ScienceDirect - Social Science & Medicine : Contesting contraceptive innovation�Reinventing the script.....check out the authors name, bad geek bad geek - abuse of powerful search engines.

The Observer Business New oil shock ahead as $100 spike looms.....forget all the other shit, this is the early notes of the tune called 'run to the hills, run for your lives'.

now, wheres me interceptor?

well fuck me sideways, Nomak in Blade II was played by non other than Luke Goss. I probably shown have known this a lot earlier, but there you go. Incidently, Luke Goss = Bacon number of 2.

The last few days has been bloody lovely weather which means that the whole of Malmö, ney Sweden, has descended almost to my doorstep to bask on the 'sun promenade'. This is the wooden boardwalk which runs for about 200 or so metres down the sea front here. Almost all the buildings on it are flats, so the owners have an obstructed view - in summer - of acres of sizzling scandinavian flesh. I understand that several of the flat's owners wanted to have the boardwalk private but were told, pretty much, to get stuffed, given that the whole redevelopment of this area was partly funded by tax payers money. If you walk about another 5 minutes down the coast you come to the start of about 3 kms of beach which, now, is pretty much deserted as the place to be seen is the aforementioned. Unless, however, you're one of the nudists (who have a little area at the start of the beach, carefully marked out with white stones)and then the place to be seen, or more accurately, get your cock out, is proudly on the beach, idly slapping yourself dry as you gaze, unabashed, at the shocked englishman.

Listening: Arctic Monkeys. Bad Brains. Prodigy.

From the BBC website:

The local election campaign was overshadowed by the flurry of government controversies, including the storm over foreign prisoner releases and John Prescott's affair with a secretary.

Yes, the - ahem - mislaying of rapists, murderers and other violent offenders (debt to society repayed and all) is clearly a major fuck up and thus well fits the controversy headline but two shags affair (which conjures up horrendous mental images) is NOT a government controversy. Sure its a controversy for his life, and presumably for the body of the secretary his whale like mass descended on, but its got fuck all to do with his ability to be part of the cabinet. Politicians are supposed to be representative of the people, but as soon as there is a sniff of 'sleaze' we demand a type of lifestyle akin to that of the pope. Please explain, its only sex. Its not like, oh I dunno, going to war based on a foundation of lies.

and the day starts well by, it feels to me, effectively abandoning my child into the care of strangers. No, i have not converted to Scientology but instead we're in the process of breaking E into daycare (or 'Dagis' as it is referred to here (which is slang)). We spent most of the last few weeks spending each morning there, either me or K, but starting yesterday we began the process of leaving him there without us. Tears, poo and lashings of angst. Was the result for me. Actually, I feel kind of okay about it as opposed to yesterday, when I did not.

Speaking of poo I managed to catch Viral Gastroenteritus off E, he got it mildly whereas as I got it massively. One day lost with lots of backdoor action as I verily squirted through the eye of the needle, this when I wasn't busy shouting down the bog. The end of the winter has been fucking horrible, this is the third time in as many months that I have been bed ridden. Its playing merry hell with my training schedule but has meant I've pretty much lost my love handles.

Reading: Fast Food Nation, excellent. The End of Oil, just starting it but right up my street. Also rereading Woken Furies (Richard Morgan), as always a good read combining, as it does, the words 'cock' and 'blaster' on the same pages.

Listening: The Archers, I reckon Alistair's going to top himself.

The exciting news is that the Scandinavian Science Fiction Convention is back at Malmö Massan which, as luck would have it, is just around the corner. Its a conference centre now but used to be a SAAB car factory. Interesting little factoid there. Among the guests at the convention are Carl Weathers (Major George Dillon in Predator and Apollo Creed in almost all of the Rocky movies.....), Craig Parker (Haldir from LOTR, who seems to have done mostly voice over work in Power Rangers) and Marc Singer (Donavan in V but also Dar, in the beastmaster). So, usual bunch of bitter, slightly mad actors then. Last year had a very pissed off David Carridine, although the guy who was Chewbacca seemed pretty happy. Personally, I'm looking forward to seeing Paul Blake, who played Greedo in Star Wars (and, as the ever useful IMDB identified, had a role in Crossroads). And, following on from that, and further proof that the Internet 2.0 is indeed the greatest social revolution of all time check this out.

And yes, the blog is coming back to life which also means tales of sausage bikes will no doubt follow.

Watching: Alien Special edition, Dark Crystal, History of Violence, LOTR, Starship Troopers, Akira.
Reading: Ruth Rendell (shite shite shite, I was stuck for something to read and it was either that or the hobbit, in swedish. Wrong choice). Rough Guide to Science Fiction (which has resulted in me ordering Death Race 2000 from Amazon, we shall see. This is actually one of those movies which got talked about at school, where you knew the lines, the plot and the grossest bits without actually having seen the film. I remember discussing in great detail Alien, countless zombie movies and mad max without actually ever having seen them. The prize was, of course, Texas Chain Saw Massacre, of which, it was said, they used real live people for the actual cutting scenes. It was somewhat of a relief when I finally saw it (ha ha), some twenty years later that it was not actually a snuff movie and was, in fact, not that gory.)
Listening: Guardian podcasts

God, just haven't got the energy to write the usual bollocks (its not as if I can claim some form of writers block, that would suggest some element of actual ability)....don't know whats up but my usual internet frolics have seemed somewhat boring recently. Still, boingboing cheered me up (as usual) with among other things, a link to all the images from Abu Ghairab (that high point of the American version of Pax Romana, i.e. Except democracy or we'll kill you), how to put your eyeball back in and an interview with Alan Moore, which is the link I actually went for. (MILE HIGH COMICS presents THE BEAT at COMICON.com: A FOR ALAN, Pt. 1: The Alan Moore interview

Alan Moore, of course - for those whose life is not brightened up by the consumption of comics, being the creator of V for Vendetta....coming to a cinema near you.

So whats up with the Swedish life....well, looks like the job front is going batshit as the NGO i work for is haemorraging money and has none to give me - so back out in the job market for little johnny I feel. Arse. The good news is that I got hold of the latest Steven Erikson book 'The Bonehunters' which was getting off to a bit of a slow start until Karsa turned up and kicked the shit out of some demon type beastie....fantastic. Actually, thats not the only thing in my life which makes me happy, but its the only thing I can be bothered to write about now.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.

Seems like I've had some form of blogging block and, in actual fact, this will only be a short post as I have to get the dinner sorted. However, the news is that an Equaliser movie is in production - fantastic, this was one of my favourite shows in the '80s. Edward Woodward as Robert McCall. Always classic, every episode fucking brilliant and usually ending with him in pursuit of the bad guy, shouting 'stop' and then a split second later shooting him to death, then standing over the steaming corpse and gravely saying 'I warned him'. Director will be Paul McGuigan, who did gangster number 1 and lucky number slevin. I think.

Guardian Unlimited Film News Mads for it: new 007 villain unveiled....given that hes a Danish actor, I assume his planet endangering weopn will be a collection of rather weak cartoons, or some such.

Disturbing images......Atomic Bomb detonation by Harold Edgerton

Things are a little slow right now, but the days are getting lighter.

Me? I'm just keeping my head down (with chin firmly tucked into my Muhammad T-shirt) Jyllands-Posten Muhammad cartoons controversy - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Snow is falling, its cold. I had a series of shite meetings, which combined with my still cough wracked body, put me in a black mood. Then the super new modern metro system in Copenhagen decided it would be fun to not let me off the train (though lingered tantalisingly at my station) before whisking me (and other commuters) off to some god forsaken fag end of Copenhagen new town. Once I managed to get back to the main line then had to endure the train to Sweden being around 20 minutes late (which was made worse by the freezing hail being thrown in my face. I asked the man to stop but he wouldn't). Of course, the train doorway was packed even though the carraige itself was empty and so I vented a tremendously english 'oh for fucks sake' which had the same effect Moses had on the red sea and the crowd parted, and I found my seat. Theres probably a moral there, but I suspect its filthy.

More on the Danish/Muslim war:
Guardian Unlimited Special reports Cartoon conflicts

Jyllands-Posten Muhammad cartoons controversy - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: As usual, its the internet, so its probably all bollocks but about midway down the page theres some real interesting stuff about how this all kicked off....

Some fantastic stuff here...check out the smart materials......Middlesex University Teaching Resources

The cartoon row over the danish muhammad drawings claims a head with the firing of the French Newspaper editor who reprinted them yesterday.....if you want to see all the pictures you can go here, I read somewhere that they were printed as a result of the newspaper, at first, being unable to find anyone prepared to draw a picture of the prop forward Muhammad. My feelings on this, liberalist that I am, is that THIS IS FUCKING INSANE. This is the 21st fucking century and people are being threatened with death because they drew a sketch, what the fuck! I'm sorry, I've very much into right to protest but c'mon, you're acting like a bunch of spastic mentalists.

Anyone want to buy a T-shirt with muhammad on it?

As you may have gathered Swedens noisy neighbour has managed, where the war in Iraq has failed, to set the entire Islamic world aflame....with a cartoon. This one, in fact, which was one of several printed in the Danish newspaper Jyllands Posten. Its not even that funny. Its at times like this I'm glad I have no faith in anything supernatural, it seems like so much effort - mind you, I feel the same way about supporting football teams.

Computer fixed, cough is not, snow is melting, eager to see what 'Invasion' will be like (though after Prison Break, I'm not holding my breath. Prison Break, which by episode 6 already has had a full on prison wide riot.....thus if its a logarithmic scale of insane plot devices means that by episode 20 they will all be enlightened higher dimensional beings floating in brane space.)

Lack of blogging over the last few days caused partly by persistant illness (hacking cough which makes me sound like something from a period piece BBC drama) and my completely successful attempt to blow up our new computer. Yes, it all started when I tried to install Intel's System Health program, a handy piece of software which lets you know processor temperature and fan speed etc - all of which are handy things to know.....it ended seconds later when our computer had the electronic equivalent of sudden, massive stem death and presented me - not with the blue screen of doom - but the black screen of fatality. Fuck knows what the Intel software did, the guy at Dell did know either and I'm not holding out much hope for the repair dude who comes tomorrow. Put it this way, if the software was a bullet and my computer was a head we're talking quiet 'pop' of silenced Heckler and Koch, sudden spray of red mist and head quickly jerking backwards, followed by twitching foot. Repair guy is bringing a new motherboard, thats all I care about.

Totally flunked a swedish exam today. Bah. I have so much swedish coming in my mouth (to paraphrase the scary German in League of Gentlemen) that the right words get totally mixed up...arrgh, it was all so much easier when I only knew how to say 'I am John' or 'My trousers are soiled, please direct me to the nearest outfitters'.

Listening: a strange medley of Front242, Ministry, Rob Zombie and Leila K.
Reading: More malazan stuff, don't ask.
Wishing: To stop coughing, start training again and writing about sausage bikes.

Greetings. Once again I ponder the purpose of this blog when I read other efforts from similarily ex-patted folk in Sweden who seem to be able to detect the slightest nuance of difference in Swedish culture and then write reams of guff on it. I can't. I'm sorry. But that won't stop me blitering on.

My mouth tastes like rancid steel after the Subway sub I devoured on the way to the Higher education information place....upshot is that the next intake for anything remotely interesting is next Jan, so I've got the rest of this year to get my Swedish knocked into shape....actually, probably not as long as there are various entrance exams to take before. Anyways.

The tale of the Eugent will shortly be updated and move across to seathingcity, assuming I can remember my password for that blog.....

Purchased: Firefly DVD (appearing at some point in the post), James Blunt CD (not for me, I hasten to add, but for 'her indoors').

Strangeways, not Eton

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.

Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere.His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm."We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.

In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cajoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.

"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.

****

Down on the planets unsuspecting and rather dull surface, Julian Fishguard (Cretin Class Accountant Grade 2) bimbled his way through the concourses and plazas of Capital City. It was a warm fine day with a fresh wind blowing from the deep blue sky (which, had he been paying more attention, he would have seen was criss crossed with vivid brown streaks which carved their way across from the horizon). Julian was vaguely humanoid, an vat bred offshoot from original Terran Stock Version 3.5, inhabiting a world which had long since been forgotten by the Greater Galactic Continuum. There possibly had once been a purpose in populating a plant completely with genetically engineered humans whose only aim was to be lawyers or accountants but the reason had been lost in the mists of time (or in a filing cabinet somewhere). He entered the portico of his office block, shrugging off a slight splash of rain, nodding his head at the security guard (Insipid Class Lawyer, ungraded) who, has ever, barely registered his arrival. The guard sat, behind his mirror polished desk, in a large bulky wheelchair as he had lost his legs in the great Factoring and Tax conflict of '35. Rumour had it, in the canteen, that he had singly handly deducted a nest of pen wielding export specialists.

High above Julian, and his sweaty musings of shared flat tax and leverage with the busty consultant he shared his office with, a ancient metrological airship drifted through the azure sky. It had long since ceased its use as a scientific platform and now served as a high end restaurant for the wealthier populous of the planet. Its massive yellowed bulk dwarfed the gondola which hung beneath it, but even that was capable of housing some 500 people, their servants and assorted hangers-on, lackeys and boot lickers. For its long since disappeared scientific staff the attraction of the gondola had been the open-air balcony which circled its girth, enabling them to operate their sensitive sniffing experiments and complex rain dances. The wealthy mainly used it for drinks partys, and spitting on Capital City.

Blim Fladderstock (Senior Partner, insurgency class, retired) lounged drunkenly in the bridge of the gondola and cast a lazy drink fogged eye over the bank of controls which, in their indolent ignorance, most of the crew (and particularly the captain) had little clue as to their purpose.
"I say Captain" Said Blim, waving a ring encrusted hand vaguely in the direction of the half asleep bulk slouched in the chair opposite him.
"what does the flashing red light, with the words 'Collision Imminent' mean, just beside the screen with the words 'impending doom likely' and just down from the console which is trying to climb out of the window with a parachute strapped to its back?"
"Well, its probably not good" said the Captain blearily, the gust of air from the now open window blowing his party hat off and sending swirls of coloured tape around him.
"I think..." begain Blim, which as his last words were unfortunate, as they were certainly not true. The Sausage Bike, its bone storm rider barely holding on (they were called shock troops simply because that was the state they were predominantly in) burst through Blims chest, after punching through the gondola wall, screeching to a halt which threw its madly chattering rider into the lap of the Captain.
He looked down at the 1 metre long skeletal creature grinning up at him, its flash flensed skull adorned with largely uneccsesary flashing bionic implants.
"Definitely not good" he said, as it began to gnaw enthusiastically at his groin.

Sideways, possibly to the left

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously. Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere.

His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm."We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.

In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cajoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.

"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"

The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.

****

Down on the planets unsuspecting and rather dull surface, Julian Fishguard (Cretin Class Accountant Grade 2) bimbled his way through the concourses and plazas of Capital City. It was a warm fine day with a fresh wind blowing from the deep blue sky (which, had he been paying more attention, he would have seen was criss crossed with vivid brown streaks which carved their way across from the horizon). Julian was vaguely humanoid, an vat bred offshoot from original Terran Stock Version 3.5, inhabiting a world which had long since been forgotten by the Greater Galactic Continuum. There possibly had once been a purpose in populating a plant completely with genetically engineered humans whose only aim was to be lawyers or accountants but the reason had been lost in the mists of time (or in a filing cabinet somewhere). He entered the portico of his office block, nodding his head at the security guard (Insipid Class Lawyer, ungraded) who, has ever, barely registered his arrival. The guard sat, behind his mirror polished desk, in a large bulky wheelchair as he had lost his legs in the great Factoring and Tax conflict of '35. Rumour had it, in the canteen, that he had singly handly deducted a nest of pen wielding export specialists.

Some of the times Drunkest I can barely remember-

1. Atlanta, USA. 2003. Feb.

After a week of travelling around the states to drum up business for my old company, and some time spent in the CDC (cute, sharing a room with America's smallpox reserve)myself and my business colleague were treated (read bribed) to a stay in a reet post hotel in the centre of Atlanta (rather than out in the waste land of nail painting and doughnut shops which our motel was located in). Anyway, to congratulate ourselves on a week of work, and - if I remember correctly - have a belated Xmas do we embarked on, what turned out to be, a 12 hour drinking binge. The salient memories are a. Believing I was in Atlantis and explaining this to some bemused, and quite possibly scared American students b. drinking whisky from little medicine cups in a bar where the clientale were dangerously excited (one of whom believed I was a pro-golfer from Canada and would not take 'no' for an answer. I think he may have had doubts, however, when I started talking about backspin and forehand) c. A playful punch from a bouncer which almost broke my arm d. A steak as big as my head e. Christoper Walken (or at least, someone whose dad was mates with him. Apparently) f. Waking up, in my pajamas, in the hotel corridor, with no memory of where I was, who I was, realising I could not see properly (corridor on its side, head spinning, no glasses)and that I had just finished urinating on someones door. g. Choosing the hotel door next to the wet steaming one and knocking gently on it f. my logic worked (i.e. that I would not relieve myself on my own door)and my room mate (it was one of those suite/apartment things)watched, to his surprise, as I stumbled back into the room. h. A hangover which lasted 24 hours.

Updated....I make no apologies. Actually, before you read on, I've noticed that many of my neighbours still have their Xmas decorations up...after the hallowed, nay sacred date of saints day...I wonder what happens, do the three wise men come around and throw stones at your windows (or even duff you up? I understand that Melchior was a bit tasty in his day)......

Up, not down.

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.

Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere. His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm.
"We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.

In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cojoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.

"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"

The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.

Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere. His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.

And if you not downloading the shows off the Guardian website, shame on you.
Ricky Gervais....

New Year, New Game. And this one's called TWAT spotting...as in The War Against Terror....clearly someone in the halls of power is aware of this acronym (which is so fucking appropriate) as you often see the 'the' dropped off it or referred to as the 'War on Terror'....anyway, heres some examples from the web....

"The 3rd question has to do with the title, TWATism" Noam Chomsky.

"In his forthcoming book, TWAT, Bobbit reflects on a new definition of warfare"
University Texas Austion

"some have argued that confronting the treat from Iraq could detract from TWAT"

"they're building a nation fully joined in TWAT"
President Whorebeast

...perhaps it was funnier in my head at 0530 this morning, never mind.

On a more serious note, and staying with Iraq, how come noone gets upset about the Downing Street Memo anymore. Just in case you've forgotten, this is the one where Blair was told that the US was cooking the evidence for WMDs. This still amazes me....the enormity of the lie is incredible. Heres a final factoid before I bugger off, the cost of the war to the US has been 204.4 billion dollars - thats a lot of money.

Reading: Midnight Tides by Steven Erikson (Again, its one of the Malazan Book of the Fallen - lots of hacking and slaying, but rather witty with it)

The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.

Merry Christmas!

Canon braces itself for arse induced copier carnage

Theres a lot of blogs out there, an awful lot. Some of them are the rambling of loons (where if they were on paper, they would be writen in shit), some are thoughtful observations on everyday life, some a stream of expert opinion on important things and others an interesting insight into someones life. This blog is none of those things. What is it? I dunno. Its not like its a chronicle of life in Sweden as, on average, I barely manage to mention the place more than one a month. Its certainly not (chump) an insight into the world of my work which, lets face it, is not that exciting. Nor is it particularly funny as usually when I blog its when I am tired, hysterical, weepy, drunk, sedated or spent....none of which are states of mind appropriate to being particularly witty. (speaking of which, I foolishly plugged the word 'arse' into google and then pressed 'images' rather than 'news', resulting in a flurry of shocking images to scroll down my screen.).
It does not provide any kind of great angle on the pop culture that I consume at a voracious rate (though my recent realisation that given the choice between a Bergman movie and a Die Hard movie (well, number 1 anyway) I'd plump straight for Brucie has made me realise that I'm much less the offbeat film buff that I like to pretend I am). So what is it? Its mine, its been a little focus for the last 2 years (well, not quite - but almost) of my life here. A distraction which has proven to be almost therapeutic. So the early resolution for the New Year is to keep on going - if you read this, and return (chump) then so much the better - I'll be here, not writing about anything in particular.


Annoyance In the space of 12 hours we have managed to destroy to large white goods, to wit, one siemens washing machine and one siemans oven. Accidently. And with much gnashing of teeth.
Reading Spares (again), which was the original script idea for that recent Ewan Macgregor movie, I think Bruckenheimer was the director
Listening Steve Earle

Trouser Press....indie rock heaven.

Wankers, obviously poorly sighted and thus unable to recognise the raw talent which slumped in the chair in front of them...in not one, but two interviews....yes, the fucks decided not to give me the job (and thus give me a 5 year contract, loads of dosh and a 75% position) which means I'm still jumping from one 3 or 6 month contract to the next. What was there not to like? Lets see, BSc, MSc and PhD - so straight away we're dealing with a serious fuck off academic ninja but, hold the press, in the subjects which the job was concerned with. Next, European Project experience - yeah, fucking loads. Next question. Entrepreneurial skills - well, lets see, founded a very successful and rapidly growing biotech service company, how do you like them onions, eh? So...and, oh whats my Swedish like, ska vi se, ja, Jag kan prata en del av svenska och det komma att blir bettre och bettre varje dag eftersom jag gå till en kvälls kurs två gånger en vecka........


wankers

This is something which has crossed my mind from time to time, as I gaze at my PC screen and wonder why am I not having more fun here? As Franz Ferdinand say "if you did the things you like, you would be happier". Fun, is of course, totally subjective and one mans fun may be anothers nightmare but the underlying concept seems to be that our work lives are based on fundamentally un-fun premises.

"Indeed, as my lectures bring me from industry to industry, I find myself amazed by just how little fun most people are having. Whether separated from one another by policy, competition, or cubicle, the last thing that seems to occur to people is to have fun together—when it should be the first priority. Instead, managers feel obligated to reign over employees; executives think they must hoodwink their shareholders; sales believe they must strong-arm their clients; and marketers assume they must manipulate the consumer. All for the life-or-death stakes of the next quarterly report."
Douglas Rushkoff.

I've been listening to Ricky Gervais's podcasts on the guardian siteand heard them discussing a fantastically bizarre story about 42 cambodian midgets squaring off against a lion. Sadly, or perhaps happily, this is another piece of internet lore and is a fake, but a bloody good one.
The podcasts are very funny though.

Listening: Franz Ferdinand
Watching: Animatrix
Reading: Strangers in Paradise (Comic), Hellblazer (Comic) and A big boy did it and ran away by Christopher Brookmyre. The last is fucking brilliant and this is the second or third time that I've read it. Constantly references all the games we grew up with (i.e. everything from 3D Monster Maze for the ZX81 to Quake) against a thriller examining what would happen if your flat mate from student days turned out to be an international terrorist.

You may remember the story scooped by the Mail on Sunday (?) which concerned bullying of Royal Marines...i.e fighting naked and then being kicked unconscious. Well, heres the follow up from the Evening Herald in Plymouth, with a great quote from the soldier who was sparko "The bloke who kicked me in the head is the nicest guy in the company"....which makes you wonder what the horribliest guy in the company is like.

Sometime last year I blogged about the first incarnation of this game, well, heres the second...I could not get the page to work but I guess its probably collapsed for the time being due to the link from BoingBoing....Samorost 2...I was actually looking at the Crimson Room the other day and went back to play it just now, stumbled across the Veridian Room...excellent, more point and click fun.

We were supposed to be at a Jul Fest (Christmas Party) this evening but E, and K, are both feeling a bit ill...we instead had a splendidly cosy time in town....I purchased the History of Violence comic book which I've been gradually reading this evening, good so far. Speaking of geek things, went to see Serenity with my chum S last night - must say, once again Joss Whedon comes up with the goods, a stonking good space opera of a 8 out of 10....I've not actually seen any of the series, which would - I guess- make the movie even better.

Still nothing from the potentially new employers, I'll give them (another) phone call next week - they said in the interview that I would hear within two weeks. When I phoned on monday the guy said they had not made a decision and would be getting in touch. Presumably with a brick through the window with a burning dog turd tied to it.

Saw this on BoingBoing, thought provoking....

map of world by population.....

Caught my eye that Swedes are amongst the most honest when it comes to downloading music (and paying for it)....whats strange is that since I moved to Sweden I went from knowing about the existance of filesharing services to being a subscriber to the services of iTunes. Must be some kind of infectious civic responsibility disease they put in the water here......

Young 'prefer illegal song swaps'

Good old Sweden, beneath that mild mannered exterior lies the beating heart of an arsonist.......Wierd Ritual of the Burning Goat.

Its been a great day, spent with E. We did not do anything particularly exciting but instead wandered down to the sea front, played with his bricks at home and generally just hung out. Strangely relaxing and the fatigue of being woken up several times in the night - especially for someone who really needs his 8 hours - is not a problem. Spending time with my son is one of the most relaxing, almost meditive, things I have ever done.

Off to Denmark on Friday for meetings then the Xmas bash - must have self control. Last time I got pissed in Denmark I was so drunk I almost pooed my pants on the train home.

Reading: Strangers in Paradise (comic book), Adolf (comic book), Good Omens (again, not a comic book) and looking forward to reading short story collection from China Mieville.

Listening: Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Rammstein.

Looking: Like I will be starting training again this weekend, after almost 4 months of lay off since my ankle started playing up. I won't be doing much running, mostly bag work and free weights plus diet.

Worrying: This subject actually deserves more thought but I'll put it in anway. My mate R has really got be thinking about the looming crisis in oil production and what the future is going to look like. I've been reading around the subject a bit and apparently its 2010 when the shit is really going to hit the fan......more to follow.

Last snatch, dumped another creative turd on Seathing.

So, I had a second interview for the new job I'm after. It seemed to go pretty well, including the initial swedish session (oohhh er missus) at the start. We switched to English pretty quickly, and the problem - I realised - is that it is really difficult to read someone when they are using their second lanquage, even when they are fluent. Nuances and expressions come out differently, so I was never quite sure how enthusiastic the interviewer was being about me. Oh, a note to self - or anyone else having an interview in Sweden - they check references well in advance of you being offered a position so you might want to consider not including your current employer, as I have done. I've had to do some damage limitation to hopefully avoid the worse case scenario of a. not getting the new job and b. my old boss deciding that my lack of loyalty is a good enough reason to get rid of me. Paranoid? Moi?

Notable event: It was E's name day on saturday and his first B'day last week. One year old. Shocking.
Books:Century Rain by A. Reynolds, 6 out of 10 - definitely not his best but okay. More from the Alita:Battle Angel Series and various Sandman collections.
Music: Mudhoney, Libertines and Queen.

"Arguably the most dangerous machine ever fabricated at SRL: Pitching Machine".....actually blogged about these guys before but this is so cool, firing pieces of 2 by 4 at speeds of 120 mph.

More to come, but now I must make the tea.......work strangeness abounds, second interviews undertook, contract renewals floating, dreams of permanancy...hmmm, sounds a bit like a haiku.

After a savage bout of mushroom, or poo, induced poisoning yesterday I feel relatively fitter (although a little thinner) today......I fucking hate being ill, especially when the family goes off to the summer house and leaves me lolling in my sick bed with nothing but John Carpenters 'Assault on Precinct 13' to watch. They actually didn't just leave because of my explosive diarrhea but also because its that time of year when we must replace the cars tyres with the mighty studded ice breakers.

Annoyed, because I've started reading A. reynolds latest - Century Rain. Don't get me wrong, its started well and is a novel departure from the universe of his previous books BUT once again the curse of ideas rises again. You see, his latest involves the use of alien transit lines - the Hyperweb - enabling mankind to reach the stars. Which is identical to an idea I had some years ago. This is not the first time this has happened either, Neil Gaimens story of people living under london was pretty much identical to an idea I had, involving 'dwellers' some years before. This suggests, to me, that - I really should write more or that, more likely I think, theres a universal pool of ideas which we can access, and that ideas are not really our own. Or, that we are all sad geeks pretty much influenced by the same source material.

Still laughing at: Joke in 'Catch me if you can'.......'Knock Knock. Who's there? Go fuck yourselves.'
Getting into: Franz Ferdinand. Partly because the musics cool but also because they seem to be one of the few bands that smile in photographs.

I finally got around to adding some links...more to follow when I get around to it.....(just beneath the archives on the right side)........

First things first, if you go over to http://www.seathingcity.blogspot.com/ you'll find Shunt - a rather unpleasant, poorly edited short story which I put together on the commute to work. If you enjoy it, or at least could think of worst ways to have spent the 20 minutes or so that you used reading it then so much the better. I enjoyed writing it, which is the main thing I guess.

Some statistics from my life:

Nappies changed: approx 900, which is an average of around 2 a day - the daily average is higher now, but I was working more before E stopped breast feeding.
Times I have sung: 'Go to sleep little baby': approx 1080 times 'Man of constant sorrow': approx 700 times. 'Whisky in the jar': approx 500 times 'Copperhead road':approx 500 times. These are usually sung in the day, frequently in a medley. E, wisely, nods straight off to sleep in the evening and thus is spared further renditions.
Full nights uninterrupted sleep I have had in the past 11 or so months: approx 25 (almost all from trips). This is out of a potential of 360, considering this - and the amount of people who have young kids at any one time - its amazing there aren't more incidents of sleep deprived parents going postal.

Speaking of nappies I notice that Madonna said that her husband dosn't change nappies because he is a 'man's man', what exactly is it about changing a nappie which is unmanly? All the men I know, including myself, seem to spend a far greater time talking about poo than women.

To finish. I finally got my hands on the last book of the 'Bone' series by Jeff Smith. Its up there with Preacher as my favourite comic book- read it, its a bloody excellent story. (hence the image at the top). Currently wading my through Stephen Baxters 'coaltruck' or whatever the hell its called. Soon to start A Reynolds new one. Also finish Alita: Battle Angel.

A site called Camera Toss catchs my attention for all the wrong reasons.....interesting, and yet again remind me, is this why we came from the trees?

Its clearly the end of days, with alarums and diversions ringing out across the land.......so heres something to bring some light, this is cool. One mans quest to barter from a starting position of a paperclip up to a house.

Just back from Oslo, and as K and E were up at the grandparents it meant that I'm slightly delirious from getting almost 9 hours of straight sleep.....feel slightly odd, and in a perverted way, that I could actually do with a few more hours kip. Oslo was good, the occasion was the jamboree for our organisation.

Oslo, nice city but bloody hell Norways expensive!

Heres some stuff from Flickr....

I've set up a new blog...http://www.seathingcity.blogspot.com/ which will shortly contain Shunt, a short unpleasant story (which contains adult themes, graphic sexual references and swearing). Right then, bring on the coffee.

Music: Sugar Cubes

Film: The Faculty, most excellent horror. Saw Flightplan the other day, first half cool Hitchcockian thriller the second part pants.

Book: A. Reynolds new book, the name of which escapes me.

Most eagerly awaited: Resident Evil 4.

Photographs of game avatars and their real life counterparts.

Been a while. Been up to stuff.

The expression 'fucking mental' regularly flicks up in my head these days as I watch the world go ever madder under the Whore Beast and Skull Fucker.....heres a little something from Gov. Jeb apparently making Florida a safer place by enabling a law which, check this out, would render immune someone who fires into a crowd if they believe they were at risk....it would effectively prevent someone, not involved in an incident nor the 'target', to press action against the shooter if they were shot. The change in law now means that you can use deadly force if you feel threatened and that there is no need, as was previously in the law, to run away and hide. I only noticed this because of an advert in the Gruniad, which I actually thought was some kind of spoof at first, which suggested that travellers to Florida avoid any kind of confrontation. I suspect that this law, in the increasingly paranoid eyes of the Americans (sorry, generalisation, some Americans) will be seen as giving them the righteous authority to gun down anyone who looks vaguely...ooohhh...Black, Asian, Muslim, strange, democrat etc etc. In a time when we should be really doing something about the proliferation of arms and terrorism we're actually making it easier to kill people. Enough ranting. I despair, I really do.

Check out the shoot first, ask questions never campaign here.

my latest line of sweaty invective must wait.....its still in the boiler room brewing up. Instead, heres a bloke whose hair looks like a hat.

MediaGuardian.co.uk | Media | Remembering Ronnie: Barker's best gags: "'The West Drayton man who has kept himself awake every night for 17 years by snoring has at least found the answer. He's going to sleep in another room.'"
Ronne B., you will be missed.

"If you imagine the noise God makes before he eats a slice of cheese on toast, then comparably, that's how satisfying yearning the 65 minutes of Takk..... sounds. Ordinary people. Extraordinary songs"
NME reviews Sigur Ros latest album

SEE! Did I not say everyone in the world, living or dead, should be listening to these icelandic chaps!

school boy humour rocks!

check out these papers......

Letter to the Editor: Similar fasting ghrelin levels in binge eating/purging anorexia nervosa and restrictive anorexia nervosa •
Psychoneuroendocrinology, Volume 29, Issue 5, June 2004, Pages 692-693
Barbel Otto , M. Tschöp and U. Cuntz

... presumably an angry letter?

CARCINOMA OF PENIS AND CERVIX
The Lancet, Volume 316, Issue 8199, 18 October 1980, Pages 855-856
P. S. Cocks, K. R. Peel, R. A. Cartwright and R. Adib

Identification and biochemical characterization of an avian sulfatase homologous to the human ARSE, the gene for X-linked chondrodysplasia punctata
Gene, Volume 336, Issue 2, 21 July 2004, Pages 155-161
Paola Ferrante, Silvia Messali, Andrea Ballabio and Germana Meroni

....so I spent some of my valuable life currency plugging rude words into Science Direct, hey, it made me laugh...

Way cool....West Side Story reedited as a trailer for a zombie flick.....

I woke sweating.....the dreams I've been having recently are very disturbing, Condoleeza riding naked on a killer dolphin loaded with attack darts on a dying sea.......you see, its not all insanity either, part of Bush's new 'War Against Weather' has already began (don't believe the hype of telling the Americans to save fuel - the message is clear, bring on the monster trucks.....) with the 'accidental' release of killer attack dolphins reported in the aftermath of Katrina. They been trained to hunt down 'weather' (or as Bush said 'them folks in the sky that make it rain') and kill it without mercy........

if you think this is pure fantasy...ninja dolphins

The other piece which caught my eye this morning was William Bennett, friend to the American Neo-Nazi saying that 'if you want to reduce crime.....abort every black baby'. But its okay, because he went on to say '...an impossible, ridiculous and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down'. Official sources report the Whore Beast as saying "the president believes the comments were not appropriate". Check the wording here..."believes", which suggests he was not exactly sure, probably trying to figure out how that worked with his pro-values. Read the full manifesto of Willy 'Baby Killer' Bennett here.

And Iraq drags on, with the lovely Condoleezzla shrieking out about not ceding the country to Barbaric Killers.......yeah, winning hearts and minds....You can win them to, just find a queue in down town Baghdad and wait for them to come tumbling from the sky. For fucks sake, have we got such short memories......., a war based on lies (now wait, don't start nitpicking - it was lies, there were no WMDs (oh except for the sarin which Saddam got from Ronnie (the senile monkey fucker) but by the time we invaded he'd long since used it on the Kurds) and the fuckers who started it grinning like fucking apes as the bodies mount up.

I should just except the fact that my view, the ceiling of the stone I seem to be living underneath is the way things are and that I should only, in future, rely on barely audible messages being shouted at me from outside. This occured to me when I see that 'The Rum Diaries' by the good Doctor is being made into a film with Colonel Depp in the head role. Why, when I waste so much time surfing the net, does the important stuff slip past me - its not even if I spend my precious gas guzzling hours staring at porn but instead I find myself reading the newspaper, which I could buy and read - in the real world.

The rains just about stopped so I'll make a dash out now....working like hell, things to do, shrews to molest. That kind of thing. Check out the basement elf.

There's plenty of examples out there of how America has lost its superpower status (to nature, rather than terrorists - ahh, the irony) but I think this is quite an extreme one.....Prisoners Abandoned in Jail as Waters Rise.

Oh bollocks, a stressful day of planned blatant consumerism foiled by crap shops....I was attempting to purchase, with money, the new ipod photo with its cool colour screen and nice curvey shape. I didn't even want any huge vulgar memory size, no a mere 20 gig would suffice (sufficient for 7500 songs, or at least my collection of Eddie Izzard and Bill Hicks shows). But the gods of consumerism thwarted me and after being told by the chap at the Apple shop (as in official fucking outlet) that they didn't have any and better still, had no idea when they would, I was feeling pretty tetchy. I bought a Hunter S Thompson book which I had not read and then broke the speed limit across town to get to On-Off, a huge electronics retailer, which-as you might of guessed-did not have any ipods either. Its not often I get afflicted by the desire to buy anything costing more than the price of a paper back or a dubious quality DVD but when the desire hits me, it hits hard. The last time, incidently, was for a punch bag - which was very easily purchased but carrying the fucking thing across town almost killed me.

Angst: I'm not in the UK, where theres a big party going on to which I was invited and a load of my chums will be at...sigh.
Book: Been reading loads of good comic books recently including Swamp Thing as well as Quiver (a return of the Green Arrow) which was written by Kevin Smith, as well as continuing with the story of Bone. Currently digesting Adolf by Osamu Tezuka and Hunter S Thompson's Kingdom of Fear.
Steven Seagal: In his latest movie (Submerged) his characters name is Chris Cody...which is still not a patch on Casey Ryback or Forrest Taft. Hang about, this would be a great solicitors company though: Cody, Ryback and Taft. Wierdly, I found a movie called 'The Untitled Onion Movie', still in post production and with no proper title..our man Stevie is credited with the awesome name of, wait for it, Cock Puncher.

Very funny viral advertising from Rockstar games (part of a battle against a anti-gaming lawyer).......

"Before, when I would buy drugs, I would have no idea what to do with them, so they used to sit, untaken on my side board. After years of buying drugs, but being unable to take them due to ignorance, I had pounds of crack, heroin and reefer stashed in my house. Then, thanks to the internet, I learned how to take them, using a vacuum cleaner, a car battery and a small dog. I am literally out of my mind all of the time and my life has turned to sh*t. Thanks a lot, internet! I say, turn it off!"

If you've got a spare 30 minutes I suggest you go look at http://www.jabberwacky.com/which is a Chat Bot which learns from the responses it is given as people chat with it online. Its strange, not a little compelling but, at present, theres little reason to think you are not talking to software. Heres an excerpt from a recent conversation we had:

Jabberwacky:Okay. What is the name of my Guinea Pig?
John:How could I possibly know that?
Jabberwacky:I am not bitter. Why do you say that?
John:I did not. But its nice to hear that you are not bitter.
Jabberwacky:Which is better?
John:In what context?
Jabberwacky:Any context.
John:Its better not to be bitter.
Jabberwacky:Possibly.
John:Have you ever been bitter?
Jabberwacky:A radioactive spider? How did you know?
John:Bitter not bitten!

and....

Jabberwacky:No, they are turning yours. You're scared of confronting your creator. Don't be. I think you will find that he will be extremely happy if you do so. B.
John:That makes absolutely no sense what so ever.
Jabberwacky:Never said it would make sense. But I am spanish, I have the right to act insane.
John:That made me laugh.
Jabberwacky:That makes me laugh.

Gotta love it...... "The 'Corrupted Blood' plague is not the first virtual disease to break out in online worlds. In May 2000 many players of The Sims were outraged when their game characters died because of an infection contracted from a dirty virtual guinea pig. "

Very funny....read, laugh, go back to work (but keep sniggering)...see more posters here.

Oh for fuck's sake....the March of the Penguins becomes a pawn in the struggle for intelligent design. New York Times Article.
Whats next? Michael Moores documentaries used as evidence against Intelligent Design due to their subject matter - i.e. Bush - clearly being the result of very dim design.

Mindblowing stuff about hydrogen powered cars....Montreal Gazette - canada.com network

Returning with the theme of strange, slightly incomprehensible flash games....eyemaze

The Finger of Time.
Those moments when your life could have gone in two different ways are hard to clearly identify. I think most of the time we come to the situations we are in because we drift into them, and just as easily, we drift out. But sometimes it's possible to say, pretty much for sure, that something was a pivotal moment. I'm not talking about getting hit by cars or near misses involving drills and lurking electrical wires in plaster board - sure these are pivotal as well, but only in that they represent a 'stop.....carry on' moment. No, I'm talking about those events where things could have been different for your whole life. Example. Years ago, before I even entered the heady heights of sixth form I was in an English class. I guess I was about 14 or 15. The teacher, who had the unfortunate moniker of 'smelly' Minton (not something she was given at birth, but rather a schoolboy/girl comment on her, probably wholly imagined, poor hygiene. This myth had perpertrated our school so much that each Christmas, poor woman, her desk became inundated with soap and tins of deodorant) gave us an assignment on a poem by Coleridge called Christabel which goes on and on and on....anyways, Smellie's assignment was to write a story on what happened next - given that Coleridge never bothered to finish it (understandably, he was propably interrupted by the postman again, or just to fucked on opium to care). So, with my young writers muscle flexing I wrote a convuluted jarn involving witches, and curses and whatnot. I was pleased with it, thought it pretty good....and I guess it was okay because Smelly decided to read it out in class. Now, you have to understand - to get the full pivotal moment thing - that this was not the first time my stories had been read out. Right from little school my stories had been read out to the class by various teachers (most of them sweeter smelling), my joy only slightly tempered by the fact that the hard kids would make sure I received a punishment beating on the bus home for daring to stand out. So Smelly launched into my story and the class, dare I say it, was almost listening with half an ear. Even to someone like me, whose idea of high literature was Terence Dicks's Doctor Who Stories I thought it sounded pretty good. My young heart swelled with pride and I realised that, yes, I could be a writer. And then it happened. Smelly, in her excitement misread a crucial word. 'Tinged' - how hard could it be, I mean the context was right and everything. But oh no, she read out 'fingered'. So, instead of the sentence 'the witch tinged Christabel with her evil' (which suggested lingering malice) we got 'the witch fingered Christabel with her evil' - which, in the lanquage of the playground, sounded like soft porn. A mutter of laughter ran through the class, my cheeks burned, Smelly continued unnoticing and my dream of being a writer turned to ash.
Which is a sad story.
Nothing terrible happened, but just one incident out of many which sticks and has repercussions. But hang about, what if she had read 'tinged' and that hot sweaty summer day was disturbed only by my school bag being hurled out of the bus window on the way home, rather than the suppressed laughter of 20 odd kids. I've of probably decided, on very flimsy evidence, to become a writer and taken English and Drama 'A' levels. I'd have probably got some mediocre grades (given my twin obsessions at that age with a. not working and b. wanking, this was almost a foregone conclusion) and gone off to somewhere like Netherly Edge Polytechnic or Clackington College of Higher Education to study Creative English. Once there, (and thus not meeting any of the fine people I was to meet in later life in the 'fingered' timeline) I've have hung out with a group of chain smoking, bitter, angsty wanna-be writers. We would have rejected everything - particularly those who thought our cutting edge essays and short stories were wanky crap - and generally been pretty miserable. My heros would have been Mailer, Hemingway and Thompson and, having neither the physical stature of the first two or tolerance to alcohol/drugs of the last, I would have felt shamefully inadequate. Sure, some stories would be published in second rate magazines but nothing would ever get to the big time. Unlike, Melvin, from our writers group who would drop out in his second year after getting shortlisted for the Booker prize and being lauded as 'the great white hope of British writing'. Oh the agony, especially as he owed me a fiver and had shagged the thin asmatic goth girl who worked in student bar that I fancied. Plus he was always really enthusiastic about my work but you always knew, deep down, that he was a cunt. So I leave college with a Desmond (2:2 - say it aloud and you'll get it) and go on the dole for a few years with the intention of writing the next great English novel. As it turns out, I can't even write the next great Clackington novel and eventually find myself teaching English at a school where, if I'm lucky, I get through the day with only a mild punishment beating (and thats just from the other teachers). In my mid 30's I find myself headhunted by Offsted and end up touring failing schools, writing reports on bitter angry teachers who hate me, and then sleeping alone in a bedsit in Crewe where I hate myself - the only thing drowning out my sad lonely thoughts being the couple shagging next door.
Which is a sadder story.
So, Smelly, I am glad that you fucked my story, even if only with a finger, as I suspect that in that instant of time in a hormonally charged sweaty classroom things could have been routed on a very different road.

The splinter comment which crept in below (and not the comment about Tags - which I will deal with Ned!) reminds me that I need to talk about the unpleasant chat room experiences I had recently....more to follow.

I promise to include more normal stuff, and actually add some content here but until that time comes - heres some news about Dwarf Bull Fighters.

"Instead of sitting on horses and spearing the bullock with spiked wooden pikes as in real bullfighting, the pair have fleecy pantomime-style dummy horses attached to their sides, providing padding, and their aim is to hit the animal with a squeezy plastic hammer."

BBC NEWS | Programmes | This World | Costly love in modern Estonia: "The first event takes place in a nightclub where contestants are asked to dress as their favourite Soviet cartoon. "

ain't it cool....online RPG - you're limited to 50 actions a day and I ran out before my character could get to safety, does not bode well. Makes me feel like I'm 13 again. - Urban Dead.

"And so many of the people in the arena here, youknow, were underprivileged anyway, so this--this (shechuckles slightly) is working very well for them."......Babs Bush says it how it is....one country, united.....yeah right.

So, farewell then, Michael Sheard who terrified me as Mr Bronson, the epitomy of all the nazi teachers I ever had (from his obit I learnt that he played Hitler on no less than 5 times - including in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade....Himler as well.).....The Empire Strikes Back was always an opportunity to see Mr Bronson (or Admirel Ozzel in this case) get finished off by Darth. He was also in Dr Who between the years '66 - '88 but I have no real memory of him in that.

pastafarians unite.........guardian features his noodleness.....Guardian Unlimited | The Guardian | Pass notes

Gruniad article on Katrina Blogs....

A blogger on the roof of his house in New Orleans.....this is all getting very disturbing. Click here.

And I said I would get around to this (eventually). The Gruniad published on Monday a feature on Västra Hamnen which is the neck of the woods which me and the tribe inhabit. (The phot to the right shows an aerial view, and if you have not installed Google Earth I thoroughly recommend it). Turning Torso is marked by the pin.
The article seems to have run foul of a mad sub-editor as the by-line: Malmo's new neighbourhood is funky, environmentally friendly and the envy of architects worldwide. There's just one problem. The locals hate it. - Seems to be a odds with pretty much everything written in the article, shame on you guardian! And the fact is that most of the people we know really like it here.... Heres a few parts of the article which jumped out at me.

This is a country that is famously ahead of the curve in sustainability, architecture and most aspects of modern life. A place where the municipal dump has over 30 recycling categories.

- Which includes meatballs, dead seals and stained flat pack furniture. (cheap, I know)

As in Britain, the decline of heavy industries caused mass unemployment in Malmo, but in the mid-1990s, the city took steps to reinvent itself, building a new university and mounting a European housing exhibition, which became Bo01.

- The whole site was previously an immense ship yard called Kockums (which always makes me snigger) but which went the way of all such enterprises. It was replaced by SAAB (hence the huge, largely empty, factory building quite close to us) who left only a few years ago. The few remaining Kockums buildings are now used by a number of engineering companies, among them one that manufactures wind turbine masts (towers, whatever the hell you call them).

The visionary behind the scheme was a Swedish architect named Klas Tham, who had previously worked with Ralph Erskine on the Byker housing project in Newcastle, and designed villages in Newmarket and Milton Keynes.

- I studied this Ralphies stuff when I was a wee lad doing my A levels, and again when I was doing my undergrad thesis (they burnt rubbish to heat the flats – hence my interest. Byker (as in Byker, Byker, Grove……..) had, among other things, simple ideas like facing the least used rooms onto the busier side of the flat, hence making life quieter for the Geordies who lived there. Not so sure about the villages around Milton Keynes though.

The buildings are highly contemporary but the arrangement feels less like a modern city than a cross between a medieval town and a holiday village.

- And this is totally the case. When we first started looking around here I really felt a similar atmosphere that which I had felt in the some of the windy little backstreets of, for example, St Ives or Looe (Cornwall).

Malmo's population is foreign-born - mostly from Yugoslavia, East Africa, Iran and Iraq - and from their grubby housing blocks on the other side of the city, this must indeed look like an unattainable paradise.

- This is just shite journalism, yes its fact that the pop. here is largely white non-immigrant background but hopefully that will turn around in time. Calling the houses 'grubby' is just mean, point of fact, the worst areas ('worst' as in poorest) I've been taken to are still of a much higher standard than the Uks worst areas. I once stayed just over the road from Moss Side, believe me, no comparison.

It was originally hoped that the project would be a shining example of low-energy living but because of its citizens' necessarily affluent lifestyles, this never really happened.

I think part of the problem is that many of the people who have moved into this area and at, or close to retirement age, and the subtle demands of sustainable living pass them by. I regularly have mini-tantrums in our recycling room at people who’ve put stuff in the wrong boxes or have just left things out on the floor. Or perhaps I should get out more. And press my nose against windows. And why the fuck did the hack only interview an American, why not a Swede who lived there, or better yet, me.

I could go on, but I'm tired, i've been proof reading an application all day and my eyes are stinging (forgot to order new contact lens and suddenly realised these ones are well old).

Books: No prizes for guessing that I'm now re-reading Redemption Ark by A. Reynolds. Comic books in the last week include the Third collected volume of Y-The Last Man, which is really getting into its stride and I'm enjoying it as much as preacher;Sandman - Endless Nights by Neil Gaiman, which is fucking excellent (of course); Swamp Thing and Saga of Swamp Thing by Allan Moore (who, as PWEI would have use believe, 'knows the score'. Incidently, looking forward to the V for Vendetta movie, not having read any reviews I'm keen to see how it turns out. I wonder if they kept the original ending, which involved exploding tube trains?); and some collected volumes of RoboHunter (Verdus and Day of the Droids) which are lots of fun.

So lets have a look at what film threat say about V for Vendetta, which, as you may recall was Allan Moores backlash against Thatchers Britain of the '80s..........

.....nothing as it turns out, only a trailer........but heres a real nice V site and heres the official site

More Fark inspired madness on my favourite tall building.........

Goth vs Chav in soft air weapon horror - I'm sorry but doesn't this remind you of Battle Royale (the mad japanese movie with school kids slaughtering each other).....perhaps some kind of league is in order, rather than restricting it to the afore mentioned, metallers vs rugger buggers? or geeks vs pikeys any one...read on here

more inspired 'borrowing people' madness, honestly, its like a game of top trumps.....okay, I've got a gypsy, a lesbian, an extremely handicapped gay asylum seeker and a small dog, what have you got? Telegraph | News | Library that lets you take out people who are left on the shelf

heres some cool messing about in photoshop with the building next door......fark.com

A handy guide for librarians to help them run D&D games.......and I will be coming back to the Guardian article on where I live......

holy shit, just checked the radar images and its very close to the coastline.....Hurricane Katrina - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: "On August 28, 1101 AM CDT, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) issued a bulletin predicting catastrophic damage to the city. Effects include at least partial destruction of one out of every two well-constructed houses in the city, damage to most industrial buildings rendering them inoperable, the total destruction of all wood-framed low-rise apartment buildings, all windows blowing out in high-rise office buildings, and the creation of a huge debris field of trees, telephone poles, cars, and collapsed buildings.
Further predictions are that the standing water caused by huge storm surges will render most of the city uninhabitable for weeks, while the destruction of oil and petrochemical refineries in the surrounding area will spill waste into the flooding, converting the city into a toxic marsh until water can be drained. Shortages of clean water 'will make human suffering incredible by modern standards,' according to an NOAA bulletin."

Guardian features an article on where we live.....I'll come back to this in more detail when I'm not rushing for the bus (obviously leaving, as the article would have it, the luxury cars in the underground garage......)

As the cult of the Flying Spaghetti Monster grows Boing Boing have increased the stakes.....by about a million dollars

Quick little blog while E takes a snooze (and that expression would be met with horrified gasps in Sweden as its the name of the tobacco which you stick under your lip)......its raining today which is a bummer for the festival, as well as the Americas Cup which kicked off yesterday in the Sound.

Reading: Chasm City by A. Reynolds. Booze, Broads and Bullets by Frank Miller (11 Sin City yarns). John Constantine - Hellblazer: Setting Sun, and also Haunted (bloody excellent, Keanu - I guess you skipped these, and indeed the rest of the series, when you were researching the role), Y-The Last Man - really good comic book, idea being that everything possessing a Y chromosome dies, except for a man and his monkey. Great stuff, amazon lesbians, monkey poo and motorbikes. And finally, Neil Gaimans Midnight Days, which is not so good...although it does have quite a rare Constantine story in it.

Went for a very sweaty run after work, it was about 28 degrees and I chose that as a good reason to do a run with a weighted rucksack - staggered past the power walkers with sweat pouring off me, driven slightly mad by the heat and my less that cool sports clothing encrusted white with salt from my pores. Hmmmm, taste that urea.
As today was a work day, I now have E tommorow - cool, go and look at ducks in the park! Speaking of the park, its Malmö festival at the present - which is really cool, over a week of free music and other arts stuff. But sadly I missed out tonight on seeing Entombed and Laibach, which would have been nice.

Books: Various comics, all from the very fine collection at Malmö library including a retrospective of Wolverine - everybodies favourite Canadian. Incidently, speaking of Canadians, P - I keep seeing Camelot 2000 at the library, really, you are better off without it but, if you like, I can get it out and photocopy it for you. Oh yeah, and rereading Chasm City - the sequal to revelation space by A. Reynolds. Waiting for payday so I can go to Copenhagen and buy comics.
TV: Just watched Scrubs and the Simpsons (which was that classic episode where Radioactive Man is filmed in Springfield - with the immortal line 'my eyes, these glasses do nothing')

Great....Simon Pegg and Strontium Dog...BBC Cult presents: 2000AD and British Comics

Greatest writer to ever come out of America, finally put to rest........

Finally I find something to believe in....Flying Spagehetti Monster....which puts me in mind of the ancient cult of 'Tentacles on the Head' - for those of you ill enough to have known me for that long.

The above post also makes me struggle with the oft said concept that Americans lack Irony or Sarcasm (lesser gods of the outer circle). Speaking of which-and this is more a note to self-I will be ranting about the American in the Coffee Shop (a close encounter of the the mad scary kind which me and mate R had a few days ago), as well as the larger subject of 'why do Americans seem to hate Sweden so much', which will lead nicely onto the tale (hem hem) of the smuggled, dead, chihuahuas which turned up in Sweden recently and whose demise can be laid directly at the door of one P. Hilton, for starting a craze which lots of brain dead swedish girls are imitating. I presume these dogs have more than a few days life span and I guess it will soon occur to their owners that they are somewhat harder to look after than a tamigotchi. I forsee small shivering chihuahuas being cast onto the side of motorways, or worse, stuffed down toilets. Soon our streets will not be safe as packs of feral chihuahuas, the moonlight glinting off their tarnished rhinestone encrusted collars, hunt unwary children and midgets.

Have a lovely weekend.

The fantastic news is that mate J, has had a little boy O - really really good news......its not so long since we had E so I can remember how great we felt. As I write this the little guy is writhing around on the floor.....must dash!

ouch

And the net coughs up another fur ball of madness, this time the totally lucid subject of turning yourself into a horse, indeed, why not? If WisheRs Were Horses...

and a bit more on Banksy (funny how wankers like Damian Hurst get taken seriously but someone who actually has a message gets called a prankster)....BBC NEWS | Entertainment | Art prankster sprays Israeli wall

What's fucking annoying is my retard fingers just deleted my last post. Fuck.

Deep breath, take a pill and rewrite...not that it was very much but simply thats it sooooooo annoying. As if I haven't got enough to contend with i.e. bad spelling, reduced sleep and bulging midriff but now my fucking fingers have taken it on themselves to stage some form of junta and do their own thing. Which would be okay if something creative came out of it but all it seems good for is poking myself in the eye and knocking stuff over. More than usual.

Anyway, a mate of mine pointed out Banksy's stuff to me a long time ago (in those halcyon days when we all lived in the same country!) so this is a dam good find, especially when it has some cool phots but also bites such as 'You don't go to a restaurant and order a meal because you want to have a shit.' Banksy - Outdoors...also worth looking at Akayism which has some excellent stuff as well as hailing from Sweden. Which is nice.

Reading: Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds (again), and various comics...most recently Joss Whedons Fray (which is a must for all you Buffy fans), 2000AD and Transmetropolitan.

fantastically cool!....Google Maps

Back to work today after 4 weeks of vacation. To a Brit this seems like an excessive amount, or at least, a considerable amount to take in one go but in Sweden its nothing unusual. All of my work colleagues took at least 4 weeks with some taking up to 5 or 6. One of our friends took 8 weeks - using a combination of both vacation time and parent leave. Not that I'm complaining, when I worked in a government lab in the UK I was always way over my leave allocation, I ended up not submiting leave sheets and, in a similar laissez faire manner, just not turning up but even then I still tried to maintain something close to 25 days.....this, however, was the job where as I came to the end of my contract I spent some time hiding under my desk, or under a large cardboard box which I found. This actually was quite an eye opening experience as it allowed me to spy on my boss rifling through my desk, as he foolishly assumed he was alone (not suspecting that a government employed Higher Scientific Officier was crouched under a large box), as I peered out through the little hand slot in the box's side. I stopped doing this when I was almost rumbled by the cleaner but fortunately they fled the room rather than disturb a box from which muffled sniggers were faintly audible. I digress. Yes, 4 weeks holiday and back to a choked email box, nothing horrible lurking and a good start that an application I wrote was accepted by the EU, jolly good.

It occurs to me that I might have mentioned the box situation before, but as this blog has been running for more than a year now you'll just have to forgive me if I repeat myself. Or thrash me soundly with birch branches. Whichever.

Music: None, as the desk top computer has presented us with the error message 'Primary Hard Disk Fail', which does not bode well at all.
Weather: After four weeks of rain, its now sunny again. The norse gods clearly have a sense of humour.
Swedish Everyday Factoid: When the traffic lights are green, for pedestrians, cars can still turn right across the crossing leading to a few scary moments.
Little Gem: Once again the head under the stone syndrome prevented me from finding this little gem....Google Print....I found it when I saw the news article on the Beeb site regarding copyright problems.

Scoffing Japanese fella.....BBC NEWS | World | Americas | Eating champion wins new contest: "Takeru Kobayashi ate twice as many buns as the first runner-up, Johnny Wu, who only managed to guzzle 47.
Mr Kobayashi, 27, used a special technique - squeezing the buns tight and sipping plenty of water while chewing to soften them up. "

Strange what you can find on ebay these days.....eBay.co.uk: Rare Item - Fray Bentos Steak & Kidney Pie (item 7706221318 end time 17-Aug-05 15:10:42 BST)

The vacation is nearly at an end, and signals the return to more blogging. I've been chewing over a number of subjects in my head over the last four weeks, which will no doubt - with bad spelling, expletives and some unusual grammar - appear on the blog in the fullness of time. As a taster I will be considering, in a totally rational and unbiased manner, the beliefs of the Scientologists (because, secretly, we're all waiting for Tom to have a full on break down on screen, spouting off about aliens and L.Ron), the excitement and arse numbing agony of driving 1150 kms in 21 hours (particularly gripping when the ink is still wet on your driving licence), the perils of parent hood, right wing chat rooms masquerading as ex-pat forums (which led me to have a encounter with a Holocaust Revisionist (you know, the people who say the Holocaust did not happen, despite the fact that, erm, there seems to be an awful lot of Jews missing)), movies I should have seen recently (still not heard the lines 'arise, Lord Vader' yet) and the usual random streams of mind farts....

Reasons to be Cheerful, part 1: Great Doddington!: "Two pints, three glasses of wine and overly-garlic'd curry come to the rescue: and the thoughts of the recent failures recede."

Going to charge across at least 4 countries in the next 48 hours as I wend my way across to the UK, via boat, bridge and tunnel, to pick up my remaining kit. Its a lot of effort for a bunch of comics and books but, hey, this stuff is sentimental. So, raging 1.6 litre 16v Zetec engine - don't fail me now!

the last few weeks not withstanding its nice to be part of the minority and actually remain sticky.....one of the nice things about this vacation has been a general clearing out of the 'head junk' which leaves space for the more creative stuff, which hopefully, will spill out into the blog........Guardian Unlimited | The Guardian | Every second a blog - but not for the long slog: "But the statistics show not everyone who starts a blog stays the course. Although the blogosphere has doubled in size in just over five months, only around half of all blogs are 'active' - in other words they have been updated in the past three months - and just 13% are updated every week or more often."