This week has seen "summer temperatures" start up again. By that, I mean blazing hot sunshine, producing temperatures of over 90ºF for the next four months, with little or no rain.

Those of you reading this on the East Coast, or in Europe, may be thinking that such hot sunny weather sounds idyllic, but you'd be wrong. It's hard work. Only folks in "the south" have it harder, as they have the same hot weather, only with 110% humidity.

That's Mr Procrastination, to you
Last year, I got asked to write an article for Denver's 5280 Magazine. Like most software developers, I wrote 90% of it, then cancelled the project. OK, so maybe I just wasn't happy with what I wrote.

This is hardly surprising given the brief I had. The brief was, "Write something no more than 800 words". Yes, it was that detailed. You'd think, wouldn't you, that for someone who routinely churns out 800+ words a day on this site, I'd have no problem coming up with something, especially when the subject matter was up to me.

Today, I've re-opened the document, and have been editing it a bit. To be honest, it has never "flowed". That's the thing about writing a column (this includes my DMfM writing), sometimes the words just flow out you, other times they have to be extracted like a particularly stubborn wisdom tooth.

Hmm, this gives me another idea. Why not, instead of the "Hello chaps I'm British and I live in Denver, what-ho!" BS i've been struggling with, why not write about blogging? It's the perfect opportunity to promote this site, and get paid for doing it. By George old bean! That's so opportunistic and money-making, I almost sound American!

OK. I'm teasing. You should be used to this by now.

I had the dream again last night. It's not the first time I've had it, and it won't be the last.

It's the dream that I was warned I'd have. Not by some psychic, or by a fortune-teller (or a bank-teller). No, I was warned by a fellow broadcaster, that I would start having the dream, once I was regularly on-air.

Sure enough, I've had the dream a number of times now.

What's the dream, you ask? Two words... dead air.

I don't know if all broadcasters suffer from this, or just radio folk, but every so often I get it.

I'm in the , and stuff starts going wrong, there's dead air. Or I get called out of the , and can't get back in, in time to get back on mic without having dead air.

Last night's variation included a bit where I was frantically pushing buttons, trying to bring up a microphone near me to speak into. The one I really needed was always just out of range. Try as I might to lunge across the desk, I couldn't quite reach it.

You might not have had this exact dream, but I'm sure you'll be familiar with the concept of something you desperately need being 'always just out of reach' in a dream.

The other thing that happens is, sometimes there's someone else in the , who is a guest, and they're trying to help, but they just get in the way.

Anyway, I'm sure that I'll get to put my mind at rest by doing flawless shows on Saturday (12-3pm), then the following Thursday (9am-12) and Friday (9am-12). Tune in (89.3) or stream online (kuvo.org). The internet feed works well, even on dial up.

Just in case you didn't know about the end credits for Matrix Reloaded, our friends at Dork Tower have explained it nicely.

If you're clicking that link, after this week (May 26th), navigate back to that date.

I stayed until the bitter end of the credits, but most of the audience that had watched the film with me, got up and left way before that.

So I'm out walking the dogs in Cherry Creek this afternoon, and a guy, in his late-20's/early-30's is walking towards me, talking on his cell phone.

I overhear the following line, delivered in a slightly camp, but annoyed tone:

"Well, the psychics told me it would be over, a year ago. It's still not over."

This then, set me musing...

Was he ringing the Customer Service help-line for Miss Cleo & Co.?

If he wasn't, what sort of friend was it on the other end of the phonecall, that didn't have the decency to say, "For God's sake, get a grip, you idiot! It's not real!"?

What's the statue of limitations on correctly predicting an event, which then doesn't occur? I mean, did they give him some sort of 12-month warranty?

Could he get a refund?

Are the psychics going to know it's him calling to demand the refund, and just not answer the phone?

What the hell was it, that he was hoping would be over a year ago?

If it's still going on, a year after it was supposed to have stopped, why the heck hasn't he tried other methods to stop it.

OK. I really need to get a job. My mind clearly has way too much spare energy at the moment.

This afternoon, I saw The Matrix Reloaded.

It rocked!. There you go. That's the review.

As sequels go, it was strong. The plot was good, and is clearly building towards the third film in the series. The visuals, however, were quite amazing.

They'd taken the visual and special effects style of the first movie, and used the advances in technology that have occurred since, to allow them to take things further.

On one or two occasions, it was a bit much, but for the most part (like 95%) it was all done well, and pertinent to the story. Only on one occasion (where Neo fights about fifty copies of Agent Smith) was it obvious that we were watching CGI'ed figures. That was the only scene where I thought it was a bit OTT.

The action in the film was breath-taking, and inventively choreographed, and blended real action with CGI stuff.

I think another thing that was striking was the scenic design of Zion, and the rebel ships. If you remember some of the design sketches for the Alien movies, the style is similar.

The soundtrack was very good too.

Keanu and Carrie-Anne still look hot, in their black and/or leather outfits, and Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) still looks like a former manager of mine, although even as a psychopathic computer program, he's far more humane than the manager concerned.

P.S.
Can you believe that Keanu Reeves is going to be 40 next year? No, me neither. Not that I care, but it surprised me.

Perhaps this means we can expect him in a new movie: Bill & Ted's Mid-life Crisis

I tried a new place for lunch yesterday. It's been in downtown Denver for years, but I'd never been there until now. It was the Rodizio Grill at 19th & Wynkoop.

It's a Brazilian place where, basically, you sit there, as the chefs bring you many different kinds of meat to your table, and cut pieces off it.

The thing is, they don't stop. Ever. Well, not until you tell them to, by turning your indicator to red. What's more, if you turn it back to green, they start up the onslaught of delicious cooked meats again.

There's a salad bar too, which was great, but (unless you're a vegetarian) the meat is the star of the show. It's all served by the chefs, at your table, from giant metal skewers.

Obviously, such an all-you-can-gorge-yourself-on arrangement, when it's of the high quality this was, is a red rag to a bull, for me. I mean, clearly they were challenging my masculinity, or my staying power, or maybe just my belly.

In any event, I represented Britain like the true ambassador I am.

I took no prisoners, and kept up a steady pace, for a couple of hours. Eventually, I realised that I was keeping everyone else waiting, and whilst I could have continued on until sundown, it would be polite to stop. Of course if I had continued, there was always the danger of me recreating the "Mr Creosote" sketch in The Meaning of Life.

Update - Additional Info
Lunch was about $15 each, dinner $25, but well worth the money. The service and décor were superb too.

The beers were good, and included their own red ale, and a porter (which I had).

The 9pm-midnight show went well, although I was lacking in energy, having been on-air at 7am-9am as well.

I'll skip over the details, suffice it to say that it was the usual mix of great jazz, with my Mark Radcliffe-like presentation style.

Nothing too disastrous happened, apart from my tripping over my own headphone wire, whilst wearing them, and attempting to stand up and talk into the microphone. All the listeners heard was a series of dull thuds, a twang (as the headphones came apart, and a muffled voice saying something along the lines of, "Ouch! Now that hurt!", as I was hit in the face by parts of the headphones.

Towards the end, I played a Charles Mingus track called, "Wham Bam, Thank You Ma'am", and was unable to stop myself from saying, "... and that goes out to all you ladies out there", in a mock lounge-lizard tone of voice.

Oh well. It was late-night.

I'm supplying the following link. It's a link, OK? That means I didn't write it, and so cannot guarantee the accuracy of the information.

No doubt those of you who actually like President Roscoe P. Coltrane will want to ramble on about how it's all a left-wing propaganda war, by a bunch of pinko, commie, bastards, but I don't want to hear about it.

Go back to your Ford F150 pickup (that you never carry anything in the back of, and so don't actually need, but hey it makes up for having a tiny penis), your cowboy hat (despite not actually working on a ranch), and your country & western music (Republicans naturally gravitate towards dreary soulless shite). and leave those of us who dare to question those in power (regardless of political leanings) to read the depressing list presented here.

It's called "Bush's Resumé.

It makes for some fairly depressing reading.

I've been appearing on-air at KUVO a lot more than usual this past week, as there's been another pledge-drive on.

Tomorrow, I was due on-air at 6am, but I plea-bargained it down to 7am. That in itself, wouldn't be so bad, if I wasn't also hosting a show from 9pm-midnight that night.

So, tune in, call in, make a pledge, or even just call me during the late-night show (303-291-0666) and chat.

When I first moved to the United States, I was shown around some houses by a realtor.

In the first house I saw, I was shown the Laundry Room. Inside was a top-loading behemoth of a machine, that was about the size of a large family car in Britain. I thought to myself, "Ooh look, they've got one of those quaint, old-fashioned washing machines like my Gran used to have back in the 1960's."

When the second and third houses I was shown around, also had these vast, ancient-looking machines, I became suspicious. Did the 1960's produce some of the most durable and long-lasting US-made appliances ever? Had Colorado's state legislature passed some bill in 1970, banning the sale of washing machines, and thus forcing people to keep these aging beasts going?

Once I had bought my first house, and had to buy a washing machine, all was explained.

Despite winning the space race, and being a nation that insists on having every modern labour-saving gadget possible, American manufacturers seemed unable to make a washing machine that:

• Can heat the water in it
• Contains electronics
• Can wash clothes with less water than it'd take to bathe an elephant
• Weighs less than the aforementioned elephant
• Was designed after the Nixon administration

Meanwhile, back in Europe, the machines, all front-loading, use a quarter of the amount of water of a US machine, can heat the water to a temperature that actually might get things clean, and don't stagger about threatening passers-by, like a whino on speed.

That said, the do look down their noses at you in a snooty manner (like all us Europeans, of course!). You can almost hear the distain, "You're not putting THOSE underpants in me are you? They look older than me!"

Hmm now there's a topic for an essay:

But I digress...

European readers will be amused or bewildered to hear that, the same nation wealthy enough to have every possible extra bit of technology in its cars, and a television channel entirely devoted to golf, has washing machines that rely entirely upon the house's hot water system, when it comes to the heat of the wash.

In the first house I owned in the US, the hot water system had been engineered by The Marx Brothers. The result was, lots of hot water during the summer months, but almost no hot water was produced during the winter. The end result, apart from a lot of cold showers during the winter, was that numerous items of clothing weren't cleaned properly, and thus any food stains where sealed for all eternity, into the garment.

The next house (EID Towers, as I used to call it) had a great hot water supply, but a washing machine and dryer, that were so old, that they featured wooden panelling, or rather, fake wooden panelling.

And now, as part of the continuing downwards spiral as far as laundry facilities goes, I'm in a house (DMfM HQ) with a washer and dryer that are not only older-looking than in the last house, they're possessed.

The washer in particular, dances about the basement like a thing possessed. I know such machines are prone to movement when spinning clothes dry, but this thing looks like it's break-dancing.

It often ends up knocking stuff over, or bumping into things, in a manner I'd more usually associate with someone who's had about eight+ pints, rather than an appliance.

And its similarity to a drunk doesn't end there. It's also been known to piss all over the floor, and lose items of clothing.

Y'know, I'm trying to rewrite that fascinating article I lost the other day, really I am. The fact is, however, it's just not coming to me, as naturally as it did first time around.

Also, this week (and half of last week) has seen me involved in yet another Pledge-Drive.

I've been on-air at all times of the day and night, swapping witty banter with my fellow hosts, whilst urging listeners to call in and make a donation.

I did a breakfast show spot, and an evening show on Thursday. On Friday, I did Rockin' In Rhythm (the jazz/blues crossover show) - which got very silly indeed.

On Monday, on Darrin's "drivetime" show, he took every opportunity to mock my Englishness on-air, and I by return threatened to come over there and break his fingers if he didn't stop switching my mic on-and-off whilst I'm in mid-sentence.

Me: I got into my truck and turned the radio on
Darrin: Truck? Shouldn't that be 'lorry' Max?
Me: Hilarious Darrin, now shut up.

and

Me: Whilst I was in the Green Room just now....
Darrin: And it's only on Public Radio that you'll here the word "whilst" in Denver, folks
Me: ...as I was saying...

It was a losing battle, as he had the controls.

Tomorrow, I'm on in the morning and again in the evening, and then Friday, I'm on at 6am-8am. This amazes even me, as I never got to work at 6am when I had a paying job, and this is volunteer work.

At the beginning of next month, I'm booked to do some mid-morning shows, not "pledge-rapping" but regular broadcasting.

All of this, plus a number of other things that are going on with me, causing me to stress out, and so on, has meant that my writing has not been so prolific. Fear not, dear reader, it'll pick up again any day now.

There's lots to tell, both factual and fictional, serious and silly.

At the rate things are going, I may have to delegate some of it to Miles.

So I had an amusing article all written, all ready to post, and thinking it was saved, rebooted my Apple iBook, after installing an OS upgrade.

Now I find, that it's entirely possible that:

• I didn't save it
• I'm going to have to re-write the bastard
• I'm a clumsy idiot, who shouldn't be allowed near sharp objects, let alone computers

I'm sure you've been wondering about this, and so to put your minds at rest, I'll tell you.

The red "M" in this site's banner graphic is cut-n-pasted from the original movie poster for Dial M for Murder.

This poster inspired an early DMfM graphic.

The "M" on the DMfM phone itself, was photoshopped from new by my own fair hand.

I thought about writing this article a month or so ago, but given the nature of it, and the hysterical xenophobic compulsory patriotism sweeping the American nation, I thought I'd hold off for a while. Now it seems that my patience has paid off, and what was cynical speculation on my part is starting to look like it could be true.

It's about "America's Hero", Private Jessica Lynch.

At the time that her story - one of "heroic rescue" of a "tortured war hero" - came to light, the conversation in our cynical European household turned to the film, Wag The Dog - a story of an American president, waning in popularity, who's advisors hire a film director to help create a fake war, with a non-existent country.

As part of this fake war, they create a war hero, based on someone who actually existed, but they falsify their part in "war".

Now, we return to the Dubya's war. News has reached DMfM headquarters, that someone, either in the current administration, or the army, dressed up the rescue of Private Lynch.

Apparently, the Iraqi doctors at the hospital she was in, have told the BBC that

• The Iraqi army left the hospital two days before the US Army 'rescued' Private Lynch
• That whilst she did have a broken leg and arm, she did not have bullet or stab wounds, and had not been tortured
• She had one the best beds in the hospital
• She had one of only two nurses working there attending her
• The US Army used blank bullets and fake explosions to make things seem more dangerous
• The US Army brought in filmmaker Jerry Bruckheimer as an advisor on staging this over-dramatised rescue
• That when, two days prior to the "rescue", the Iraqi doctors had tried to deliver her back to the Americans, the US Army shot at them, forcing them to turn back

The full BBC report is here.

Of course I very much doubt we'll ever hear this report on US television networks. I mean, in the current administration's enforced culture of compulsory unquestioning xenophobia patriotism, anything that questions anything they do, no matter how dubious, is considered an act of treason.

I know I'm not alone in hating this enforced patriotism, but as ever, the narrow-minded, self-righteous right-wingers seem to be able to talk louder, and over, anyone who dares question the current administration.

What kind of people are in power that they need to fake the news? I know that a lot of people thought Bush's election victory was dubious and a tad fictional, but this is ridiculous. How long can he keep the masses distracted from his fucking up of the US economy?

I think what worries me the most, is the current culture where no-one is allowed to question what's going on. If they do, they're branded unpatriotic.

Land of the free? Yeah, sure, you're free to believe what you're told to believe, free to obey, free to hate foreigners, but just don't try to think for yourself. It's unpatriotic you know!

I have a problem. There, I've said it. See, the first step to curing an addition is admitting to it.

My problem is that whilst on the one hand, I'm quite shy, on the other, I like to perform if there's an audience. I can't help it.

I don't mean involuntarily breaking out into song & dance routines whilst queueing at the checkout. It's not a form of show-biz Turrette's Syndrome. It's more that, I suppose I like to keep people entertained, even at the possible risk of looking a bit of an idiot.

Add to this my tendency to rant, and you have the following little video clip, that I've just found. It was filmed sometime in the summer of 2001, whilst on a visit to Britain. This was before I went on the M-Plan diet, and lost weight.

To set the scene, Tim and I had just been over Bath's only toll bridge (in Batheaston), and I, very short of British currency, hadn't quite had enough

You need Quicktime to view it.

Click here to view.

Just lately, I've started getting more spam email than usual. I don't get a lot of it, because I'm careful about giving out my email addresses, and in fact most of the spam is addressed to one particular "alias" address which I'll delete, just as soon as I get around to it.

This week, things have gotten.. err... odd.

The emails, for what I suspect are porn sites have had subject lines that are either randomly-generated strings of words, or are written by someone for whom English is not a first language, or indeed, a second or third language.

Today alone, I had emails with the following subject lines:

• "Can you believe that the sober beige spaceship atop the Bolivian rental cars seems to be lame?"
• "It really bizarrely desires somewhat testily to crave his torrential jelly bean."
• "The gamma ray of ugliness slowly tells that some sadly killing bridges stupidly think of seeming to be Rumanian!"

Heaven knows what they were whilst composing those.

Although, if you've ever walked around Swindon town centre on a Saturday, you might be familiar with the effects of a "Gamma Ray of Ugliness".

Damn I love those early 1960's Blue Note album covers.

During tonight's SNL Weekend Update, Jimmy "Can't Stop Grinning At How Cute I Am" Fallon, mentioned Microsoft's proposed iLoo, saying:

"In London, England, Microsoft unvailed it's new "iLoo". So now you can go in, log-in, and 'log out'".

Whilst getting you the hyperlink for Some Mother's Do 'Ave 'Em, I ended up commenting on the show. Sometimes I can't stop myself from venting. I'm working on it, but so far I'm still venting.

Here's the comment I left:

I know I'm in the minority, but even as a small child growing up in Britain in the 1970's, I loathed Some Mothers Do Have 'Em.

I like a broad range of comedy, heck I even write comedy, but SMDHE is one of those TV comedies that whilst popular with the masses, I find totally unfunny and predictable. 'Allo 'Allo is another example of a show that managed to be popular despite it's incredibly weak , low-grade and predictable writing.

I hated the character of Frank Spencer. His accident-prone nature wasn't that annoying. It wasn't that funny either. But what bugged me was the almost mentally retarded personality. That plus his voice. Boy was that like fingernails dragged down a blackboard.

And then there were the years following the run of Some Mothers, where we were subjected to God-awful Frank Spencer impressions by anyone who was capable of uttering the words, "ooooh Betty". Lord save us from people who think they're funny doing that.

Give me Monty Python, Blackadder, Father Ted or The Office any day over this very cringe-worthy show.

a.k.a Some Mother's Do Have 'Em Part II

A second day of delivering flowers to the womenfolk of Greater Metropolitan Denver.

Today, however, I had an assistant in the form of Miles, who spent the whole day with me. It turns out that the folk at the florists all have Golden Retrievers, and were happy to let him run around the shop, the whole time we were there.

He also rode shotgun on my deliveries, and if I'd let him, would have invaded the home of every little old lady we visited. We fitted in a quick game of frisbee in a field mid-afternoon.

*I hated this show, and still do. It's not funny. I love good slapstick humour, but I just cringe if every I see the antics of Frank Spencer. And there's all those sad fuckers who insisted on doing there Frank Spencer impression at you, for years after the show was over. Lord save us from such dolts.

Today was a break from the ordinary. I worked. An actual paid day's work.

OK, so I realise that for most of you, this would constitute a very ordinary day.

In fact, from my demographic data, I know that for most of you, a break from your ordinary, might be a regular day for me:

• Wake up no earlier than 9.15am
• Mooch about
• Pick out some groovin' jazz tunes
• Do a live radio show
• Hang out in a coffee house
• Experience fine dining
• Stay up until 3-4am writing

That's all very lovely, but you can't imagine how much I want to get back into the regular world of paid work. Either that or become some millionairess' plaything. Hey, it could happen!

Seriously, though, I am working on cultivating my web design business, but it's early days, and so I must turn to working for someone else.

So, today I was delivering flowers for a local family-owned florists, that I've used when buying flowers myself, in the past.

Quite how wise having me handling precious and expensive plants and flowers was, is unclear. I have previously been described as the Joseph Mengler of the plant world, due to the fact that no plant has ever survived a week under my ministrations, with the exception of one very determined Swiss Cheese Plant.

And so it was that I spent my day at the florists (thank goodness I've never suffered from hayfever) generally helping out, but mostly driving incredibly expensive vases of flowers all over the city, to grateful mothers.

As hard for you to believe as it might be, I don't think I've ever pleased so many women in one day.

Of course, typical to such days where I'm required to be outdoors a lot, the weather - unusually for Colorado - was wet. It rained all day.

This morning, as I'm due to do another day's work delivering, I wake up to four inches of snow, and it's still falling.

Happy Mother's Day America.

The title of this is a joke that possibly only British readers will get. No. I'm not going to explain it.

Anyway, when I lived in the UK, my last car was a Rover. It was a great car, very fast, very comfortable, very reliable. Rover cars have always been that way, with the possible exception of their 1980's incarnations.

After the BMW ownership debaclé, the company was bought out by the management, who are trying to make it great again.

Well done chaps! I'd hate to see the last British car manufacturer go away.

Anyway, the point of this post is show you a picture of their new Touring Concept Vehicle.

Unfortunately, as with most car manufacturer websites, you'll need the very latest Flash plug-ins, but they provide links for that.

But look at that front view! Can you say Cadillac? Those headlight clusters are pure Caddy.

I'm sure the fine British chaps who designed it came up with the look off the top of their heads, but sometimes two people can invent the same thing, quite by accident.

This at least was Oasis' defence when accused of stealing plagarising Beatles tunes (and others). The fact that Oasis are a minimally-talented pub band at best, with the manners and education of a couple of badly shaved gorrilas, is neither here nor there.

But back to the car. I like it!

We have similar 'types' of vehicle in the US already. The Nissan Murano. is one, and the Infiniti FX45 is another.

I like the (frightfully British yet cooky) claim that you can carry a washing machine in the back of the Rover TCV without folding any seats down! American readers are no doubt boggling at why the hell you would ever want to do such a thing!

I also particularly like the fact that the floor of the back is flush with the bottom of the tailgate, thus allowing easier loading, and the fact that all the seats fold totally flush with the rear floor for extra cargo capacity.

Now all we need is for Rover to get a clue and start marketing themselves in the US. I think they'd be successful, given the generally luxurious nature of their cars, but only if they get some Americans to do their marketing for them.

After all, the British suck at promoting themselves.

Toodle-pip chaps.

Apart from a certain negativity towards life, held by a lot of its populace, one of the things I hated about living in Britain was the approach by the government, and some parts of society, towards people driving cars.

The British Government has spent years instilling in it's poor population the concept that:

I'm not sure about other European countries and their attitude on this matter, but it seems that just in case you haven't been overcharged enough for goods and services in Britain, the Government are there to fuck you up the arse, good and hard, when it comes to wanting to drive your (ridiculously over priced especially for the British market) car.

So now it would seem that, in addition to the £155 ($260) a year vehicle tax, toll boths are to be introduced as well. There are also plans to see if they can't force every vehicle to be fitted with a satellite tracking device to work out extra charges for use of Britain's roads.

Yes, they'll fuck you every which way, if you dare to try and drive a car in Britain.

And you wonder why I have no intention of ever living in Britain, ever again?

Well done Britain. fucking your population up the ass again. As if 17.5% sales tax (VAT) isn't harsh enough.

More information can be found here.

Much as I try to respect American English, there's something we need to clear up.

The word "Delphi" (as in the computer programming language/IDE, or the satellite radio system) is pronounced Del-fee, not Delf-eye.

OK? Do you hear me America? It's not fucking 'Delf-eye'. It's never been 'Delf-eye', it's pronounced Del-fee. It's a Greek word, the Greeks prounounce 'phi' as 'fee', so you pronounce Delphi as 'del-fee'.

I'm prepared to come around and drum it into you with a baseball bat, if it means that I don't have to hear one more person say "Delf-eye" with that 'Ooh look at me, I'm using a foreign word' smug tone.

I had one thing I had to go out for today. One thing.

My faithfull and trusty truck had other ideas. For the first time in three years, it wouldn't start.

As I write, I'm waiting for a tow-truck.

At least it's a nice sunny day.

I'll probably go to the Wash Park Coffee Co. whilst I wait for the prognosis on the truck. It shouldn't be anything major, but you never know.

Expect an update, including a number for my donations hotline, from the WPCC.

;-)

Update
The prognosis is that the fuel-pump has stopped working. A mere $600-700 to fix. Just what I really need when I'm unemployed, and on the verge of (maybe) selling the truck.

Still, I need the truck working for now, so I have to pay and get it fixed.

The phone rang, mid-morning. It was KUVO.

Carlos, the programme director and host of "Midday At The Oasis" had to get some emergency dental work that morning. Could I come to the rescue, and do his show for him? Of course I could. I'm unemployed. What else am going to be doing?

So, I got there with less than 10 mins to spare, not a problem for a seasoned pro like me. I put the first disc in and cue it up.

I chatted to Susan about what trailers I needed to play, for shows later that day. Meanwhile, the midday news was on (via satellite).

The news ends, and it's only at this point that I realise I've not got any headphones. A problem, but I can wing it through the opening break.

So, I start my show, "Hey kids and kittens, welcome to Midday at the Oasis, I'm Max Turner and for the next three hours..." etc. Ending with, "And from the album Steamin', this is Miles Davis, with a track called Salt Peanuts", and fire off the first record.

It was at this point, Erik (who was hanging out in the ) points out that I'd not switched the news off, so what went out on-air, was a battle between my banter, and extra news from NPR.

"Shit!" I exclaim, and punch the button to kill the satellite feed.

It's at this point I realise, I've left my mic open.

Luckily, no-one called to complain. Thinking about it, I was about 2ft from the mic, so it would have been a lot quieter than normal, and the Miles Davis tune being played would have drowned it out.

I checked afterwards, and Nanci in the office was listening. She says she heard me competing with the extended news, but didn't hear me curse.

The irony of this story? Earlier that very morning, Tim and I had been discussing the Fox News clip I'd posted last week, and we ended with Tim warning me to watch my language on-air, and my laughing at the very notion of such stupidity on my part.

If you were looking at DMfM over the course of Sunday and this morning, you may have seen a few changes going on.

Due to the very fiddly nature of MoveableType, it's next to impossible to design MT templates or cascading stylesheets offline, using Dreamweaver. This at any rate, is my experience (or lack thereof).

Overnight, for example, there was this:

Which enabled me to see just which 'divs' were where, compared to what the stylesheet was telling me.

So the main bit is redesigned now. I'm still working on the right-hand column, which will include links to new DMfM pages, such as a gallery, and a review page (maybe, if I can be arsed).

All the links that were previously in the left-hand column are now available on the Links Page. I'll make the link to that a bit more obvious when I re-do the right-hand column.

In case you're wondering WTF is going on with this site, I'm in the middle of a redesign.

As it's now officially 'sodding late' I'm going to bed.

I'll finish this soon.

Then again, I might just revert things back for the meantime.

It's a messy business, redesigning Moveable Type templates, because unlike regular websites, you can't easily do it in Dreamweaver, at least not without completely hosing the display of articles.

Hang on to your hats, and I'll whip this sucker into shape.

Sometimes even the "boys in blue" seem almost human.

DMfM presents the blog of the Arcata Police Department.

The style is quirky to say the least. Here's a couple of recent excerpts:

3:31 p.m. Clad in state-of-the-art couture, a man's saggy-pants and dark, hooded sweatshirt were well accented by the glimmering shaft of gold streaming from his midsection into a Ninth Street yard. Only the resident didn't really like their front lawn being peed upon. Soon, police cars were parked at angles at a nearby car wash, and a young woman in the saggy whizzard's company was found to be in an altered mental state. 'Shrooms, she said it was, so they took her to the hospital to pump brain-terrorizing, psylocybin-laden fungus out of her stomach.

3 p.m. Six travelers with dogs lay a-sprawling On someone's front lawn, who went calling The cops to respond They flushed vagabonds Whose hubris was somewhat appalling.

Thanks to an alert DMfM reader for sending me a link to the following video clip.

Fox News (w)anchor, Shep Smith, demonstrates the delicate art of saying the wrong thing, live on-air. It makes any of my on-air gaffes look minor by comparrison.

It was a seemingly innocent story about Jennifer Lopez a.k.a. J-Lo.

Here's the clip.

I'm sure this kind of journalism must really stick in the throat of J-Lo.

Sound playback is essential.

It's 1MB in size, so if you're not on broadband, go make the coffee after clicking the link. It requires Windows Media Player. Mac OS X version available here.

Yesterday, in a moment of abject stupidity, and in a sadly misguided attempt to save some money, I got my haircut at a cheap place.

Normally, since living in Denver, I've gotten my locks trimmed at Toni & Guy, a British-owned company, with highly-trained staff, and high prices to match.

For fuck-knows what reason, I went to a branch of a large down-market company, we'll subtley refer to as Shitty Clips. My gut feeling upon entering was, "Run away! This is a REALLY bad idea!", but then I thought, "Hey, if they were THAT bad, they'd not stay in business, right?".

Wrong.

Perhaps the first warning sign should have been that the woman who was going to cut my hair, looked like she was wearing a wig.

The second warning sign, was that none of the male staff looked or sounded camp enough to be good hairdressers. Oh, and don't bother even thinking of telling me I'm being homophobic or whatever, I'm not. I'm being hetrophobic!

I should have guessed things weren't going to go well, when instead of washing my hair, the member of staff concerned brought out a large spray can of water, and doused me with it.

She began the alleged haircut, by holding some clippers in one hand, and running them slackly over the back of my head, as if she was stirring a large cake mix, or washing someone's windshield.

The whole approach seemed to be more like one you'd take for washing your car than cutting a paying customer's hair.

Then, before I even had time to ask which prison, or branch of the military, she'd learned her trade in, it was over. I only just managed to stop myself from blurting out, "Is that it?"

I decided, given that she was the one still holding the sharp scissors, not to make a scene.

In the end, it cost a third of the price I pay at Toni & Guy, took a third of the time, and was about a third as good.

Lesson learned: As the years go by, the less hair I have, the more I should spend on keeping it going.