.
Again, I try to head off to bed. But first I try to drag some interest towards my blog with some Twitter tags. Who knows, I might get lucky? Ironically, all I manage to do is attract porn spambots, so I must hold my hands up and say that occasionally I bring it on myself.
Shameless RT of a blog that's full of #spies #action #danger #sex POURING JAM INTO THE GEARS: LINK. OK, ok, there's no #sex.
eolistpetite: what are you talking about!? there certainly is! okay maybe it's #sexappeal
Bless her, it’s senility. In all other ways, she’s perfect. She's referring to this photo:
I try to talk her down. I know I have a slight squint. And I wink more than I blink. But I settle for:
I think Roth looks a little bit drunk. I was looking for a hot babe for the photo, but the locals are WAY too expensive *sigh*
eolistpetite: nope. don't see drunk. and yep. hot babes always tend to come with a huge price tag. damn shame too ain't it?
On that depressing thought, I vanish for the day.
Finally, sleep.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
I was feeling pretty good about that til I looked at them. Half of them wanted me to click a link to a sexually explicit video so they could earn a cent; this is spam. The others wanted to sell me something; today's fad was for printing products and business cards. This is also spam.
None of them actually wanted to read my Twitter feed. The fools.
I also picked up two new blog followers, which provided some solace. But it turns out that neither were bloggers, they just ran blogs that sold blogging tools to other bloggers. I think even Uroboros would choke on that one. Perhaps they have read this and decided I need help? I'm not sure how to block them, but it's more bloody spam.
And as Graham Chapman once observed, I don't like spam.
So my sum total for the day was zero. No new friends, no new fans, but By Jiminy I'm a regular hive of activity. One might almost compare me to a bucket of something fragrant that's irresistible to flies.
Realists would argue that these systems don't pay for themselves. That an element of spam is inevitable. I accept this. But man, there seems to be little else this week. For those of you who are real people, thank you for reading. Perhaps tomorrow will be better?
Until then I have no choice; I must embrace the zero sum.
And the final, sad, crushing truth of all this is that they've all forgotten the True Meaning of Spam.
Where's Perry Como when you need him?
The following offerings (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Sunday 14 June 2009. The day's tweets are a bit like a live album from your favourite band, or a new disc of their “rarities”; the quality is rather uneven, and overall it's rather disjointed and unsatisfactory.
It’s been a frustrating week; illness, commitments, responsibilities. I salute those folks who prop me up and give me material to work with. They make this blog, and that's not false modesty. I have plenty of the real thing, unless you talk to me about Scrabble.
Much love to all those I have been ignoring for the past two days; sometimes my time is not my own. What did I miss? Anyone get wedgied?
Nobody admits to it, though there’s something over idifficult’s face; I think it’s his underpants.
idifficult: I have collided with Sunday and spun off into the barriers.
He's peaked too soon! Surely he had more experience than this?!
I love hysterical sports commentators; myself and idifficult are big David Coleman fans. He retired from BBC sports commentary in 2000, and he's sorely missed for all the wrong reasons. The man was a legend, and I take my hat off to him wherever he is.
idifficult: Sunday. Fluffy daughter sick last night, FuzzyBumble on nights tonight. I feel knackered for no reason. What is going on?
I think the weekend conspires to beat us up occasionally so we appreciate the boring ones a bit more.
My own Sunday proceeds strangely; I finish my blog for the day just after 8pm. It’s a miracle. It’s only taken six hours, including a cool photograph. I have too much time on my hands. I post my blog and try to retreat; I’d really like an early night.
I am determined to go to bed early tonight. So I present POURING JAM INTO THE GEARS: LINK. Pizza and a movie await!
No such luck. Ten seconds earlier and I would have been in bed. But no, that would be too boring. Why sleep when there’s pals like these to play with?
eolistpetite: I remember and i wish i didn't.
This is another one of those trick statements; I fielded one unsuccessfully from Fishoutofsea the other day. I keep my head down and let idifficult make the opening gambit. I only hope he can remember how the pieces move.
idifficult: I don't, but mostly because my marbles are going
eolistpetite: think my marbles are still there but scattered all over the place.
Despite the subject material, it seems safe to join the conversation. I reply to idifficult in one of those "everyone's talking at the same time about the same thing" moments; this is the mother of many a misunderstanding.
Don't fret about your marbles; they're safe. It was ME that bought them from you on eBay. By the way, you TOTALLY stiffed me on postage.
eolistpetite: if you'd not been stiffed on ebay postage for my marbles i'd not've made any money at all and the earwax was free.
I had to open my mouth. Just one statement and I've been misunderstood; eolistpetite thinks I bought her marbles. This is not true; I was outbid. Still, the earwax came in useful.
The conversation then strays into a lighthearted and somewhat irreverant religious discussion, which I'm far too sensible to blog. This world is full of crazy people. I'm sure you've noticed.
idifficult: We're you also the mystery bidder who bought my soul on ebay? I didn't think £480 for postage too unreasonable.
No, not me. I think the military/industrial complex purchased it as a souvenir after you helped them fake the moon landings.
idifficult: Wasn't it after I got the Skynet/Nuke control interface working properly?
Of course! My mistake. Either way, I think they got a great deal.
Again, I try to head off to bed. But first I try to drag some interest towards my blog with some Twitter tags. Who knows, I might get lucky? Ironically, all I manage to do is attract porn spambots, so I must hold my hands up and say that occasionally I bring it on myself.
Shameless RT of a blog that's full of #spies #action #danger #sex POURING JAM INTO THE GEARS: LINK. OK, ok, there's no #sex.
eolistpetite: what are you talking about!? there certainly is! okay maybe it's #sexappeal
Bless her, it’s senility. In all other ways, she’s perfect. She's referring to this photo:
I try to talk her down. I know I have a slight squint. And I wink more than I blink. But I settle for:I think Roth looks a little bit drunk. I was looking for a hot babe for the photo, but the locals are WAY too expensive *sigh*
eolistpetite: nope. don't see drunk. and yep. hot babes always tend to come with a huge price tag. damn shame too ain't it?
On that depressing thought, I vanish for the day.
Finally, sleep.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
But Never Jam Today
Many folk have asked about the lion living in my house.
What is his name? Where does he come from? He sounds cute; does he have a girlfriend? That kind of thing. Weirdos. That said, had I known it would bring visitors to my door, I'd have mentioned him weeks ago.
It turns out his name is King; his parents must have stayed up all night coming up with that one. I know almost nothing about him. In fact, I only found out his name by talking to the mailman; they have coffee most mornings. Just before the book club folk arrive. This explains how he gets through so many cups in the course of a day.
Some strange folks have also asked for a photo. I must respectfully decline; this is my blog, dammit. That said, he is perfectly capable of stealing my ties and using my credit cards.
So I can only assume he's savvy enough to mess with my blog.
What is his name? Where does he come from? He sounds cute; does he have a girlfriend? That kind of thing. Weirdos. That said, had I known it would bring visitors to my door, I'd have mentioned him weeks ago.
It turns out his name is King; his parents must have stayed up all night coming up with that one. I know almost nothing about him. In fact, I only found out his name by talking to the mailman; they have coffee most mornings. Just before the book club folk arrive. This explains how he gets through so many cups in the course of a day.
Some strange folks have also asked for a photo. I must respectfully decline; this is my blog, dammit. That said, he is perfectly capable of stealing my ties and using my credit cards.
So I can only assume he's savvy enough to mess with my blog.
The following handful of tweets (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Saturday 13 June 2009. Saturday is as Saturday does. Or so my momma used to say. No. Wait. That was Forrest Gump. Let's just call it a busy day; I get nowhere near a computer or Twitter til almost bedtime. I make up for lost time, but the tweets are light.
V is coming back! This may be old news to some but to me it's geek gold! LINK #nerdgasm *ahem* sorry!
This is huge news. I was fifteen when V was first shown on TV, which was probably a good age. Old enough to appreciate a good tale well told. Mature enough to appreciate it as a Collaboration/Holocaust allegory. Hormonal enough to like the ladies in tight red uniforms. And not discerning enough to care that the end was a bit crap.
The V remake which airs in early 2010 (it's a mid-season miniseries for 2009/10) looks like it's cut from the same cloth, but with religious adoration as the primary motivation of the followers of the Visitors. This will no doubt have something to say about the empty nature of our lives, the void that modern culture leaves in our souls, and the yearning to embrace something that will fill it.
This isn't my opinion; I'm just guessing how they'll spin it.
Anyway, it looks like it could be cool. Especially if they keep the tight uniforms. Is it getting kinda hot in here?
The sublime, youthful coolness of Fishoutofsea offers a sound bite antidote.
Fishoutofsea: The things we do.
I'm not sure if this is a response to my geekage, but it makes sense either way.
Well said. We think. We decide. We do. Hang on, WHAT was it I just did? Oops.
This is heartfelt. I am always sure I am doing the right thing. Then sure it’ll all work out in the end. Then sure my intentions were good. Then sure I’ll never hear the end of it.
I beaver away studiously to produce a blog entry and post it.
I am mildly embarrassed to unveil the blogging shame of my STAR SPANGLED UNDERPANTS: LINK. #pants #wonderwoman #weird
I'm still being teased about that. Still, Linda Carter's worth it.
*checks his empty folder*
Good grief, is that all I managed to tweet? I'm told by folks much older than me that "it's an ill wind that blows no good". Or was it "jam yesterday, jam tomorrow, but never jam today"? Hmmm.
Either way, it looks like I'll get to relax tonight. This is a rare treat. I'd like to pretend the pizza I'll eat will be a rare treat too, but anyone that knows me will confirm I am sustained by hunting wild pizza in the Outback. All very "cave man".
Actually, I'm slightly nervous about making a light entry today. My Blog Hits Stats tell me that Sunday is a big day for me. Perhaps I should labour into the wee hours and post a masterpiece? It's tempting, but so is the idea of sleep. Another luxury.
You'll thank me tomorrow when I am bright eyed, busy tailed, and funny as hell again.
Popping the oven on, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Privet Hedge of Insomnia
When they make a movie of this blog, I get executive dibs on the casting. I want to be played by Liam Neeson. I'm too old for Ewan McGregor, but I think some lightsabre action is important.
The mature, mischievous beauty of eolistpetite would be typecasting for Rene Russo, and Megan Fox could nail the youthful, flighty exuberence of Fishoutofsea, especially if she brought a dash of Kate Nash to her portrayal.
And I don't need to tell you that Gumley could only be Clooney.
As for idifficult, well... if only Donald Pleasance was still with us.
The following (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Friday 12 June 2009. It's busy day for all of us, and pre-weekend tweets are light. It's if the bosses are squeezing the last ounce of sweat out of us before casting us aside. Actually, that doesn't really cut it as an analogy; I think it's what the boffins at Cambridge would call a fact.
The first tweet of the day is actually the last one from the night before; it's eolistpetite's parting shot from America. There's an edge to it, a streak of Imperialism that is strangely attractive on her.
eolistpetite: you'd best get friday up and running quickly or we'll put our flag on it and you know what havoc that'll cause on your end.
She's right, it would. We once owned a third of the globe; the sun literally never set on the British Empire. Now we're just grateful for warmed over American reality shows. We're resigned to our new place in the world. But we remember.
Wisdom. We used to be important because we stole everyone's land, people and toys. Mom made us give them back in the end tho.
We're still rather annoyed about it actually, and never send her a birthday card.
idifficult: we're not having another "beverage in the harbour" incident are we? Earl grey, two sugars...Ugh seawater
We narrowly avoid an international incident, but the black clouds linger. My horoscope is of no consolation.
Today's Scorpio: "Your early reticence is justified; despite your brave face the day will suck mightily. You find solace in pizza." Spooky.
But hey, now this is interesting: author/director Clive Barker has just tweeted that there's a work print of his movie Nightbreed in existence. It's 44 minutes longer than the theatrical release. This means nothing to everyone reading, I'm sure. It's a big deal to me; this is a good movie, and I'd love to see his original vision of it. I'd say something funny about this news, but I'm just too damned excited.
[GEEK ZONE: Nightbreed is Mr. Barker's movie of his own book, Cabal. A tale of monsters who act like people, and people who act like monsters. I saw it when I was at university, probably 20 years ago. It was a smart adaptation of the book and I enjoyed it, but didn't flow too well in places. This is, apparently, because it is a disjointed studio cut rather than a Director's Cut. This is a shame, as I think stylistically it stands up better than some of his others. Damn, I hope we get to see it on Bluray. Anyway, the thoughts of Mr. Barker and others on the movie and the studio experience are worth reading.]
Normal service is now resumed; Indigo has taken a cold shower.
Gumley: After a wonderful night with my fair NAME Friday feels wonderful, I feel fuelled, fiesty and fighting fit! She's my tonic :)
I've omitted the link to the lady-in-question's tweet feed; I don't know her and it would be impolite and presumptuous of me to do so *raises his hat*. Still, the implications of Gumley being spoken for are fun to consider.
I hear hearts breaking all over the world. But still they dream...
Gumley: After speaking with my mighty Triumph this morning, there's a hope of restoring my bonneville scrambler to its former shining glory :D
I hope he's talking about motorbikes; if this is a thinly veiled sexual metaphor, they may close me down. Perhaps they'll be distracted by the continuing love-fest that is #followfriday?
eolistpetite: #followfriday idifficult - because he is. and IndigoWrath - because he works for the... wait, who does he spy for again?
Who indeed? For those in the know, Roth has just embarked on a mission with annoying upstart Jack Starling. But for those of you who are having trouble following what I loosely call "the plot", once this adventure is over I'll lump it all together in a Mission Log. I'll need a name for it. Any thoughts? There's a prize for the best idea.
We land in Nassau; the heat’s stifling. I need a cold shower. Starling and two flight attendants need a bucket of cold water throwing on them.
The driver says Goverment House sent him, but he's one or Dr. Wang's boys. We thank him and go along. They lie, we lie; it all evens out.
After five miles Starling pulls his gun; they fight. He drops some good puns, but kills the guy. *sigh* Save them for the ones that escape.
Sean Connery could deliver the puns and make them cool. And talking of cool, here's the smoothest man on the planet. Imagine an oiled ice cube dipped in Teflon. Actually no, don't; you never know what he'll do with it. Drop it down the Vest of Conformity, most likely.
idifficult: I'm going to do something rash and stupid. I'm going to have an early night. So I guess I'll be back online say 3am?
Sadly, he probably will. Though perhaps there is philosophical wisdom in the privet hedge of his insomnia.
idifficult: I cannot reconcile absolutely loving my bed and being asleep with what a total waste of my precious life it is.
This bring eolistpetite to the brink of tears.
eolistpetite: damn it's been a beautiful day. wish you'd all been here to share it.
I am similarly moved by her offer.
Us too; idifficult and I really miss American Dominos Pizza
eolistpetite: yeah, we got one of those, but i'd trade it for a good Indian Restaurant.
Damn, now that's a thought; I've not had a decent curry in ages. I make a mental note to drag idifficult out for one next week. Still, I can't bear the thought of eolistpetite missing out; I try to distract her.
Or decent chocolate?
eolistpetite: MMmm decent chocolate. not had that for years. course i could always have some sent. *hint hint*
She's easy. I like that in a Goddess.
Ok, that's my lot for today. I'll see you all in your dreams; I'll be wearing a loud Hawaiin shirt and playing a tuba.
If I look lost, please oom-pah-pah me in the direction of the nearest pizza joint.
Thanks for reading, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
The mature, mischievous beauty of eolistpetite would be typecasting for Rene Russo, and Megan Fox could nail the youthful, flighty exuberence of Fishoutofsea, especially if she brought a dash of Kate Nash to her portrayal.
And I don't need to tell you that Gumley could only be Clooney.
As for idifficult, well... if only Donald Pleasance was still with us.
The following (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Friday 12 June 2009. It's busy day for all of us, and pre-weekend tweets are light. It's if the bosses are squeezing the last ounce of sweat out of us before casting us aside. Actually, that doesn't really cut it as an analogy; I think it's what the boffins at Cambridge would call a fact.
The first tweet of the day is actually the last one from the night before; it's eolistpetite's parting shot from America. There's an edge to it, a streak of Imperialism that is strangely attractive on her.
eolistpetite: you'd best get friday up and running quickly or we'll put our flag on it and you know what havoc that'll cause on your end.
She's right, it would. We once owned a third of the globe; the sun literally never set on the British Empire. Now we're just grateful for warmed over American reality shows. We're resigned to our new place in the world. But we remember.
Wisdom. We used to be important because we stole everyone's land, people and toys. Mom made us give them back in the end tho.
We're still rather annoyed about it actually, and never send her a birthday card.
idifficult: we're not having another "beverage in the harbour" incident are we? Earl grey, two sugars...Ugh seawater
We narrowly avoid an international incident, but the black clouds linger. My horoscope is of no consolation.
Today's Scorpio: "Your early reticence is justified; despite your brave face the day will suck mightily. You find solace in pizza." Spooky.
But hey, now this is interesting: author/director Clive Barker has just tweeted that there's a work print of his movie Nightbreed in existence. It's 44 minutes longer than the theatrical release. This means nothing to everyone reading, I'm sure. It's a big deal to me; this is a good movie, and I'd love to see his original vision of it. I'd say something funny about this news, but I'm just too damned excited.
[GEEK ZONE: Nightbreed is Mr. Barker's movie of his own book, Cabal. A tale of monsters who act like people, and people who act like monsters. I saw it when I was at university, probably 20 years ago. It was a smart adaptation of the book and I enjoyed it, but didn't flow too well in places. This is, apparently, because it is a disjointed studio cut rather than a Director's Cut. This is a shame, as I think stylistically it stands up better than some of his others. Damn, I hope we get to see it on Bluray. Anyway, the thoughts of Mr. Barker and others on the movie and the studio experience are worth reading.]
Normal service is now resumed; Indigo has taken a cold shower.
Gumley: After a wonderful night with my fair NAME Friday feels wonderful, I feel fuelled, fiesty and fighting fit! She's my tonic :)
I've omitted the link to the lady-in-question's tweet feed; I don't know her and it would be impolite and presumptuous of me to do so *raises his hat*. Still, the implications of Gumley being spoken for are fun to consider.
I hear hearts breaking all over the world. But still they dream...
Gumley: After speaking with my mighty Triumph this morning, there's a hope of restoring my bonneville scrambler to its former shining glory :D
I hope he's talking about motorbikes; if this is a thinly veiled sexual metaphor, they may close me down. Perhaps they'll be distracted by the continuing love-fest that is #followfriday?
eolistpetite: #followfriday idifficult - because he is. and IndigoWrath - because he works for the... wait, who does he spy for again?
Who indeed? For those in the know, Roth has just embarked on a mission with annoying upstart Jack Starling. But for those of you who are having trouble following what I loosely call "the plot", once this adventure is over I'll lump it all together in a Mission Log. I'll need a name for it. Any thoughts? There's a prize for the best idea.
We land in Nassau; the heat’s stifling. I need a cold shower. Starling and two flight attendants need a bucket of cold water throwing on them.
The driver says Goverment House sent him, but he's one or Dr. Wang's boys. We thank him and go along. They lie, we lie; it all evens out.
After five miles Starling pulls his gun; they fight. He drops some good puns, but kills the guy. *sigh* Save them for the ones that escape.
Sean Connery could deliver the puns and make them cool. And talking of cool, here's the smoothest man on the planet. Imagine an oiled ice cube dipped in Teflon. Actually no, don't; you never know what he'll do with it. Drop it down the Vest of Conformity, most likely.
idifficult: I'm going to do something rash and stupid. I'm going to have an early night. So I guess I'll be back online say 3am?
Sadly, he probably will. Though perhaps there is philosophical wisdom in the privet hedge of his insomnia.
idifficult: I cannot reconcile absolutely loving my bed and being asleep with what a total waste of my precious life it is.
This bring eolistpetite to the brink of tears.
eolistpetite: damn it's been a beautiful day. wish you'd all been here to share it.
I am similarly moved by her offer.
Us too; idifficult and I really miss American Dominos Pizza
eolistpetite: yeah, we got one of those, but i'd trade it for a good Indian Restaurant.
Damn, now that's a thought; I've not had a decent curry in ages. I make a mental note to drag idifficult out for one next week. Still, I can't bear the thought of eolistpetite missing out; I try to distract her.
Or decent chocolate?
eolistpetite: MMmm decent chocolate. not had that for years. course i could always have some sent. *hint hint*
She's easy. I like that in a Goddess.
Ok, that's my lot for today. I'll see you all in your dreams; I'll be wearing a loud Hawaiin shirt and playing a tuba.
If I look lost, please oom-pah-pah me in the direction of the nearest pizza joint.
Thanks for reading, Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
And The Word is Aardvark
Today's blog entry will be a short one; an early night is needed. There's a lady coming tomorrow morning to see the lion who lives in my house. She's from GQ; it's an interview.
Who knew he'd written a book?
The following dispatches (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Thursday 11 June 2009. On the subject of Thursdays, I think it was Descartes who declared: "Except our own thoughts, there is nothing absolutely in our power on that bloody day".
And he was French. Those guys own philosophy.
The day on Twitter begins with a salute from a celeb, the cool-but-accessible Wil Wheaton. No, calm down. Not to me specifically. Just to any Dungeons and Dragons fans reading his feed. Mr. Wheaton's blog is a favourite of mine; it's concise, observant and funny. I consider I do only two of those things well. Yes, "concise" needs some work. But hey, I'm only 24 days into blogging; I never going to be a paragon straight out of the box. I am a work in progress.
Still, look on the bright side; you were reading me before I was famous.
wilw: By the way, if you just rolled initiative ... you're one of my people and I salute you. Semper Geekus!
Rolling initiative is what you do in D&D to determine the order of play in a particular situation; Mr. Wheaton's tweet is a pleasant hat tip to the community he's proud to be part of. And yes, Semper Geekus. Forever geeks. But like I said, I consider myself to be an ambitious work in progress, so Semper Ad Meliora may be closer to my personal ethic.
Anyway, myself and Gumley wave our appreciation, once again trying to catch the great man's eye. Any explanation of our tweets will outweigh the tweets themselves by an order of magnitude. So let's gloss over both and assert for the record that we were really funny. Especially Gumley, damn him.
Our words float out across the celebrity ether, never to be seen again. It is the way of Twitter. Our hopes dashed for today, we find solace in the words of renegade crop duster Fishoutofsea.
Fishoutofsea: Why so Sirius?
This is too good to resist; I strike like a coiled cobra.
Apologies, I didn't mean to be so dogged.
Punning is a lower form of wit than sarcasm if you fail to do it quickly. Spend five seconds thinking, and it becomes dull dad-humour. I shouldn't complain; without bad punning, our D&D sessions wouldn't be the same. *sigh* Anyway, I was really quick off the mark once I read Fishoutofsea's tweet, but that was probably several hours after she posted it.
We never speak of it again.
Hmm. The day really hasn't got off to a stellar start, has it? Something ventured, nothing gained. 2 and 0. Plus, it's shown in my Twitter feed and this blog, so I'm doing it in public. Silly, silly boy.
Moving on, I have been itching get back on the trail of international intrigue; it's time for Roth. Indigo Roth. For those of you who have not been following "the plot", Roth has been teamed up with agent Jack Starling for his next mission. Starling is young, talented, good looking and ambitious. In Roth's eyes, he has no redeeming features whatsoever.
The Admiral despatches Starling and myself to the Caribbean. My old nemesis Juju Wang has resurfaced; half black, half chinese, all cabaret.
Starling's too young to remember Dr. Juju Wang: double agent, mafia hitman, mad scientist, president of Iceland; damn, I miss the old days.
Dr. Juju Wang's character is a composite of Dr. Kanaga from Live and Let Die, Scaramanga from The Man With The Golden Gun and evil genius Dr. No. Imagine Sam Jackson in a high-collared white silk jacket and a long mandarin moustache. Sounds cool, right? Now imagine him as the head of Quantum going up against Daniel Craig's 007. Wow.
Last time, Wang almost buzz-sawed me in half over a waterfall. I escaped by wooing his girlfriend, which was tricky given the circumstances.
Dr. Wang respects tradition; traps, speeches, secret bases, odd henchmen. Modern villains are so lame; businessmen, media tycoons. Tossers.
Starling has trouble at Heathrow; he's new to lethal-gadget concealment. The men in rubber gloves interview him. We'll laugh about it later.
It's hard to resist making this man miserable. More of that in a moment.
An uncomfortable Starling boards the plane. He rallies well and quickly hooks up with a flight attendant. I curse youth as I sip my martini.
This last bit actually happened to me last year on a flight into San Francisco. A tousled-haired, handsome, unshaven young fella got on the plane with me. He was maybe eighteen, and his arm was in plaster. Even before the plane left the ground, the flight attendants (both male and female) were making a fuss of him, and he regaled them (separately) with tales of his idiocy; he'd broken it skateboarding off a roof onto a wall. He smiled as he told the tale over and over. They all saluted his radical nature. Many called him "dude". And finally, unbelievably, I saw him swap phone numbers (separately) with two of the lady attendants before we landed in SF.
I think Starling was born at that moment; art imitating life.
And no, I didn't get a martini in coach.*
[* UNLIKELY SCENARIO: One day I'll buy myself a seat in first class and soar through the skies in style, sipping a very dry martini **.]
[** LIKELY SCENARIO: And there will be a kid behind me kicking my $6K seat.]
With a smile and a song, Gumley returns to raise my day by a well-needed notch.
Gumley: having a #notfeelingitthursday So have taken some time out in my lunch break to recharge the batteries in a delightful sun trap, feels good
It's a bit grim where I am, but there's no room for ill feeling; he's so damned chipper about it all, and it's infectious. I fire one off from the hip.
Work has that #notfeelingitthursday vibe for me too. Sunshine is patchy, and the rain comes and goes. Enjoy it for me, won't you?
Gumley: I will try & store up some sunny goodness for you, would you prefer it canned, bottled or just wrapped in tin foil?
He's missed the most important option; idifficult will back me up on this.
Big flat square box.
Pizza cures all maladies of the heart. There is a fundamental interconnectedness of mind, heart and stomach. Ask any osteopath. Anyway, at this point, another favourite celeb of mine drifts past, his perfect teeth gleaming; we're awash with famous types today.
BrentSpiner: In honor of all of you who are following me, I shall now reply to the occasional tweet.
This is a smart move in my book; it's easy to be spontaneous and witty when so many people are throwing good material your way. I worked this out years ago, and I'm eternally grateful to the fun folk who make this blog possible. Were they not here, I'd be standing there tapping the microphone saying "hey, it this thing on?"
Anyway, I try to get a fleeting starring role in the man's Twitter feed.
I appeal to your vanity: you got a brief mention in yesterday's blog: LINK Did I say brief? I meant "iconic".
Nada. Hey, I tried; as with Mr. Wheaton, we tweet in different circles.
As the day begins to wind down, I throw out a mention of my latest blog entry:
In honour of Gumley I proudly present my latest blog entry - POKING THE GROOM WITH A STICK: LINK.
I have some serious doubts about the title of this entry. It's a bit longer than the others, and looks untidy in the blog archive list; I am so anal. I send out an appeal for a new name, but nobody's biting. Maybe they like it? Maybe it has some kitsch appeal? Maybe they're asleep? It is after midnight. Which means that it's now Friday! True to my sentiment expressed earlier, I throw some love in the direction of the few folks who keep me afloat; yes, it's #followfriday on Twitter, the day of gratitude, spam and mutual stroking of egos.
#followfriday begins. I salute eolistpetite idifficult Fishoutofsea and the lean perfection that is Gumley.
I'm a man of my word. This is also true of idifficult, but the word is "aardvark". I dedicate the last exchange of the day to him. Which is fairly cheap of me, as he wrote half of it.
idifficult: We (IndigoWrath and I) are pleased to announce that, at least thus far, Friday is functioning correctly.
Yours looks a bit mouldly; is it fresh?
idifficult: Of course it's fresh - how would you like it: On a stick?
Dissolved in warm milk, actually; it's time for bed. BOIIIIING!
One word; Zebadee. That doesn't help much though, does it? Maybe this snippet from The Magic Roundabout will. I'd tell you myself, but you'd never believe me.
And it genuinely is bedtime.
*special ending for American readers*
See y'all tomorrow. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Who knew he'd written a book?
The following dispatches (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Thursday 11 June 2009. On the subject of Thursdays, I think it was Descartes who declared: "Except our own thoughts, there is nothing absolutely in our power on that bloody day".
And he was French. Those guys own philosophy.
The day on Twitter begins with a salute from a celeb, the cool-but-accessible Wil Wheaton. No, calm down. Not to me specifically. Just to any Dungeons and Dragons fans reading his feed. Mr. Wheaton's blog is a favourite of mine; it's concise, observant and funny. I consider I do only two of those things well. Yes, "concise" needs some work. But hey, I'm only 24 days into blogging; I never going to be a paragon straight out of the box. I am a work in progress.
Still, look on the bright side; you were reading me before I was famous.
wilw: By the way, if you just rolled initiative ... you're one of my people and I salute you. Semper Geekus!
Rolling initiative is what you do in D&D to determine the order of play in a particular situation; Mr. Wheaton's tweet is a pleasant hat tip to the community he's proud to be part of. And yes, Semper Geekus. Forever geeks. But like I said, I consider myself to be an ambitious work in progress, so Semper Ad Meliora may be closer to my personal ethic.
Anyway, myself and Gumley wave our appreciation, once again trying to catch the great man's eye. Any explanation of our tweets will outweigh the tweets themselves by an order of magnitude. So let's gloss over both and assert for the record that we were really funny. Especially Gumley, damn him.
Our words float out across the celebrity ether, never to be seen again. It is the way of Twitter. Our hopes dashed for today, we find solace in the words of renegade crop duster Fishoutofsea.
Fishoutofsea: Why so Sirius?
This is too good to resist; I strike like a coiled cobra.
Apologies, I didn't mean to be so dogged.
Punning is a lower form of wit than sarcasm if you fail to do it quickly. Spend five seconds thinking, and it becomes dull dad-humour. I shouldn't complain; without bad punning, our D&D sessions wouldn't be the same. *sigh* Anyway, I was really quick off the mark once I read Fishoutofsea's tweet, but that was probably several hours after she posted it.
We never speak of it again.
Hmm. The day really hasn't got off to a stellar start, has it? Something ventured, nothing gained. 2 and 0. Plus, it's shown in my Twitter feed and this blog, so I'm doing it in public. Silly, silly boy.
Moving on, I have been itching get back on the trail of international intrigue; it's time for Roth. Indigo Roth. For those of you who have not been following "the plot", Roth has been teamed up with agent Jack Starling for his next mission. Starling is young, talented, good looking and ambitious. In Roth's eyes, he has no redeeming features whatsoever.
The Admiral despatches Starling and myself to the Caribbean. My old nemesis Juju Wang has resurfaced; half black, half chinese, all cabaret.
Starling's too young to remember Dr. Juju Wang: double agent, mafia hitman, mad scientist, president of Iceland; damn, I miss the old days.
Dr. Juju Wang's character is a composite of Dr. Kanaga from Live and Let Die, Scaramanga from The Man With The Golden Gun and evil genius Dr. No. Imagine Sam Jackson in a high-collared white silk jacket and a long mandarin moustache. Sounds cool, right? Now imagine him as the head of Quantum going up against Daniel Craig's 007. Wow.
Last time, Wang almost buzz-sawed me in half over a waterfall. I escaped by wooing his girlfriend, which was tricky given the circumstances.
Dr. Wang respects tradition; traps, speeches, secret bases, odd henchmen. Modern villains are so lame; businessmen, media tycoons. Tossers.
Starling has trouble at Heathrow; he's new to lethal-gadget concealment. The men in rubber gloves interview him. We'll laugh about it later.
It's hard to resist making this man miserable. More of that in a moment.
An uncomfortable Starling boards the plane. He rallies well and quickly hooks up with a flight attendant. I curse youth as I sip my martini.
This last bit actually happened to me last year on a flight into San Francisco. A tousled-haired, handsome, unshaven young fella got on the plane with me. He was maybe eighteen, and his arm was in plaster. Even before the plane left the ground, the flight attendants (both male and female) were making a fuss of him, and he regaled them (separately) with tales of his idiocy; he'd broken it skateboarding off a roof onto a wall. He smiled as he told the tale over and over. They all saluted his radical nature. Many called him "dude". And finally, unbelievably, I saw him swap phone numbers (separately) with two of the lady attendants before we landed in SF.
I think Starling was born at that moment; art imitating life.
And no, I didn't get a martini in coach.*
[* UNLIKELY SCENARIO: One day I'll buy myself a seat in first class and soar through the skies in style, sipping a very dry martini **.]
[** LIKELY SCENARIO: And there will be a kid behind me kicking my $6K seat.]
With a smile and a song, Gumley returns to raise my day by a well-needed notch.
Gumley: having a #notfeelingitthursday So have taken some time out in my lunch break to recharge the batteries in a delightful sun trap, feels good
It's a bit grim where I am, but there's no room for ill feeling; he's so damned chipper about it all, and it's infectious. I fire one off from the hip.
Work has that #notfeelingitthursday vibe for me too. Sunshine is patchy, and the rain comes and goes. Enjoy it for me, won't you?
Gumley: I will try & store up some sunny goodness for you, would you prefer it canned, bottled or just wrapped in tin foil?
He's missed the most important option; idifficult will back me up on this.
Big flat square box.
Pizza cures all maladies of the heart. There is a fundamental interconnectedness of mind, heart and stomach. Ask any osteopath. Anyway, at this point, another favourite celeb of mine drifts past, his perfect teeth gleaming; we're awash with famous types today.
BrentSpiner: In honor of all of you who are following me, I shall now reply to the occasional tweet.
This is a smart move in my book; it's easy to be spontaneous and witty when so many people are throwing good material your way. I worked this out years ago, and I'm eternally grateful to the fun folk who make this blog possible. Were they not here, I'd be standing there tapping the microphone saying "hey, it this thing on?"
Anyway, I try to get a fleeting starring role in the man's Twitter feed.
I appeal to your vanity: you got a brief mention in yesterday's blog: LINK Did I say brief? I meant "iconic".
Nada. Hey, I tried; as with Mr. Wheaton, we tweet in different circles.
As the day begins to wind down, I throw out a mention of my latest blog entry:
In honour of Gumley I proudly present my latest blog entry - POKING THE GROOM WITH A STICK: LINK.
I have some serious doubts about the title of this entry. It's a bit longer than the others, and looks untidy in the blog archive list; I am so anal. I send out an appeal for a new name, but nobody's biting. Maybe they like it? Maybe it has some kitsch appeal? Maybe they're asleep? It is after midnight. Which means that it's now Friday! True to my sentiment expressed earlier, I throw some love in the direction of the few folks who keep me afloat; yes, it's #followfriday on Twitter, the day of gratitude, spam and mutual stroking of egos.
#followfriday begins. I salute eolistpetite idifficult Fishoutofsea and the lean perfection that is Gumley.
I'm a man of my word. This is also true of idifficult, but the word is "aardvark". I dedicate the last exchange of the day to him. Which is fairly cheap of me, as he wrote half of it.
idifficult: We (IndigoWrath and I) are pleased to announce that, at least thus far, Friday is functioning correctly.
Yours looks a bit mouldly; is it fresh?
idifficult: Of course it's fresh - how would you like it: On a stick?
Dissolved in warm milk, actually; it's time for bed. BOIIIIING!
One word; Zebadee. That doesn't help much though, does it? Maybe this snippet from The Magic Roundabout will. I'd tell you myself, but you'd never believe me.
And it genuinely is bedtime.
*special ending for American readers*
See y'all tomorrow. Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)