Author: Alasdair
5 things
Go on then, ask me.
(Note: I’m not going to do whisky, so don’t ask.)
So far this morning:
I have been evacuated from one tube station, walked half an hour back in the direction I came from (on the advice of tube staff) in order to get on another line, and then, just as I was on my way down on the escalator, it was stopped, and a load of armed police came belting down, and I’ve now been evacuated from that station, too.
Creativity, Commons, Copyright
The Register runs a lengthy, and excellent, article on the problems facing copyright, and most importantly, compensation today.
This entry was originally published at my workblog.
Teen Angst
A few people have remarked that I seem stressed, lately.
Without becoming tedious about it: yes, I am, for a number of reasons. I am, of course, not the only one, but I’m the only one that I’m repsonsible for. I am endeavouring to do something about the things that I can do something about, but in the short term, I am not likely to magically become a ray of sunshine. (I am aware that “not a ray of sunshine” by my standards is still pretty cheerful by most people’s. That’s because I’m ace, me.)
However: If I am, or have been, short with you, or generally less understanding that I should have been, I can only apologise. I have very little patience at the moment, but that’s not an excuse for not biting my tounge.
PHP5 PDO
Another reference for later, as most of these will be, I’m sure. a really simple and clear set of examples of using the PDO functionality in PHP5.
This entry was originally published at my workblog.
Tonight is slightly better
I have bourbon with lots of ice, and jazz.
Still no naked people.
Bah.
Not A Fucking Lizard
In some contexts, this sort of heat is sexy. You know, ceiling fan slowly rotating, orange light spilling through a veneitian blind, illuminating a room with a bed containing an attractive person of appropriate gender wearing not very much aside from a sheen of sweat, bourbon and ice on a rickety table, jazz filtering in from somewhere up the street. Sexy.
London is not sexy in the heat. London is a great mass of sweating stone. I can hear the honk of buses from out the window, I have no venetian blinds or ceiling fan, I am going to the gym shortly, so cannot have the bourbon and ice, and worst of all, there are no attractive naked people in my bed. What’s the point of this sort of heat, then, I ask you?
Curiosity….
A couple of people I know have mentioned that they read this, despite not being on LJ/having me friended.
So, I’m curious: if you’re reading this, and haven’t got me friended, then leave a comment tell me me who you are (and, if on LJ, why you haven’t friended this journal…)
Zombie.
Between the horror of the films yesterday (Sorority Boys: Just say “Aaah! No! Get it away from me no aaargh!” do not attempt to watch it, because it’s a big heap of shit. OK, the company while watching made it more entertaining, but it’s still an excruciating experience. It’s Two Ronnie’s humour, executed without any of the charm or Ronnie Barker’s talent.) and then Slimelight, I am now mostly asleep.
Slimelight was interesting. First time I’ve been there with my head on straight, and stayed to the end. Other people have reported horror stories from this sort of thing. Honestly, I didn’t notice a world of difference. I mean, given the choice, I’d prefer to avoid the sober experience, but it turns out that I’m quite capable of dancing like a spack for six hours while stone cold sober, it’s just that I start to fall asleep after that.
Frankly, the major difference is that I talked to less people, and since what I come out with while all fucked up in there is utter shite anyway, no-one lost out. Felt slightly guilty for not actually stopping to say a proper hello other than nods in passing to _whitenoise and scratchmeharder, failed to spot miss_soap to wish her a happy badgerday after failing to show at the picnic ealier, so apologies all round on that score.
I also experienced, to what I’m sure will everyone else’s amusement, the mild horror of having to fend off a drunken/otherwise ruined young man’s advances at a couple of points during the night (not the first time (although, I admit, it’s been some (OK, many) years) I’ve been hit on by a man, but the first time that a “Sorry, no, very flattered, but not interested.” hasn’t worked straight out). In the trememdously unlikely event that I’ve ever been as, erm, as graceless as that (it may give you a clue when I say “Aaah! The Tounge!”) to anyone, ever, I’d just like to apologise unreservedly.