January 31st 2004
I don't think I apologise
I've done something today that I have never done before; censored my comments. Strangely enough, the feckwit who left me some purple prose for having an opinion on something threw me into a bit of a quandry. On the one hand, it seems petty to delete comments you find pathetic and/or offensive (even if they are imaginative combinations of anatomical parts and foodstuffs) but on the other hand, I'm sure that the majority of people who come here, don't come to read assinine comments (other than mine of course). So after due deliberation, I zapped the thing. Have admin, will use and abuse.
Maybe if the offending comment had been more witty, I'd have left it but you really don't get the class of abusive comment monkey that you used to back in the good old days when only computer literate people used the internet. Hell, today's cyber-vandals have even cottoned on to how to disguise their IP addresses; unfortunately, what they don't know is that it's not quite as clever as they think. Were I more vindictive, the Neurotic F***stick would be suffering quite badly now. However, being the gent that I am, I'll just sit back and delete the comment then 403 the offending address. 'Cos I can, and secretly I'm a megalomaniac.
Comments (), Permalink, 13:45 CSTJanuary 30th 2004
Girly moment
Natzoid is pissed with me. I have been a devoted Tori Amos fan since I first heard her in the early nineties. I went to see her in Leeds where her audience was no more than a couple of hundred of people.
Yup, she's a fruitcake of the first order. Yup, her brain inhabits places that even mine wouldn't want to be. But hell, she's a talent, both vocally and musically.
So when I pulled out Scarlet's Walk tonight, Natzoid's face dropped and I haven't seen her since. Can a man not empathise ever? Lordy lordy.
Maybe if she hadn't nicked the speakers with the headphone socket things might be different. But as they stand, I'm grooving and Natzoid is seething.
Comments (), Permalink, 21:30 CSTThe fundamental feck-up-ness of the whole damned shebang
I have been treading a fine line for a while politically. I fall into nowhere space in the US because of the partisan system it inevitably is. For example, I supported the war in Iraq whether WMDs were there or not (the whole regime was intolerable to a modern world), yet I openly support gay marriage. You see the dilemma here?
Ms Luminous's account of her experience with the NHS in the UK just further confuses my pathetic intellect. In principle, I'm all for the NHS. In practice, it is a black hole for tax payers. I've probably said this before but I'm going to say it again anyway; the UK discourages treatment for anything since it costs while the US will find the slightest thing wrong with you because they know they can bill your insurance company. Come on people, somewhere twixt the two lies a sane compromise.
There's a part of me (that blogged the other night but was censored by another part of me the following morning) that seriously thinks we're on a path to economic meltdown. The madness that is the stock market, the fact that people don't like paying for electronic gizmos, the reliance of the economy on service industries, employers' lack of willingness to take risks, the burden that we are increasingly placing on the next generation to pay for the sins of the fathers, all of it, is a massive pointer to the fact that the market economy may be the best thing we've come up with so far, but it's not a viable long-term philosophy. Maybe, and I put this forward as only a maybe, instead of spending millions a year on developing people who analyse the markets and create wealth for the already wealthy, we need to stand back and look at this from a purist point of view. There's a problem here that we are trying to solve using known techniques when in fact we should be 'thinking outside the box'.
It started with goats and land and has escalated to a ridiculous level. As a teenager, I read Karl Marx and while I sympathized with the equality aspect, I realised that it was not practical. Hell, I could go to the pub on a Friday evening having worked 60 hours that week and recognise people in there who had received their giro the day before and who had never worked a day in their lives. In fact, I know a guy who is a couple of years older than me who has never worked in his life, prefering instead to sit with his copy of the Daily Express in his parents' house, issuing judgements on the economy, workers' rights and criticizing the establishment. That is why puritanical socialism doesn't work. Because some people are lazy. Hence the realism that communism would never work (aside from the nanny-state arguments).
And while I'm at it, nanny-states are not the sole property of the formerly or currently communist block. The US and UK are just as bad. Do not smoke, do not drink. In the US, bars are hidden because they are shameful dens of iniquity. In the UK, your social life pretty much revolves around the local pub, but being caught there is a sign of social inferiority to those of the respectable classes (who sip port in their dining halls).
Maybe I'm just disillusioned with it all due to my current circumstance (I needed $5 to pay airport tax on a flight to CA that I had booked using my airmiles but none of my cards have that left on them - I nearly cried, but didn't - I'm English and we don't do emotion) but it all seems to be completely mad to me at the moment. The whole shebang seems to be on a downward spiral and the partisan conventional wisdom only accelerates it as the left take on the right. What a pathetic battle that is.
If people did what is right rather than what is politically correct, oh how much richer our lives would be. In the meantime, if you happen to find yourself in England with a gammy ankle, I have an angel of a cousin who you should look up. She has just chopped her mother's wait down to a paultry four months, from what could have been a life sentence.
Yatesdisillusioned out. Normal service will be resumed tomorrow.
Comments (), Permalink, 19:25 CSTThe lunatic fringe lives
In a two party system, things like this can do nothing but harm. Not that I have anything against feng-shui, but a law to enforce it? That's as mad as the late Screaming Lord Sutch's Monster Raving Loony Party manifesto to turn the EC butter mountains into ski-slopes. Ah, I do miss Screaming Lord Sutch - that was when politics were fun and I actually cared. SLS would have got my vote any day of the week. And had proportional representation been in effect, the All Night Party would have been my second choice. Come to think of it, I haven't voted since 1996 when I helped rid the UK of nearly twenty years of the scumbag Tories and install El Tonio Blair and his three adverb compulsion. Finally, unequivocally and ultimately.
Comments (), Permalink, 13:25 CSTIs it May yet?
What started off as a joke has now gone way beyond that. At 08:30 this morning, the temperature here was -31°C (-24°F). Extrapolating the daily temperatures, I feel the need to keep an eye out for liquid oxygen burns during February. Hell, even the dogs don't want to go out; no sooner have they been let out, they're back shivering at the door with icicles dangling from their whiskers.
I'd try the old trick of throwing a cup of water into the air, but that wouldn't work inside and I'll be buggered if I'm going outside. Maybe I'll clean the fridge instead, you know, for the heat differential factor.
In others news, there was a touch of unpleasantness abounding chez nous this morning. I awoke to the sound of a crying Bean. Naturally, I got up to find the cause of said wailing. Now call me Mean Mr Grouchy Pants but I do not accept the fact that the TV is not on as a justification for screaming the house down. Oh no. All that says to me is that we are rapidly turning into a spoiled child who has too much, is TV-dependent and has no imagination. I swiftly pointed the Bean back into her room. That TV is off all day today; it's not like she'll lose the plot of Dora or Blue's Clues. So there you go; yet another reason for you to be thankful that I'm not your father.
Comments (), Permalink, 10:00 CSTJanuary 29th 2004
Straight to the top of the class
Goes Occupied Country. Tell me this (scroll down to the entry about his son being 30) isn't the prime of Manchester. Straight to the top of the non-Minnesota blogroll for you. Bloody hilarious. Sorry you're a City fan though.
Still, it doesn't do to fuss does it?
Comments (), Permalink, 19:20 CSTThe injustice
You know, if the news networks want to compete with WCCO or whatever the channel is (I think it's 4 on the cable here), they should choose their moments more carefully. Last week, I tuned into the Debate, such as it was, and to be honest, it entertained me about as much as a Bowflex infomercial or an Eminem video. Hell, even The Apprentice was more entertaining (and that was going some given that they had a whole 2 seconds on strategy and tactics, but reserved the rest of the show for mindless studies of the participants' assessments of each other).
So why, oh why, oh why, are they pitching this week's Debate against CSI? Why? Given the choice of a bunch of answer-avoiding bellicose twerps or a good CSI, what kind of human being would opt for the former? You'd need to be a special kind of masochist to put yourself through that torture for a second week running. Now, if it were up against, say, American Idol Meets Genghis the Fear Factor Turtle on a Desert Island Survivor Jeopardy I would understand the schedulers' logic. But CSI? Please.
Tonight you will find me in the command center at yatescentral, watching CSI, while Natzoid suffers another round of The Weakest Link starring a bunch of no-good hacks asking sensationalist questions of non-presidential contenders. I'm sorry, I know I should take more interest, but my excuses are that I cannot vote anyway and that I would inevitably end up screaming the answers that should have been given. And anyway, at this moment in time, W's tax laws are what are keeping me going, and also at this moment in time, I cannot afford to have principles.
CSI it is. News is always depressing anyway.
Comments (), Permalink, 18:05 CSTIt's like Greater Manchester buses
You can stand there waiting for hours in the terminal Manchester drizzle, soaked to the skin, and never see even the outline of a bus. Then one will appear in the distance, grow steadily larger and then whizz past you at the speed of a bus, just allowing you to read the word 'Private' on the front. You'll wait another hour or so and then ten of them arrive simultaneously, all going to the same place (which is half way to where you really want to go but it will have to do because you've no idea how long the next bus to where you really want to go might be - it has been recorded in life-times).
So it goes with jobs. Nothing surfaces for months and suddenly a slew of very appropriate positions pop up in days. I am sat waiting for a phone call that might hail another interview about 10 miles away from the first.
Now all I need to do is figure out how to get there. It figures that the bank's estimated clearing of the check (cheque Z) falls two days after I have to be there. Nothing is ever easy eh?
If I'm lucky, I'll get three interviews in while I'm there. Which is kind of like catching all the buses at once. Now I need to decide which of them is the most attractive bus to be sat on. Dilemmas, dilemmas.
PS - For those among you who follow the SCO vs Linux thing, take a look at this (via Solonor). I'm convinced it must be someone who used to work for SCO in the olden days, probably someone from the old IXI team in Cambridge.
Comments (), Permalink, 14:10 CSTOh yes, you will be mine
I have an interview for the job™. I will say no more for the moment. I now need to start putting together an Kenny sales pitch and to reacquaint myself with which side of an iron to plug in. More later after I've finished screaming from the rooftops.
Comments (), Permalink, 08:15 CSTBliss
I couldn't let this pass without a comment. Football season extended? Can it be? Could we all be so lucky? Can you imagine being able to sit outside in the garden, sipping a beverage of your choice, while watching the FA Cup Final in June? Tilt.
Comments (), Permalink, 15:10 CSTI'm still a stranger
I've just been outside to deposit a check that my parents had sent me. Given that we are rapidly approaching 0°Kelvin and that peoples' limbs appear to be snapping off as they try to reposition them, I made the audacious decision to do the drive-through thing. The reason that it was audacious is that I have never done it solo before, I've always had Natzoid on hand to issue instructions. I operate on a need to know basis so have summararily forgotten all that I know about the drive through windows at banks. All I knew is that it would (a) avoid any form of direct human interaction and (b) avoid me having to leave the car (and endure the associated insufferable wind chills).
It was like a Hugh Grant movie. There I was the pleasant and jolly English dolt, trying to pass at being Mr Cosmopolitan while committing errors of Mr Bean like proportions. What does that red button do? I can tell you that it doesn't do what I expected it to. Vacuums roared and tubes flew, so much so that I wasn't sure whether this wasn't some form of surgery. The bank teller talked me through the complexities of sending the weird tube thing back to her and I dutifully failed to follow her instructions. Never let it be said that I do not learn from my mistakes; I can repeat them exactly.
The lady in the mini-van behind me was very much enjoying this. After ten minutes of fumbling around with the bizarre mechanics, the teller went off into the usual confused tailspin that ensues every time I attempt to deposit a check in foreign monetary units. There's the ritual quizzical eyebrow as they try to determine what a £ is. That having been ascertained though not understood, there follows the incredulity that £1 is worth more than $1. After the realité bounces off them and they manage to perform whatever mind numbingly banal process they have to follow to deposit this funny money into my account, they then explain that it will take 10 days to clear and that I cannot withdraw against it until it has cleared. A full twenty minutes has elapsed and the poor lady in the mini-van had died of hypothermia, not before her ears had snapped off as she adjusted her ear-muffs.
I finally drove away, back in the black in principle if not in the eyes of the cash machine, hair neatly coifed, old-boy jollity at full-blast, Eton tie precisely centered in the V of my sweater, to go find a transexual prostitute who would take an IOU. Funnily enough, they all seem to have taken the day off in Coon Rapids. Maybe I'll check out Anoka later when the wind chill isn't tattooing a permanent red cheery glow to my cheeks.
You know, I love being sunburned.
Comments (), Permalink, 13:40 CSTRandom list
In the style of Natzoid's triply patent pending random lists I offer you:
Apologies for this morning's caustic vitriol; I don't know whether it's due to the fact that I got up too early or because I have to leave the house in this soul-destroying temperature. Whichever, hopefully I'll mellow during the course of the morning and normal platitudes and good humor will return.
Please feel free to continue to rave on.
Update: at 08:50 CST, it is now a balmy -23°C or -9°F and according to Yahoo, our high for the day is -19°C. We need to move.
Comments (), Permalink, 08:30 CSTJanuary 27th 2004
I'm like a thing possessed
I have been obsessive today. The job that I found yesterday will be mine. I have contacted upwards of 20 industry colleagues who may have an "in" to said company with at least five of them responding that they don't know anyone there. I am yet to hear from the rest.
But not to worry, as well as applying for the job, I have sent their MD my resume and unashamedly blown my own trumpet (isn't contortionism great?). I have very articulately explained that for the good of the species, not to mention their company, they need me. I stopped short of suggesting a press release announcing my appointment. You have to draw the line somewhere you know.
So right now, in a world blog first, we're going to conduct a little experiment to benefit science Kenny. You are all going to adorn yourselves with the most comedic vegetables you have in your abodes (hint: tins are not comedic), turn West, raise your hands and chant as a mantra "the world needs this" over and over. All the while, you will be concentrating hard on a man reading an email and then his hand reaching for a telephone to dial a Minneapolis number, specifically mine. Your reward, little hoppers in the grass, is twofold. You will cause great cosmic karma and receive the associated sleep of the just. And the bonus, because it's Tuesday and the Great God of Garbage has been sighted vanquishing Nic's diapers, is so special, you could auction it on ebay. Yes siree, I might stop blogging about the bloody employment trail. Isn't that worth it to you?
Go find those gourds and artechokes, and help in this great experiment into prismic governance. 72.5 virgins await ye. And none of them are from Wigan. Oh yea...
Comments (), Permalink, 16:00 CSTJanuary 26th 2004
I dare not speak it by name lest I jinx it
I think I have found an ideal job. Not only would it utilize all of my generally applicable skills, it would use some of the more specialized ones. And the beauty is that I probably have several ways in to the company through contacts. I dare say no more. Fingers, toes, nads and all other sundry crossable bodily bits crossed. I dearly hope I get it.
Amazing what a new attitude can buy you, n'est-ce pas?
Comments (), Permalink, 17:50 CSTNon-epiphany
It's Monday and time to play your favorite game of Who is Kenny This Week?
Is he morose? Is he ambivalent? Is he suicidal? Is he ecstatic? Is he bolshy? Is he crushed?
Well the answer is that, this week, he will toy with being assertive. My brief interaction with religion was at junior school which was a Church of England establishment that inflicted bible-readings on a daily basis (I have often wondered how I ended up there considering I have never been christened). All it did for me is to amplify an already over-developed sense of humility. By the time I was eleven, I was convinced that I was but a worm and should be grateful for the fact that I had been given an opportunity to re-cover the class bible and practice reading it in assembly.
So in exactly the same way that I deemed religion to be a load of idealistic, war-promoting bunk, so too will I treat the corporate tip-toeing. Rather than offer my services in my usual humble manner, I'm going onto the front foot (obscure cricket analogy) and am going to demand audiences with menaces while screaming from the hilltops that while that particular position may not be an ideal match to my multi-faceted, tremendously valuable skills, your organization can't live without me and you know it. Yes, you may be able to get people for less money, but look at the value proposition here...where else do you get a software engineer, support guy, sales puke and marketing god all in the same package? Hire one of each and let's see how much that adds up to.
So your business turns over less than a couple of million a year eh? Let's see what we can do to triple that in the next twelve months. Local? Pah. National. Domestic? Boo for boring. Global. Let's face it, who couldn't do with me on staff? Soup to nuts, that's what you get.
So Who is Kenny This Week? could be summarized as supremely overconfident, vastly over-qualified for anything you might have and mindlessly optimistic.
One of these days, I'll use some combinatronics to calculate which of my multitude of psychoses is the correct permutation. I'd do it on paper but it's multi-dimensional so I'll probably need to write some code to monitor and optimize the process.
Damn this coffee is good. Or maybe it's all the different types of meat pies I've been eating. Maybe I should start spelling in English again to prove my literacy?
Comments (), Permalink, 12:55 CSTJanuary 25th 2004
Awwwww
First thing this morning Zoe came on tip-toes and whispered to me "I love your cake. Can I please have some cake?"
Of course I wanted to oblige her but the sensible parent in me told her that she should have cereal for breakfast, not cake, but she could have some later. She has been waiting all morning and has just returned to say "Please daddy, can I have some cake now?"
Who am I to say no, lunchtime or no lunchtime? Melts your heart, I tell you.
Comments (), Permalink, 12:05 CSTSophistication? I've been to Batley.
Via Ms Luminous, where have I been?

create your own visited states map
And...

Maybe I'm not as well travelled as I thought.
Comments (), Permalink, 11:00 CSTYou don't want to be me
One of life's unwritten rules is to never wake Natzoid before nature does. I did and I am paying the price. Even though I have provided coffee, I have been remotely subject to a multitude of insults from the bedroom.
Natzoid: Hey Kenny.
Kenny: What?
Natzoid: You suck.
Kenny: Really?
Natzoid: Yes. Why don't you just stop sucking so much?
Natzoid: What are you doing? I can hear your space bar.
Kenny: I don't know. Maybe I'm writing an email, maybe I'm blogging your arse.
Natzoid: Hey Kenny.
Kenny: What?
Natzoid: What are you doing now?
Kenny: Same thing that I was doing last time you asked.
Natzoid: Do I need to get up and find out?
Kenny: No. Go back to sleep.
Natzoid: Hey Kenny.
Kenny: What?
Natzoid: What were you doing watching VH1?.
Kenny: After I had finished talking to Melly, there was nothing on so I put on some music.
Natzoid: You suck, bogarting my friends, watching VH-1. You really want to stop sucking so much.
Natzoid: Hey Kenny.
Kenny: What?
Natzoid: What was that beep?
Kenny: That was me hitting the wrong key in vi. It's kind of like a buffer overflow.
Natzoid: Why don't you just stop sucking so much?
And so it has gone for the past hour. For a Sunday, I feel remarkably ill at ease. I wonder whether United are on the box? At least that way I might have an excuse to scream at length without the cause being known.
Natzoid: Hey Kenny.
Kenny: What?
...
January 24th 2004
Gallery of mischief and mess
I have managed to knock together a preliminary set of pictures from Zoe's little party yesterday evening. You will see evidence of what could be perceived to be a cake. I know, it's awful isn't it? Damn you Delia Smith and your 8" cake tin and no scaling instructions (even my extrapolation based on πr²h didn't work). As I said though, it tasted fine. And Zoe, as she asked for a second piece, very earnestly told Natzoid "that is the bestest birthday cake ever in my whole life."
So after the demon spawn darlings had gone to bed last night, I sat beating myself up about what a terrible father I was producing such a monstrosity of a cake, until Natzoid pointed out that her father and my father would never even have thought to try to make us a cake (let alone make one from scratch), and albeit bereft of style points for presentation, it might mean something to Bean later in life.
Anyway, once this cake has gone which probably won't take too long, I'm going to get back into the art of doing it well. It seems a shame I lost the touch through lack of practice. And what kind of a childhood is it if you never lick the mixing bowl cake gloop remains until you feel sick for just long enough to not eat until the cake is done?
PS - Does anyone know how to open up the aperture on a Fuji Finepix A303? Thanks.
Comments (), Permalink, 12:25 CSTJanuary 23rd 2004
Gulp
I'm about to do something dangerous. After my recent success in the kitchen, I have decided that I am going to chance my arm and make Zoe's birthday cake myself. I used to make good cakes but the last one I made was for my Grandfather's 61st birthday way back in 1984.
Again, this might ruin her day or it may be a screaming success OK. Wish me luck. While it is baking, I'll work on the excuses just in case.
Update: Bit concerned about the gloop height to circumference ratio but part 1 smells divine.
Update 2: Oops, sorry Zoe. Daddy will buy a cake next week. Tasted OK, looked like it had been dropped on its side and glued together with pink icing. I think I'll not do the cake thing again. Ever. If you ever read this when you're older, all I can say is sorry and that you should remember that it is the thought that counts. And the effort, there was a lot of effort trying to repair it. You should just remember mum's ice-cream. That was excellent.
Comments (), Permalink, 17:00 CSTSorry to have to say it
There isn't going to be a democratic president this time next year. Even though I don't get to vote anyway, I sacrificed CSI (what a hero) to watch the inaccurately named debate on Fox last night.
First, that was not a debate. It was an incomplete round-table discussion. I used to do that kind of thing a lot and it is a relatively easy thing to do if you know what you are talking about, much easier than standing up and giving a cold speech. None of the members of the 'debate' looked very comfortable and some looked downright amateur.
Taking a liberty, I'd like to map the various contestants into the types of people who used to participate in the round-tables that I used to do. The Reverand Al is your classic sales guy, knows nothing about that which he is talking about and sticks to stock answers, never daring to stray away. Complete duffer. Could be out-debated by a high school graduate.
Howard Dean? What can I say? He's your classic MBA marketing management who thinks he knows the party line but dares to believe that he can stray from it because he is convinced that he is smart enough to think on his feet. Wrong.
John Edwards? Channel sales person, manufacturer's rep. Never, ever say that you don't understand something. And better still, never bull-shit on things you haven't read and don't understand.
Kerry? Car salesman. "My widget is better than your widget. That's all I need to say. Single issue, avoid everything else because it's not talking about my widget."
Clark? He's your developer/engineer who has decided he wants to play in the commercial world. He may get the hang of it at some point or he may not. Either way, it won't be this time.
Lieberman? Been round the block so many times and worked for all the companies that sell the same equipment. So much so that when he contradicts his previous employer, all he can do is laugh it off.
Kucinich? Can't pigeon-hole him very well. I get the feeling that he knows his stuff but he needs to be appraised of everything in advance and isn't that great at thinking on his feet although if you gave him time to think, he would come to a well-reasoned answer.
Overall, I think I liked Kucinich's answers best but I liked his delivery least. Even if he thinks along the right lines, his presentation skills are lacking. And I suspect I know the reason why - he isn't the kind of guy who likes to talk for the sake of talking and would rather reflect on the right answer than to give an off the cuff evasive platitude.
Whatever, none of them struck me as being sterling candidates who will wipe the floor with Dubya. But maybe the forum was wrong? A debate it certainly was not. A round-table - maybe. A Q&A. Most likely. Bit of a let down really. With only populist and hystrionic questions and poor bullet-point answers. Then again, we live in a world of soundbites, which is exactly why Dubya will still be incumbent in the White House this time next year.
Sorry my DFL friends, but if I were voting this year, it wouldn't be for any of these guys. I would wait and see who else surfaces but the sad reality is that no-one will, so maybe I'm glad I don't have the responsibility this time.
Comments (), Permalink, 12:50 CSTJanuary 22nd 2004
Sad git that I am
When I saw this news, my first thoughts were of a tremendous loss but those were rapidly replaced with "damn, I wish I was on the team debugging it and trying to repair it."
Nothing in this world gives me more pleasure than being involved in fixing things like this. Since I read of the failure, I've been sat mulling what kind of communication protocol they are using and the potential problems. What kind of cameras are they using and what kind of interface? My ex-colleagues will probably concur that in the unlikely event that they use a firewire interface, that is most likely the problem. Are the cameras even digital or are they just high-res analog CCDs? How is the software architected?
It may seem strange but the system that we created in my last job presented many of the same problems that NASA had to solve. We needed motion control, we needed stereo vision (for depth perception and measurement), we needed image processing, we needed accurate image stitching to create photo-mosaics, we needed state machines that could function independently of the image processing and communication stacks. Bloody fascinating problems to solve.
Just call me Dr Science. And then tell me I'm a sad git.
Comments (), Permalink, 16:15 CSTA legend in my own kitchen
I'm a legend in my own kitchen. What I mean by that is that the kitchen has never seen me so I am only a legend, not a reality. Until yesterday. For reasons known only to higher powers, I suddenly and quite extraordinarily decided that I was going to make a shepherd's pie. I had never made one before so where this idea came from is anyone's guess. Worse still, upon surveying the available ingredients in the house, I found we didn't have the appopriate foodstuffs so decided to improvise. Hysterical eh? The King of Boiled Salmon doing an improv. What's more it was a genuine Northern improv using proper ingredients like cream and butter.
The results, I knew, would either be disasterous or edible but could not possibly exceed edible. While in the final stages of the process, while Natzoid was getting increasingly excited about the smell and the fact that I had found the part of the kitchen that contains the stove, I warned her that were it awful, she was to keep it to herself (blogwise) and were it edible she should laud it from the hilltops. However it was to be, I knew there would be more calories per mouthful than was legal.
I have to say that it exceeded my expectations by several orders of magnitude. Even the kids liked it. The King of Boiled Salmon has graduated to the God of Shepherd's Pie.
And what's more, there's probably enough left over for dinner tonight (even though Natzoid had a double helping).
This small victory may lead to more experiments in the kitchen. This could be a good thing or it may transpire to be the worst bio-hazard this side of Baghdad.
Comments (), Permalink, 15:15 CSTJanuary 21st 2004
The state of the Union
My fellow Amiraqians,
Since the last time we assemblified here, the world has become a less dangerous and more demure place. The Amiraqian military have shown great courage and charicature in defeatifying a dangerous legume in Iraq. We have enacted legislationized to protectify and further recuse the security of our nation in the form of the Patriot Missile Act which is set to explode in 2005. This act must be extensified to continue to disperse terrorist cells and cease their assets. Allied International Bank have been conducing 180 raids a week against the evil legume of Saddam Hussein, his supports and other insurance-gents. The Amiraqian people will have sovereigns by the end of the Moon. Amiraqians have never been intimated by thugs and assbandits and our brave military have shown that Amiraq will not tolerize the threat of terrorism. Further more, we have succeedified in getting Libyans to disarm themselves through diplomacy and negotiatedness with our allies Grate Briton, Austria and Polskechnia, something that failed for twelve years with Iraq.
Since the attacks of September 11th, we have allayed with the UK, Austria, Tyland, Japan, Australasia and the Weatherbands to defeat terror. Amiraq does not need a pink slip to protectify our oil.
I will be sending you a bill with payment terms of 30 days net, introspecting the National Endowment for Democrats; I expect you to pay that bill.
In closing, I would like to say that tax cuts have creatified jobs that are walking. Also, the positron of this administry is that the sanctimoniusness of blissful dreadlock should not be diminished by the allowitizing of the marriage of haemophiliacs and the wasteful and floored medical safari suits; if necessissary a contributional amendment will be vetoed.
Once again, Gourd blessify Ameriraq.
Burp.
OK, I missed a few bits out but at the time I was listening, I was beatifying my diner.
Commentfications (), Permalink, 13:40 CSTApologies
OK I admit it; I'm a bit snippy at the moment. Apparently Melly and Natzoid Unpickled both think I rage. I don't really. I just tend to scream obscenities if I get woken or if one of the kids gets woken. That is all. I'm just a tad highly strung. A tiny bit. The slightest of soupsons. My apologies. I will endeavor to cease screaming "Jesus Christ" whenever the baby wakes up. Honest.
For rage, you want to see me watch Manchester United getting beaten by Wolves. That is rage!
Comments (), Permalink, 12:25 CSTJanuary 20th 2004
Crikey 'eck
It's all happening here. Last night, or should I say early this morning, the dogs got into it again over the slightest bone fragment imaginable, the second time in a couple of weeks such a scrap has occured. Sasha usually drops on the spot when she hears me shouting but Stella will not stop until you are physically within reach, and then she runs. I took chase after the little orange git. I aimed at her backside disappearing under a wooden table and let fly. Only her backside was underneath the remarkably sturdy and resolute table and as a result I managed to punish that table like it had never been punished before. Or is it the other way around? Yes, it is. My hand is currently strapped up and excruciatingly painful. I fear I may have bust the knuckle in my little finger but it maybe just be badly bruised. So at the moment I cannot write and can only type with two fingers rather than the usual three. Orange bastard.
Natzoid is out on the job-hunt again today and to be honest I have lost count of the number of times I have shouted "Nic, take that bucket off your head", "Zoe, I cannot control the output of Nickelodeon", "Kids, please don't poke the dogs' eyes" and "Sasha, if you belch like that again, you're going to be rapidly reassigned as an outside dog."
No word on jobs. t-59 days and a-counting. Zark.
Comments (), Permalink, 16:00 CSTJanuary 19th 2004
The joy of toddlers
Why is it when faced with a choice of being parallel to his parents in bed, he poo-poos it and likes to be orthogonal, thus stretching the limits of the blanketing and thereby denying the parent who went to bed later any form of cover for the night? People's exhibit 1 (except I couldn't get Paintshop to rotate the baby by 90 degrees):

Also, when faced with what I would consider a relatively simple choice of playing with a musical toy with flashing lights and bright colors or a filthy Shop Vac, the Shop Vac gets it every time. Or maybe the power chord. Or maybe the button on the top of the Shop Vac. One day, I swear I will plug it in while he's messing with the power button - that will teach him. It taught Zoe when she accidentally switched it on; she jumped about 6 feet into the air screaming in terror. What can you say? Life lessons eh?
I swear I'm gob-smacked any child makes it to adulthood.
Comments (), Permalink, 16:30 CSTJanuary 18th 2004
I have found religion
Owing to the fact that we have two small children, a larger one of the same genus and three dogs, our house is what would normally be called an absolute shit-tip. And while I have been whacked out Kenny, I haven't done much to refute the entropy that unfolds. That is until today. After cleaning the kitchen and dining room, I started vaccuming the area under the table where the remnants of some chewed wooden things lay, but out of the corner of my eye I saw all sorts of sticky hand prints and general ooginess plastered all over the wall. Now call me bizarre but the thing that sprung to mind was Oxyclean. I sprayed some on the ooginess and bang, there was a flash of light, a thunder-clap and then a visible lack of oog.
Absolutely oogtastic or what? I want a job on the commercials now. I can see me hitting the demographics of lazy men and Mancunians world-wide when I pitch the "Durnt just kleen it, Oxy-bloody-keen it - for all your oogy needs."
Me and Lysol are history. From now OC be ma' baby.
Comments (), Permalink, 16:15 CSTJanuary 17th 2004
Now you see me, now you don't
Having languished in my own internal basement for the past twenty-four hours (some might say thirty-four years), I have emerged unscathed but with a faintly unpleasant odour. All I can say is that the coming weeks will, no doubt, result in wild mood swings as I seesaw between desperation and my own personal brand of pathetic mindless optimism. I will attempt to regulate it but can offer no promises. In fact, you should all consider me completely schizoid until further notice.
And all I can say is Wolves? Wolves? Aren't they in the third division? I thought they were playing York City or someone today. Who let them play Man Utd and more to the point, who let them win? Do they not know the rules here?
Message ends.
Comments (), Permalink, 19:40 CSTJanuary 16th 2004
Caution, girly movie moment contained herein
It is one of life's uniquely mind-boggling anomalies that one can be transformed from a middle-class professional with a house and kids to being without a single dime to your name within months and in the course of it, be on an imminently departing fishboat back to dear old Blighty. Dear old Blighty where you will be forced into living in someone else's house while you send the proceeds of whatever job you get back to the US and worry about the tax implications. And by the way, you'd better make damn sure that you pay HRH a nice 45% of that stuff before you send it. Sounds like the plight of those Malaysian workers does it not?
It also strikes me as being seriously bizarre that you can only get at your 401k if you have a notice of foreclosure, which we don't because up until now, we have been able to pay the mortgage.
What confounds me the most though is how I ended up like this. When I left University, I did a contract as a software developer and when it finished, I spent six months on the dole. It was the most depressing time of my life. When I found employment, I vowed that I would never ever be in a position where I could be made redundant again, that I would work my butt so hard that I would be deemed invaluable by any employer. I expanded my skills, I worked even when I was at home, and went everywhere on the God-forsaken planet I was told to go. I was responsible for about $3m of revenue over the last couple of years, and I saved their butts technically on more than one occasion. All this while doing marcomms, market analysis, writing scripts to analyze measurement data and picking up the pieces of some very bad business decisions.
It is a travesty that I did not factor in the consequences of someone taking a decision to close the whole shebang down. How could I have been so stupid?
So I'm left holding the tattered remnants of a once financially secure existence, having been humiliated into asking my parents for a loan until my tax return comes through or until we get a foreclosure notice whereby I can access my 401k. Isn't that ultimately pathetic? 34 and I'm running to mummy and daddy. Is there any better way to utterly detest yourself? It's like a really bad movie.
Great bread-winner that I am, I have to send my wife out to face absolute fecking arse-holes who condescend to pay her feck-all for running the place. Worst of all, rich arse-holes who cannot even keep their manners in check. I will lick the streets clean before I let Natzoid take a job with the funkmaster.
I'm angry. You bet I'm angry. You can take the lad from Manchester but you can't take the Manchester from the lad. If your name is not Natzoid, Zoe, Nic or Sam, you'd do very well to avoid me today. 'Cos violence never solved anything but it sure does feel good and I'm all about the feel good factor.
Remind me not to type anything again until my blood pressure goes down. Pass the crack.
Comments (), Permalink, 14:50 CSTNASA pictures discovered to be fake - horror
It is with great regret that I have to reveal that all the NASA pictures that I have been showing are fakes. This information came to light when this picture was published by that bastion of integrity, the BBC:

NASA allege that this image is from the Hubble telescope and that this is a picture of remote galaxies.
We at yatescentral are familiar with the source of this image. It was in fact created by Zoe in the Middle during a Paintshop Pro incident that involved some fairly brazen use of the spray paint button.
So NASA are a bunch of lying gits. It's all fake. The scousers, David Bowie and his alien, 42, everything. Except that whole Michael Owen thing. I believe that one.
Comments (), Permalink, 13:05 CSTJanuary 15th 2004
Nomenclature, thy name is Kenneth
It has been brought to my attention by a Warty type person, that although we are all grown-upified, Paul is still Bazz, I am still Kenny and Kenny is still Wart. These names all were born during our teenage years.
Kenny Horrocks was a local taxi-driver who was a legend in his own Avacab. Rumor had it that he was so enormous, he had to have his taxi modified to accomodate his bulk. He was a folk-hero to those of us at school and college. Kenny was married to Betty. Bear with me here as things are about to get a little complicated.
Somehow I earned the nickname Ken Yatz, Campbell was renamed Kenny Campbell, Bazz for some reason had always been Bazz. The Wart had his name given to him by a computer science lecturer who had once asked that a fellow class member "forcibly ejaculate that Wart from this room."
Wart's next door neighbor and occasional drinking partner was called Kenny "Rhythm" H but was deemed unworthy of the grand monicker Kenny. Even then, we were disparaging about him, so we christened him Betty, after Kenny H's wife. It turns out that this was a wise thing to do since he is an accountant now and all accountants should be called Betty for easier identification ("I see your name is Betty. No need to ask what you do eh?", nudge, nudge, wink, wink.)
I have no idea when Stephen became Maestro but he did. Even his parents called him Maestro.
The whole point of this rambling is that if, by chance, you end up being thrown back in time to 1985 or 1986, and find yourself in an ale emporium betitled the Ram's Head, The Horns or The Britannia, and there is a large group of 16 and 17 years olds there (which there will be, I assure you), do not call out "Hello Kenny, Kenny, Paul, Ian, Kenneth and Stephen". You will be ignored and remain unserved by Big Ron. Instead try a hail of "Oi, Betty get off that slot machine and go get some pints of Greenalls for the Wart, Ken Yatz, Kenny Campbell, Bazz and Maestro. And no you can't borrow a fiver ya bald git". You will win friends instantly and you too could earn the grandest of titles.
I wonder whatever happened to Kenny Horrocks and I wonder whether he knew of his celebrity status? Bazz still has close ties to the area (and even visits it, bizarre man) - maybe he can enhance on the man who was the myth who was the monicker.

It hasn't been changed since this was taken.
It's still in monochrome.
Interesting experiments afoot
NASA really are pushing the boundaries of science. Look at this. Conclusive proof that even on Mars, Michael Owen couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo.

What will they do next? I'll let you know.
Comments (), Permalink, 12:45 CSTAh, the joy
Nothing says good morning like the sound of two 100 pound dogs kicking the ever loving hell out of a 40 pound dog. The yelps, the growls, the poop, the stench of adrenalin. The palpable fear.
For reasons best known to themselves, every now and again (it must be once a year), Sasha and Stella go for Bowie big-time. The poor thing must have done something heinous like looked at them the wrong way or laid down on the wrong bed.
The smell of fear is rancid and sickly and it fills your nose like only public lavatories can.
Poor Bowie will be even more neurotic than usual for the next few weeks. Especially since she'll need a bath now to get rid of the stench.
Happy frickin' Thursday eh?
Comments (), Permalink, 08:15 CST