First Things Last, With Flavour

Trebuchet? Its more than just a new font, its a whole new way of life. Or not. If it was a new way of life, it would probably be the sort of life that keeps all its receipts from purchases, stores them in their wallet and then throws them all away at the end of the month wihtout giving them so much as a second glance. So very much suited to me then.
Music? Mr Scruff currently, after literally months of getting round to sucessfully downloading it. To back up the copy I own. Ahem. Anyhow, its rather funky and squelchy. A flat eric for the laid back looper.
And, and and! Literally Bonus Eventus as the 'man' coughs up a sweet four hundred for me in my every six months performance related bonus pay. Which seems a little remiss of whoever is in charge, because I could have made more money by standing at the door and telling people to go away and boil themselves in gravey. Which I should have done, come to think of it. So that's good. I quite enjoyed the way in which our manager sort of sneaked everyone away into a corner to tell them to prevent workplace 'bonus' envy. Which isn't pretty. I just wonder who would actually care if they weren't happy with what they got. Grind their teeth and complain that actualy they think they deserve more? Its just a question of numbers in the end as these things often are.
Went back to a random issue of Transmetropolitan, the ultimate comic book. IN fact, its more than that. Warren Ellis, at least for this particular comic, was so much on track, he was practically wearing sports shoes. Rage. Its good.
Also good is Metal SLug 3 for the MAME emulator I could never be without. Its beautiful, brilliant. I'm sure eveyone knows about this but give me a break; I didn't have any disposable income in the eighties. Or the ninties. I barely have any of the bugger now. Anyway, with tha automatic coin add button, I can play as long as I like, without the need for fresh and tasty skill but just blind determination. Lots of explosions. Which neatly brings me round to defending my position in a cunning juxtaposition with my previous 'retro' rage. I don't regard this as retro for the sake of it.
You see, people can have interest areas, which carry a deep and rich heritage across time and space. Time and space there, making an appearance. Not to get too overbearing, but computer games change in style along with technology, and it just so happens that my favorite type of game is the platformer, which has evolved into the third person adventure game. I love the 2D genius stuff, and this game whips tail. So teenage mutant ninja turtle it up and prepare to be destroyed, for it has the smooth scrolling and pretty sprites of Gunstar Heroes, and the richness of graphics that only arcade cabinets could brush, and that the SNES would struggle to manage.
A man can love Jazz, but this is not necessarily retro, it just so happens that a huge wash of good quality jazz was produced back in the day. I mean, lets be honest, in another music school, have you heard what some people call 'modern blues?' That is one particualr term that can only be embarrassing, conjouring images and sounds beyond the realms of taste. To me, a blues afficianado has to traverse back in time to find the best of that school without purposely being 'retro'. So goodnight, mushrooms. And thanks for watching.

Getting to know your own Pavement

Now, I did have some fascinating rumination to slap down here, like a hated fish, but its clean gone. Oooh, hang on, it returns. Yes, thats the bunny. I was thinking, as I have this horrible habit forming tendancy to do so, that as we look upon old people with their crazy old fashioned ways, such as cashing cheques (and their corresponding fear of the debit card) wearing those jumpers with diamonds on them (not in the bling sense obviously. Did you know that could well be the first time I used the word bling ever? IN written texT) and driving those mobile things that really freak me out. I think; what shall be the habits of our generation that become outmoded, frowned upon, laughed at and driven off the high street into specialist shops manned by, well, old men. One, I have decided, is the humble cd. Not just the format itself but the very act of spending money on an actual tactile thing will become passe. Because as it all stands now, although with access to the internet and al its crazy downloading things, I still have to buy cds because I want to. This will perish, eventually, along with nostalgia for bloody eighties cartoons which weren't very good (guys, lets face it, it was all a sack of shite aimed at the brains of children. It wasn't subversive, it was just, sometimes, slow and friendly, and not in your face and shite like today. The point being, it was our shite, shite we had grown up with. SO we love it. Just don't read too much into it. The same people who drool over transformers (blah blah blah) would baulk at anime, so kiss it. Fashion junkie loosebag heathens.
Also, for those of you who would dabble, I recently sidled over to www.potatoe.com for a gander at the messageboard. Guess what? The often abused, hated and downright feared 'Is Eilijah gay etc' message is back again at the top of the popular charts. It just bothers me a little, that out of all the varied and less tedious strings this illustrious board has to offer, this is the most hit upon by chance by mild surfers. I do despair, quietly and constantly.

Maturity Reaches My Towel

Yes, thats right, its finally arrived. Literally, months away from its forth birthday since I bought it as an emergency in Italy on a camping holiday, having forgotten my own towel, my trusty two tone green and other green beach towel has matured. It was the last wash which finally pushed it ovver the border of being just 'nice n firm' after being washed, to being 'crisp and rough'. Not everyone appreciates this effect, indeed some mark it as the time to change the offending item in question, but I see it as the advent of a new era in its existence. Now a quick rubdown after a shower not only cleanses the skin deep down, but itches and scratches at those hard to reach places. Its a dream finally come true.
Now all that remains is for my Portugal blue beach towel to catch up with it and I hav myself a pair o' beauties. I also want to know why do I only have beach towels? Is it a total unwillingness to seperate the two? Both are made of the same material, but only the purpose built bathroom variety xomes ina resdtricted range of boring colours. Bring the hearty range of bright ones I say. Make my eyes bleed.

Roughly left in one piece of different size

God what a horrible week. The hideous disease of the LuftSheisse has passed through me leaving only a scoured and detatched feeling lingering in its place. It has now been four days since I lost an entire evening and night of precious sleep to the disease and my stomach still feels wrong. Difficult to place a finger on the exactitude of the sensation, but it just aint right.
However, Norwich was a fair remedy to my illness blues although beer was out of the question. Also, I have issued myself with an internal ultimatum which I shall tell more about at a later date. It makes me feel better, to try and counter the feeling of massive depression which is starting to settle over me, mainly due to low blood sugar from the illness which I blame wholeheartedly. PLus the fact of course, that it always helps to be able to blame a sudden bout of depression actually ON something as opposed to accepting that it comes and goes and its just there. Bastard. I hope I feel better tommorrow. Whinge.

Something fresh-ish from the bowels. Ironic, and somewhat a little too graphic, considering the week's events.