I didn't quite catch that...

The Martix Reloaded. A good thing. Making your own army of Smith’s? Strange… Very cool, but strange.

Hat tip to the guys at FusionReaktor.

So I’ve got my life in the car. And I think that I may have made a mistake on the choice of album as I drove away: Outrospective. Because the second track is quite depressing:

Whoever asks my name
Or where I came from
People fear contamination
If they chary too long
I carry a strong
Scent of despair
It’s in the air
I?m broken and hard to repair
I may mistaken be
But I patiently wait
On the path to humanity
I sit at the gates

[Chorus]
Now when you climb
Into your bed tonight
And when you lock
And bolt the door
Just think of those
Out in the cold and dark
‘Cause there’s not enough love to go round

But then, as I left Leamington, for possibly the last time, and went onto campus, for the last time as a student, the tune changed. Move forward, not back.

All the subtle flavours of my life
are become bitter seeds
and poisoned leaves
without you

You represent what’s true
I drain the colour from the sky
And turn blue
without you

These arms lack a purpose
Flapping like a humming-bird
I’m nervous ’cause
I’m the left eye
you’re the right

Would it not be madness to fight
We come one

In you the song which rights my wrongs
In you the fullness of living
The power to begin again
From right now, in you

We come one

I’m not afraid
never never scared
Worries washed
pressed air
I am the left eye
you’re the right
Would it not be madness to fight

We come one

I don’t know why, but it was one of the most uplifting things I’ve ever heard. Onwards, Upwards and On. Warwick I’ll be back. Future, allow me to introduce myself. I’ve recently been Ed. But John is back.

I generally don’t like them. I specificially don’t like them when I’m saying goodbye to my most recent ex, who I never actually split up with. We just were so lazy that we couldn’t be bothered to call or visit often. Then at all. Until I had to return furniture today.

How to mess up a relationship with a fantastic person. Who I also think is pretty damn fit. Bah. Laziness is the bane of my life. Not that I’m going to do anything about it.

Just when I’m faced with leaving this country (and lets face it, England and Ireland, even Northern Ireland, are different countries. Accept it and move on), someone comes along and points out that it’s a bit of a crap country anyway.

Good good. I’d hate to be leaving behind some of my best friends, some of the best years of my life, and and decent country. Now I only have to do two out of the three. Which is only slightly less depressing. Boo! Less depressing stuff.

I can no longer claim to be a student. I can no longer look forward to nights in the union where I can be guaranteed to know a good bunch of people there. I can no longer stay clear of the real world.

In short, the fun is over. I now have to clear my head and decide what the hell I’m going to do with my life.

God help me.

Yesterday, I got my results. I am now Mr. E.J. Hillan, BSc(Hons). Which is nice. Not the best result ever, but I’m happy with it.

Now I have to go out for my last night in the Union. It’s probably going to be very messy. I’ve already had to say goodbye to a few people, and tonight I’m going to have to do the same for many more. I hate goodbyes. I don’t wanna leave.

Bollocks.

I have previously promised to post a couple of photos from my day at Silverstone. How’s about these:

I’m working the Final Fling from 3.15 this afternoon. It’ll basicially be a few bands in a big tent, with about 3,200 drunk students all dressed up. Most of the people I know from uni will be there, either drunk or working. Which means that there will be much photography. After that it’ll get a bit annoying. T-2 days until I leave uni forever.

Can’t wait to leave uni, really. Full of pretentious arseholes. I don’t want to leave all the decent people though. Which is less good. There’s only one solution. A travelling roadshow of all the people I think are decent at this uni. The roadshow will follow me and amuse me when- and where-ever I want. That’s not unreasonable, is it?

…then you are a fool, unless you have a good reason (like your workplace not having anything else installed, as in my case).

However, despite your foolishness, there is a little light at the end of the tunnel. Namely that only IE will let you marvel at the wonders of this page. Found at the ever-amusing pete.nu.

NEWS JUST IN: Due to cutbacks, the light at the end of the tunnel has been switched off. Sorry. Credit to Chris W and his pink car.

Davezilla brings up Irish cuisine in today’s post, such as the monstrosities of

• Bread
• Mashed Potatoes
• Carrots
• Tea
• Sugar Cookies

All good, of course. But read the comments as well:

• Damn those Irish and their perfectly edible foods!
• Hey, you forgot BEER!
  Don?t ever forget BEER!
  Its half of what makes me proud to be Irish! The other half being the cynical outlook on life and surley disposition.

I like the emphasis on beer. Beer is good. Although I have to say that I’m not at all cynical. And don’t call me Shirley.

I may have mentioned before that I read Idleworm. Mainly because he produces some slick Flash stuff, but also because he is an absolute Loonie Leftie™. He occasionally refers to Robert Fisk as a ‘Guardian of Truth’, which should tell you more than enough about him.

But anyway. Idleworm pointed me in the direction os Truth Is The Weapon Of Bush’s Self-Destruction: The Superpower Of Peace Has The Ultimate Force, a fascinating article that made me laugh. Quotage:

GUANTANAMO: While claiming to spread ?American freedom,? Bush has established a concentration camp on conquered land where human rights are shredded in contempt for global treaties, and where a death chamber may soon be added;
….
ARMAGEDDON OVERDUE?: Bush?s foreign policy , especially in the Middle East, features a psychotic sectarian belief in an ?end of days? scenario where a chosen few with a peculiar view of Christ ascend to a very private Heaven, leaving the rest of us to burn;
….
The mainstream media does its part by dismissing those abundant, articulate critics who don?t, like Paul Wellstone, conveniently wind up dead.
….
But once shod, Truth and only Truth can crush tyrants, kick down prison doors and walk the world back into the sunshine of freedom.

I especially like the last two bits there. Suggesting that people are disappeared to hide the Truth™. And ‘only Truth can crush… [blah, blah, hippy claptrap, blah]‘. Only a strong and organised force can [blah, blah, hippy claptrap, blah] without it turning into a mass lynching (i.e., the French Revolution: “She’s got a fancy hairdo!” “Evil swine! Lets kill her!”). Truth by itself cannot open doors, cannot free peoples. It requires good people, practical people and brave people to do that.

Of course, the guy who wrote this article would probably define him and his kind as ‘good people, practical people and brave people’, but just writing about the lack of free speech and free media in a country where both are assured doesn’t take a lot in the way of balls. They can talk a lot of balls, though.

And if you want a more interesting set of lies, try these.

Frank J. has gotten round to including Tony Blair in his In My World series. Ha ha.

“Captured by Belgians,” Bush grumbled to himself, “This is almost as bad as when Carter was attacked by a rabbit.”

“Things could be worse, chap,” said a familiar voice, “At least we have plenty of chocolate and waffles to eat.”

Bush looked to the other cell. “It’s my gay friend Tony!” he exclaimed.

“Nice to see you, too,” Tony Blair answered.

Which is a pretty good result for me, I think.

Shamelessly stolen from Matt’s place.

This gentleman is a cock. No ifs, no buts, he’s a cock.

On what do I base this sweeping generalisation? On the way that, for a cheap publicity stunt, he broke into a palace guarded by fairly heavily armed people. I can see the headlines.

[bong] And the top story tonight: An intruder has been shot ded while attempting to gain entry into Windsor Castle. The dead man, named as Aaron Barschak, was dressed as Osama bin Laden, and, it has been claimed, had been shouting abuse at passers by earlier in the day.

A policeman at the scene, who was visibly shaken by the incident, said that the officers involved had had no choice: “If he had been armed, he could have wiped out the whole succession. Our guys had no choice; when he refused to surrender, we had to use lethal force in defence of the monarch.”

The Prime Minister praised the actions of the officers, while saying that the incident was ‘regettable’.

The Palace has not made any statement. Prince William was seen pissing against a wall, while shouting “Bang! Bang!” at passers-by and smearing bits of the dead man’s brain into his face.

The Greasy Spoon

Someone who obviously knows my dietary habits sent me this link.

If greasy spoons disappear from our towns and cities, where would we go for those the-morning-after-too-much-beer-the-night-before Full English Breakfasts? Greasy spoons are the pharmacies for hangover cures. Let them be.

Long live the greasy spoon.

Couldn’t agree more, although I have to say that an Ulster Fry is infinitely better than the Full English. A fry-up without potato bread? Are you mad?

What? No soda either? Begone with you, foul wench from hell. But on your way out, pass the dead pig products, fried in week old oil. A heart attack on a plate, if you will.

You know that taste that you get just before a big storm breaks? The feel of it, all clammy even if there’s a big wind? Well, it’s been like that for a while here, and I just heard the first thunderclap. So it’s really about to break.

Click on this link. It should show you the piazza at Warwick.

The storm is just breaking. And it’s going to break in the piazza.

Warwick’s Rock Gospel Choir is setting up for their annual concert. In the piazza.

Add those last two statements together, and you get a sum total of: “I shouldn’t laugh, but I have no choice in the matter. Me go laugh now.”

Dave reminds me of a game I saw a while ago. One that appeals to my inbuilt interest in the causing of firey death and explosive destruction.

Ant City. Where the people are the ants, and you have the magnifying glass. The dog’s quite funny.

And, no, I don’t really have an inbuilt interest in the causing of firey death and expolsive destruction. I just like watching them in a non-real sense.

Before you start to read this, I want you to get an image in your head. Rember about a year ago, there was a Volvo ad, where the car has to drive through a mass of red crabs, dodging them? Got that? Good. Remember that image.

So, last night, it was work as usual. Except for the way we were understaffed, the numbers of people in and the fact that it was Fight Night, of course. But it worked, and at the end we sat about waiting for drinks. And, what with me having to drive home, with four passangers, I thought that I’d better get a closed bottle. Which I then did. And we left.

At this point, I should point out that there is another ‘drink driving’ threat. The threat of people driving home that little bit faster so that they can enjoy their drink a little sooner. But lets put that to the side for a moment, shall we?

So, I’m driving home. As I’ve mentioned, I do like driving fast down country roads, so I chose to go down the country road. This was about 4am, so the sun was up and the birds were singing. And the poor ickle bunny rabbits were just waking up. Big mistake. For I come tearing down this country lane, (within the speed limit, of course, but a little faster than common sense would dictate), doing the Volvo advert. Dodging round the stupid bunny rabbits. Of course, of the people in the car with me, the girls were a little upset, and counted the rabbits before I passed, and after (they all survived). The gentleman in the front seat seemed a little worried by the bunnys as well, although the gentleman in back seemed amused by the whole thing.

Anyway, all the bunny rabbits survived. Which was probably a good thing, given how long it takes to remove bits of bunny from various intakes, brake pads, wheels, etc. The only casulty was a bloody stupid bird that flew right into the bonnet. I blame the bird entirely. And I had to scrape the blood stain off my car this morning. Merde.

This bit of pointless posting was brought to you by my annoyance (at having to clean up bird blood), work (as in, I only woke up an hour ago and start work in thirty minutes) and the letters U, C, F, R and O.

Do you ever get that feeling that there’s just something weird about the world? Like, in the previous post, I mentioned that I was considering changing the layout of this site. Then I set off on my normal daily wander through the blogroll. And I get to This Is The Goo I’ve Got, and there’s a link to a random layout generator. Curiouser and curiouser.

I’m debating completely changing the layout of the blog. I know that reading white writing on a black background isn’t always easy. So I may change it. I could always go the way of Rachel Lucas, and have a disembodied head at the top of the page. Coincidentally, I happen to have a disembodied head floating about…

What do people think? Should I use this, or is it a little freaky? I’ve named it ‘headgrin’, although I was sorely tempted by ‘grinningidiot’ or ‘disembodiedgrinningidiot’. I really do look very strange in that photo. The moral of the story is, of course, never let drunk women convince you that having your photo taken is a good thing. No good will ever come of it.