The death knell of nobility…
Seated on a bench waiting for an old school friend, I hummed quietly (and slightly dementedly) to myself. Situated by a junction in the centre of town, cars swished by as I eyed a sweeper truck crawling along the curb toward me. Peering over the dashboard, the driver guided his furiously spinning brushes through the gutter as litter of every genre was hoovered from sight. If ever there was a calling both noble and pure, it is that of the municipal street sanitiser. Entirely unsung, through the filth and grime of the world he pilots his sturdy craft, a wake of gleaming tarmac testament to his tireless industry. A proud tear welling in my eye, I watched his steed battle bravely past.
But my 'joie de vivre' was short lived. Imagine my audible gasp when, rounding the next corner, a hand protruded from yonder truck window and released a crisp packet from its hairy-knuckled grasp. Fluttering to the ground, it became on contact what can only be described as litter. Oh, what had I witnessed? Such wanton destruction of tarmac's virgin purity! Panicked, I racked my reeling brain for a just and noble motivation.
A bold political statement, perhaps, or an act of heroic protest against 'The Man'? Clearly it was designed to highlight the plight of the working class, or maintain the perpetual grubbiness of streets to safeguard jobs for future generations of sweepers. Though momentarily buoyed by this notion, I soon realised that an almost complete absence of placard-wielding protesters ruled out a political cause. Perhaps it was 'Art'? I craned round, half expecting to spy a small group of aficionados, deep in meditative contemplation. But no.
A wise man once said, "When you remove the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth". Thus was I left with the uncomfortable conclusion that our paragon of all that is street-sweeperish was not what he seemed. Perhaps he was a machiavellian genius bent on council district domination, or maybe his brain cell hadn't grasped the subtle purpose of his job. Either way, he was not the driven idealist of my imagination. Another fragile dream falls, crushed and bloodied by the wayside.
Later that evening, eyes burning with salty tears, I ripped 'Street Sweeping Heroes 2005' from my bedroom wall and cast it into the fire. Unable to look away, I watched as Mr December was hungrily consumed, the orange flames licking across his jacket of fetching fluorescent yellow. Once a potent symbol of hope in adversity, such yellow shall remain to me forever tainted, redolent of betrayal and deceit. Shaking both with grief and fury, I turned from the hearth, my jaw set in grim determination. So began my search for a new form of spirituality, one free from the strictures of that accursed colour. Early research suggests the Dalai Lama prefers red of a cheery autumnal hue...
Tagged for a meme…
As I mentioned previously, Kerrie tagged me to continue a meme, and so here it is. The game is to write about five from the list, then add one to the end.
If I could be a scientist . . . that would mean I did alright in my exams. Unfortunately that isn't very likely. If I get through next year, and get that Physics degree, does that make me 'A Scientist', or would I have to do a PhD for that? Hmmmm... If I were to become a scientist, I guess the field of renewable energy would be of particular interest to me. There aren't many research areas of more pressing importance to the world right now.
If I could be a farmer . . .
If I could be a musician . . .
If I could be a doctor . . .
If I could be a painter . . .
If I could be a gardener . . .
If I could be a missionary . . .
If I could be a chef . . .
If I could be an architect . . . I'd build in the style of medieval cathedrals. While I don't subscribe to the Christian life philosophy, there's no denying the beauty of their buildings. I would NOT design buildings in worship of money instead, but as a tribute to something more important. Perhaps a new gothic stadium for Tottenham Hotspur FC, with a vaulted stone ceiling and stained glass. That would be sweet.
If I could be a linguist . . .
If I could be a psychologist . . .
If I could be a librarian . . . I wouldn't be very keen on letting people actually borrow my books, and woe betide anyone who broke the spine of one. Also, a condition of joining would probably be borrowing books that I think you ought to be reading. Everyone would start with 'His Dark Materials', and move on from there.
If I could be an athlete . . .
If I could be a lawyer . . .
If I could be an inn-keeper . . .
If I could be a professor . . .
If I could be a writer . . . then I'd like to be the next Simon Singh. For those of you not familiar, he's the author of 'Fermat's Last Theorem' and 'The Code Book'. Writing popular science is something that seriously interests me, but I've got no idea how to go about doing it. A good start might be to write for the student press, I guess...
If I could be a llama-rider . . .
If I could be a bonnie pirate . . .
If I could be an astronaut . . .
If I could be a world famous blogger . . . I'd be Dan of Moxie Blog fame! Not only would I then have an amusing and widely read blog, but I'd also be opening a small independent art-house cinema in downtown Springfield, Missouri. That would be AWESOME.
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world . . .
If I could be married to any current famous political figure . . .
If I could be a show dog owner . . .
If I could be a fictional character . . .
If I could be a fly on any wall . . . (that's the one I added)
Well, I'm now meant to tag someone else to continue the chain, but I don't want anyone to feel obliged against their will. Therefore I shall make a casual suggestion to all my readers that they might like to continue this meme, if they felt so inclined. I shall call this a 'light tap on the shoulder' as opposed to a proper 'tag'. Will some terrible fate befall me now I haven't passed this on properly? Ah well...
‘Mom’s Cancer’ – A comic strip
Just a very quick post to direct you all to an online comic strip called Mom's Cancer. It's tells the tale a family's fight against their mother's illness, and is extraordinarily worth reading. Apparently it will only be online for a limited period, since it is shortly to be published in book form. I'm toying with the idea sending the link round to all the smokers I know, but haven't yet decided whether that's wise...
NB. I came across the comic strip through a post on 'The Search for A Good Story'
eBay the Moxie Cinebar…
My readership is divided into two sections; those who know me directly, live in England and don't blog themselves, and those that do have blogs and also read 'The Moxie Blog'. Since half these people know all about the auction already, and half of them probably don't care very much, this post will serve little practical purpose. Anyhoo...
As approximately 50% of you will know, Moxie Cinema is soon to be a small, independently owned art-house cinema in Springfield, Missouri. I've been following the blog for over eight months now, and have been treated to many an amusing tale of the trials and tribulations endured by Dan and Nicole in a bid to start their business. With myriad competitions, schizophrenic solo conversations, and even cockroaches called Nostrilamus, this blog has everything you could dream about, plus more that would never appear in even your worst nightmare
But there is trouble in paradise, my friends. 'The Man' is causing trouble for our fragile young pioneers, imposing draconian restrictions and requirements which, despite heroic accounting efforts, have stretched the budget too far. Additional funds are sorely needed, and consequently the decision has been made to auction off the naming rights for the Moxie's 'Cinebar'. No ordinary concessions stand, the Cinebar will serve everything from popcorn to beer, with many fascinating and unique products in-between. I know what you're thinking, and by golly, you're right. This is indeed a wonderful and, dare I say it, priceless opportunity to have your name prominently displayed in what will doubtless become on the of the world's foremost social venues.
But the priceless is to be priced, and at this very moment is for sale on eBay. The Moxie Cinebar eBay auction is exciting in the extreme, giving white-knuckle entertainment for all ages. Visit the auction now, and even if you feel unable to bid (the price is already over $600) then make sure to 'watch' it. (Click the link in the top right corner.) If the auction has enough watchers, it will make it onto lists of popular auctions and the buzz will increase yet further.
In summary, WATCH THIS AUCTION NOW!!!
This is a public announcement..
The Floating Face would like to extend sincere apologies to anyone suffering technical difficulties recently. Our engineer is currently working hard to correct these faults, but in the meantime visitors may experience symptoms including (but not limited to) text spilling out of containers, mangled layout, lack of style and severe nausea. Anyone still suffering difficulties is probably using an inferior browser, and if everyone would like to switch to Firefox immediately, the problem will disappear. Once again, The Floating Face regrets any inconvenience caused, and service will be restored to its customary high levels shortly.
Hearty recommendations…
Well, again it's been a whole week between posts. Back in the early days of this blog I used to post practically every day, but perhaps I'm now leaning more toward quality than quantity? You look unconvinced.
In today's post, I bring you three hearty recommendations. The first is for a book I have just finished reading, called 'How Mumbo-Jumbo Conquered the World', by Francis Wheen. If you, like me, are occasionally whipped into a fury by the apparent lack of reason in the world, you'll find Wheen articulates your frustrations beautifully. It's one of those rare books that if everyone read, the world would be a better place. (If anyone wants to borrow my copy, feel free. Well, anyone this side of the Atlantic.)
Secondly is a great blog I've been following. 'Kong is King' is a video diary on the set of the new King Kong movie. I religiously watched all the extras on the 'Lord of the Rings' DVDs, and watching footage from the set of King Kong is like seeing a load of old friends again. 'Weta Digital' and 'Weta Workshop' are again doing all the special effects and miniatures, and much of Peter Jackson's crew remains the same. (In addition, I know someone who graduated last year and is now working for Weta in New Zealand, so I keep wondering if he'll crop up at some point.) Andy Serkis is even doing the motion capture for Kong! It's very interesting, watching the production of a film before you see the real thing, and has certainly built my anticipation.
Thirdly is a quick little thing, but I found it very interesting. The Real Underground shows the differences between the original 1930 map and the 2004 version, and will also morph between them and an actual scale version. You can even toggle a street map on and off. It's fascinating to see how much the tube map has distorted your mental picture of central London. Well, I thought it was anyway...
There's only a few days left of term now, and I'll probably be heading back to St Albans in around a weeks time. I have two supervisions over the next week, on Wednesday and Thursday, but the stressful work of this term is now over. I met a coursework deadline last Wednesday, and though the work wasn't very good, at least I did it. Actually, that reminds me; I have the viva for that project on Tuesday, and considering how rubbish the project was, that might not be very much fun.
I also had to give a presentation on Friday, which was mildly humiliating. My project is entitled 'Noise and Deterministic Skeleton in Population Dynamics'. Sounds fun, no? It's actually reasonably interesting, but my knowledge is pretty severely limited thus far. The presentation therefore outlined my plan for all the work I'm going to do over the Easter vacation, rather than recounting any actual achievement. Things were made worse by the fact that since I am the only 3rd year Physicist doing a project with the Plant Sciences department, I had to do my presentation in a group of 4th years reporting on their six month computer simulation projects. Their presentations were vastly better than mine...
I'm finishing this post at almost 3am because I've spent the last two hours trying to sort out my computer. I've developed a very high tolerance for crashes, since my computer has long had that tendency, but lately things have been getting ridiculous. I think I'll have to just reinstall Windows, but not until tomorrow...
Seasonal salutations…
Just realised that I never wished my beloved readership a Merry Christmas, so this is a quick post from my phone. The irritation of typing on a phone keypad, even one with predictive text, is such that my message of Yuletide joy will be brief. But it's the thought that counts.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
And that is pretty much all you're gonna get. My shopping trip was entirely successful, and I returned with gifts ranging from Nelson Mandela's autobiography to a CD of Handel arias. I felt terribly intellectual buying them, the only problem being they weren't for me. Still, opportunity for such high quality posing was not to be missed, especially when I could look windswept and interesting in my artfully arranged scarf.
I'm now at my Grandparent's house in Yorkshire, and there is consequently no internet access to be had. (Because it's my grandparents house, not because Yorkshire is so backward.) This means I will be unable to respond to the countless comments bestowing seasonal joy on me and my kin. I will still receive them by email, though. Hint, hint...
P.S. Did you appreciate the alliteration in the title, Dan? Cooked that baby up specially for you.
Christmas shopping…
With three days left till Christmas, and being a male of average behaviour, my mind has finally turned to seasonal shopping. While normally this would leave me an ample three days to scour local shops and business for suitable gifts, I depart early tomorrow for a family Christmas in Harrogate, Yorkshire. Therefore, today is all I have. In fact, since it is now lunchtime, I have this afternoon.
Fortunately I am mentally prepared for the ordeal, and pretty much know what I am going to purchase. Providing St Albans shops are still well stocked, there shouldn't be much problem. One area of concern is a CD, which may be difficult to track down. Amazon are out of stock, and while I wasn't planning to buy it there anyway (I was just checking the title), this might mean it has been selling well on the highstreet too. Time will tell.
A much more interesting subject is what I shall be receiving on Christmas morning. I remember the good old days, when a quick flick through the Argos catalogue would uncover hundreds of toys that I would be only too happy to receive. What is more, they would mostly be relatively cheap and therefore realistic to request. Now, at the advanced age of 22, my wish list consists almost exclusively of electrical gadgetry, and to request more than one of these might be misconstrued as, well, greedy. I've been hankering after an digital camera for some time now, and the SLR I had my eye on is still upwards of £700. I've given up on getting that any time soon, so I'm going to purchase a much cheaper model with Christmas money. I've been scanning eBay for a bargain, but will probably wait till January, when I reckon it'll be more of a buyers market.
Right, time to stop typing and go shopping. I'll grab some lunch first though. Can't purchase effectively on an empty stomach, now can I?
Ahurghhackhaarucoushk…
Have you ever tried to write down a hacking cough phonetically? It's not easy, as aptly demonstrated above. I've tried on many occasions to capture the essence of a truly gut-wrenching throat-clearing, but never succeeded. What is certain, however, is that 'ahem' is woefully inadequate. Interestingly, the word 'ahem' has become almost synonymous with a slight clearing of the throat, and would rarely be pronounced as written. I propose a new word, used to represent a proper, phlegm-filled cough. A cough that signals a life near its end. A cough to strike fear into the stoutest heart! A cough to shake the very foundations of all that is healthy and flourishing in this world!!
This latest addition to the English language is still under development, and its precise form a closely guarded secret, suffice to say that the above attempt is clearly crap. The point of this aimless ramble is to lead into a good old fashioned moan about my own sore throat. Spending the afternoon singing has certainly not helped, and I can look forward to croaking my way through more rehearsals tomorrow and Sunday. Luckily, the wonder of 'Vocalzones' throat lonzenges got me through my audition today, and with any luck they can perform a similar service for the next.
With all the rehearsing and rowing and auditioning I've got lined up for this weekend, I can't quite see where the work will fit in. I can't really complain though, having wasted the evening playing poker (I won, so not entirely wasted). Life at university would be so much easier if it weren't for academic work...
A missing hour & Emily’s return…
I'm rather confused, and slightly concerned, about what exactly happened to the three hours it took me to get home on Friday. I left college at 15:50 and arrived home at 18:50, which makes a three hour journey, yet when I add up the sections of the journey (eg. walking to the station - 25 mins, first train leg - 50 mins) I can't for the life of me get a total of more than two hours. This is disconcerting. I have to wonder whether perhaps I actually set off at 16:50, or perhaps arrived home at 17:50. Either way, I'm cleary losing my marbles.
My brief sojourn in St Albans is in order to see my sister, who, as I mentioned previously, is back this weekend from 9 months in Tanzania. She was due to land early on Saturday morning, but when her flight out of Tanzania was delayed / cancelled / temporarily misplaced, she missed her connection at Muscat (the capital of Oman) and had to spend a night at a luxury hotel (at the airline's expense). This wasn't too much of a chore, and meant we could meet her at the much more civilised time of 8 o'clock Saturday evening.
I was thinking, and I reckon I've only twice been to meet people at an airport. The most recent time was my brother returning from a school trip to Iceland. (That's right, I said Iceland. I know! In my day Geography field trips were to Dorset, or perhaps, if we were very lucky, the wild and exotic mountains of Wales. Kids these days, eh? Spoiled rotten...) The other time was when I was very young, and we were collecting my grandmother from the airport. It's one of my more traumatic childhood memories, as my sister and I were seperated from our Mum by over-zealous lift doors. They ascended a full 4 floors before finally coaxing the lift back down. We were looked after by a very nice lady, into whose face we proceeded to scream loudly, and for many a year afterwards I was very nervous of lifts.
No such drama today, other than the usual stress that accompanies any family outing. It's not that we can't, as individuals, get ready, but that we never seem to be ready at the same time. It is suprisingly easy, after a couple of minutes waiting, to find that actually, you're not ready at all; that you simply have to go upstairs for some vitally important thing, which strangely seems to have gone to ground in a dark and inaccesible part of the house. We seem to take shifts standing by the door, or perhaps sitting impatiently in the car, until random chance eventually dictates that we coincide, allowing us to finally be on our way. Though somewhat delayed in our departure, we were in plenty of time, even depsite the only traffic jam I've ever seen inside a multi-storey carpark. It was jammed pretty much solid, but fortunately a space opened up right in front of us. The people pulling out could barely move far enough to let us in, but that's not our problem, is it?
To cut a long story short, or at least not much longer than it is already, Emily arrived safe and sound. Looking a little sunburned from her brief and unexpected sightseeing trip round Muscat, but otherwise well. The hardcore anti-malarial drugs she was given seem to have done the trick, and the journey wasn't too arduous, despite the delay. In one way it's very strange having her back, but in another it's already like she never left. Whether this is because, fundamentally, she hasn't changed in her nine months abroad, or whether she has simply slipped rapidly back into being the same Emily she was before she left, I don't know. If she has changed, I suspect it's that she's even more driven, and passionately determined to help the people she got to know. I'm back to Cambridge again tomorrow, so I wont see her for long, but maybe I'll suggest she comes to visit me some time this term.