Archive for March, 2009

But it’s not very clear.

Thursday, March 26th, 2009

Here is the thing, I am all for fashion.

I am also a complete brand whore.

But even I have to draw the line somewhere.

Normally when I get my line drawing pen out, it’s sour grapes over the latest “in” fashion not being aimed at an old man like me, or a line of clothes that will never, ever fit my “husky” frame. But occasionally (ever so occasionally) it happens due to good taste. Or that my taste is not bad enough.

Either way, this is one of those times. I can’t even start to begin to wonder about complaining about what is wrong with these LOVA Trouser Shorts. I can’t. I am not even going to in-line a picture of them because that would involve looking at them again just to load the image, and every time I load my own site I would be faced with the depraved, rank horribleness which would surely result in me never, ever coming back here.

You might think that is a good thing.

You might be right.

But fuck you. Seriously, I paid for the domain. I paid for the hosting. I can do what I like. No, no, no, I’m sorry, please don’t go. I don’t mean to be so grumpy, it’s just that those shorts make me want to punch someone in the head over and over and over again until all that is left is a fine paste of face covering my fists.

And that shit is hard to clean off. Apparently.

All the world’s weight is on my back and I don’t even know why.

Tuesday, March 24th, 2009

Can you keep a secret? No? Really? Oh. Okay. I won’t tell you then.

No, I won’t. I could get into trouble if I told you that instead of busying myself with busy work today I learned about a new thing. And by new thing, I mean an old thing that is new to me.

Via the brilliant mind of Andy Baio and his excellent site I was directed to Rands‘ site to learn all about the Brooklyn Bridge, where by “all about” I mean “I learned a few interesting things about it”.

One of those interesting things was the “caisson”. Which, according to my first port of call is “a retaining, watertight structure used, for example, to work on the foundations of a bridge pier, for the construction of a concrete dam, or for the repair of ships.” Go read about it. I guess that due to the less sexy nature of the article you can trust the Wikipedia will be accurate on this subject.

But because it is not sexy, doesn’t mean it is not awesome. These things can be brilliantly simple and yet could be hideously complicated and involved airlocks and air compressors and require medical staff. Yep, need to have those white coats around for dealing with caisson disease, or the bends, or decompression sickness (it is all the same thing). I never wondered if people experienced this before the advent of deep underwater diving, and now I don’t have to. All I know is that I want one, and a small lake in which to dig in. Or a big lake.

And a powerboat.

And a hat.

Like this:

Now five years later on, you’ve got the world at your feet.

Tuesday, March 24th, 2009

Among my many unwise purchases are counted such things as: a modified sports car, another modified sports car with a seized engine, multiple laptop computers, an off-brand plasma TV, and a brand-new Suzuki GS500 motorbike.

This one:

And I love it. Lots. So much.

A month or so after I got it, I was in a cocktail bar (that much is true) when I got talking to the muddler behind the bar about his plans for the weekend. He said he was going to get back on a bike for the first time in years and I mentioned I had a bike and he offered me the three rules his father had passed down to him, and that he lived by. They were:

  1. Protection: Always wear a helmet and your leathers. Always.
  2. Assumption: Assume everyone in a car is trying to kill you and wants you dead.
  3. Reaction: Never, ever act out in anger. If someone cuts you off, don’t raise the middle finger or shake your head, just wave and smile at them through your visor.

I always knew the first rule, but had I known the second two I am sure I would have been able to avoid an incident that had occurred the previous week.  See, I had been riding at the speed limit and someone behind me, in a hotted up Holden Commodore, wanted me to go faster.  He kept speeding up to within a foot/30cm or so of me and then slowing down.  Then when he had a chance to pass me, he did so with two wheels in my lane, and attempted to hit me when he swerved back into the lane in front.

So I gave him the finger.

Which meant that he jumped on the anchors and tried to slam the back of his car into the front of my bike. It didn’t happen, thank gosh, but he then continued on up the road and stopped and waited for me.  As I got closer he spun up his rear tyres, did a clumsy 180 degree spin and aimed himself at me.  I tore open the throttle on the bike and flew away, darting into the first street I recognised in hope I could pull into someone’s driveway and seek refuge.  So I did.  After five minutes of no pursuit I thought it safe to ride home, and as I double-backed I got to see  two tracks that the Holden Commodore had left all over a grassy childrens playground. At the end of the tracks was a smashed up car and a very solid tree.

I also got to see a fatherly figure trying not to beat the ever living shit out of the Commodore’s backward cap wearing driver. He was the very model of controlled rage.

So, in summary: Protection, Assumption, Reaction. Remember them when you are on the road.

He’s so nervous, avoiding all her questions.

Monday, March 23rd, 2009

I have a twitter account. I have become quite addicted to it. I find it useful in stalking people, attempting to be witty and finding out what my favourite alt-models are up to.

I also like that twitter is popular enough to not only be spoofed, but to be spoofed in an amusing way:

I twittered earlier about how men need to have some clothing on to be regarded as sexy, but women don’t. It was pointed out that men in just socks is as far from sexy as you can get, and that is 100% completely true. But women in socks is 100% hot and sexy.

And these flickr links are the proof:

And these deviantART* ones back it up:
un (maybe nsfw)
deux (nsfw)
trois (nsfw)

Now, to round off this post, some more links:
The Peter Saville Show Soundtrack.
The backpack I need to own (but can’t bring myself to).
A camera for the macro-enthusiast.

* You may need a deviantART account to see these.

It’s the only way to live.

Wednesday, March 11th, 2009

My car has decided that it is time for it to branch out from being awesome on the road to trying to be awesome online.

It has a twitter account. Here:

It tried to post a GPS record of it’s journey this morning but the mapping tool said that it had travelled only 0.76km. Straight up. I’m sure it will try again later.

Fist. Fuck.

Monday, March 9th, 2009

At the risk of turning this into a reblogging site for My Favourite Band, I share with you the following – Nine Inch Nails with Dillinger Escape Plan doing what can only be described as a fucking amazing version of Wish, live at the Soundwave Festival in Perth, Western Oz.

As much as I enjoyed seeing NIN this year, I wish I had seen them do something as fantastically cool as this. Oh well, guess I should sell a kidney and go see them, Metallica Placebo and Faith No More in Austria.

Crash your dreams and fall forever.

Monday, March 2nd, 2009

I have the man-flu and I am at work. The combination of these two things has me down, down, down, down. To cheer myself up, I thought I would watch that Hard Copy episode with Trent Resnor (sic) faking his death.

The best thing about it is the sarcastic bearded reporter who can’t tell the difference between journalism and sarcasm. Nine Inch Noise? Classic writing. But not only is his writing amazing, his delivery and screen presence are terrific too. I can’t imagine what he bribed or blackmailed the producers with to get on-camera time. I don’t think I want to.

It probably involved hidden cameras.