overyourhead - some irreverent musings by a gay London guy - crawling though technology, love and life... so you don't have to.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
The Tong Master...
UPDATE: I've heard from, and am very happy to credit, the author of this wonderful piece: Danny Katz, who writes for The Age newspaper in Melbourne.
All the great short story writers and sociologists of Oz should bow to the anonymous author of this little masterpiece....
The Tong Master
Griff was at the barbecue and Joel was at the barbecue and I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them alone.
We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational force, a man-magnet. Joel said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I reckon the thin ones could use a turn, Griff said yeah they really need a turn it was a unanimous turning decision.
Griff was the Tong-Master, a true artist, he gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto their little backs. A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard; the sausages would've gone full circle, back to where they started. Nice, I said. The others went yeah.
Kevin was passing us, he heard the siren-song-sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning, Kevinnnnn ...come. He stuck his head in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle; Griff shuffled to the left, Joel shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left, Kevin slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer.
Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Griff gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers - fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental. The chipolatas were tiny, they could easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten hot-bead-netherworld below. Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the grill, clever thinking.
Griff snapped his tongs with approval; there was no greater barbecue honour.
P.J. came along, he said looking good, looking good - the irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and did the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Kevin, we sipped our beer. Five men, lots of sausages.
Joel was the Fork-pronger; he had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he showed a lot of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire holes up and down the casing.
P.J. was shaking his head, he said I reckon they cook better if you don't poke them. There was a long silence, you could have heard a chipolata drop, and this newcomer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; First the Tong-master, then the Sausage-layer, then the Fork-pronger - and everyone below was just a watcher. Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now - don't rock the Weber.
Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said. She was trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads down and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah yeah yeah, but making no room for her. She was keen, going round to the far side of the barbecue, heading for the only available space .. . . the gap in the circle where all the smoke and ashes blew. Nobody could survive the gap; Dianne was going to try. She stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes filling her nostrils, sausage fat splattering all over her arms and face. Until she couldn't take it anymore, she gave up, backed off.
Kevin waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our beer, yeah. Griff handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility? Yes, I was. I held them up high and they glinted in the sun. Don't forget to turn the thin ones Griff said as he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing toward the house. Yeah I called back, I will, I will.
I snapped them twice, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little bellies. I was a natural, I was the TONG-MASTER.
But only until Griff got back from the dunny.
[Copyright: Danny Katz]
UPDATE: I've heard from, and am very happy to credit, the author of this wonderful piece: Danny Katz, who writes for The Age newspaper in Melbourne.
All the great short story writers and sociologists of Oz should bow to the anonymous author of this little masterpiece....
The Tong Master
Griff was at the barbecue and Joel was at the barbecue and I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them alone.
We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational force, a man-magnet. Joel said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I reckon the thin ones could use a turn, Griff said yeah they really need a turn it was a unanimous turning decision.
Griff was the Tong-Master, a true artist, he gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto their little backs. A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard; the sausages would've gone full circle, back to where they started. Nice, I said. The others went yeah.
Kevin was passing us, he heard the siren-song-sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning, Kevinnnnn ...come. He stuck his head in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle; Griff shuffled to the left, Joel shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left, Kevin slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer.
Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Griff gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers - fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental. The chipolatas were tiny, they could easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten hot-bead-netherworld below. Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the grill, clever thinking.
Griff snapped his tongs with approval; there was no greater barbecue honour.
P.J. came along, he said looking good, looking good - the irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and did the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Kevin, we sipped our beer. Five men, lots of sausages.
Joel was the Fork-pronger; he had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he showed a lot of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire holes up and down the casing.
P.J. was shaking his head, he said I reckon they cook better if you don't poke them. There was a long silence, you could have heard a chipolata drop, and this newcomer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; First the Tong-master, then the Sausage-layer, then the Fork-pronger - and everyone below was just a watcher. Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now - don't rock the Weber.
Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said. She was trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads down and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah yeah yeah, but making no room for her. She was keen, going round to the far side of the barbecue, heading for the only available space .. . . the gap in the circle where all the smoke and ashes blew. Nobody could survive the gap; Dianne was going to try. She stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes filling her nostrils, sausage fat splattering all over her arms and face. Until she couldn't take it anymore, she gave up, backed off.
Kevin waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our beer, yeah. Griff handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility? Yes, I was. I held them up high and they glinted in the sun. Don't forget to turn the thin ones Griff said as he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing toward the house. Yeah I called back, I will, I will.
I snapped them twice, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little bellies. I was a natural, I was the TONG-MASTER.
But only until Griff got back from the dunny.
[Copyright: Danny Katz]
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
The Magnetic Fields...
Last Friday I took David, Roberto, Paul and Marky to see The Magnetic Fields at the Lyric Hammersmith. For the uninitiated, The Magnetic Fields are the music of songwriter-producer-instrumentalist Stephin Merritt, who lives and records in New York City. Adept at computer music programming and production, Merritt records his own albums and plays almost everything on them with help from cellist Sam Davol, banjo player/second guitarist John Woo, and percussionist/pianist Claudia Gonson.
The thirty song gig itself was a tad lack lustre, I'm afraid. The performance was very relaxed, almost too relaxed. The endless instrument tuning got a bit irritating at times too. Perhaps all this could laid at the door of classic New York ennui but towards the end of the first half Marky all but fell asleep - he never made it past the interval. Having said all that the songs were truly magnificent. Merritt's deep, booming baritone oozed like treacle throughout the set - no more so than on the seminal Papa Was A Rodeo. This was the high point of the show with perhaps the comic Yeah! Oh, Yeah! coming close to the level of applause and whooping that welcomed it by the devoted crowd.
The Magnetic Fields were basically over here doing a short tour to promote their new album I as well as a soundtrack album Pieces of April. Pieces of April includes three tracks plucked off 69 Love Songs as well as two from the 6ths' Hyacinths and Thistles. Of the additional songs they performed from this album the stand out new songs for me were One April Day itself and Heather Heather.
Last Friday I took David, Roberto, Paul and Marky to see The Magnetic Fields at the Lyric Hammersmith. For the uninitiated, The Magnetic Fields are the music of songwriter-producer-instrumentalist Stephin Merritt, who lives and records in New York City. Adept at computer music programming and production, Merritt records his own albums and plays almost everything on them with help from cellist Sam Davol, banjo player/second guitarist John Woo, and percussionist/pianist Claudia Gonson.
The thirty song gig itself was a tad lack lustre, I'm afraid. The performance was very relaxed, almost too relaxed. The endless instrument tuning got a bit irritating at times too. Perhaps all this could laid at the door of classic New York ennui but towards the end of the first half Marky all but fell asleep - he never made it past the interval. Having said all that the songs were truly magnificent. Merritt's deep, booming baritone oozed like treacle throughout the set - no more so than on the seminal Papa Was A Rodeo. This was the high point of the show with perhaps the comic Yeah! Oh, Yeah! coming close to the level of applause and whooping that welcomed it by the devoted crowd.
The Magnetic Fields were basically over here doing a short tour to promote their new album I as well as a soundtrack album Pieces of April. Pieces of April includes three tracks plucked off 69 Love Songs as well as two from the 6ths' Hyacinths and Thistles. Of the additional songs they performed from this album the stand out new songs for me were One April Day itself and Heather Heather.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Big Brother 5: the weekend events...
I'm begining to warm to the newly pseudo-evicted harpies - the clueless Emma and psycho Michelle. Their short spell in the Big Brother bedsit will no doubt fuel their paranoia though: Victor had better watch out. And Stuart too; a woman scorned and all that... Great TV.
I'm begining to warm to the newly pseudo-evicted harpies - the clueless Emma and psycho Michelle. Their short spell in the Big Brother bedsit will no doubt fuel their paranoia though: Victor had better watch out. And Stuart too; a woman scorned and all that... Great TV.
Euro 2004: James And The Giant Punch...
What a gutting result in the football last night: England 1 France 2. Especially after being 1-0 in front until extra time. We played a good game though, I thought. But everyone has to agree, we was robbed. Heskey and James played a large part both in our success and our downfall.
What a gutting result in the football last night: England 1 France 2. Especially after being 1-0 in front until extra time. We played a good game though, I thought. But everyone has to agree, we was robbed. Heskey and James played a large part both in our success and our downfall.
Friday, June 11, 2004
A Case Of The Crabs!...
Yay! Bryan has sent me a link to another fabulous online game - A Nick Bounty Mini-Mystery: A Case Of The Crabs. There goes my Friday off!
Yay! Bryan has sent me a link to another fabulous online game - A Nick Bounty Mini-Mystery: A Case Of The Crabs. There goes my Friday off!
Big Brother 5: Watch it!...
I've kept quite quiet about Big Brother this year. I wanted to see how it panned out. I needn't have worried - it's a corker. Back on form again, guys! Unmissable.
I've kept quite quiet about Big Brother this year. I wanted to see how it panned out. I needn't have worried - it's a corker. Back on form again, guys! Unmissable.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Local Elections: Steve or Ken?...
It's the London mayoral elections today: a two horse race really between Steve Norris and Ken Livingstone. I know who I'll be voting for. But do you?
Their manifesto key points:
Steve Norris, Conservative
Hundreds of police officers should be out on the streets rather than in offices or cars
"Zero tolerance" for minor crimes like graffiti, vandalism and public drunkenness
More police officers for outer London
Abolish congestion charge
Introduce free school buses for children at primary schools
Run the Tube until 3am at weekends, put air conditioning into stations and provide security guards at night
Ken Livingstone, Labour
Police teams of six officers for each neighbourhood
Extend congestion charge to Kensington & Chelsea.
Run the Tube later every Friday and Saturday night
More buses; free bus travel for full time students aged under 18
30,000 new homes a year
Aim to push forward Labour policy on childcare, seeking to provide affordable childcare to all who want it by 2010.
Oh, and just in case you really cared...
Julian Leppert, British National Party
Scrap the congestion charge
Make sure London "No longer welcomes economic migrants"
Two new orbital rail services
Scrap the 2012 Olympic bid
No Heathrow airport extension - build a new airport in the Thames estuary instead
All public buildings to fly flag of St George on St George's day
It's the London mayoral elections today: a two horse race really between Steve Norris and Ken Livingstone. I know who I'll be voting for. But do you?
Their manifesto key points:
Steve Norris, Conservative
Hundreds of police officers should be out on the streets rather than in offices or cars
"Zero tolerance" for minor crimes like graffiti, vandalism and public drunkenness
More police officers for outer London
Abolish congestion charge
Introduce free school buses for children at primary schools
Run the Tube until 3am at weekends, put air conditioning into stations and provide security guards at night
Ken Livingstone, Labour
Police teams of six officers for each neighbourhood
Extend congestion charge to Kensington & Chelsea.
Run the Tube later every Friday and Saturday night
More buses; free bus travel for full time students aged under 18
30,000 new homes a year
Aim to push forward Labour policy on childcare, seeking to provide affordable childcare to all who want it by 2010.
Oh, and just in case you really cared...
Julian Leppert, British National Party
Scrap the congestion charge
Make sure London "No longer welcomes economic migrants"
Two new orbital rail services
Scrap the 2012 Olympic bid
No Heathrow airport extension - build a new airport in the Thames estuary instead
All public buildings to fly flag of St George on St George's day
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Dustman vs. Politics...
You maybe aware of my ire with our local dustman. That's dustman, in the singular, by the way. I'm sure the rest of the dustmen are fine; I hate the particular guy who insists on coming round to 'prep' our road at 5:30am every Thursdaymorning night! He wakes us up earlier each week.
After last week's early wake-up call Marky composed an e-mail explaining what had happened with the black bin bags being thrown into our street and how these often split-open refuse sacks then get left for hours before the dustcart actually comes along to pick it all up. It was a gentle e-mail, nothing too pushy. He had complained in stronger terms a few times before but nothing had ever been done. This time he was slightly more crafty in his approach though. As well as sending the e-mail to the person in charge of the public-private cleaning contract at Islington as he had done before, he Cc'ed both of our local councillors. That's crafty because this coming Thursday (tomorrow in fact) is local council election day in London. Might this impending election help stir some action? A cynic might suggest so. I couldn't possibly comment.
But, hey presto! Within an hour or so he got this reply: "This complaint is now being taken up by our Principle Contract Liasion Officer and I have issued the instruction to the contractor that the refuse crew will not operate in your road and the surrounding area prior to 7am and the refuse will not be left in the street for any period of time waiting for collection. Arrangements will be made to monitor this on Thursday 10th June 2004 to ensure my specific instructions are carried out."
Attached was a personal note from our prospectively re-elected councillors: "We hope you will now be able to sleep in peace! Regards Cllr Terry Stacy & Cllr Laura Willoughby (Liberal Democrat Councillors for Highbury East)"
So maybe they are just making sure we get a good night's sleep so we vote for them on Thursday. A cynic might suggest so. I couldn't possibly comment.
You maybe aware of my ire with our local dustman. That's dustman, in the singular, by the way. I'm sure the rest of the dustmen are fine; I hate the particular guy who insists on coming round to 'prep' our road at 5:30am every Thursday
After last week's early wake-up call Marky composed an e-mail explaining what had happened with the black bin bags being thrown into our street and how these often split-open refuse sacks then get left for hours before the dustcart actually comes along to pick it all up. It was a gentle e-mail, nothing too pushy. He had complained in stronger terms a few times before but nothing had ever been done. This time he was slightly more crafty in his approach though. As well as sending the e-mail to the person in charge of the public-private cleaning contract at Islington as he had done before, he Cc'ed both of our local councillors. That's crafty because this coming Thursday (tomorrow in fact) is local council election day in London. Might this impending election help stir some action? A cynic might suggest so. I couldn't possibly comment.
But, hey presto! Within an hour or so he got this reply: "This complaint is now being taken up by our Principle Contract Liasion Officer and I have issued the instruction to the contractor that the refuse crew will not operate in your road and the surrounding area prior to 7am and the refuse will not be left in the street for any period of time waiting for collection. Arrangements will be made to monitor this on Thursday 10th June 2004 to ensure my specific instructions are carried out."
Attached was a personal note from our prospectively re-elected councillors: "We hope you will now be able to sleep in peace! Regards Cllr Terry Stacy & Cllr Laura Willoughby (Liberal Democrat Councillors for Highbury East)"
So maybe they are just making sure we get a good night's sleep so we vote for them on Thursday. A cynic might suggest so. I couldn't possibly comment.
The On-Line Pre-Date Confidence Builder...
While you choose your outfit or put the final touches to your hair, it's hard to imagine not having that friend, roommate or sibling to ask, "How do I look?" or "Does this match?" Yet millions of people don't have that someone in their lives. By the time your date arrives they are so overwelmed with self-doubt there is little chance that the date will be a success. All this is about to change. The On-Line Pre-Date Confidence Builder is designed to reassure you while providing answers to all the difficult questions that might come up as get ready for your date.
[Thanks Richard for the link]
While you choose your outfit or put the final touches to your hair, it's hard to imagine not having that friend, roommate or sibling to ask, "How do I look?" or "Does this match?" Yet millions of people don't have that someone in their lives. By the time your date arrives they are so overwelmed with self-doubt there is little chance that the date will be a success. All this is about to change. The On-Line Pre-Date Confidence Builder is designed to reassure you while providing answers to all the difficult questions that might come up as get ready for your date.
[Thanks Richard for the link]
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
A Gala Charity Variety Show...
What are those three words associated with theatre that make your heart sink, your brain seize and your stomach turn? They are, of course, "Gala", "Charity" and "Variety". But put them all together and you have a recipe for massive organ failure. The known killer that is, the 'Gala Charity Variety Show'.
So it was with some trepidation that on Sunday night, courtesy of Roger, we went to A Gala Charity Variety Show Live from Her Majesty's. We had visions of end of the pier has-beens, the BBC's Saturday night Seaside Special and lame cruise ship entertainers. We thought it would be really cringe-worthy. But (with a couple of exceptions) we were proven quite wrong. The show was fantastic (if a little long) and had us laughing from start to finish - sometime 'at' but mostly 'with' the acts.
The All Star Band with Donovan Blackwood : Standard house band.
Mark Raffles : 85 year old magician. The tricks were pretty lame.
The Tiller Girls : The pink feathered, high-kicking troupe in their 60s (and beyond).
The Holloways : Husband and wife play the xylophone (mercy me).
Wolfgang : Uber-cute 'Le Cirque du Soliel' performer rolls around on his huge RhonRad (!)
Paul Zenon : The Channel 4 'comedy magician' - actually very good.
The Overtures : Lame 60s tribute band.
[Interval]
Boom : Man playing the drums. Oh dear.
Paul Zerdin : Fantastic ventriloquism.
The Alexis Brothers : Oh My God. Amazing, sexy 'Le Cirque du Soliel' balance brothers.
Wally Eastwood : Breathe-taking juggling. And a nice line in self deprecation.
Tribute to Buddy : Oh, please.
It was a three hour show but it flew by. And we were genuinely surprised at how much we enjoyed it. Well, they do say variety is the spice of life, I suppose.
What are those three words associated with theatre that make your heart sink, your brain seize and your stomach turn? They are, of course, "Gala", "Charity" and "Variety". But put them all together and you have a recipe for massive organ failure. The known killer that is, the 'Gala Charity Variety Show'.
So it was with some trepidation that on Sunday night, courtesy of Roger, we went to A Gala Charity Variety Show Live from Her Majesty's. We had visions of end of the pier has-beens, the BBC's Saturday night Seaside Special and lame cruise ship entertainers. We thought it would be really cringe-worthy. But (with a couple of exceptions) we were proven quite wrong. The show was fantastic (if a little long) and had us laughing from start to finish - sometime 'at' but mostly 'with' the acts.
The All Star Band with Donovan Blackwood : Standard house band.
Mark Raffles : 85 year old magician. The tricks were pretty lame.
The Tiller Girls : The pink feathered, high-kicking troupe in their 60s (and beyond).
The Holloways : Husband and wife play the xylophone (mercy me).
Wolfgang : Uber-cute 'Le Cirque du Soliel' performer rolls around on his huge RhonRad (!)
Paul Zenon : The Channel 4 'comedy magician' - actually very good.
The Overtures : Lame 60s tribute band.
[Interval]
Boom : Man playing the drums. Oh dear.
Paul Zerdin : Fantastic ventriloquism.
The Alexis Brothers : Oh My God. Amazing, sexy 'Le Cirque du Soliel' balance brothers.
Wally Eastwood : Breathe-taking juggling. And a nice line in self deprecation.
Tribute to Buddy : Oh, please.
It was a three hour show but it flew by. And we were genuinely surprised at how much we enjoyed it. Well, they do say variety is the spice of life, I suppose.
Monday, June 07, 2004
Summer is here...
The city is bathed in sunshine. The temperature is soaring. Boys and girls are out on the streets in their shorts. All is right with the world. Yay! I love the summer. Thoughts of SAD are long since banished.
The city is bathed in sunshine. The temperature is soaring. Boys and girls are out on the streets in their shorts. All is right with the world. Yay! I love the summer. Thoughts of SAD are long since banished.
Things that are difficult to say when you're drunk...
Things that are difficult to say when you're drunk:
1. Innovative
2. Preliminary
3. Proliferation
4. Cinnamon
Things that are VERY difficult to say when you're drunk:
1. Specificity
2. Antidisestablishmentarianism (I cant say that now)
3. Loquacious
4. Transubstantiate
Things that are downright IMPOSSIBLE to say when you're drunk (ok, you saw this gallopping over the hill, right?):
1. Thanks, but I don't want to sleep with you
2. Nope, no more booze for me
3. Sorry, but you're not really my type
4. No kebab for me, thank you
5. Good evening officer, isn't it lovely out tonight?
6. I'm not interested in fighting you
7. Thankyou, but I wont make any attempt to dance, I have no co-ordination
8. Where is the nearest toilet? I refuse to vomit in the street
9. You're right; I can't jump over that table.
10. Oh, I just couldn't - no one wants to hear me sing.
[Although I have posted this before it is always worth repeating, and thanks to Richard and to Guy for sending it me too]
Things that are difficult to say when you're drunk:
1. Innovative
2. Preliminary
3. Proliferation
4. Cinnamon
Things that are VERY difficult to say when you're drunk:
1. Specificity
2. Antidisestablishmentarianism (I cant say that now)
3. Loquacious
4. Transubstantiate
Things that are downright IMPOSSIBLE to say when you're drunk (ok, you saw this gallopping over the hill, right?):
1. Thanks, but I don't want to sleep with you
2. Nope, no more booze for me
3. Sorry, but you're not really my type
4. No kebab for me, thank you
5. Good evening officer, isn't it lovely out tonight?
6. I'm not interested in fighting you
7. Thankyou, but I wont make any attempt to dance, I have no co-ordination
8. Where is the nearest toilet? I refuse to vomit in the street
9. You're right; I can't jump over that table.
10. Oh, I just couldn't - no one wants to hear me sing.
[Although I have posted this before it is always worth repeating, and thanks to Richard and to Guy for sending it me too]
Friday, June 04, 2004
Blackberry...
I have the honour of having a top of the range Blackberry to play with for a month. Actually we have five of them on trial. I'm not sure the tag line of "more addictive than crack" is right, but it does seem to work. Not that it does anything that my XDA2 can't do. A lot less in fact. And it doesn't 'synchronise' as much as 'deliver', if that makes sense: Outlook's rules don't kick in, just server ones. Hence from the same e-mail account I get hundreds of junk mail on my Blackberry but none on my XDA2. It's a bit clunky too and even bigger than the XDA2. But it may appeal to some people in the office. Hence the trial.
I have the honour of having a top of the range Blackberry to play with for a month. Actually we have five of them on trial. I'm not sure the tag line of "more addictive than crack" is right, but it does seem to work. Not that it does anything that my XDA2 can't do. A lot less in fact. And it doesn't 'synchronise' as much as 'deliver', if that makes sense: Outlook's rules don't kick in, just server ones. Hence from the same e-mail account I get hundreds of junk mail on my Blackberry but none on my XDA2. It's a bit clunky too and even bigger than the XDA2. But it may appeal to some people in the office. Hence the trial.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Brain Teaser...
Here's a variation on fox, chicken and grain crossing a river.
U2 has a concert that starts in 17 minutes and they must all cross a bridge to get there. All four men begin on the same side of the bridge. You must help them across to the other side. It is night. There is only one torch. A maximum of two people can cross at one time. Any party who crosses, either 1 or 2 people, must have the torch with them. The torch must be walked back and forth, it cannot be thrown. Do they make the gig in time?
Each band member walks at a different speed. A pair must walk together at
the rate of the slower man's pace:
Bono:- 1 minute to cross
Edge:- 2 minutes to cross
Adam:- 5 minutes to cross
Larry:- 10 minutes to cross
For example: if Bono and Larry walk across first, 10 minutes have elapsed when they get to the other side of the bridge. If Larry then returns with the torch, a total of 20 minutes have passed and you have failed the mission.
Here's a variation on fox, chicken and grain crossing a river.
U2 has a concert that starts in 17 minutes and they must all cross a bridge to get there. All four men begin on the same side of the bridge. You must help them across to the other side. It is night. There is only one torch. A maximum of two people can cross at one time. Any party who crosses, either 1 or 2 people, must have the torch with them. The torch must be walked back and forth, it cannot be thrown. Do they make the gig in time?
Each band member walks at a different speed. A pair must walk together at
the rate of the slower man's pace:
Bono:- 1 minute to cross
Edge:- 2 minutes to cross
Adam:- 5 minutes to cross
Larry:- 10 minutes to cross
For example: if Bono and Larry walk across first, 10 minutes have elapsed when they get to the other side of the bridge. If Larry then returns with the torch, a total of 20 minutes have passed and you have failed the mission.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Game...
You may have seen this wonderful little flash game created by Jakub Dvorský - Amanita before. This little masterpiece features organic graphics, smooth animation, quirky puzzles and pleasant sound.
Thanks for Bryan for sending me the link again. This game will keep you entertained for a good hour.
You may have seen this wonderful little flash game created by Jakub Dvorský - Amanita before. This little masterpiece features organic graphics, smooth animation, quirky puzzles and pleasant sound.
Thanks for Bryan for sending me the link again. This game will keep you entertained for a good hour.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
My Weekend...
Well, what a great few days it's been.
Thursday to Saturday was Brocket Hall. Great rooms, fantastic food, archery, falconry, horse-racing, casino, football, tennis, golf, jazz band, string quartet & clay pigeon shooting. Cool,huh? Luckily I wasn't paying!
Back on Saturday afternoon we took my Mum and Dad to go and see the fantastic Blood Brothers at the Phoenix Theatre. By the end my Mum and I had tears streaming down our faces. Marky and Dad looked on with wry amusement.
On Sunday Pete, Ken, Steve, Ian and I went to Stevie P's Soho House bash - free booze, free food and a venue packed choc-a-bloc with cute men - what was not to like?
After that we headed down to Horse Meat Disco - my first time there. It was a giggle: 70's music, a fun crowd, loads of friends and yes, you've guessed it, some cute men too.
Monday afternoon Marky and I went to see Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban at our local cinema. Great film - better than the first two. The Hippogriff (large creature; half bird, half horse) was great. The film was dark (quite literally) and well paced. Even Marky loved it and he can be a hard man to please film-wise sometimes. Can't wait for the DVD.
Well, what a great few days it's been.
Thursday to Saturday was Brocket Hall. Great rooms, fantastic food, archery, falconry, horse-racing, casino, football, tennis, golf, jazz band, string quartet & clay pigeon shooting. Cool,huh? Luckily I wasn't paying!
Back on Saturday afternoon we took my Mum and Dad to go and see the fantastic Blood Brothers at the Phoenix Theatre. By the end my Mum and I had tears streaming down our faces. Marky and Dad looked on with wry amusement.
On Sunday Pete, Ken, Steve, Ian and I went to Stevie P's Soho House bash - free booze, free food and a venue packed choc-a-bloc with cute men - what was not to like?
After that we headed down to Horse Meat Disco - my first time there. It was a giggle: 70's music, a fun crowd, loads of friends and yes, you've guessed it, some cute men too.
Monday afternoon Marky and I went to see Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban at our local cinema. Great film - better than the first two. The Hippogriff (large creature; half bird, half horse) was great. The film was dark (quite literally) and well paced. Even Marky loved it and he can be a hard man to please film-wise sometimes. Can't wait for the DVD.
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