I didn't quite catch that...

This article from the BBC talks a little bit about the demise of punctuality and manners that follows the widespread use of mobiles. And this is something that annoys me a little, but since I make use of it a little, I can’t complain too much. So it has the theoretical makings of a Righteous Rant, but it doesn’t translate into a Rant easily.

What I would Rant a lot more easily about is this bit (but I’d translate it into work situations as well as pubs):

So your friend/date has arrived late and you’re in a pub drinking. There’s only two of you, but the other person seems to think it’s acceptable to take a call. Now two seconds of “I’m sorry, I’m out, I’ll call you later” is irritating but the right side of acceptable. Fielding a five minute call, though increasingly common, is not.

But it’s a Friday, and there is this to look forward to, so I’m disinclined to do much Ranting now. I’m more intrigued by this bit:

The same activities as when the other person goes to the toilet. What did people do before the mobile. Did they make origami animals? Whittle sticks? Compose haiku? It’s difficult to remember.

I, honestly, can’t remember what the hell I did when I didn’t have a phone and I was waiting on someone. Oh, in the pub at home, I’d lost a couple of quid in the fruit machine, or chance an arm on the Who Wants To Punch Chris Tarrant machine. But what the hell did I do elsewhere? I honestly don’t remember.

Any help here would be appreciated, for I’m sure that I’m not the only one with questions about this.

Robert Marion Smith aka ACIDMAN
16/2/1952 – 26/6/2006

I wasn’t one of Rob’s blogchildren, though he had many. I wasn’t one of his friends, though he had many. I wasn’t one of those he met, entertained and abused, though there were many. I’m just someone who read his writing, and laughed at the funny bits, hurled at the sick bits and generally found myself to be entertained.

I found myself tagging along for the ride with the rollercoater that was his life. I started reading Gut Rumbles early in 2003; at that point Rob was still employed, still having weekends with his son, still the Tall Dog. Since then, I’ve read about whatever he wrote: cross country drives, blogmeets, whoring away the days in Costa Rica, drinking away the nights in Rincon. Losing visitation with his son, looking forward to seeing his daughter, the death of family members, memories of other family long gone, his acceptance of and treatment for his disease, his plans for musical endeavours, his plans for growing his own food, his love of very strange Southern foods. The abuse he’d dish out to all and sundry, the controversy he’d cause with nothing but a word. And I can remember most of these.

Some would say that blog is a window into someone’s life. Most people only let the window open onto a small section of their life; I know that I do. But Rob didn’t have a window; he had the entire fourth wall removed and invited everyone to get involved. I can’t think of a blog that’s been more open, more honest. You can take your reality TV shows and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine. I’ve been reading Gut Rumbles: much more interesting, much more real.

In the last year, Rob has gone missing a couple of times. He’s been in hospital and in treatment. He’s gone weeks without posting, and when that happened I’d be genuinely worried; I wonder wtf was going on, was he OK. Then, without so much as a weeks not posting, he was gone. For good. And it hit. Like someone I’d spoken to a lot, but never really been more than casual acquaintances with; someone whose funeral you’d go to, but you’d not carry at.

But I can’t go to the funeral. So I’m doing this instead. Rob, it’s been a blast. And I hope that you’re strumming away in the sky with the best of them.

Some of the acting that’s been going on in this World Cup has been downright shameful. Wether it’s the above case (from Australia v Italy), or Henry hurting his face (from acting too hard, presumably), or any number of other occasions, it’s been spoiling the watching. Not as much as the cardfest that was the Croatia game, but still quite annoying.

Graphic stolen from nimby.

What do you do? What do you do?

Scenario:

You are driving in a car at a constant speed.

On your left side is a valley and on your right side is a fire engine
traveling at the same speed as you.

In front of you is a galloping pig which is the same size as your car and you cannot overtake it. Behind you is a helicopter flying at ground level. Both the giant pig and the helicopter are also traveling at the same speed as you.

What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

More »

So, Mr Denham, you said that judges were engaged in a battle with the elected Parliament, did you?

Perhaps you meant to say that Parliament is in a battle with itself, because the judges are only basing their decisions on the conflicting laws that you, as a member of said Parliament, have put before them? Because that would be closer to the truth, wouldn’t it?

I do think that it’s high-lair-ious that so much of the government’s fearmongering methods are in conflict with the human rights leglislation that the exact same government put on the books. And they made the HR Act more important than nearly everything else on the statute books, meaning that if a law is in conflict with the HR Act, then the HR act takes precedence, and the newer law is effectively declared illegal.

Such was the way with the new internment, such is the way with the control orders.

And such is the way it bloody well should be. Even if I don’t agree with all the details of the Human Rights Act, I agree with the principle that there should be some laws preventing the cabinet from doing whatever the hell they want. And this seems to be doing that. Which is nice.

Some people you just never expect to be U2 fans…

Hat tip to Misha

At Christmas, I was given a couple of books. One of which I asked for, and one of which I didn’t. One of which I enjoyed immensely, and one of which I didn’t.

The book I asked for was Is It Just Me Or Is Everything Shit?. And it is not just the authors who think that everything is shit; I fully concur about most thing being shit. Including the book, and it’s authors. For they are annoyed my people having money, by people not having money, by people wanting money, by people not wanting money, by people talking about money, by people not talking about money, etc, etc, etc. They seem to be annoyed by everything. And everything’s opposites. Very annoying to read, even if it did have a couple of sensible things on the list. Like the bit about yer wanker Williams.

Robbie Williams
Robbie’s autobiography is, of course, called Feel. Well, he’d have had some kind of chutzpah to call it Think.
Williams enjoyed writing his autobiography so much, he claimed to be working on a novel. He said: ‘I have done most of the research. it’s a very creative process.’ Writing a novel is a ‘very creative process’? Yep, should have thought so.
We can here exclusively reveal the track-listing for his next album:

1. ‘Catchy Yet Shit First Single’
2. ‘Feel My Pain’
3. ‘Love Me (I Am In Pain)’
4. ‘It’s Not All A Barrel Of Laughs Being A Famous Pop Star, You Know’
5. ‘Bet You Hated My Guts When I Shouted “I’m Rich, Rich, Rich Beyond My Wildest Dreams!”, But Actually I’m Just Like You. Only Much Richer’
6. ‘America: I Love You’
7. ‘America: Please Love Me’
8. ‘Second Single No One Will Remember In Six Months’ Time’
9. ‘America: No, Really, Love Me. Love Me. LOVE ME!’
10. ‘Not Being Popular In America Is Really Quite Painful’

The book was written just after the most recent album from Mr Williams, so we are as yet unable to see if these predictions are correct.

And the book I didn’t ask for was The Gripes Of Wrath. Which is, thusfar, pretty decent. It’s all just random factoids, quotes and trivia, which I always like.

A nice quote:

People who study fear have never seen a period in which rational sources of it were in such short supply. In response, politicians, interest groups and the media have served up a smorgasbord of overblown frights to fill the American appetite. In the past few years, the options have included Y2K, anthrax, flesh-eating bacteria, genetically modified foods and road rage.
‘We live in just about the safest time in human history, and yet we’re filled witha a lot of overblown fears.’
Dr Barry Glassner, author of ‘The Culture of Fear’

Very true. And, on this side of the Pond, they’re manufacturing fear to allow them to bring in the ID card, about which we should all be fearful…. [/paranoid ranting]

Another old (but still good) quote:

A third of all 15-34 year olds were unaware that the Battle of Britain took place in World War Two. Fifteen per cent of 16-24 year olds thought that when Orangemen march on 12 July they are celebrating the victory of Helm’s Deep. The battle actually occurs at the end of The Two Towers, the second book of Tolkien’s Trilogy The Lord of the Rings.

Five per cent of the same age group questioned in a BBC poll thought the defeat of the Spanish Armada was masterminded by Gandalf.

I had the misfortune of trying to explain to a non-NornIroner the other day why the country stops for the few days around The Twelfth. I don’t think she (or the others at the table) were particularly impressed with the lack of getting over it (on both sides) that can result in mild Leopard pyrotechnics lasting for a week or two…

Anyway. The Gripes… seems to be a book much more suited to me: random facts, with a rant behind it. Always a good way to go.

The sheer volume of horseshit in this article has gone and broken one of the most useful electronic devices there is: the Acme HorseShit-ometer.

And considering that said horseshit-ometer is rated for up to 3 Livingstones of horseshit, that means that the horseshit must be plentiful.

So, the ‘iconic’ Ulsterbus is being withdrawn. Who, out of the school going population, did not learn to groan when one of these approached? Because you knew what you’d get when you stepped aboard: hard, plastic seat backs; heaters that either didn’t work or were set to ‘incinerate’; handrails that were perfect for inflicting injuries on people; luggage racks that were perfectly sized to hold a multitude of first years and acceleration that would best be described as ‘glacial’.

But that’s not what the bus is best known for. Not, it’s because it appeared (with some regularity) on the front of newspapers, in the headlines and on the streets looking a little like this:

According to the stats, out of some 1,300 such buses owned by Translink, 228 were ‘destroyed maliciously’. Which is a fairly hefty proportion of the whole run.

There are some gobshites on this wee island, so there are. And Mr Conor Cregan is certainly one of those. Carrying out a citizens arrest on some USian soldiers in Ireland? What the feck were you thinking, twatface?

Now, if said soldiers were in a vindictive mood, they could always try and sue said daft bastid for wrongful imprisonment, as his arrest would have been illegal. What with him not having specific grounds to arrest them and all that.

And now I’m going to go and laugh at the comments on indymedia. For they are always worth a read.

I got a shock when I visited Day By Day this morning.

Rob Smith, aka Acidman, writer of one of the best blogs out there, has passed away.

I never knew Rob, I never corresponded with him. I had maybe two emails and one comment from him. He even linked to me a couple of times. But I’ve been reading his site since the start of 2003, and I feel like I’ve tagged along for the ride a bit. I’ve followed him through losing his job, through the cycle of losing and gaining contact with his son, through his alcoholism, through his treatment, through his sickness, through his trips to Costa Rica, through his love for his family, through the loss of his family. I wasn’t there, but he damn well made it feel like I was.

Of all the big bloggers, I think that Acidman had the most character and personality, and that certainly came through in his writing. He was smart, funny, witty and cutting when he wanted to be. And entertaining the whole way through.

Years ago, Rob quoted something that summed up his philosophy on life, and he lived up to it.

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming,
“WOW! What a ride!”

I want the last check I write to bounce like a super-ball and I want to look really dead when I’m finally laid out. That’s my goal, and working hard on that project.

Rob Smith, 1952-2006. RIP.

None of your usual sillyness, thankyouverymuch.

Hijacking vehicles, loading them with suspicious packages, instructing the driver to drive it over to a target. Almost like the good ol’ days of yore, isn’t it. Yet with even less point to it. As they would say round the affected area “wine yer nek in, yes bastids”.

That is all. I’m now going back to work. There appears to be a fox hanging about outside the window, which is a little strange. But slightly cool with it.

I’m all for agreeing with Mr Leary on this one. You can take your moccha grande lattee vanilla caramel double with cinammon sprinkles and shove it up your arse. I’ll have coffee, black, in as big a container as you can find.

If you can supply me with a swimming pool of the stuff, then I’ll supply my own diving board and all will be well.

Been in Dunkin’ Donuts lately? The last bastion of coffee-flavored coffee? It’s gone. Forget about it. You walk in there now, there’s people wearing berets, they’re writing poetry on computers, there’s a kid behind the counter: “Would you like a coffee kuhlata?”

Fuck no! www.blowme.com! Coffee Kuhlata — what the hell is that all about? Man, when I was a kid, Dunkin Donuts had two things — coffee, and donuts, and that WAS IT! You took the donut, you dunked it in the cofee, thus the fuckin title of the place! Duuuuuuuuuukin DONUTS!

On the plus side, Starbucks will still sell you a plain ol’ filter coffee. It’s just that they won’t advertise that fact; you need to know the secret handshake and ask in code, or it confuses the poor people.

From yon team building day.

Despite my best efforts with the bow and arrow… , I was unable to prevent the evil chin stealing fairy from striking . But worse was to follow! Some silly person blindfolded me and put me in charge of a vehicle . How silly do you get?

And then some evil bastard grabbed me, and strapped me into an implement of torture , and then everything went a little bit blurry .

But it was OK in the end, and I still managed to stand about like a loon . For a change…

From the Mirror:

NORTHERN Ireland was accused of giving “two fingers” to Europe yesterday

I didn’t read the rest of the article, to be honest. But with an introduction like that it has to be a sensible tale, doesn’t it?

In 2006, a crack unit was sent to the front line by an inept government to fight a crime they couldn’t define. These men promptly performed a thorough cost/benefit analysis, a risk assessment and developed standard operating procedures. Today, still hounded by the government, they survive as wasters of good money. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire…the Respect Squad.

I think that we can safely assume two things about this respect squad:

1. It will grow at an alarming rate.
2. It won’t work.

So you’ll excuse me if I don’t hold my breath for the solution of all anti-social behaviour related problems…

There is a problem with revisiting shows that you remember from your youth; they never seem as good as you remember them. I mean, I loved Dr Who when Sylvester McCoy was the Doctor, but looking back on it, it was really quite shite. Tripods scared the bejeezus out of me way back when, but I got the DVD of it a while back and it just wasn’t scary any more.

But then there are some things that are just as good, and one of the would probably be Spitting Image. I just finished watching a documentary about it on UTV, and it was still good.

Spitting Image was absolutely brilliant, back in the day. It was the only quasi-political show that I’d enjoy watching, back when I was but a kid. And it’s probably responsible for my intense dislike and distrust of yer man Blair, because his character was in it long enough to get beaten up, but not long enough for you to feel any sympaty for.

But there is one thing that has really annoyed me about it. Some years before the show ended, there was a song in it. And I can remember bits of the song (hell, it pops into my head fairly regularly), but not all of it. And that means that, with some regularity, I spent a while trying to dredge up the rest. With no success, so far. It was one about eternal conflicts and warring sides having no common ground, and the bits I remember go like this:

Serbian: You say potato with strange inclination.
Croatian: That’s ‘cos you’re Serbian, and I’m a Croatian.
Serbian: Serbian!
Croation: Croatian!
Both: Can’t be one nation,
let’s blow the whole world up.

Chorus: Oh, blow the whole world up, the whole world and his wife.
If everyone was dead, we’d have a peaceful life.

BIG ASS PIECE OF THE SONG THAT I CAN’T REMEMBER (BAPOTSTICR for short)

IRA man: BAPOTSTICR
Orangeman: You ban the pill, and bomb Enniskillen.
BAPOTSTICR
Orangeman: Paddy!
IRA man: Proddy!
Orangeman: Big Ears!
IRA man: Noddy!
Both: Let’s blow the whole world up!

Chorus

BAPOTSTICR

I’m sure you can see how annoying it would be to spend time trying to figure out all those BAPOTSTICR, so any help anyone could provide would be greatly appreciated.

BOO HISS. It’s always bad when F1 gets boring and predictable, but at least when Schumacher was winning everything it was in one of those pretty red cars. Alonso has even less charisma, and to make things worse he drives a french car.

Boo hiss. Bring back the good old days of Ferrari winning. Even better, bring back the days of decent non-Schumacher drivers winning, while driving Ferraris. That would be ideal.

So there is now a UK Mobile Phone Throwing Chamionship. Which makes me happy, happy, happy. For there are some people who deserve to have their phone thrown far, far away. Hell, if you could get away with doing so, then the need for the Righteous Smiting would be reduced.

My money would be on Big Gay Al to win, following his stunning attempt during the Final Fling ’00*, but strong competition could be offered by door staff up and down the country, I’m sure.

–
* – It may have actually been a Sports Fed ball, but the Fling is a much more apt event methinks.

Following on from yesterday’s revelations about copulation beneath the finest of Belfast’s flyovers, I was informed today that the yoof of the area wouldn’t normally deign to act in such as fashion.

No, apparently they prefer the finest accomodation that Belfast City Council has to offer in the area; the wonderful wee building in Custom House Square.

20 pence for ten minutes privacy? Bargain. And romantic to boot.

(And, worryingly enough, the person to inform me of this fact is 23, and a frequent user of said facility for meetings with her significantly older ‘fuckbuddy’. Such a delightful term, I think.)