You may have noticed a slightly new look for the site. This is because I have moved my blog to a commercial host. This blog is now run by Blogware, blogging software which so far seems pretty good, and hosted by Blogzerk.
Why did I do this? Primarily because there were bugs in my old setup (which was hosted by my old housemate Cameron). While I could probably have fixed them, basically I just couldn't be bothered. This is all part of my new philosophy, which says that I should do as little work as possible, and get web startups to do it all for me, and then hope that they don't go under and take all my content with them.
So here we are, on a new server and on new software. Hopefully this will work better than the old one. Certainly the server is faster, so you should be slightly less frustrated viewing the page, although of course the real frustration is in the quality of the page rather than its loading time.
I have also moved my photos to Flickr, which should result in their being faster to load as well. It also has a much cooler interface for browsing and uploading - hopefully from now on I will be able to post a lot more photos.
The bugs in the old blog, which meant that, whenever anyone posted a comment, it ended up on the main page, rather than on the article it was commenting on, should not happen here.
The downside of course is that the permanent URLs of the articles have changed, and likely the feed URLs. However, I imagine that this will prove not to be a problem at all, since no-one actually reads anything on this site...
Showing posts with label general. Show all posts
Showing posts with label general. Show all posts
Saturday, 4 February 2006
Monday, 2 January 2006
Prodigal Son Shone on by Prodigious Sun
As mentioned previously, the company has shut down for more than two weeks over Christmas. Aware as always of the demand of my home fans, I bowed to public pressure and undertook a whistle-stop tour of my parents' home in Melbourne.
It was gratifying to see how well my parents have been holding up in my absence: in fact the casual observer might think they were adapting well to my departure. I, however, know differently. After all, if I were forced to live without myself, I should find it quite impossible.
Therefore I was pleased to be able to give them the greatest gift of all: my love. This was in lieu of any decent physical gifts, which I couldn't be bothered providing. What I did provide was some cheap and tacky rubbish I picked up at the Nuremberg Christmas Market.
When at home we carried out the traditional Smith family Christmas. This involves a trip to my father's mother's house for Christmas Day celebrations, a subsequent trip to the day clinic for liposuction, a trip to see my mother's family on Boxing Day and then a trip to bed to sleep off the cumulative effects of too much food and alcohol.
It was great to be able to see the family again. This year, at least, I actually had some news to report, making for an abrupt change from previous Christmases in which the entire year's events could be described in the brief pause between two mouthfuls of turkey breast. On the other hand, most of the news was already listed in these pages, so I was probably going over old territory.
However without doubt the best thing about returning home was the cricket. It's hard to understate how tough it has been to survive in a country in which cricket is treated with all the respect of the slimy growth one finds on the underside of the fridge during defrosting. However a trip to the day two of the Boxing Day Test, and a lot of time in front of the TV has done much to repair the psychological strain.
However my time at home came to an all-too-soon end on the 29th, when I had to return to Germany in order to go to Slovenia. This trip took a ridiculous amount of time: taking into account timezone differences, I left at 17:30 from Melbourne on the 29th and arrived at the hotel in Ljubljana at 18:00 the following March.
As tough as this was, it did have its upsides. The weather was fine, but the ground was covered in snow, and the train trip through the Austrian Alps featured some breath-taking scenery. Unfortunately the train was moving the whole time, meaning that I couldn't take any photos. Also I was very tired and couldn't be bothered getting my camera out of my bag.
As yet I have not seen much of Ljubljana - I will be back to describe my time in this currently nondescript city.
It was gratifying to see how well my parents have been holding up in my absence: in fact the casual observer might think they were adapting well to my departure. I, however, know differently. After all, if I were forced to live without myself, I should find it quite impossible.
Therefore I was pleased to be able to give them the greatest gift of all: my love. This was in lieu of any decent physical gifts, which I couldn't be bothered providing. What I did provide was some cheap and tacky rubbish I picked up at the Nuremberg Christmas Market.
When at home we carried out the traditional Smith family Christmas. This involves a trip to my father's mother's house for Christmas Day celebrations, a subsequent trip to the day clinic for liposuction, a trip to see my mother's family on Boxing Day and then a trip to bed to sleep off the cumulative effects of too much food and alcohol.
It was great to be able to see the family again. This year, at least, I actually had some news to report, making for an abrupt change from previous Christmases in which the entire year's events could be described in the brief pause between two mouthfuls of turkey breast. On the other hand, most of the news was already listed in these pages, so I was probably going over old territory.
However without doubt the best thing about returning home was the cricket. It's hard to understate how tough it has been to survive in a country in which cricket is treated with all the respect of the slimy growth one finds on the underside of the fridge during defrosting. However a trip to the day two of the Boxing Day Test, and a lot of time in front of the TV has done much to repair the psychological strain.
However my time at home came to an all-too-soon end on the 29th, when I had to return to Germany in order to go to Slovenia. This trip took a ridiculous amount of time: taking into account timezone differences, I left at 17:30 from Melbourne on the 29th and arrived at the hotel in Ljubljana at 18:00 the following March.
As tough as this was, it did have its upsides. The weather was fine, but the ground was covered in snow, and the train trip through the Austrian Alps featured some breath-taking scenery. Unfortunately the train was moving the whole time, meaning that I couldn't take any photos. Also I was very tired and couldn't be bothered getting my camera out of my bag.
As yet I have not seen much of Ljubljana - I will be back to describe my time in this currently nondescript city.
Monday, 11 July 2005
Reinspection Passed
Our cosy living arrangements, which we had begun to take for granted, were recently threatened by a zealous, new house inspector from the estate agent. Our response was prompt and decisive: we paid people to clean up our house.
Despite the fact that our house was almost spotless, I must confess to having some anxiety about the result. However, the inspection was duly passed, and Cameron described the inspector's reaction as being 'non-plussed', a situation that provides no small amount of satisfaction.
In any case, our tenure is secure for another six months, which will no doubt be sufficient time for the house to revert to its customary state of disorder (I feel that disorder is the destiny of the universe, and am hesitant to do anything to obstruct the juggernaut of entropy).
Despite the fact that our house was almost spotless, I must confess to having some anxiety about the result. However, the inspection was duly passed, and Cameron described the inspector's reaction as being 'non-plussed', a situation that provides no small amount of satisfaction.
In any case, our tenure is secure for another six months, which will no doubt be sufficient time for the house to revert to its customary state of disorder (I feel that disorder is the destiny of the universe, and am hesitant to do anything to obstruct the juggernaut of entropy).
Wednesday, 6 July 2005
Of Mice and Men
History gives us many tales of heroism, stories so rich with human courage that men's hearts are filled with admiration and purpose. The accounts of those who have fought for freedom down the ages have always ranked amongst mankind's greatest moments.
Few stories, however, have so touched the soul so powerfully as the tale of Daniel, the young mouse caught up in events beyond his understanding, swept by currents of history from his simple life in a simple home to despair and terror.
For our young hero was happy in his life; food was plentiful (the carpet being littered with crumbs, having not seen the underside of a vacuum for many months), pets of any kind were absent (due to draconian tenancy arrangements) and the disarray of the house left many convenient places for young Daniel to hide.
So it was that the little creature went to bed one night, safe in his bed of cast-off garments and forgotten brochures. His life of comfort was forever ripped away, however, as the cataclysmic event that would come to be known as the Great Cleaning saw everything he had known be taken away. No more the ready-made shelter; clothes were tidied, papers were recycled. No more the steady stream of food; the floors were vacuumed and mopped until the original surface could once more be seen.
Daniel panicked, as any man would. His heart threatened to give way to despair, as he surveyed the hell that his home had become. But Daniel would come to realise that the worst was yet to come.
Bereft of shelter, our furry friend fell prey to the worst predator of all: man. He was captured and cast into a terrible dungeon - the upstairs cupboard where we keep the toilet paper. In this dark place his soul was attacked by unseen foes. His every nightmare came to pass, as the ravages of time and hunger took their toll.
His gaollers took turns at playing with him. Dark, devious forms of torture were devised and inflicted on the hapless mouse. To them, he was little more than vermin. In that place it seemed that the joyful place in which he had once lived was a different world, inhabited by a different Daniel. A younger, innocent Daniel who had been lost forever in a sea of sorrow.
But before he could give in, before his limbs gave way to hunger and his mind to insanity, the young mouse discovered thought of the many generations of mice who had come before him; of the legions of rodents who had struggled to survive against all odds. He seemed to hear them whispering to him in the darkness, calling to him, urging him to fight. And so he determined to do.
Though his stomach growled, though his legs threatened to give way to fatigue and starvation, Daniel struggled for his liberty. He could not fit through the crack under the door, as his cruel tormentors had plugged it with a T-Shirt. But our indomitable hero refused to give in. Using only the teeth that God gave him, he nibbled himself a hole, a hole back to the light.
It took him many hours, but finally he was able to poke his little whiskers out, and breathe his first breath of fresh air in what seemed like years. However the gods had not finished with him; they had sport to make of him yet. One of the gaollers returned, just as Daniel was preparing to make a dash for freedom. He ducked back inside the shirt, hoping to avoid detection. However he was noticed, and the warden flew into a terrible rage. Determined to make the mouse pay for his temerity, he flung the mouse to the ground, using the shirt as a makeshift sling shot. Bruised, broken and half-dead, Daniel was locked in a new prison, where he felt the pull of death grow stronger.
Bored at last, his keepers decided the cruellest, and therefore most amusing, thing they could do would be to cast him out. Therefore they took out to the backyard, where they left his battered body to die in the cold, frosty night.
What happened to Daniel, none knows. It seems doubtful he could have survived the night. But the tale of Daniel has great allure, and his legions of admirers refuse to let him pass away into oblivion. Often the tale is told around the campfire of how a father saw the mouse return to inspire his brethren to feats of courage. It is said by many that he will return at the end of times, to hold the scales that weigh the deeds of mice and men.
Few stories, however, have so touched the soul so powerfully as the tale of Daniel, the young mouse caught up in events beyond his understanding, swept by currents of history from his simple life in a simple home to despair and terror.
For our young hero was happy in his life; food was plentiful (the carpet being littered with crumbs, having not seen the underside of a vacuum for many months), pets of any kind were absent (due to draconian tenancy arrangements) and the disarray of the house left many convenient places for young Daniel to hide.
So it was that the little creature went to bed one night, safe in his bed of cast-off garments and forgotten brochures. His life of comfort was forever ripped away, however, as the cataclysmic event that would come to be known as the Great Cleaning saw everything he had known be taken away. No more the ready-made shelter; clothes were tidied, papers were recycled. No more the steady stream of food; the floors were vacuumed and mopped until the original surface could once more be seen.
Daniel panicked, as any man would. His heart threatened to give way to despair, as he surveyed the hell that his home had become. But Daniel would come to realise that the worst was yet to come.
Bereft of shelter, our furry friend fell prey to the worst predator of all: man. He was captured and cast into a terrible dungeon - the upstairs cupboard where we keep the toilet paper. In this dark place his soul was attacked by unseen foes. His every nightmare came to pass, as the ravages of time and hunger took their toll.
His gaollers took turns at playing with him. Dark, devious forms of torture were devised and inflicted on the hapless mouse. To them, he was little more than vermin. In that place it seemed that the joyful place in which he had once lived was a different world, inhabited by a different Daniel. A younger, innocent Daniel who had been lost forever in a sea of sorrow.
But before he could give in, before his limbs gave way to hunger and his mind to insanity, the young mouse discovered thought of the many generations of mice who had come before him; of the legions of rodents who had struggled to survive against all odds. He seemed to hear them whispering to him in the darkness, calling to him, urging him to fight. And so he determined to do.
Though his stomach growled, though his legs threatened to give way to fatigue and starvation, Daniel struggled for his liberty. He could not fit through the crack under the door, as his cruel tormentors had plugged it with a T-Shirt. But our indomitable hero refused to give in. Using only the teeth that God gave him, he nibbled himself a hole, a hole back to the light.
It took him many hours, but finally he was able to poke his little whiskers out, and breathe his first breath of fresh air in what seemed like years. However the gods had not finished with him; they had sport to make of him yet. One of the gaollers returned, just as Daniel was preparing to make a dash for freedom. He ducked back inside the shirt, hoping to avoid detection. However he was noticed, and the warden flew into a terrible rage. Determined to make the mouse pay for his temerity, he flung the mouse to the ground, using the shirt as a makeshift sling shot. Bruised, broken and half-dead, Daniel was locked in a new prison, where he felt the pull of death grow stronger.
Bored at last, his keepers decided the cruellest, and therefore most amusing, thing they could do would be to cast him out. Therefore they took out to the backyard, where they left his battered body to die in the cold, frosty night.
What happened to Daniel, none knows. It seems doubtful he could have survived the night. But the tale of Daniel has great allure, and his legions of admirers refuse to let him pass away into oblivion. Often the tale is told around the campfire of how a father saw the mouse return to inspire his brethren to feats of courage. It is said by many that he will return at the end of times, to hold the scales that weigh the deeds of mice and men.
Tuesday, 5 July 2005
Laziness Reaches New Heights in Pre-Spring Cleaning Madness
After receiving a scathing review of the level of hygiene in our house, it was clear that something had to be done. The house was not up to code, and obviously had to be cleaned, but equally obviously we weren't up to the job. After all, we were the ones who had let the situation get so bad in the first place.
The answer was clear - throw money at the problem until it went away. Therefore last Saturday became the great Day of Cleaning, in which a procession of hired labourers came to our house to clean it from top to bottom. Stoves were scoured, scum was expunged, and the carpets were given the steam-cleaning of a lifetime - all in the name of keeping us from the humiliation of being kicked out of home.
I must emphasise that our house before this was dirty, but not abysmally so. Certainly the stove was quite filthy, and the showers had several layers of grime on them, but I certainly wasn't disgusted when I looked at it. I guess you get used to these things after putting up with them for a while.
Cleaning the carpets required that the furniture be moved outside. I amused myself for some time using my laptop - I had a complete office setup with a desk, a comfy office chair and wireless internet access - what else could I need? I may even decide to go out there again, once the weather warms up.
We thought that it probably wouldn't rain that evening, but of course it did, and just as Cameron and I were tucking into our main course down at a local Thai restaurant. However we weren't prepared to leave our meal, since we had only just received it and it had been about an hour in coming (I won't be going back to that restaurant in the near future). Fortunately Jon, who was also having dinner but with some other of his friends, raced home to bring in the furniture.
However just when we thought that we were a shoe-in to pass the secondary inspection this friday, Jon spied a mouse running around the upstairs hall. This is troublesome enough, but of course my situation is made worse by the fact that Jon and Cameron insist on treating the mouse as an honoured guest, putting it up in a luxurious cupboard and providing it with all the food and water its little mousey heart could desire. Needless to say my suggestions that extermination may prove necessary have been coolly received, to say the least.
The answer was clear - throw money at the problem until it went away. Therefore last Saturday became the great Day of Cleaning, in which a procession of hired labourers came to our house to clean it from top to bottom. Stoves were scoured, scum was expunged, and the carpets were given the steam-cleaning of a lifetime - all in the name of keeping us from the humiliation of being kicked out of home.
I must emphasise that our house before this was dirty, but not abysmally so. Certainly the stove was quite filthy, and the showers had several layers of grime on them, but I certainly wasn't disgusted when I looked at it. I guess you get used to these things after putting up with them for a while.
Cleaning the carpets required that the furniture be moved outside. I amused myself for some time using my laptop - I had a complete office setup with a desk, a comfy office chair and wireless internet access - what else could I need? I may even decide to go out there again, once the weather warms up.
We thought that it probably wouldn't rain that evening, but of course it did, and just as Cameron and I were tucking into our main course down at a local Thai restaurant. However we weren't prepared to leave our meal, since we had only just received it and it had been about an hour in coming (I won't be going back to that restaurant in the near future). Fortunately Jon, who was also having dinner but with some other of his friends, raced home to bring in the furniture.
However just when we thought that we were a shoe-in to pass the secondary inspection this friday, Jon spied a mouse running around the upstairs hall. This is troublesome enough, but of course my situation is made worse by the fact that Jon and Cameron insist on treating the mouse as an honoured guest, putting it up in a luxurious cupboard and providing it with all the food and water its little mousey heart could desire. Needless to say my suggestions that extermination may prove necessary have been coolly received, to say the least.
Saturday, 2 July 2005
House Inspection Failed
None who have been to our house recently have felt the overwhelming need to praise us for our clean and tidy living quarters. There has, after all, been a lot of mess lying around, and the dishes are often left in a dirty pile. From time to time a bad smell permeates the house from something left too long in the fridge.
Things have hit a new low, however, as our so-called Routine Inspection took place last week. This inspection, which is not, as one might expect, of our routines, but rather of a routine nature, is to examine our house and the standards in which it is being kept. You see, of course, that we do not own the house, but must rent it from the owners in Singapore.
Previously these inspections have not presented much of a hurdle. A peek here, a cursory examination there, a cross word advising us to mow the lawn, and we were all on our way. However this last time disaster struck. A new inspector, one raised in the strictest Calvinist traditions of spotlessness, was summoned to our house to perform the inspection. Routine this was not! Our house was derided in the harshest possible terms. Disgusting, it is apparently. If the landlords were to see it, we would be out on our ear.
This abrupt change in standards is frustrating. There was no warning that we suddenly had to aim for a higher standard. Also the house is far cleaner than it had been during the previous tenants' occupancy. However, we are taking no chances.
We have a further inspection next week, in front of a panel of inspectors. Hopefully our efforts at cleaning will satisfy the majority of them.
If not, this site may be in need of new hosting!
Things have hit a new low, however, as our so-called Routine Inspection took place last week. This inspection, which is not, as one might expect, of our routines, but rather of a routine nature, is to examine our house and the standards in which it is being kept. You see, of course, that we do not own the house, but must rent it from the owners in Singapore.
Previously these inspections have not presented much of a hurdle. A peek here, a cursory examination there, a cross word advising us to mow the lawn, and we were all on our way. However this last time disaster struck. A new inspector, one raised in the strictest Calvinist traditions of spotlessness, was summoned to our house to perform the inspection. Routine this was not! Our house was derided in the harshest possible terms. Disgusting, it is apparently. If the landlords were to see it, we would be out on our ear.
This abrupt change in standards is frustrating. There was no warning that we suddenly had to aim for a higher standard. Also the house is far cleaner than it had been during the previous tenants' occupancy. However, we are taking no chances.
We have a further inspection next week, in front of a panel of inspectors. Hopefully our efforts at cleaning will satisfy the majority of them.
If not, this site may be in need of new hosting!
Monday, 13 June 2005
Launch of New Blog
Welcome to the Moth-Eaten Boot. This web-based personal log, or 'blog', will serve as a receptacle for whatever deranged fancies spring out of my subconscious before my superego has a chance to quash them. Herein I shall give a glimpse into what makes me tick (a clue to get you started: it's not Hollywood musicals).
It's likely that regular updating will prove too onerous a task to be carried out with any regularity. However, as I am well aware my legions of adoring fans cry out in unison for my attention, I will endeavour to keep you reasonably well apprised of the sordid tabloid details of my affairs.
It's likely that regular updating will prove too onerous a task to be carried out with any regularity. However, as I am well aware my legions of adoring fans cry out in unison for my attention, I will endeavour to keep you reasonably well apprised of the sordid tabloid details of my affairs.
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