Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Being A Dickhead's Cool by The Grand Spectacular - Lyrics
OI OI OI OI
Got on the train from Cambridgeshire
Moved down to an East London flat
Got a moustache and a low cut vest
Some purple leggings and a sailor tat (twat)
Just one gear on my fixie bike
Got a +1 here for my gig tonight
I play synth...
We all play synth!
20-20 vision, just a pair of empty frames
Dressing like a nerd although I never got the grades (fail)
I remember when the kids at school would call me names (tramp balls)
Now we're taking over their estates!
Woo-oo-oooo!
CHORUS
I love my live as a dickhead!
All my friends are dickheads too (two)
Come with me let's be dickheads (Haven't you heard?)
Being a dickhead's cool!
Being a dickhead's cool!
Being a dickhead's cool!
Being a dickhead's cool-cool-cooo-oo-oool!
Polaroid app on my iPhone
Taking pictures on London Fields
Up on the blog so everyone knows
We're having NEW AGE FUN with a VINTAGE FEEL!
Coolest kids in a warehouse rave
Exclusive list, look there's my name
I got in...
You couldn't get in (na na na naa naaaa)
Never bought a pack of fags
I only roll my own
Plugging in my laptop at the Starbucks down the road
Say I work in media, I'm really on the dole
I'm the coolest guy you'll ever know!
Woo-oo-oooo!
CHORUS
I love my live as a dickhead!
All my friends are dickheads too (two)
Come with me let's be dickheads (Haven't you heard?)
Being a dickhead's cool!
Being a dickhead's cool!
Being a dickhead's cool!
Being a dickhead's cool-cool-cooo-oo-oool!
Loafers with no socks
Electropop meets southern hip-hop
Indeterminate sexual preference
Something retro on my necklace
"Basically I'm a part-time blogger and I design my own jewellery line. It's like a mix of religious iconography, kind of with a Save By The Bell vibe"
"I organise a vegan crunk night"
"Er, yeah, I'm, err, currently writing my own magazine and it's all about my balls"
"We're putting on this rave, and there's a band in the mosque, and all the proceeds are going to that thing that happened in the Middle East or Africa or whatever"
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
SketchUp Environmental Analysis Plugin
Just seen a very cool plugin for SketchUp that allows architects to check the efficiency of their materials during the design process and ensure that it is as "environmentally friendly" as possible. The software, from Integrated Environmental Solutions boasts in-design "energy, carbon, daylight and solar analysis". How neat is that!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Randy Pausch
On the 26th July 2008, I read an article reporting the death of Professor Randy Pausch of Carnegie Mellon, author of the famous incarnation of said institution's "Last Lecture" series. Professor Pausch (personal website here) passed away from pancreatic cancer 12 months after the doctor's gave him "3-6 months of good health". His inspiring lecture, entitled "Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams" can be viewed here:
I was so uplifted by the dignity and positivity that he showed in the face of such adversity that I really have begun to think about what my childhood dreams were and how I can achieve them. Expect another post detailing the results of this later.
Another of his lectures that is worth watching, "Time Management", is viewable here:
Thanks for the advice Professor, I'm sure your wife and kids are proud of all the good that came of those last few lectures.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Gibraltar and Morocco
After my exams, I took a well-earned 10 day break in Gibraltar to unwind and begin contemplating my next move. It was my first visit so I seized the rare opportunity to spend time with the plethora of my cousins and other relatives that I had not seen for years, if ever at all.The place itself is a bizarre fusion of Spain and Britain: there is something truly unique about seeing two British bobbies, complete with mandatory funny helmets, chattering away in thick Andalucian Spanish in the full heat of the blazing Mediterranean sun whilst outside Mothercare.
The people there are fantastically friendly and hospitable: when you first meet them it really feels like they have to consciously stop themselves from asking you round to dinner. The imposing majesty of the Rock, the tranquillity of the little marinas and the secret alleys that wind between quaint side streets inside the city walls make up for the messy herds of cruise-ship tourists that disembark to clog up Main Street each day.As a city boy, I must say that I do find the size of the place a bit uncomfortable. The couple of trips over the border into Spain were quite welcome, as being confined to a 0.5 mile x 1.5 mile strip of sand and limestone bordered by sea and fenced in by EU border patrols stirred up mild claustrophobia. I find it fascinating is the way that the locals speak of the various places on the Rock as if each one was a shrine; as if the Rock really is the centre of the Universe and that anything outside is foreign, strange and irrelevant.
It is possible that I just imagined this (pen)insular attitude as I live in a city of 7 million + and consider myself to be some slick, cultured, jet-setting urbanite. It then dawned on me that it could actually be a nice microcosm of mainland Britain itself, as I imagine many visitors would find it difficult to understand how we can differentiate the accents of places as close to each other as Liverpool and Manchester with such detail.
No trip to Gibraltar would be complete without a textbook trip over to Morocco for the weekend. Staying in "Gib" with locals meant that I had the luxury of being able to stow-away on a typical visit to their villa just outside Assilah (half an hour's drive from Tangiers).
This was my first visit to an Arab nation; indeed, it was also my first to what we Westerners refer to as the "developing world". It occurred to me that it was going to be an interesting trip when I realised that we had to temporarily import the car at the border, as they have to keep a tight reign on the amount of vehicles (presumably due to the high cost of importing fuel). There were scores of cars waiting to leave while their owners frantically tried to haggle with the various official scribes harassing them for tips as they help them fill out the import forms. I soon noted how normal it was in this part of the world to see an outstretched hand waiting to be appeased with a few dirhams. The high temperatures frayed a few tempers and a fist fight broke out a few cars behind, attracting the attention of every border guard, scribe and vehicle owner, all rushing over to voice their informed opinion on the matter.
The first port of call, past a man with his entire family hanging off his motorcycle that he was wisely steering the wrong way up the dual carriageway, was the bakery to pick up some bread and cakes for the weekend. What I saw next was a real shock but when I think back to it now, is really not a big deal. In the bakery, the cakes were all uncovered and as a result were covered with clouds of bees. When a customer pointed to the morsel they fancied, the bakers assistants simply scraped off the bees and plonked the cake into a box before any others could jump back onto it. The sight of all those bees crawling over the cakes was the most vivid image for me that the rules for the UK didn't really apply here.
Cue camel ride on the beach (touristy I know but I couldn't resist), sampling of the national cuisine cooked in a tagine, trip to haggle for a new mattress from a local bazaar, wander around the old town of Assilah and visit to a hammam (public baths/sauna). All very conducive to the act of relaxation. The weather was equally marvellous, a scorching sun every day works wonders on the post-exam zombie skin tone.
This was my first visit to an Arab nation; indeed, it was also my first to what we Westerners refer to as the "developing world". It occurred to me that it was going to be an interesting trip when I realised that we had to temporarily import the car at the border, as they have to keep a tight reign on the amount of vehicles (presumably due to the high cost of importing fuel). There were scores of cars waiting to leave while their owners frantically tried to haggle with the various official scribes harassing them for tips as they help them fill out the import forms. I soon noted how normal it was in this part of the world to see an outstretched hand waiting to be appeased with a few dirhams. The high temperatures frayed a few tempers and a fist fight broke out a few cars behind, attracting the attention of every border guard, scribe and vehicle owner, all rushing over to voice their informed opinion on the matter.
The first port of call, past a man with his entire family hanging off his motorcycle that he was wisely steering the wrong way up the dual carriageway, was the bakery to pick up some bread and cakes for the weekend. What I saw next was a real shock but when I think back to it now, is really not a big deal. In the bakery, the cakes were all uncovered and as a result were covered with clouds of bees. When a customer pointed to the morsel they fancied, the bakers assistants simply scraped off the bees and plonked the cake into a box before any others could jump back onto it. The sight of all those bees crawling over the cakes was the most vivid image for me that the rules for the UK didn't really apply here.
Cue camel ride on the beach (touristy I know but I couldn't resist), sampling of the national cuisine cooked in a tagine, trip to haggle for a new mattress from a local bazaar, wander around the old town of Assilah and visit to a hammam (public baths/sauna). All very conducive to the act of relaxation. The weather was equally marvellous, a scorching sun every day works wonders on the post-exam zombie skin tone.Friday, August 08, 2008
Life After University
So it finally happened: the university experience is over. For the final three frenzied months, physics occupied my thoughts for every waking moment; billions of neurons desperately pumping electrical sparks around my feeble brain as I, with questionable wisdom, tried to cram in an entire degree's worth of knowledge that I had spent four long years not even attempting to learn.
March and April were truly horrid months. So many hours chained to my desk, locked away in solitary confinement. No sun, no fun, just equation after equation after equation bludgeoning me into submission like some cerebral battering ram: I felt like a zombie.
The exams came and went. But when the moment of freedom finally arrived, things felt considerably different to how I had anticipated. No feelings of elation, ecstasy or even relief; in fact, I couldn't really even switch off. Even though I had earned the right to go and utterly obliterate every alcoholic beverage within the M25, I just couldn't enjoy myself. It just didn't seem right that I had nothing to do after such an intense few months.
Three months on, I breath a sigh of relief as I cast my weary eyes upon the three characters that I had spent so much time and money to earn. Four years and £25,000 later, I have achieved the bare minimum that was expected of me and that I will need to get a decent job. It seems that my whole life has been leading towards this moment, following a well-defined path up to this event. Now I possess the key to unlock any door I want, to follow whichever route I so choose. But the problem, it suddenly occurs to me, is that I don't know what I really want.
At last I have the 2:1, but where do I take it from here?
Three months on, I breath a sigh of relief as I cast my weary eyes upon the three characters that I had spent so much time and money to earn. Four years and £25,000 later, I have achieved the bare minimum that was expected of me and that I will need to get a decent job. It seems that my whole life has been leading towards this moment, following a well-defined path up to this event. Now I possess the key to unlock any door I want, to follow whichever route I so choose. But the problem, it suddenly occurs to me, is that I don't know what I really want.
At last I have the 2:1, but where do I take it from here?
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Stupidest Charity Ever
Reading an article on the BBC website [1] about a woman in the UK bitten by a rabid dog, I was dumbfounded after the first line:
It transpires that Kim Cooling, the lady in question, runs a charity that rescues street dogs from Sri Lanka and brings them back here for rehoming. Now call me harsh, but isn't this a bloody awful waste of money? Why can't she just rehome them in Sri Lanka? The money spent on airfreight combined with the cost of facilities and wages for carers in the UK must be enough to pay for a Sri Lankan mansion for the little rascals!
People don't often realise that the effects of charity can be doubled if the money raised in the UK is used fully in the country of destination. In this particular instance, I think it is an absolute joke that people would dare to run such a charity in a country torn apart by a brutal 25 year civil war that has killed 70,000 people [2]. What about the orphans that these resources could feed/house/educate? What about the hospitals that these resources could fill with medicines?
Kim Cooling, congratulations on Animal SOS Sri Lanka receiving my vote for the stupidest charity ever.
Sources
[1] http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7368808.stm
[2] http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/7369516.stm
"A social worker who runs a charity that brings street dogs from Sri Lanka into the UK was one of three people bitten by a puppy infected with rabies."A charity that brings street dogs from Sri Lanka into the UK? Is this woman totally stark-raving mad? Don't get me wrong, I'm not against animal charities: RSCPA, Battersea Dogs Home and the like all do a sterling job of looking after animals that have been subjected to cruelty and provide assistance in the prosecution of the idiots responsible.
It transpires that Kim Cooling, the lady in question, runs a charity that rescues street dogs from Sri Lanka and brings them back here for rehoming. Now call me harsh, but isn't this a bloody awful waste of money? Why can't she just rehome them in Sri Lanka? The money spent on airfreight combined with the cost of facilities and wages for carers in the UK must be enough to pay for a Sri Lankan mansion for the little rascals!
People don't often realise that the effects of charity can be doubled if the money raised in the UK is used fully in the country of destination. In this particular instance, I think it is an absolute joke that people would dare to run such a charity in a country torn apart by a brutal 25 year civil war that has killed 70,000 people [2]. What about the orphans that these resources could feed/house/educate? What about the hospitals that these resources could fill with medicines?
Kim Cooling, congratulations on Animal SOS Sri Lanka receiving my vote for the stupidest charity ever.
Sources
[1] http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7368808.stm
[2] http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/7369516.stm
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Exhumation of Padre Pio
The body of Padre Pio, the famous 20th Century Italian priest who became St. Pio of Pietrelcina in 2002, has been exhumed and put on display on the fortieth anniversary of his death.
I am no longer a practising Catholic (I would probably describe my beliefs as agnostic leaning towards theistic) but it must be said I find the whole affair thoroughly distasteful and, dare I say it, irreverent. By digging up his body and placing it on public display, it seems to me as if the Church wants to make money from pilgrims or stir up publicity. Cynical as that is, I can't help but feel disgusted by the public display of a famous corpse on an anniversary, it just seems to me as such a disrespectful act. When I've conked out and am six feet under I want to be bloody well left there!
I am no longer a practising Catholic (I would probably describe my beliefs as agnostic leaning towards theistic) but it must be said I find the whole affair thoroughly distasteful and, dare I say it, irreverent. By digging up his body and placing it on public display, it seems to me as if the Church wants to make money from pilgrims or stir up publicity. Cynical as that is, I can't help but feel disgusted by the public display of a famous corpse on an anniversary, it just seems to me as such a disrespectful act. When I've conked out and am six feet under I want to be bloody well left there!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
