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posted by tim caynes » Sunday August 30, 2009 » Permalink
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I was going to write some puntastic eulogy about working at Sun for a million years but all I can think about is a pen
I lost in the Sale office in 1993. Goodbye then.
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posted by tim caynes » Thursday August 13, 2009 » Permalink
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you see now 5 years ago I thought it would all be alright but it seems it isn't. if there was a sense that there was something to be optimistic about then it was entirely reasonable to be chirpy but 9 years of pointy stick avoidance makes jack a dull boy. its hot here, but then, you don't know where I am.
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posted by tim caynes » Friday April 03, 2009 » Permalink
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just when you think life is complete, you get what you wish for which was to captured half naked in a bedroom window wearing a viking helmet. well, not quite what you wished for but notwithstanding the attire I do have the dubious ecstatic 5 minute thrill of finding myself on street view. I mean, its not like I'm doing anything particularly interesting or am in a particularly interesting location or that I'm even throwing up on a pavement or something. no. I'm in my office. looking at the computer I'm looking at right now, hunched over like some neaderthal. and I suspect I'm actually looking at my house on street view just as the street view black opel passed by. I didn't even notice it. the viking helmet has finally gone back to the fancy dress shop. but I wasn't caught once. I was caught twice. in reality, the capture of me in my office is pretty unremarkable. you can walk past my house anytime monday to friday and see me there and take your own high resolution shot if you really want to. I'll put the helmet on if you ask in advance. that shot must have been taken in the morning, because I'm pretty sure I went out that afternoon to do a bit of, um, 'shopping'. honestly, after I'd had a look around the market and taken some pictures of some abandoned office blocks somewhere, I just happened to pop in to a shop that looked like it sold magazines and stuff. I thought I might pick up the evening news and check out some letters about war memorials and the number 21, but as it turned out, it sold rather different publications. honestly, I was just leaving.
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posted by tim caynes » Monday March 30, 2009 » Permalink
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I twittered a long time ago and then last year decided that I don't and while I'm at it I don't do those other things that make me sociable even though I spend all day in an office on my own mumbling about cheese and poking widgets with little pointy cocktail sticks and so had a very nice old-school 8 months of my life when I didn't give a weasel's chaf what coffee you made this morning and just did some work and sat in an office on my own mumbling about widgets and poking cheese with little pointy cocktail sticks. having de-invested and de-invented and then got right narked off with myself I took a little poke around the fringes of the social one-hand-claposphere to see whether anything had evolved from the ephemeral cup-a-soup and lo, it took about 7 minutes to re-register my entire bloody life away. the last twit I had anything to do with was a bloke pavement cycling into my bush but now there's so much twit and can't keep up with what was just twat. simiarly, the last time my face was in a book it was about daguerreotyping but now I'm spending a fruitless and irrelevant half an hour trying to guess more cars that my dad owned than someone in berkshire that I've never met. if that's not bad enough, I'm wasting valuable disk space, apparently, by even thinking about writing about it the useless dullard that I am. who'd have thought. I have 17 friends in common.
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posted by tim caynes » Tuesday March 24, 2009 » Permalink
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on a evening full of strangeness I headed out to the Least Charitable Room in the Zafira and as there were some Mongolian nose flutes or something playing on Future Radio, I gave Zane Lowe a twiddle for the 5 minute drive, only to find that Mr Docherty was croaking all hopeful about Libertines reunions and playing in Norwich tonight, which, I thought, is where he should be right now which he probably was but nonetheless it was the first of many strange occurrences that would take place during the course of the evening. I'd failed in a number of previous attempts to pin down Sir Docherty, from the being a bit drunk on stage and having lots of fights period, through the being a bit out of it on stage and having lots of fights period, and the not being on stage at all when he should have been and he was having a fight somewhere else period, but since Mr Douchery has determined that he is now reincarnate as the thing he first thought of in 6th form, then its from that point we might evaluate tonight's performance. in Grace/Wastelands, he's made a record that meets that 6th form objective very neatly, so we should all give him the chance to show us his art in the way he would like us to experience it, before he degenerates much further and crosses that very thin line he treads between Peter Docherty and Shane McGowan.
when you turn up to a venue the size of the Lethergic Clapping Room you might expect to see a couple of 18-wheelers with enormous cables hanging out of them, full of upside-down crates with something like 'bloc party' stencilled, banksy-like, on the side and in your mind you're already visualising a show of such epic grandieur that you suddenly need to go to the toilet. so when you actually trip round some dug-up concrete fountain in the misty half-light and catch sight of a transit van with something like 'a1 rentals' stencilled on the side with a couple of coat hangers where the aerial should be, you're not quite filled with that same sense of awe. still, it is a solo acoustic show, for that is what it do say on the listings, so maybe in fact a transit van is overkill. notwithstanding this mental setback, I'm making way through the doors expecting that the room will be the living embodiment of a facebook page dedicated to underage girls who think kilimangiro is that hill what that Cheryl Cole sicked up on. I'm a bit disappointed when in actual fact the rather less than full room is more of a homburg and cardigan festival, although there does seem to be a healthy contingent of scary stoners, so there might be a good fight later, if nothing else. it does occur to me that there is something inherently wrong about 17 year olds dressed as Tony Hancock. strangely, the house lights are already down between supporting acts, which is either because it hides the empty spaces quite nicely, or because it really is too distressing to see what everybody looks like when you're standing next to each other in a place like this, for which I'm rather grateful. and so is everybody else, probably. a cursory glance around at tonight's hardware shop reaveals a curious demographic. not for this crowd the trusty motorola, nokia or sony ericsson. not even the jesus phone. no, tonight Matthew, we're Jill Furmanovsky. look, we've all got our digital SLR cameras. look, there's a canon 450. there's a d50. don't you people just come and watch any more?
once I've been to the bar and wandered around a bit, of the overheard conversations around me, the most discernable was that of a couple looking wistfully at the door, bemoaning that fact that, apparently, he doesn't come on until 9:15. which is, like, ages away. mostly the other conversations went something like 'OI OI! PEEETAH! CAAHM ON SAAHN!' and were accompanied by much large bloke posturing which was good natured in a fearing for your safety kind of way. in fact, as 9 o'clock approached, there was a strange violent tension building and at 8:52, we applaud the first beer lob. I suspect it won't be the last. as another expensive camera that my dad got me fires off another flash bulb at the back of another person's head, there's a flurry of excitement and the sound of one hand clapping. there he is. hang on, no he isn't. who's that then? I don't know. I think they're his mates or something.
I tell myself that if I was at the arts centre on a thursday evening watching these three perform their alt.country.uk.banjo licks then I might quite like it, but I'm not, and I don't. the couple stood directly in front of me start extracting each other's teeth with their tongues and that annoying thing happens when you suddenly become a thoroughfare with an invisible drink in your hand. I think the last time I saw a banjo at the Lacklustre Country Room was at Gogol Bordello, but now, people are wondering if they've somehow stumbled into a fairy tent at the cambridge folk festival, but one full of agitated boors. by song 8 we've stopped pretending to clap. not even a spirited rendition of teardrop can disguise the fact that we'd quite like them to leave. so they do.
in another strange but subtle shift of mood, people are suddenly taking photos of themselves with their best gurning faces and there's even a jovial half-baked slow hand clap being passed around like left-over celery. another overheard conversation goes something like 'trouble is, first day of tour, been in Norwich all day, gets back here, nothing to do, jacks up and gets out of it', which is plainly totally inaccurate. there's plenty to do here. we're starting to think the whole evening might be another no-show and the agitation creeps back in, making a fight seem the most likely significant occurrrence in the next few minutes, which might at least be midly entertaining in an I couldn't possibly condone it kind of way. but then, just as you're looking at the football scores on your phone, there he is.
Mr Doubtfire ambles on stage looking just like he's already played for an hour in another room in some parallel universe next door and there's nothing short of rapture as he launches straight into some song or other. the collective shrieky OMGOMG is almost palpable and overwhelms you for a few seconds, and in that short ecstatic period I'm led to think that right now he is a most curious mix of Bob Dylan and Rodney Bewes. after just a couple of craftily selected singalongs from the back catalogue there's really no stopping him. anyone who had turned up having listed to Grace/Wastelands on repeat on Napster expecting him to be sitting Val Doonican style on a bar stool and just running through the new tracks really wasted an afternoon. not that I did that. there's a healthy plundering of all that was and is great about the Libertines, Babyshambles and the erstwhile Peter himself, threaded randomly and with apprent ease throughout the set, for which everyone is spectacularly grateful. the performance effortlessly captivates what might as well be some north London bedroom packed with 1000 mates from down the pub, but there's a nagging feeling that you're witnessing the last and brightest of a light that will surely, sometime soon, go out. at one point during a sprited rendition of something or other, it feels eerily like being at Woodstock.
and then we get a bit bored. just like that. even our Peter looks somehow suddenly unclear as to what is actually going on. and he's halfway through it. 'you better be liking this' he tells us, as if to remind us that actually, he's baring his soul, thank you. so he throws himsef with much gusto into Kilimangiro and, for good measure, gives us Don't Look Back into the Sun, after which there's really no reason to doubt that to the people who paid to be here, he is actually the way, the truth and the light. at least, he's done enough of this to know what makes a great show. the stoners go ape-like mental. there's a fully-whipped frenzy. so Peter sits down for a bit. on the Val Doonican bar stool. but let this not sound the alarm bells of whimsy. he gets up again and gives us a splendid ham-fisted version of the Specials' Gangsters. all together now. a fat drunk bloke looks at his watch and then looks at me. oh dear. not drunk. funny how people can take a dislike to you just for being taller than they are.
not even the appearance on stage of guests-that-aren't-graham-coxon and a banjo reprise can detract from the delightful shenanigans that continued for the next hour or so. as we reached, passed, and waved our private parts in the face of the decibel meter hour, there seemed no end to the spontaneous outpourings of Pete and even though there were more false endings than the 17th series of Lost we mostly stuck with it, even though some people really had to get their last bus, like, you know, even though he was doing that song about Kate Moss what I do love. by the strange anticlimactic conclusion to the performance, he really didn't care what was going on and were it not for the fact that he would have probably collapsed, would, I'm sure, have continued into the small hours, as if it were some kind of lock-in.
it was a glorious shambles.
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posted by tim caynes » Thursday February 19, 2009 » Permalink
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I wouldn't expect to levitate over a teacake but inbound your slide this way and if I untangle the subtabs from the weasel trench I might just be able to blog the 19 minutes you have remaining with a random browse prolapse executing a triple link manifest when I don't even understand the cross-marketing opportunity of fish and chips.
I don't even know where you are even though I see you sliding down a mountain with high brow cleft lip tab manifold as the calendar of doom blarts anachronisms at the trenchant featureless blip of orange footwells. lest you imagine there is a point to it and that I've just popped over the parapet only to find that my hat was so last year I remember a time where hair was obligatory and feet were under the table but we all had fun partying like it was 1999 which it was then and really it wasn't. if I may, I'll go back to the start. the way it is now is all crooked and that spot on my nose doesn't have an appropriate sample target and it's all square today even though it wasn't even yesterday.
you're not listening are you.
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posted by tim caynes » Friday January 23, 2009 » Permalink
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in 2000ish somebody stole a plastic cd wallet off my desk at work in the watchmoor park mark 2 office on the 1st floor which I blamed on the cleaners but could have anybody inside which were about 8 cds which I never replaced and I mainly can't remember what they were expect for 2. first of those was ok computer and even though I played that fairly regularly at the time I haven't owned it or played it since yes that's over 8 years without ok computer what am I thinking but oh travesty I last month bought it again when it was available for 3 quid on mp3 download from amazon which means I now own it again but of course I can't spend hours in the dark with a torch looking at the cover notes pontificating on the meaning of the meandering scribbles of thom yorke which in the end only really mean hahahahahahaha I'm a twitchy artist but I did get karma police on shuffle on my walkman as I made myself a nice cup of coffee this morning before I get down to some specifications and I was of course drearily signing along to myself alone in the house wandering around like a loon when it occurred to me that you don't really need a great imagination to work out everything about me by making rash generalisations about what you might already have gathered about me then working backwards so I'll save you the bother not that you were by spelling out just how normal I am and how much you could just guess by the fact that I'm even writing this with my headphones on in my home office in the south-east of england actually east anglia but you don't know where that is.
41 designer IT online blog twitter radiohead photography middle-class mortgage 4 bedrooms 3 children 2 holidays 1 car not fit not unfit thinning busy weekends not much telly jeans home office timezones google music gigs direct debits domain school run graphics card art middle age tescos waitrose uncertain fleece laptop desktop self assessment 1980s smug english lazy should go out more like a pig in a cage on antibiotics etc.
the other one was faith hill. oops
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posted by tim caynes » Wednesday January 21, 2009 » Permalink
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why's there a line through that week when it only starts on monday and goes through to thursday really am I to expect that another collective wik will be dumped on the unsuspecting lead roofs of midland ferries while I trundle a 3-wheeled embarrassment of a slide projector into the calamity of 101 and mumble something about tractors on the 140 before you can say text variable widget parameter and I've generated a lonesome withering dolt of an oaf that dribbles back and forth across the very fabric of time until I lurch to a halt by the newsagent and get funnelled into the paygate like I'm expected to sit with a monkey for the next 4 hours, whooping about his virtual desktop. if they paid you to do it you'd never be as good as you are but there'll always be someone for whom the bell that tolls of trolls will never be loud enough.
nefarious market voles might take umbrage at the continual misery of 10 o'clock tolling whence the straight fringe of white city pouts the graphs of apocalypse while my grapes get warm in the hands of a clot but since when a darkness befell the lcd of hades and twas finally secured the relief of the fallen-headed doubter of the endless journey that the miracle of beginning came upon the limp fetid balloon of the first phase of part 2. it'll not be finished by then, marking my words with a pencil. but you never said we would get to the end only that we'd get past the beginning which is where I plan to have been. enough said about the labours of wordsmiths and the interactions of the half-willed suffice to say I'll have a 17 plus please mate and where's he gone now I need to get this flaming thing done today.
you can't get the staff.
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posted by tim caynes » Monday January 19, 2009 » Permalink
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not for us right now the inconsequential away message that I couldn't be bothered to edit don't know how anyway lots away right now must be a public holiday but there is a nice collection of retorts in my buddy list not buddies of course but people I work with and have often never met suffice to say today we have 'in the hot tub' and 'writing book' as the pick of the crowd amongst the desks and computers that variously people are choosing to be away from nevertheless I shall of course attempt to take it to at least floor D by way of my occasionals and forthwith will not be able to respond to your salacious query regarding my availability other than to inform you that I'm tripping over a sponge.
you'll need at least to get away for one of those days lest the creeping inertia drags you to the john bonham underworld where a 15 year old from Penge will mash your credentials into a handbag of doom and wrest the navigation from your grasp such that even match of the day on iplayer won't rescue your miserable soul scraping as it is along the pavement of trolls where your knuckles should be. its not as if anyone is really there anyway. I, for one, am in a steam bath in harrogate getting my legs bent backwards by an inclement wisp of a boy while michael hestletine bewitches a whoop of struts with his never-ending stories of the curious other world outside your own. and I won't even twit it. finishing with a rousing triple full stop belying some assumed continuation, I'm away with the project fairies for another dose of hours...
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posted by tim caynes » Tuesday January 06, 2009 » Permalink
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I mean I had forgotten its january until neal reminded me but then if you spend 17 hours in a box with a tripod and a dial-in then there's every chance you'll wake up in doctor who like a martin clunes cabbage head and be expected to strategize your way out of a cardboard wiki. there's been many times when you could have so easily have just slipped out to the decking and given your last crisps to the dalliance in the video conference room but as the cat strings of vicarious premiums get dragged across the floor of fire exit tunnels you creep ever closer to being the last bounty in the box. if there's only one flavour it means I don't like it. not like ski yogurts used to be in those little milk churns or your first plate of spaghetti but the consuming arpeggi of doubt that cankers over the frozen ocean and nibbles the life from your broadbanded life support system without that you really don't exist and its full of antelopes of horses in here. can't even uncrack the box tops whence I'd supplant nature with a feeble incantation of weekly meetings designed specifically to undermine the public confidence. when you hit the bottom you'll have a penchant for autobiography but naturally it will be cack-handed diatribes fit for soup but hold fast on that idea if only as a illustration of the possibilities after the death of it all. you're nearly as old now as I will be at the end. but I'll have a spreadsheet with my actions in yellow whereas yours are all overdue in red. I might even yank it back on topic but I've seen worse things happen in the seafood aisle.
don't want to be afraid but when its so far away you poke the embers of winter and you've only got february to look forward to. you'll need 60 days before that happens and you nearly had it there. look in the box.
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posted by tim caynes » Monday January 05, 2009 » Permalink
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in 1984 I was asleep on the hard cold shoulder of the M25 while a man from the AA was jacking up the 2CV that had finished the ether it was running on and I never even woke up so its a good thing I wasn't actually the driver but needless to say many things have passed in a blur since. hows things. back to normal. haha, whatever back to normal is. oh, yes, haha. nice break? JUST ASK WHAT YOU WANT TO ASK. sorry? no, I'm sorry.
sometimes little gems turn up form inside your own planet and one such did save me many hours during the last days of december but really it wasn't very productive anyway its just that it was less productive quicker so I as able to be much more inefficient without even trying just waiting for the paid version to show up whereupon I'll unleash my fiendish help requests upon the support forum to a deafening silence much like the one I hear right now on the other end of this phone.
if you ever get the urge to download a human league album then don't resist I did and now my tumble dryer's lost its grommet just as we're all at level 5 still at least we're all still here I forgot that its january already locked in the box like what I am. I can't decide whether to re-invent everything. it's tuesday tomorrow. ruby!
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posted by tim caynes » Friday January 02, 2009 » Permalink
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with a free day to yourself and adobe indesign twitching away in the corner you know you should really get to the UI specifications that have been bouncing around like the donkey in shrek trying to get your attention but then you've got that whole wiki organization thing to do and you did spend a while on that lovely flow diagram you made for it so how about just getting to grips with those atlassian confluence templates or wait there's that whole documentation thing you've got planned out there in the pile of paper you're trying to push towards the edge of your desk I mean you said you'd do that in september and that was like a whole different year now right?
better get a cup of tea and one of the christmas biscuits and sit down for a while. look at your desk. there must be a good hour's worth of tidying to do there. and you haven't hoovered in here for over a month. you know, actually, that cupboard could do with a bit of arranging I'm sure I could make better use of that space and <SLAP>.
ah. alright. can I just read my email first? I don't think there's an thing really important but <SLAP>.
ooh. right. the UI spec thing? now?
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posted by tim caynes » Wednesday December 31, 2008 » Permalink
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ooh. I was just thinking yesterday as I downloaded about 4 mp3 albums from amazon in the uk for 3 quid a piece that it probably wouldn't last. I didn't buy everything I wanted and frankly I bought a few things I wouldn't have bought at 7.99 or 8.99 but when they are so ridiculously cheap and are 320 kbps and are DRM-free then there really isn't any reason not to. so I thought I'd get some more. I'd had second thoughts about the glasvegas album even though I'd been listening to it on napster but I thought I really couldn't pass up the 3 quid loss-leader and so I headed back to amazon this morning to shovel a few more bargain-bucketfuls of coinageable purchases only to find that they had as was inevitable raised the prices on everything that wasn't glen campbell or pendulum both of which I got anyway. I mean, they might have only increased some things by a pound or maybe 2 but in some cases they'd really exposed their primary loss-leaders such as the rihanna album which jumped from 3 quid to 7.30 overnight. I guess they're pretty confident they can recoup large wads of cash on that one. maybe not so much on the simply red greatest hits which was rightfully stuck at 3 pounds which is in fact 3 pounds too much and does not really qualify for loss-leader status as they should be paying you to take it away and throw it in a virtual skip.
some things never really got the loss-leader treatment, of course. if you didn't already have the duffy album, you weren't about to get that cheap. or the coldplay album. or, um, the ocean colour scene album. not sure about that one. I did manage to pick a couple of things of my christmas wishlist at the 3 pound price tag, but, curiously, the 4:13 dream album by the cure remained steadfastly at a think twice price. and amazon don't even have the late of the pier album so I snuck over to 7 digital for that one and the fabulous m83 saturdays = youth album at a knock-down price.
all-in-all if you were stuck for something to do between christmas and new year and happened to be sat at your computer, there were some fine savings to be had but they're mostly gone now and mp3 downloads will undoubtedly match or approach regular cd prices on amazon from now on so there'll be less chance of that girls aloud album finding its way into my library. well, the next one, anyway.
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posted by tim caynes » Thursday December 18, 2008 » Permalink
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moved analytics from one account to another meaning I just reset the counters but that's not all bad is it I mean when they're all flatlined where's the harm I see that urchin come up in the world got all fancy and lardy I might just take you up on that offer looks I even got the ads right so it's about time dave wheeled out the biscuits and we had a little chat about aggregation.
it sticks in your throat though no I mean it does stick in your throat. literally. never mind the bullets and graphs its all about my retirement so lets start now with the clickstreams and targets what's that I don't know but you're in marketing I was I thought it would be as simple as just giving myself access but it seems I'm rather more clueless than I thought still hey what's a midsized trench pedant cavorting with a beany stick anyway there's more at stake than a cold snap.
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posted by tim caynes » Tuesday December 16, 2008 » Permalink
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what's all this bernie ecclescake and max moselyshoals nonsense about I thought planks of wood and sports day debacles were the pinnacle of duh but we're facing the prospect of all drivers having to buy their engines from argos for less than 17 quid and are not allowed to go to the toilet before a race or something. I'm sure I used to watch ayrton senna blasting round estoril with james hunt and murray walker falling over their own hyperbolics while I got through 20 marlboro and 12 packets of monster munch and I actually quite enjoyed it but now it seems that I have as much fun tuning into (or, god forbid, turning up to) a formula bun fight as I do getting the longest queue in tescos and getting out first. really. is there anything less exciting to do with a sunday afternoon than watch 23 year old billionaires practice their drive to the golf club yes I know its still actually dangerous and its actually still highly skilled and its actually a feat of human endurance and its actually a technological miracle but then so is trying to keep up with blog posting. and I can't really tell which is less interesting.
the problem is they are equally compelling for a reason I can't quite fathom and more or less constitute a waste of a couple hours of your life when you really should have been doing something more effective instead like a user interaction specification or clearing leaves from the garden but in the end you just quietly slip back to them like some horrible dark secret in the cupboard from a stephen king novel. which is why I'm writing this. about that. you see?
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posted by tim caynes » Friday December 12, 2008 » Permalink
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no. I don't get it. I went on the network administration course and everything but I still can't map one domain to another with all that A and CNAME stuff. I can't even understand the help I read when I'm looking for help that I can't even find because I don't even know how to ask for it. well, that's not strictly true. I can at least type "DNS CNAME map domain not redirect or forward my head hurts" into google and trawl through a million self-proclaimed experts with hello world paint shop pro banners who will proceed to enlighten me in such a way that they obviously understand what they're talking about themselves but I still have no idea even after reading it a few time and mentally underlining the bits that look relevant so I can come back to them when I understand a bit more which I never do so it's pointless. I do know now that if you've been in a marketing organization longer than you've been in a service organization you are officially too stupid to work things out for yourself anymore and the preferred method is to ask somebody who does know what they're doing how much it will cost if they do it for you at which point they see from the way you've written and signed your email that you're in marketing and so it'll immediately cost double the number they first thought of. which, in this case, means I should have just got the domain through the service that can configure the DNS for me for free instead of buying it from my regular domain broker and then trying to use a control panel from 1994 to tweak IPs and stuff. and then waiting for a day to see that you're in no better state than you were yesterday and you don't have any idea why not. its a bit like playing mastermind with someone but walking between each other's houses 15 miles apart between each move to see if you've learned anything.
don't offer to help. I like the pain.
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posted by tim caynes » Thursday December 11, 2008 » Permalink
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let me just talk over you for a moment you're not understanding what I'm saying there's a time and a place for that placation but blow down a melon if that's not right here now today we need to blart quite clearly lest we're tripping over the outstretched tongues of tousled falcons with mouse trap retorts. it's good that you've dropped to your knees and prostrate your miserable little pencil at the bison farm but what I need right here right now today is actionable clap magnets for genies. there's no other way.
yesterday you thought it was a good idea to slip an organic pastureful of careening witch cattle unto the storage boxes. you'll regret that later.
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posted by tim caynes » Wednesday December 10, 2008 » Permalink
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look at that. its a minor miracle that I'm not bothered by rampaging elephant bots trampling my fingers into the keyboard of phish where the dropped mangle of pirate bay galapagos mouse traps wait for silver surfing junglists to bomb out on the mysterious marketplace. it is confusing that you looked for that there but it came from there at twice the price where its all in the same place and look its even got the same name on it but its not the same is it know that so do you but she doesn't I admit that's confusing oh yes but you learn from that don't you? man, those boots are 1981.
building a little wall with the effervescent support of the redmond auto plug whence I've loaded every application know to man and logged in via vpn to be told that if you really want to update the last 47 bits in the remote pinball wizard manager then everything must change and now its your fault you asked us to do this it doesn't matter that its not related to anything I can't change a light bulb without going out the front door and coming back in again that's just the way it is look at my big pointy stick I'll poke you with it every minute. in the eye.
is there anything more annoying that getting a crackle in your socket the day after warranty? I don't think so.
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posted by tim caynes » Saturday December 06, 2008 » Permalink
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crashing ungainly into the enemy were it but a slip of the brittle then we'd never have another country. sat brooding when you didn't ask the question you mention but recount a day when there was too much to say between the fingers of concensus to crash on the beach like a soon to be exploded whale you can't walk around it you can't get inside it you can't grok it so here's what we'll do I've changed the label nobody will notice. oh.
just past twitchy you succumb to a numb vacant stare into which a folded envelope creeps, winking vegetables. there's just not enough time in the day is there? apparently not see you later if you want to yes I will. I did html. it had macros in it. I took it back and the man said because I'd got it from a book I was ineligible. it took me so long to spell it that he slipped out the back and slapped a fish with the evening news.
hammers
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posted by tim caynes » Wednesday September 03, 2008 » Permalink
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bored
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