For two and a half months now, there has been a rusty old Chevy Blazer parked right in front of the house. It belongs to the guy across the street, and it hasn't been moved in all that time, because he now has a new truck.

The thought of calling the police, and having it towed, had occured to me, but given that the house concerned is well-known for dealing drugs, I've not wanted to risk becoming an enemy of the Wash Park mafia.

To make matters worse, it's been parked across the little footpath that runs from the my house, across the sidewalk*, and down to the road. This meant I had a hell of a job loading and unloading the drum sander that I hired the other day.

So imagine my surprise this morning, when as I'm bemoaning this situation to a friend via ICQ, the owner of said rustbucket, comes out and starts it up. He then walked off leaving it running.

When he came back, I decided that rather than create any friction, I'd go and introduce myself, and ask politely if he could move the truck.

He seemed like a nice guy, and was only too happy to move the Blazer. It's now parked in front of the empty lot next door.

I know it might seem like only a small victory, but it's so nice to resolve a problem without conflict.

*I know, being British I should be calling it 'the pavement', but that's what Americans call the road, so it would only lead to confusion. European readers are smart enough to be aware of this US word, so we'll use that.

from the Triple Venté Dept.

I've switched to making a lot more lattés than filter coffee at home this year. My espresso machine is a cheap little $55 one, exactly the same make and model as the one I had in the UK (that cost £100!*). It may be cheap and simple, but it works, and produces good espresso, and good milk foam.

However, I'm starting to think that once I'm working again, and settled (in any one of a number of countries), I'm going to treat myself to a new espresso machine.

There's an Italian brand, FrancisFrancis**, that does a machine I'm crazy about. It's a kinda retro design, with nice big chunky switches, and a pressure gauge. It's called the X1 and is available in a number of colours.

X1

This image of the X1, comes to you courtesy of Craystone Investments Ltd in the UK. Click here to find out how you can get an espresso maker from them.

Of course, if we're going to get serious about this, maybe I need the X2.

*Yet another example of how British consumers are constantly being ripped off
**Yes, that's really the brand name, hence the article title.

I got a call from the recruiter in Phoenix, about the job in Golden. They've already made an offer to someone else. So unless s/he doesn't go for it, it's all over as far as that possible job is concerned. Ho-hum. I wasn't expecting to get it anyway.

On the upside, it has renewed my interest in Delphi. I'm going to think of something that needs writing in it, and do a little project. Mind you, given the state of my XP machine, I think the first bit of development I do, may have to be a new operating system!

No real news from the past 24 hours.

My PC is now kinda stable, just as long as I don't want to sync my iPaq up to it. This is classic Microsoft Windows. One version of Windows (PocketPC) causes the other, bigger and supposedly more stable version of Windows (XP) to fall flat on it's arse. What the buggery bollocks are Microsoft playing at?

Meanwhile, we have Apple's Mac OS, sync-ing seamlessly with the Palm OS - two operating systems, written by a totally seperate companies

OK, so Apple control the manufacture of their hardware and their software, but isn't USB* supposed to be a standard for fuck's sake?

I reworked my resumé for this Delphi job this morning, and mailed it to the recruiter. I haven't heard anything back yet.

*seemingly the cause of the iPaq problem.

OK, so not too much blogging today. I'm busy.

I got a call, out of the blue last night, from a recruiter, who has a job going in Golden, CO. Obviously, at this early stage, I don't want to say too much about it, except that it's doing Delphi development.

Whilst I don't have masses of Delphi* experience, I do have some - which is rare - and more importantly, I'm really keen to do more. It's a superb development environment, giving you the ease of use of Visual Basic, with the potential complexity and control of C++.

What's exciting is that the agency didn't bawk when I mentioned my need of a new work visa. They're still intereseted! Not only that, but when he asked me how much I wanted an hour, I quoted the best rate I'd been told I could get, and it's looking like I'll get that or at least within a few dollars an hour of it.

*It's a Greek word, so it's pronounced "Dell-fee", not as Americans insist on pronouncing it, "Delf-eye". Although, obviously, I won't be correcting them during the interview!

Wherever you are in the world, if you watch TV, you'll have doubtless seen Apple's "Switch" commercials.

If you haven't, these are 30-second commercials, featuring real people, from a variety of backgrounds and professions, talking about how they ended up switching to the Macintosh platform.

The usual gist of their story is, "I hated using Windows, got a Mac, and everything works just fine."

So anyway, there's a new addition to this series of ads, that apparently, is not going to be shown on television. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe because she says, "Bummer", at the end.

Regardless of that, she's a cutie, even if she does look and act like she's smoked a couple of joints, or had rather too much cough syrup. Her name is Ellen Feiss, and you can see her advert here.

I think part of the appeal of the commercial is her reaction to the disaster. It's like she's too wasted to get angry, which maybe isn't such a bad thing.

There's a myriad of fan sites, that have sprung up about this lass. Talk about 15 minutes of fame!

If you care about such things, here are a couple of the URLs:

http://www.ellenfeiss.net/
http://ellenfeiss.gloriousnoise.com/

So far, the latest install of XP is holding up.

I took my frustration out on the floor in the hallway. That's to say, I went to Home Depot* and hired a drum sander, and brought it home, and removed all the paint on the floorboards, put there by my roommate, as part of a test of some artistic plan for the whole of the ground floor's floors.

Now, the initial pass is done, and like all British workmen, I'm stopping for a tea break. That's like an American worker's coffee break, only longer, and with a lower dosage of caffiene.

Part of the reason for the tea break, is that when I paused from my labours, I saw Miles, out on the porch looking worried. It seems he went out there because he didn't like the noise of the drum sander. However, once he was out there, a thunderstorm started, which he also didn't like. He was slightly more scared of the sander than the thunder, so he stayed outside, worried.

So, now I'm having a tea break, with Miles, on the porch, and we're watching the rain and occasional lightning flashes together, and we're listening to the rain's soothing pitter-patter sound, as it hits the porch roof and splashes down the drainpipes.

And Miles is smiling again.

*pronounced 'dee-po' by the locals, even though you and I know that it's pronounced 'deppo' due to the word's French origins.

So, this morning, I'm setting up my freshly installed Windows XP system.

It's been running since last night.

I apply the fix for the USB problem from the motherboard manufacturer.

Mid-morning, the machine freezes up. Next thing I know, I'm being presented with a variation on the BSOD. This is more of a Dark Purple Screen of Death, telling me how some device driver has got stuck in an infinite loop, how it's taking a dump (yeah, all over my heart) of the memory, and is going to reboot.

It promptly reboots, and now XP won't load. It's claiming that the windows\system directory is corrupt.

Deep joy.

So, here I am, again, formatting and reinstalling Windows. This is now the bajillionth time I've had to do this, just because I wanted to get a faster processor.

And people wonder why I've become such a Mac convert.

OK, so my PC has been out of action for a few weeks.

This is because I upgraded the motherboard, processor and memory, and there were, a number of problems.

After that was all sorted out, well kinda, my Windows 2000 install, needed reinstalling, because apparently, you can't go changing major hardware components, without having to totally reinstall the operating system. So this I faithfully did.

Then it turns out, that the particular chipset of the new MoBo has "issues" with Windows 2000, causing it to throw its toys out of the pram. Several attempts at installing Service Pack 3 are disasterous, with files corrupted.

So, tonight, I headed over to a friend's house, and had dinner. When I got home, the computer fairies had been, and left a copy of Windows XP Pro under my pillow.

After a slightly scary install - where it locked the computer up right at the end of two install attempts, I eventually got it to work.

One strange device management related problem, has since caused the whole system to go tits-up*, but after rebooting, it's been OK. I think it's playing with me, taunting me.

*that's a technical term, meaning non-functional.

Last night, I went to a barbecue/party at the house of my supervisor at the radio station.

I arrived with five out of a six bottle pack of Fat Tire, and a bag of broken glass, that in a previous life - that is 10 minutes before - had been the sixth bottle.

Stupidly I was driving along with the cardboard holder on the front passenger seat of my truck. I was heading north on Logan, and at the junction with 18th St, some asshole decided to run a red light, right across my path.

Naturally, I did an emergency stop - no small feat in a vehicle such as mine*, and involves getting you the driver, and as many passengers as possible, to all stand on the break pedal at the same time.

Rudimentary physics being what they are, this sudden decrease in acceleration, caused the momentum to be carried forward - by the bottles of Fat Tire - who all departed the cardboard holder, to land in the foot well. As I've said, there was only one casualty, but boy did he make a mess. Shards of glass and the full 12oz of beer.

So the party/BBQ was mighty fine. There were a lot of people I knew there, which made for a relaxing time. It's not my practice to name names here, so I won't. Suffice to say that there were a whole bunch of folk from KUVO, both on and off-air staff. There were a few other people I know there, including a local jazz pianist, and plenty of beer!

The food was absolutely wonderful, and all cooked by a well-known ex-KUVO DJ. His Cilantro Chicken was, for me, the best.

Well, we stayed, ate, drank and chatted for quite a few hours. The back porch of the house was nice and cool with a gentle breeze.

After a while, someone brought out a pair of (what I'd call) tom-tom drums, and then another person brought out a taller (3ft tall) drum and they jammed a while. The pianist got out one of those instruments you blow that has a keyboard, and a second set of tom-toms, or bongos or whatever appeared. It ended up with the drums being swapped around, and even I was asked to play!

If there was ever any question that I had no rhythm... I think I pretty much confirmed it.

*The Mercury Mountaineer - which is really the 'posh' version of the Ford Explorer, with all the extras.

The Mountaineer's stopping distance is about four feet longer than that of the Space Shuttle

from the Egos Have Landed Dept.

So tonight I watched Comedy Central's, Constest Searchlight.

This is a behind-the-scenes, fly-on-the-wall, car-crash of a show about the making of a show.

Basically, Denis Leary and a bunch of his toadies, have been asked to make a series, using writing and directing talent new to television, and the making of this series, is filmed and called "Contest Searchlight".

So the winner of the contest, gets to write and direct their show they've successfully pitched to Leary and his cronies.

Now, I missed the first epsiode of this documentary series, so tonight, I picked things up, with the winner being announced.

It was down to two people, a young guy named Mike, and a softly-spoken, but attractive young woman named Amber. Given the way Leary had been leering at young Amber, she was looking like a shoe-in for winning.

Amazingly, however, they chose Mike's idea, which was an improvised comedy about five friends sharing an apartment in New York City. Of course Mike has obviously been living under a bloody rock for the past 10 years, and has never heard of Friends.

Then, they added in elements from Amber's idea, a 'mock-reality' sit-com about Jesus. Yes folks, Jesus - as in "our Lord and Saviour".

So now they have a show, titled (and I'm not kidding here), "Jesus and The Gang", about a bunch of people sharing a New York Apartment, one of whom, is the Messiah.

The whole damn documentary, however, seemed to consist of middle-aged sexually-frustrated men, shouting at each other. The poor young lad who's idea was being turned into a TV show was almost forgotten, drowned out by the impotent egos roaring between the hawaiian shirts. The whole thing was starting to take on that 'special' air of credibility, normally only reserved for the Anna-Nicole Cellulite Show

And this, dear reader, is where things started to get on my nerves.

Incidents included, Colin Quinn turning up on set to film, after the lead role had gone to someone else, because they'd heard he wasn't available. He'd been rung by (the God awful lout and Executive Producer) Dennis Leary, who suggested he pop down to film. Of course, Denis wasn't there, as he'd fucked off to rehab about his drink problem.

Somehow, almost as if for the benefit of the viewing figures, a fist fight broke out between Colin and some mouthy little short-arse, who's name was instantly forgettable.

Then the (unintentional) comedy started.

They'd cast some guy who was apparently famous, although I've never heard of him, to play the role of Jesus. They were filming the opening titles, where all five roommates arrive at the property from different directions, one driving a car.

Unfortunately, the guy driving the car, couldn't drive. So much so, he didn't even know which was the accelerator, and which was the brake. This proved to be a problem, as on the first take, he ran into, and under the lead role guy, sending him cartwheeling over the bonnet*, and breaking his legs and ribs.

Apparently, the guy who was driving, didn't want to mention his lack of driving ability, in case he lost the job. I'm sure that makes everything alright with the poor bastard lying on the tarmac with his bones in pieces. Again, it's people's egos directing the action.

So, the young newbie producer, aware that he only has one day to film the opening sequence, and that more and more of his original idea is being dumbed-down by the hawaiian-shirt ego brigade, decides, while they're waiting for the ambulance to take the 'star' away, to film an alternative title sequence. In this, the star and some of the cast are having a picnic on the road outside their building, and the car-driving guy cycles up on a bicycle. What could go wrong here you ask?

They start shooting, and suddenly, from nowhere, a short, stocky, angry little Italian guy comes barrelling in, dragging the actor off the bike, and beating seven sorts of shit out of him.

Well, it seems that the prop guy screwed up. He'd given the actor the wrong bicycle. This one belonged to the Italian-American guy, who was in the middle of delivering pizzas with it.

Oh how we laughed.

I think what annoys me most about this so-called 'fly-on-the-wall' series, more than the egos, more than the hideous shirts, even more than the odious Denis Leary, is that there are so many 'amazing' problems, that it all looks incredibly contrived.

So, suffice to say, I shalln't be watching another episode. If this episode was this annoying, and it didn't have Denis Leary in it, I dread to think how irritating it'll be when he's back.

* hood

Danger: Severe Pun Ahead - test your brakes now
Drink, that is. At least you might need a stiff drink after you've read this

I came up with a myriad of pun-laden (not to be confused with Bin-Laden) titles for this. I'm sure you can all suggest some in the comments section. "I Like A Lot Of Head On My Pint, But This Is Ridiculous says Local Man", was another one I came up with.

Thanks to Jodi for the story.

One of my regular online haunts, is the blog site of writer, actor, humourist and satirist, Mike Daisey. He's the guy who took a few years off from performing to join the corporate world, in Amazon's Customer Service Dept. He currently has a one-man show about that crazy time in the corporate world.

So, anyway, I was amused by this article. I'm not saying I approve of the service, but I smiled at the options mentioned, particularly the one for "press button three".

In case the anchor point doesn't work in your browser, I'm talking about the Sunday 18th August entry.

Miles and I took a walk tonight. Not to the park. It was one of our "around the neighbourhood" walks. On the way back to the house, we ended up in Twist & Shout.

As a result, I now have a copy of Daybreaker, a new album by British Singer-songwriter Beth Orton.

It's on the office stereo right now.

It's classic Beth Orton. Dreamy accoustic guitar lead songs, featuring her slightly creaky vocal style. If you've not heard her before, click the link above. The Tower Records site is good about having audio samples of most records it sells.

You might descibe her voice as borderline Joni Mitchell, if Joni had smoked about 20 Capstan Full-Strength.

from Department S

So this is what I have to look forward to if/when I return to Europe.

And to think I thought it was only the US Government that was using the whole Al-Queda hysteria to violate it's people's civil liberties. No, it seems the Europeans are doing it too.

Regular EID readers will already know that this site/blog is not intended to be a continuous commentary on "What I Did Today".

Let's face it, unless you're Keanu Reeves, or Ralph Fiennes (pronounced "Ray-ff" aparently), the vast majority of the public couldn't give a toss as to what colour socks you decided to wear on a particular day.

Only in my scariest of dreams would any of my readership contact me to find out exactly what brand of coffee I use to make lattés with my cheap-but-efficient espresso maker. LavAzza, before you ask.

All that said, occasionally I like to give you folks an update on La Vida Turner.

Saturday
So, Saturday, I fired up the espresso machine, made a latté, and the dogs and I spent a lot of the morning, sat on the porch, reading Terry Pratchett's, Jingo. That is to say, I read the book, they just watched the world go by.

You'll notice that the link is to Amazon's UK site, as this has the UK covers for the all the DIscworld novels. The US editions have experimented with a number of different styles - all dreadful - whereas the UK editions retain the original Josh Kirby cover designs.

Why is this important to me, you ask? Some form of late-in-the-day patriotism? No chance! It's important, because this is the 21st Discworld novel I've read, and I also have about another three to read, all with the UK covers on, so I'm damned if I'm going to screw up the aesthetic on my bookshelf!

Eventually, Sheilagh was dropped off by her "Dad", who had to pop into work. Miles ran to the truck to meet her, and jumped up, resting his front legs on the window sill. In her past two visits, it seems that Miles has fallen a little bit in love with her. This is chiefly evidenced by the amount of wrestling they do - rolling around on the floor together, holding each other in their arms*, the amount of playful affection shown, and above all, the fact that after she's left, Milestone starts moping**.

Click to enlarge

Sheilagh, Saoirse and Miles

I took all three dogs to the park, where we spent an enjoyable hour playing. It's a small off-leash park I go to a lot.

That evening, dinner with friends at Campo de Fiori in Creek***. I'd not been there before. It looked a bit pricey, but in the end turned out to be no more expensive than a trip to The Saucy Noodle^† . The seafood linguine was the best I've ever had, and the only negative thing about the whole meal was the number of very obviously rich people, who were mainly there 'to be seen' (not that it was that posh), and show off how expensive their khaki slacks were.

Sunday
I went over to a friend's place and drank tea. We sat and chewed the fat a while. Then we headed out, down to Pearl St, where there was the weekly "Farmer's Market". The stalls there seem to change from week to week, with some of them appearing one week, then missing a week, then reappearing after that.

We ate barbecue there, whilst being entertained by a bluegrass band. Now, I've never really enjoyed bluegrass as a musical form, but as of that moment, it was starting to get under my skin. If I start talking like Andy Kershaw^††, someone shoot me.

I think after you've been exposed to the horror that is Country & Western^††† music, especially that "Modern Country" stuff that seems so prevalent these days, bluegrass is a soothing alternative. Besides, almost any music played live, right in front of you is always more enjoyable than listening to a recording.

After that, we pootled around the stalls and then later on went for a walk in the park. This turned into a rather longer walk, wherein we visited nearly every "open house" that we came across. (this is where a realtor or builder selling a house allows people to come in and wander round and empty house they're selling, without an appointment)

We looked at three houses. The first was a classic example of property developer greed, where an old house with a garden had been knocked down and replaced with a behemoth house, that occupied every square foot of the property, including where the garden used to be. This was actually a duplexº and they wanted... get this... $650,000 for each half! I mean, I know it's Wash Park, but that's just taking the piss.

The second place was an old house that had just been done up inside. It had been added to, by "popping the top" to make the upstairs bedroom bigger. Way over-priced at $500,000.

The final, and frankly best house we saw, was one that'd been completely rebuilt, but retained the original frontage. It was 3,400sq ft. It was gorgeous. It was, however, $950,000. That said, we both agreed it was the nicest house we'd seen, and that we'd rather pay $950K for that, than $650K for the first place.

This caused me to do some mental arithmetic on the mortgage payment. Using my house's mortgage payment as a guide, I guestimated that the monthly mortgage payment would be about $8,500!

This sort of high finance, and mental arithmetic caused us both to need a cup of tea. So we wandered over to Gaylord St (British readers - this is not a Dick Emery reference), where we visited somewhere I like to call, "The Coffee Shop That Wasn't There."

It's as if the coffee shop was being run by the 1970's management of British Leyland.

Basically, it's a coffee and book shop that's never fucking open. It's poorly designed in its layout, to cause maximum confusion about little things like where the sodding entrance is, and everything about the interior layout is wrong, and not conducive to people wanting to stay and drink coffee.

It also seems close at really odd hours (for example, it's never open in the evenings, unlike most coffee shops in Wash Park). God knows how these people make any money. It could be such a good place, if a little effort and thought was put in.

As it was 4.07pm, that was closing time for the little shop of horrors, so my friend and I sat outside, drinking our tea, and planning how, if we ran the place, it'd be laid-out much better, have an entrance you could see from the street, and stay open more than 46.5 minutes a day. We didn't quite get as far as exactly what the recruitment policy for hiring waitresses was going to be, but I think we have similar tastes in wom.. err.. waitresses.

So that's about it. I'm impressed that you're still with me. I promise we'll return to our more regular scheduled writing any time soon.

*OK, front legs, whatever.
**English slang term for being down and sulky
***One of the more expensive shopping districts in metro Denver, but also home to some damn fine restaurants and bars.
†motto: "If you don't like garlic - go home" - painted above the entrance
††I actually do a very passable impression of Andy Kershaw, and can make up fictional but real-sounding African bands he might introduce, such as Umberto Umbongo, with his latest hit, "Three Blokes Banging A Length Of Piping".
†††A.K.A. "Both kinds of music".
ºA pair of semi-detached houses if you're British. They also use the term 'triplex' to describe a building with three residences, but bizarrely don't call a four residence building a quadplex. They call that a four-plex. Go figure.

I'm not sure if it's "thanks", or "yeah right, thanks" to my partner in crime (on various writing, filming and drinking projects) Tim for this link.

WARNING: It's not for the squeamish. Do not open if in the company of others, especially at work. Do not open if you're eating. If Happy Fun Ball starts to glow, bury it in concrete and retreat to safe distance.

My favouite quote, though was, "Since my cleanse three months ago, I have lost 30 pounds."

That must have been one hell of a cleansing!

Brace yourself, and click here.

Light Relief
OK, so if you're still with me, here's a more easy-going and amusing link.

Non-American readers note, part of the joke about why this is so special is that some years ago the US Government made it illegal for toilets with a tank capacity of over 3.5 litres to be sold in the US. This means that you don't get such a good flush, but you do help save water!

It's well worth clicking on the link to, "me and my ride", and then pressing the button on near the picture.

from the Insects Is Best Dept.

Last night, I was sat on the sofa, merrily surfing away whilst watching yet another Cheers re-run (you can never have too many), when out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement on the cushion next to me.

Whilst Benny is a bit on the thin side, these days, there were far too many legs involved for the shadowy figure to be him. Further investigation - under some cushions, revealed the culprit:

Click to englarge

Spidey!


Pen shown for scale

After some coersion I persuaded our eigh-legged friend to come quietly, and took him/her for little walk outside. Specifically, three doors down, so that if he/she was tempted to find another nice dry house to invade, it wasn't going to be mine!

You may have already spotted that sometimes I write articles for EID, and don't post them straight away. Sometimes, it's because something more current and interesting comes up, sometimes, it's because I get stuck trying to make a point, and sometimes, it's because I'm in full-on Rant Mode, and I've paused long enough to think, "Maybe I should save this, and come back to it, if only to avoid alienating large swathes of my readership."

Don't get me wrong here, I'm not constantly worrying what you all think of me, at least not while I'm conscious**. Nor am I trying desperately to please. As it says in the introduction at the top of the screen, you're getting this for free, and you get what you pay for!

But just occasionally, I operate some self-censorship

Anyway, all that has pretty much nothing to do with the title of this piece.

I paused, mid-job search, this morning, and though, I ought to post something new on EID, before the Denver readership panics and sends the paramedics around, fearing that I've finally succumbed to temptation and decided to find out what that cleaning fluid in my carpet cleaner tastes like.

Perhaps I'm kidding myself about my reader loyalty here, but in any case, I've still got some Johnnie Walker Black Label left (I didn't use it all on cleaning those floppy disk drives) should I fancy a tipple.

So, I took a look on my iBook's hard drive (it's the machine I do most of my blogging on), at what stuff I've written but not published. There's a few things, some of which, still need toning down, but there is this:

Whilst watching the World Cup (y'know America, that big soccer competition), I heard the following comments by an Irish commentator on one of the US networks, during an England vs Denmark match:

Of David Seaman (English goalkeeper):
"They should have charged him admission today, he's had that little to do."

"The Danish look like they couldn't find the English goal with a map and a compass."

Well, it made me laugh at the time.

< FRANKIEHOWERD >
Oh, suit yourselves!
< /FRANKIEHOWERD >

*A catchphrase from The Fast Show (US Title: Brilliant)
**I had an odd dream last night (aren't they all?). My mother had read EID, and had sent me an email flame about the whole site, copying in everybody who reads it! See, you don't need to be Catholic or Jewish to have guilt!

According to the BBC's news website, some lucky people, can drink a coffee and have the resultant buzz last all day long.

Just think how much money you could save, if you only needed one a day!

I'm a little verklempt! Talk amongst yourselves.

I buy a new mobo and processor from them. They ring me back to say they only have the retail version, not the OEM one. That's an extra $25. So I go for it.

The stuff arrives, and the processor burns out within a few hours. Accubyte refuse to deal with it, because it's a retail package, not OEM. They say I need to contact the manufacturer.

I contact AMD, and they are very nice about it, on the whole. They send me a new processor.

I put that in the machine and find that the memory has been destroyed. So, I use some other memory I have. After less than 24 hours, the processor burns out again. I phone AMD, who are absolute sweethearts. They're sending me another processor when I return this replacement one.

The tech and I go through the problem in detail. Between us, we work out that the motherboard is frying the processor and memory. AMD are still prepared to send me another processor though.

This morning, I ring Accubyte (notice no link to their site? That's intended), and tell them about the motherboard. They respond that it's beyond 15 days since I ordered, so they won't replace it. Can you believe that? Fuckers.

I counter, that the problem has existed since the unit arrived, and it has burnt out two processor chips and some memory, so perhaps they could be humane about it, especially as I'm out of work, and replace it. No, they say. I should have checked the motherboard and informed them within 15 days.

Quite how I'm supposed to spot the the motherboard is the problem, when it's the CPU that's burning out, whilst at the same time having a life outside this mess, I don't know.

So I phone Shuttle, who made the mobo, and am still waiting for a call back. It doesn't look hopeful.

I'm going through some other shit today (which I'm not going to talk about, so don't ask) and this is just adding to it.

From time to time, we all get fed up with certain advertising slogans or phrases. It's bound to happen, because television and radio adverts are repeated so often.

However, at the moment, there's something, in TV advertising that I hate, loathe and detest more than any product catchphrase ever heard before.

I hate it more than my normal advert-loathing, because it's not in just one advert, it's in a number of adverts, for vastly different products. It's the "phrase du jour" for 2002.

History Repeating
In 1999 it was the word, "zesty". Every sodding advert, for anything to do with food that had a sauce or mayonnaise element, seemed to be using the word zesty to describe it.

It was if the creative writing teams for US TV & radio commercials had all taken a couple of months off, and left a pre-recorded message for their clients, should they ring:

" < click > ...
Thank you for calling the creative team. We're not here right now. If you have an urgent creative requirement, just keep using the word 'zesty' to describe your product. Otherwise, please speak clearly, after the tone....
< beeeep >..."

It was used to describe sauces, and in some cases cleaning products, with all manor of flavours or scents. Zesty Tomato sauce, zesty Chipotle mayo, zesty lime floor wax, zesty deadly Anthrax spores. You name it, it was zesty.

There was even one advert, on TV (I think it was a Taco Bell one), that I suspect, was a deliberate satire on the zesty phenomenon by the very people who had been perpetrating it*. It involved the main character and his buddy, watching the world going by and passing judgement on everything as either, "Zesty!", or, "Not zesty!".

Of course, that might by my cynical British sense of humour. It could very well be that the advert was sincere, but it makes me feel better to think that the creative team who wrote it were laughing at their clients falling for it.

At the end of the day, however, I think you can only call something 'zesty' if it's made with citrus fruit, and is edible.

The New Bugbear
So, now on to this year's most over-used and irritating phrase. Here it is folks:

You know what I'm talking about. It's in every advert (in the US) with a voice-over guy that sounds like a jock**, advertising something that "guys" are interested in. This means adverts for:

? Pick-up trucks
? Shite domestic mass-produced urine ... err ... I mean, beer***
? Power-tools
? Anything by Taco Bell
? Any one of a number of characterless, tasteless, knuckle-head filled sports-brewpub-bars

So you'll hear, "You gotta love that Ford have added another five feet to the length of the new Excursion." or, "You gotta love that we've now added an extra 15lbs of low-grade synthetic grated cheese to our new pizza?"

One advert, uses the phrase, about three times, about three different features or facts! By the end of the commercial, I'm left thinking, "You gotta love that I don't have a shotgun by the couch, because if I did, I'd probably have shot up the TV after seeing your POS advert!"

There's a thought. What if a bunch of us rounded up the creative team that did that commercial, tied them to a chair, in an abandoned commercial premises, á la Reservoir Dogs, and started pacing around them saying:

"You gotta love that I'm gonna slowly cut one of your ears off."
< swish >
"...and you gotta love that I'm gonna douse you in gasoline."
< slosh >
" and you gotta love that..." etc. etc...

I think you get the idea.

Even if you don't. I'm sure you've gotta love it.

Footnotes
*the Advertising agencies' creative teams. Do follow along!

** Non-American readers note: Jock is a term for athletic, muscular, thuggish, piss-beer chugging, dumb as a bag of rocks, student types, and not a derisive term for Scotsmen.
The nearest British equivalent to a jock is a PE Student - that is, someone studying to be a PE teacher. And yes, I have a good 30 minutes stand-up comedy material about such types, as there were a lot of them at my college.

***This is not all American beer. This is just the mass-produced lageresque crap pumped out by the likes of Coors and Budweiser. There are many delicious and interesting micro brewed beers in the US. Fat Tire (US spelling of 'Tyre', not the verb to describe inducing tiredness) is my favourite.

?Yes, apparently adding up to twice your own body weight of cheap grated cheese to any food, makes it even better. Quite how Americans have the gall to criticise British cuisine??, when all they've given the world is the fucking Big Mac, is beyond me.

??Oh, and for the record, that whole "boil everything" rumour about British cooking hasn't been true since at least the 1960's, if indeed it ever was. Get a clue people.

Happy, Texas is a great movie. Endearing, with light comedy, great characters, and an original plot. Jeremy Northam, Steve Zahn and William H. Macy are all superb, and make every minute of this film a joy to watch.

I'm watching it right now, and it's still a joy to watch second time round.

Favourite quote: "There's a fine line between stalking and being attentive."

I love the techie satire site BBSpot. One of my favourite bits is the geek horoscopes.

The current one for Leo reads:

Sick but funny! (not at the expense of multiple sclerosis sufferers, mind you.)

In case you're wondering why I'm bothering to explain that, it's just to stop a potential barrage of complaints from people too stupid to realise who we're laughing at here*.

* You know the sort of people I mean. They're so dumb, they think that the episode of Fawlty Towers called "The Germans" was having a go at German people. Duh! It wasn't. It was having a go at xenophobic British people.

1. No, I order what I want
2. Inspired - the first time I heard it, tedious the next fifteen times.
3. You break it, you drop it in someone else's basket, preferably a soccer mom.
4. Folding the laundry.
5. I still say the over inflated harlot could do with missing a meal, and having a personality transplant whilst she's at it.
6. Sneak back into bed.
7. Who?
8. Depends on the consitency and type of cake - 'either' is the short answer
9. Levi 501's for the former, any hawaiian shirt for the latter.
10. Friend, supporter and one of two drugs of choice.
11. Neither. Use it as packing filler for small items being posted.
12. A 17" computer monitor, buried in a large crate of books.

If you don't know what all this is about, then you don't need to know.

As you may know, my PC has been out of commission for a week or two, since I upgraded my motherboard and processor.

I really just wanted to upgrade the processor, but as the motherboard is a "Slot-1" motherboard, this means that it can't have anything plugged into it that was made since the JFK administration.

Anyway, the new processor lasted about 5 milliseconds before burning out and dying. Yes, I had all the cooling equipment attached and working, before you ask.

So I sent it off to AMD and got a snotty email back, which basically said:

"We're going to test the hell out of this chip, and if we find that it's your fault in any way, shape or form, that it's broken, that you plugged it in wrong, that you took it out of it's retail packaging or that you just looked at it funny, we're not only not going to send you a new one, we're going to send your busted chip back, leaving it on your doorstep, in a bag of flaming dog poo."

Well, that's it, I thought. The Chip Gestapo will no doubt torture my burnt-out CPU until it confesses that it was my fault.

So yesterday, I got another email from Stalag AMD, saying, "We have shipped your 1800 PIB(AMD OPN#) processor(s)..."

My immediate reaction was, oh well, I thought this would happen, they're shipping my busted chip back. I mean, that's what they said... we have shipped your 1800... etc.

But then, I re-read, and the processor serial number quoted, was different from that of the one I'd sent them. Yay! I'm getting a new chip! But how misleading to refer to it as "your", when I haven't even got it yet.

Let's see how long this one lasts.

Nurse, the hammer please!

In a change from the usual SUVs and pick-up trucks going by, blaring shite dance music out, without a care about anyone else's musical sensibilities, a guy has just gone by, on a bicycle, with a small trailer attached that housed a ghetto-blaster/boom-box or whatever, speakers pointing at the cars behind him, blasting out Queen's, "We Will Rock You".

The debit card has finally started to become popular in the US. What's more, people are finally starting to trust it.

That said, I still always seem to get stuck in supermarket queues behind some people (nearly always middle-aged housewives) who spend up to eight hours, hand carving and engraving a cheque*, using a quill pen, gold leaf paint, and the sort of detail that used to be the exclusive preserve of medieval monks.

Europeans have been using their debit cards for years. I got my first debit card in Britain way back in 1988. The ‘cashback’ option at supermarkets was a fact of life since the early nineties. This, of course, saves a lot of time at the checkout, and means we can devote more time to drinking weapons-grade espresso, wearing black rollneck sweaters, and watching frightfully thought-provoking documentaries**.

When I moved to the US in 1999, my new bank was trying to wow me, with what they have to offer. My 'personal banker'*** said proudly, "And this is our debit card. It's a new kind of card...." and went on to explain it to me as if I was from some third world country† where electricity was unknown, explaining what a debit card was.

As you can imagine, I lost no time in setting her straight, letting her know that I'd had one of these for eleven years in Britain.

Anyway, what I wanted to share with you, was a story about a woman in Britain, who had her debit card stolen, and ended up with more money in her account than she started with!

Go to, top UK tech news (with a cynical attitude) site, The Register to read the story.

Footnotes
*If you're American, you spell it 'check'

**Because that's all we do in Europe, apart from driving stark-but-efficient German cars and listening to Kraftwerk.

***This is a banking term which means, "person employed to smile warmly, whilst telling you to fuck off and pay the charges.

†Contrary to popular American belief, Britain is not a third-world country, we just spend our money quietly on beer.

If like me, you were fed up with the UK's Radio 1's Friday and Saturday night schedule of shite dance music*, and even more so with those loose-mouthed vacuous tossers that present it (yes Dave Pearce, I'm talking to you, you balding inane gap-toothed fucker), then here is a little stress relief:

Slap A Rave Girl.

Big up to the Shockwave Massive I guess.

*A.K.A. "Music to build sheds by."

from the Fine Art Dept.

With having a wireless network, and an average 320 days of sunshine a year, I've taken to blogging al fresco.

In what might be the first of an occasional series of wannabe artwork, here's the set up:

click to enlarge image

Relentless in the pursuit of your personal safety and happiness, EID has found out about a new tele-marketing scam, based (rather cheekily) on the No-Call list, set up by many states in the US.

The full details are available at fcc.gov.

from the Departure Lounge

News has reached EID of a British couple who booked a holiday to Sydney, Australia via the Internet. What they didn't spot, however, was that they'd booked to go to Sydney in Canada. Apparently, they thought nothing of having to change planes in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

I've tried to find a full story to link, but news is scarce. Here's one.

Of course travel agents are jumping up and down, all excited, shouting, "See? See? You do need us after all!"

Well, travel agents, y'know what? We don't.

Just because some dopey teenagers didn't double-check their internet booking, that doesn't mean that those of us with the three brain cells required to get on-line, will all come running back to you, eager to pay you a middle-man fee for something we can do perfectly well ourselves.

I speak with some authority, as (without naming my former employer) I worked in the travel industry for the past 11 years. The rise of Internet travel booking sites has them all crapping themselves.

Personally, I've used Site59 for weekends away (within the US), and both United.com and Hotwire.com for flight-only travel outside the US.

In addition to good rates, I don't have to get off my arse and leave the house, I don't have to deal with another human being (in a bad polyester blazer) if I don't want to, and I can print my own e-ticket receipt on my own printer.

As a geek, it makes perfect sense that I should be able to do it all online.

The travel industry as a whole has made great strides in the use of technology. My ex-employer, for example, had a product that meant you could change a flight booking using your online PDA or cell phone, whilst sat in the airport, or running late to it. (God, I hope I got that right! Correct me in the comments if I didn't ex-colleagues.)

So the problem isn't the industry, it's those middle-men wanting a slice of the pie, just for filling in the ticket details for you. Still, at least they might check you and the right Sydney were destined to meet.

Deep joy...

If you're bored with that stupid, debt-ridden Karyn woman, why not help out someone much more in need. Just one look at his picture, and you can plainly see that this guy genuinely needs your money much more than that dumb Karyn bitch.

In short, Karyn moved to NYC from the sticks and ran up $20,000 in credit card debts on frivolous purchases. She's now asking strangers to donate money to help her out. She has a job, and a roof over her head, but still thinks she derserves charity! $1500 for Starbucks lattés*? Give me a break!

At least Brian is more likeable than Karyn**, and from the look of things, a whole lot more needy.

* of course this may have been just three lattés, given that a) we're talking about Starbucks, and b) it's in NYC
**Obviously her debt doesn't include the cost of a book of names, so she could look up how to spell her own name properly.

WARNING: This product contains rants

Years ago, when MTV started making The Real World, Channel Four in Britain bought the first series and showed it.

At the time I remembered thinking, "Well this is different. The girls are kinda cute. But what the heck has it got to do with the real world in Britain?"

Well, now I live in the US, I'm fully accustomed to the way of life here, and yet I'm still asking myself, "What the fuck does this have to do with the real world?"

Let me make it absolutely clear that I do not routinely watch The Real World. I just happened to hit the wrong digits on the remote, whilst looking for a Cheers re-run this evening, and I got MTV instead of Nick at Nite.

See, since the first series, they've gone from half a dozen fairly cute twentysomethings, to half a dozen Melrose Place extras. The property they're given to live in, is even more obscenely expensive and over equipped than in the original series, and they seem to be issued with luxury cars now too.

When it started, they had people with real problems. One guy was HIV+. Now the problems seem to centre around just 'how special' each of the participants needs to feel.

But what really pisses me off, after I managed to struggle through three very long minutes, is the skinny bitch on the show, bawling her eyes out, because her ex-boyfriend pinched/grabbed her side, in an affectionate way.

She took this to mean that he thought she was fat. She's a size zero* for fuck's sake! She then started whinging on and on and on about how she'd gained seven pounds since she'd been in the house. Well boo-fucking-hoo. Cry me a river, why don't you! She's still less than half the weight of the average American.

The girl looks like a stick insect with boobs, or to use a female friend of mine's expression, "Jelly-tots on an ironing board". She's well-tanned, and has everything provided for her, for at least six months, and will doubtless find some poor sap to provide for her after that. Despite all this, we're supposed to feel sorry for her? I don't think so.

This is just like the various blogs I've found (and ranted about (2nd article down)), written by (nearly always west coast American) teenage girls, bleating about who they need to, "drop another five, before the prom."

This is as loathsome as that obese guy, suing fast food chains for making him fat.

What the hell is MTV playing at putting these air-heads on screen? They're just furthering that whole Girls Should Be Anorexic culture. I bet MTV's so-called 'News'** programme will still be doing articles on, "The terrible Anorexia crisis in America." and acting all concerned, despite the network's obvious endorsement of the oppression of girls and young women into remaining emaciated.

Me? I used to be a skinny person until, in my mid-twenties:

a) I discovered that I liked the taste of Guinness
b) I had a desk job, to which I couldn't walk or cycle
c) My metabolism slowed down
d) I discovered that I liked the taste of some more Guinness

But, apart from a slightly-less-than-flat stomach, I'm comfortable with how I am, and if I'm ever not, then it's down to me, no-one else, to put right. Perhaps I have it easy, being a guy. There's nothing like the pressure on boys and men to stay slim, like there is on girls and women.

Perhaps MTV should re-vamp The Real World? They could even attempt realism. Let's have a house, in the US, with:

1) No waifs
2) No jocks
3) People with nice personalities. Hell, people with personalities.
4) Black people who aren't trying to be Playas or Miss Thing***
5) A token religious person who isn't a christian.
6) No complimentary megalith full-size† SUV.
7) People who's biggest problems in life don't stop at a broken nail

Of course it'll never happen. You won't sell so much advertising for Pepsi Twist with reality. Not actual reality. Why? Well maybe MTV viewers just aren't interested in the real world?

*An American size, used to describe anorexic little bitches with a good tan, or Calista Flockhart after a prolonged visit to Denny's All-You-Can-Eat Bucket o' Meat & Eggs counter.

**If you call three minutes of articles about which band's drummer has been rushed into hospital due to an overdose, news.

***Something which doesn't do any favours for all the educated, well-mannered black people. or other racial minorities. It just goes to further all the negative stereotypes that the bigots of this world hold dear.

† European readers please note: An SUV is a Sports Utility Vehicle, such as a Jeep, a Ford Explorer or a Land Rover. A 'full-size' SUV is even bigger than these. Look up Ford Expedition, Ford Excursion, GMC Yukon, Chevrolet Suburban etc.

Typically, the 'full-size' SUVs get about 8mpg. Seriously.

from the Bright Side of the Force

... sitting on the porch, on a Saturday morning, with a large home-made latté in my hand, and Miles snoozing at my feet.

EID has become a bit more personal than usual of late, for reasons I know you'll understand.

When I started out this blog/site or whatever, I remember stating that it wasn't going to be just an online diary, like so many of those angst-ridden teenager's blogs. That policy is still in force, but this week has been a tough one, what with Benny's deteriorating health.

I just wanted to say a big Thank You to all of you, who've commented or emailed me, offering support and friendship. It means a lot to me, really it does.

As I've said before, I try and keep the, "Woe is me", stuff to a minimum on this site. No-one wants to read someone moaning on and on, and there's no way on (insert deity's name here)'s green Earth that anyone's going to confuse me with a teenager. Well, at least not physically.

So, thanks folks. I will keep you up-to-date with Benny, but I'll be doing my other non-diary stuff (humour and/or rants) too.

Whilst I'm trying to deal with the Benny situation. I'm looking for something to make me smile.

Here's an open letter to Attorney General, John Ashcroft, read by the author. This is in Quicktime format, embedded in the page.

It is simultaneously, touching, poignant, serious and humourous.

Benny's blood panel came back today. He has severe diabetes, and cataracts.

He's going to go blind in the next month or two, and will have to go through a strict regimen of insulin shots twice a day for the rest of his life. Add to this, a series of blood tests, and a strictly controlled diet and feeding schedule, and things are looking pretty bleak for the little guy.

So, I'm left with a big decision. The ultimate decision.

I've had Benny, and his brother Rutger for nearly 11 years. He has more personality than any other cat I've ever met, and he certainly never stopped chatting, the whole time he was at the vet's.

So, as if being unemployed, with no Green Card, and facing an unwanted return to Europe, whilst being without Miles et al for six months wasn't enough, I now have to worry about Benny's health, and whether I should put him out of his misery.

How was your day?

Throwing stuff at politicians or royalty isn't anything new in Britain. What I think is interesting, is that one of the perpertrators was charged with criminal damage for throwing an egg! What? Was it hard-boiled and then laquered? Did it break the bullet-proof glass? It's an egg for ****'s sake!

Read right down to the bottom (pun intended, as you'll see), as it demonstrates British ingenuity in fashion. Just don't anyone tell a certain Yorkshireman friend of mine in Bath, about these multi-functional trousers. You know who you are!

Here's the news.

Update: Those gits at the BBC News website have edited their posted story, removing the referencee to the streaker. here's where you can find that story. My comments to a certain person re: the trousers still stands.

from the desk of Johnny Morris

As it's fairly likely I will have to move back to Europe in the coming months (still no exact idea when), I'm starting to prepare the animals for this.

HM Government, are finally coming round to the notion that given the compulsory rabies vaccination of all domestic animals, required in the US (well, at least in CO), it's just possible that North America isn't such a risk for animals getting rabies.

So they're setting up (at a crippled tortoise's pace) a scheme whereby I can get my animals vaccinated, chipped and blood tested, and they can then stay in the US for six months (instead of having to stay in special kennels in the UK for six months) and then enter the UK without going into quarantine.

If I move back to Europe, I'm planning on living in Ireland, most likely in the capital city, Dublin (because the vast majority of the tech jobs are there). That said, if the right opportunity came up in Britain, or France (particularly Paris) I'd be interested. The (crafty) Irish Government deal with rabies by saying that you can only bring an animal into Ireland from the UK. In other words, they get the British Government to do all the work! Good for them, I say!

So anyway, today I had to take all my animals for this potential move. I took all four (two dogs, two cats) to the vet's in one go. All for had blood drawn. I also got the vet to investigate Benny's "Charlie Chaplin" walk he seems to have developed lately.

Of course, Benny being Benny, he didn't shut up the whole time we were there. Most cats would be nervous about a trip to the vets, but not my Benny. Also he's just about the most expressive cat I've ever met. He has about 10 different meows, meaning different things. Some of them sound like squawks, some make him sound like Eric Cartman. The conversation in the room went like this:

Benny: Squawk
Vet: He's talkative.
Me: Yes, he never shuts...
Benny: Squawk
Me: ... up
Vet: How long has...
Benny: Squawk
Vet: ... he been doing this?
Benny: Squawk
Me: Oh about eleven years now.
Benny: Squawk, meow

That's the other thing with Benny. He always has to get the last word in.

Picture Purrrfect
And now, especially for Jodi in New York, some pictures of the kids... err... animals:

Click to enlarge

When I got home, it transpires that there may well be another couple of dozen sets of flaming hoops I have to jump through for HM Govt, before they let me bring the kids into Blighty, and the blood may need to be drawn again. Just how much blood does HM Govt want out of my babies?

Work, Immigration etc
I've been very careful, in this blog (no really, I have) not to go on about my being out of work and my wanting to stay in the US so much, mainly because if you already know me, then you'll know my situation, and if you don't know me (you lucky swines!) then you'll be even less interested than those who do!

It's ironic that I can work, without any immigration worries in about 15 countries (Europe), but the one place I really want to live and work in, won't let me, without a struggle.

So, this is a small request, that if any of you have any jobs going, preferably in IT, but I'll consider anything, email me and let me know. Yes, I need some sort of work visa, but that's not hard to do, nor is it expensive as you can get the costs back from me over the first few years. My resumé is at Dice. Oh, and don't let the foul language, rants and dreadful comedy of this site put you off. I'm a total pro at work, and this site is just a pressure release valve for my current frustration. It doesn't have to be in Denver, but it'd be all the better if it was!

I'd be looking for either desktop or web development, or support, or even training. I've previously written and presented a course in a number of countries, most notably, the United Arab Emirates!

...and now back to your regularly scheduled blogging....

*This was a BBC children's TV programme, all about animals, that ran from the early sixties through to the mid-eighties. Johnny Morris was the (superb) presenter, who would supply imagined voices and words for all the animals shown. It might sound odd, but was superb entertainment and education for children.