Monthly Archive for October, 2007

Talk nerdy to me

Published
by
james
on October 15, 2007
in The everyday
. 5 Comments

Because of fluctuations in the space/time continuum and an incantation to gods so dark they spurn traditional names of terror and settle for calling themselves something banal, like Clarence, I am currently a sys admin. I probably shouldn’t be a sys admin because – well, I’m too much of a n00b, if you’ll excuse the parlance. But I am, and I’m stuck with it, those dark gods won’t give up a soul willingly you know.

So, what am I doing with my new found power? Largely, I’m trying not to break anything. I mean, I have root, I can do what I like and that means I could wipe out the entire network. That’s a lot of power to have when you’re a person whose first response to being given anything is to take it apart and see how it works, this whole situation could end up like Humpty Dumpty but without much chance of the horses and men sorting out the whole predicament afterwards.

I could become death, cracker of boxes. My apologies to the Bhagavad Gita.

But I haven’t, not yet. No, today I used my powers for good and spent three hours trying to figure out why my mail server, because it is mine now, was spitting out so many messages when we have relatively few users and, as a company, don’t generate that much mail.

Turns out, not only was exchange sending a NDR (Non Delivery Report) for every piece of spam received, but so was the spam filtering software. Consequently, whereas collectively the company might generate around two hundred legitimate mails a day, our poor exchange box was spewing out around nine thousand NDR’s in response to every email offering to increase my cock size. Bah, I say! Bah!

It’s not doing it now though, oh no, because I’ve made changes. I’ve configured things, updated stuff. The dark gods have no power over me.

Getting ink done

Published
by
james
on October 12, 2007
in The everyday
. 0 Comments

I had a curious dream last night, the details of which I cannot really recall beyond fire and smoke, the sound of gunfire and of people shouting. What I do recall though, is that in this dream I had a tattoo in black ink on my forearm that constantly shifted in pattern and shape. This recollection has been irritating me all day because I’m sure I recognise the various symbols and shapes it flitted through, but whenever I try to focus on them they remain nothing but vague outlines in my memory.

The only pattern I can accurately discern looks to be the City of Troy, something usually seen in turf mazes, and it’s annoying the hell out of me because I know there’s no chance of me ever having the same dream again and figuring out what all the other symbols are. It wouldn’t matter, but I can’t get the hazy impression of them out of my head.

*sigh*

Anyway, outside of the intangible realm of dreams, I’ve been moving house. Dear god have I been moving house. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but my mate Duncan has gone and got involved with mortgages and whatnot with his girlfriend, Helen and I shall be lodging with them for the foreseeable as a means to an end. I have somewhere to live that is nice and not populated with bastards; they get the extra income of a lodger and can therefore afford to own a house. This situation could be called ‘mutually beneficial’.

However, things are not currently going to plan. Consequently, the house isn’t quite liveable yet and we’re all staying at Helen’s house until, uh, the weekend I think. It’s fine, but I’ve lost interest in helping with the DIY and decorating and just want to have an early night, a late morning and spend a day doing nothing after my weekend was filled with cleaning our old, rented accommodation in order to get our deposit back, packing and moving my entire life to the new house, doing some more cleaning and then, to top it off, a load of DIY.

I’ve no idea how Duncan is feeling as he’s been up earlier and in bed later than me for a fortnight now, but I’m fucking knackered, I imagine he’s worse.

Sometimes there’s a benefit

Published
by
james
on October 12, 2007
in The everyday
. 0 Comments

I work in an office block, on the ninth floor, and usually the view out over the centre of Nottingham is your usual affair of rooftops, office blocks and countryside stretching away into the distance. To the North there is seemingly endless city, walled in the far distance by trees, or so it seems. To the South the view stretches out across the old flood plains as far as Wilford Hill and the distant ridge that marks the edge of the Trent basin. It makes for a pleasing vista on the few sunny days that we have here, I especially enjoy the view of the city centre from above, people scuttling about like ants, forgotten doors and windows, rooftops with secret gardens and all those hidden places never meant to be seen as you wander through the streets, they hold an illicit thrill for me – I know something you don’t know, I’ve seen something you haven’t seen.

Today, however, the view is magnificent. It’s misty and the sun, still low in the clearing sky, makes every building and tree look like a mysterious cut-out in a shadow play. It’s the sort of scene you should take in from a lonely hilltop in a French arthouse film about shoes.

Not that that’s very interesting, I just thought I’d share.

Crossing the line

Published
by
james
on October 11, 2007
in The everyday
. 0 Comments

Despite my near-constant grumbling I’m a definite proponent of the philosophy ‘to each, their own’ and, while this may not be readily apparent, I really don’t care if someone is straight, gay, black, white or rainbow coloured so long as they aren’t an irritating prick. I’m not saying that this isn’t equally judgemental, I suspect, for instance, that every man who wears those ridiculous skinny jeans and cultures the appearance of a heroin addict, is a wanker, but that, I feel, is fair enough.

So, while in excess of a million things irritate and rile me, I tend to leave people alone while they’re doing them because – well, to each, their own. I tend not to discriminate (arguably because I dislike almost everyone and every thing) and I very seldom wish anyone actual bodily harm. If someone wants to be a Neo-Nazi, fair enough, so long as they don’t go around beating people up or shouting abuse and keep it to themselves. They’ll get filed away with all the other idiots in the part of my memory reserved for listing those deserving of utter, utter contempt, obviously, but whatever, it’s their life and I can’t force them to stop being a prat.

Well, I could force them to stop being a prat, I could smash their head in with a rock and stop them from being anything, but I don’t, and I wouldn’t, because that would be wrong; even if it would make the world a nicer place and me, a touch happier.

However, this chap, a man who throws dogs in front of cars, probably doesn’t deserve any better than having his brains dashed across a paving slab. I realise this contradicts what I’ve said previously, live and let live and all that, but I think everyone has a limit on their tolerance. Mine cuts in around the point where people begin being needlessly violent or abusive and start having a detrimental effect on the rest of society. Cruelty to animals banishes any sense of reason to the furthest reaches of my mind and replaces it with a desire to inflict retribution.

“Oh yes, it’s hilarious to shoot cats with air rifles and stub out cigarettes on your dog. But lets see how you like it you fucker.”

Dunsinane

Published
by
james
on October 10, 2007
in The everyday
. 0 Comments

Yesterday’s rant reminded me of one of my favourite pieces of shakespeare, it’s from MacBeth and goes like this.

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Scene V, unless it isn’t. Top stuff.

Yah, yah. Business, yah.

Published
by
james
on October 9, 2007
in The everyday
. 3 Comments

It isn’t that I’m antisocial, it’s just that I’d quite like it if a lot of people weren’t near me and didn’t interact in even the most vicarious fashion. My moods and emotions, linked to the seasons as they are, have an intensity to them that those driven blind by staring at the sun can well appreciate. Deep down, beneath a crust of bitterness and cynicism so black light could not escape its pull, lies a warm gooey heart of tasty – uh, rice pudding. Man I love rice pudding.

Anyway, I’m a nice guy, I care about people. I’ve been known to empathise or even, on occasion, express sympathy. But woe betide anyone who misjudges, who cannot pick up on the subtle signals that, in their imperceptibility, inform the world that it should quietly back away and be somewhere else.

To whit, the man who had the temerity to exist at all when I was trying to have a nice quiet lunch and read my book. I’ve no idea what he was bellowing about at the top of his lungs, but in the sound and fury, signifying nothing, I divined the following.

Today, I’d like you to imagineer some enterprise solutions for our latest framework. We’re not looking for a paradigm shift but I’m hoping we can come up with enough leverage to enable our users to empower themselves rather than depending on us to kill me… Kill me. Kill me, kill me, kill me, I deserve death, one that is slow and painful, wracked with agony and shot through with a sense of my own worthlessness.

I was a man once, and lived halcyon days where life had value and merit, friends and family I had aplenty, I knew joy and love. Gone. All gone. Sacrificed for a tie with a knot that could tether an ocean liner, cufflinks chiselled from the finest tin slag and all the hummus and canapés my gaping maw could guzzle. I am a grim parody of a man, hung by his own ambition, empty like a mannequin’s skull.

Woe, woe and sorrow for my foolish choices. Would that I had studied a subject other than media studies and never uttered the smallest buzzword. I beg you, when next I say the word ‘proactive’, end me. Knock me down and crush my skull with the might of all my empty platitudes, put out my eyes with the shattered remnants of my laser pointer and choke me with my ludicrous tie. I repent, I repent!

I’m not going to claim that I’ve captured all that he said precisely, the above isn’t verbatim, but it is more or less what I heard, whatever it was he actually said.