Saturday, September 12, 2009

Bookmarks relied on in even the gravest "there's nothing interesting to look at on the net" crisis

One day, the internet will cease to exist.

Eventually some other more efficient and clever form of storing and sharing information will replace it, like the telephone replaced telegrams. And it will look like a quaint, old fashioned way to communicate. A mythological infrastructure rendered pointless by the living chips in our head that allow us to place thought directly into the minds of those we're connected to, from our eco-bubble body units that gave up the need for legs some time ago. Physical boundaries and distances having been replaced for centuries by a society that effectively exists as one in the common cloud of information and feeling and entertainment and learning. Like dust in a beam of sunlight, itself forgotten because we won't need light anymore. It'll be as irrelevant as horse-drawn carriages.

So the internet, a dusty, jammed, neglected collection of physical wires and satallites will slowly die, until the last forgotten computer light winks out, deep underground and alone. And the once flood of information and adverts and spam mail will fade out of existence as if it had never been.

When this happens, Lolcats will be the last thing that fades from the last cracked CRT screen..

Friday, September 11, 2009

For no other reason other than it's a damn Friday


Nineteen glorious seconds of pure ROFL. Thank you Harry Hill and team.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

It's all a bit self-pitying here today


Well I've just spent six minutes and thirty seconds looking at Derren Brown's balls, and I'm none the wiser. But then there's the fun. I look forward to the Friday programme where he explains all - like some illusionist Johnny Ball. S'very clever.*

Anyway, I'm packing my bags (nearly), readying my foreign currency (almost) and hot-footing it out of here (sometime next week, in fact).

I'm off on my holibobs again. And I can't begin to explain how ready I am for them, not least because the last time I went away was the last time anything interesting happened on this blog. But darnit I shall try.

Why I am ready for parts foreign (by Boz, aged thirty and a bit)

1. Work has been 'a bit busy'.
2. I have been punishing my poor body with late nights and booze.
3. I have not had much time to generally kick back, relax, enjoy a slice of cake and bit of hush.

The results of this is my body springing it's usual physical equivalent of defcon three, ie a cold sore.

There is nothing nice to be said for a cold sore. They are not pretty. They are not fun. But it's sort of my own fault for running myself down a bit. I'm like one of those hypochondriac patients in Carry On Films. "Woe is meeeee! Matron!".

So very shortly, I'm abandoning these shores - with their gloomy news, befuddled seasons and wearisome deadlines - for New York City.

I've been before so have done most of the touristy stuff. Anyone got any tips for what next? MOMA is on my list..


* FULL DISCLAIMER: I slightly fancy Derren Brown. I know, right, a bit unusual, yeah? I'm sure it has all sorts of Freudian undertones. But there we are.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

Traumatised by Ghostwatch, for starters

An important revelation about telly has arisen following the second blog* meeting between me, James of Blue Cat fame, Billy and Jayne.

There was talk about telly** and it struck me ("ow") that a lot of the TV that I really like and has really influenced me, was the stuff that I was not allowed to watch when I was younger.

I was a bit weedy and wet as a child (IN A GOOD WAY). So a lot of scary stuff was right out almost immediately (actually this might not just be telly - a Radio 4 Edgar Allan Poe adaptation had me literally shaking once). Anything I was shuffled away from has been the subject of endless interest as an adult. I think mum had a pretty good sense of the things that would cause sleepless nights (for me and therefore her) so would firmly switch over, off or the subject of our focus. But now anything sci-fi-ish and properly creepy I think is brillig.

And I have very deep memories of my sitting up in bed and hearing my parents and sister next door, laughing hysterically to Blackadder, which I had been summaraily dispatched to bed before the start of. I crept along the hall, knelt down beside the battered church pew*** and sat by the - firmly closed - living room door hearing them laugh their heads off.

"That must be a good thing," thought little I. Thus an obsession was born.

Of course, there was also always the lingering sense, the unspoken rule, that anything on ITV was somehow not quite the done thing. So clearly I can also blame/thank my parents for some of my strange class preoccupations, coupled to a socialist soul.

So I worry about my nephews, who can more or less watch what they like, will miss out on the life-shaping habits created by someone saying "No, not for you". Mind you, as the youngest one is still fairly preoccupied by DVDs of steam trains - and I mean ANY DVD of steam trains - I'm not sure there's too much of a problem there.

Anyway. I'm off to try and find a copy of this, on sound recommendation.

* Which was a much soberer affair than the last one, because we all had some proper grown-up things to do the next day. Like making presentations, meeting new people and trying to overthrow Slough.
** One of my BEST types of talks.
*** Don't go there. We had two. And screaming atheism.