Trying out Daytum, the app that Nicholas Feltron created to allow you to track and visualise data. Wonder if I could incorporate it here.
Now to the CCA for something called Universal Everything, which is apparently a Cryptic Night. More here: http://is.gd/vVok
Splitting headache from all this trebly Britpop, going to put in some earplugs and listen to the deep bass of my heart beating.
I really like the idea of Spotify but usually I’m bereft of inspiration and end up listening to the mediocre Britpop albums of my youth.
Just when I thought I had overcome guilt, I am pressured into donating money for a fun run. Fortunately, the guy next to me set the bar low.
Desire to check email produces a small frown. But I won’t check, no, because I have things to do.
Wondering how many glasses an average brewery has and if they have the necessary nozzles to facilitate a ‘piss up’ using their barrels.
I am assailed (as we all are?) with embarrassing memories that make me shirk away from them in horror. Today I am going to confront them.
Working on a mega menu, which could be the answer the persistent problem of complex navigation systems. More here: http://is.gd/xqrm
Everything is grey and there is nothing to do but wrap up warm with a good book.
Cold flat, cooking quinoa and prawn stir fry, watching five news.
A new Casio F-91W watch, it seems more matte than than the last one, but perhaps that’s age. The experiment continues properly . . .
Truly exhausted now but don’t want to go home and fall asleep on the sofa because then I won’t be able to sleep at night.
Systole = Minimalism. Diastole = Maximalism. A mechanical biological process, you can’t have one without the other.
Veins like plump annelids . . . I had a dream last night in which I was an old man regretting that his blood flow had become sluggish. Hmmm.
The chime on this F-91W is def. broken now, no matter how much I whack it against the wall. Could upgrade to http://is.gd/xbWc . . . but …
Breathe in, be mindful, focus on one thing, untangle your headphone cables, experience flow, have lunch (houmous and bread).
Lot of guilt in the air: dress-down guilt, end of financial year guilt, procrastination guilt, umm, gilt-edged invitations.
“You look like I feel,” she said. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or offended. I look tired, incipient hayfever swells within. I smile.
Have a very warm stomach, burning with rotgut wine from the Arches and Jura from the Scotia. V.much enjoyed Discombobulate, but tired now.
Cold and windy outside, watching the news, pulling my scattered self together.
Quick plug: I urge you to buy the new New Escapologist, which features a manifesto by me on how to live with originality. http://is.gd/wXJ4
Working late and thus literally giving 103%. Not looking forward to cycling in rain, but am looking forward to Discombobulate.
A nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnightmare day, made worse by the ‘n’ on my keyboard losing all tacticle springiness. Well, at least it’s payday tomorrow.
Life is very simple: it’s just a number in a table in a spreadsheet in a computer in an office in a town in a country in planet earth.
Busy busy busy, no fun. Silly silly silly, no gun. Fizzy fizzy fizzy, gone flat.
There’s a good piece by Tom Hodgkinson in the New Statesman about the banality of technology – http://is.gd/wT2Y . Does we use it, or it us?
Looking forward to reading something from a new imprint called Zero Books who are publishing K-Punk and David Stubbs.
Looking for binary opposites and golden means that could define website types in the same way that Myers-Briggs defines personality types.
Beards. Glasses. Evacuation. Flickering light. Poor posture. Shiny buttons. These are a few of the the things that occupy my mindspace.
However worthless this pseudo-data entry work is, I am still embarrassingly satisfied by completing it.
Doing the equivalent of data entry but without the perks of free coffee. Soul destroying stuff.
She sighs. Tom Cruise groans. A client complains. My stomach rumbles. A car vrooms. My eyes can barely stay open.
Seagulls fly. Clouds drift. The river runs. Buildings blink their curtains. My heart beats languidly, I’m here thinking and doing nothing.
Yojimbo is good but full of bizarre characters, like a Carry On film.
Debating with the wife whether to start going to tango classes. A conversation inspired by my mad dance to Dylan.
White shirt, no tie, head feeling like I’ve been starved of oxygen for six minutes. Green mug, ipod, going home to watch Yojimbo.
I no longer feel woozy – surely the world’s fastest recovery from Swine Flu paranoia? – but don’t think I’ll make it to Octopush tonight.
Listening to the Frank Skinner podcast, which is often amusing. Shame he is comedically dragged down by his two flunkies.
Finishing writing a usability report. It tooklonger than I thought it would and has been rushed through, but I still think it’ll be useful.
Politics is not about trying to avoid upsetting people, it is creating a common enemy that distracts your followers from questioning you.
Grim, spitting rain in Shawfield. Fortunately I have some nice homemade bread and Meggs’ History of Graphic Design.
Slightly woozy, wondering if I have you-know-what. Obviously (?) I don’t, but it would be terrible if I did and I hadn’t microblogged it.
Can’t stop thinking about Tarkovsky’s Stalker, haunted by the aching horror of the Stalker when he sees the intellectuals can’t believe.
A well-ironed white shirt + A mug of Luk Yu’s excellent Iron Buddha tea – The usual distraction = All is well with the world.
I have a new addiction that gets me high: it’s called being decisive. It can be slightly annoying, but I love the thrill it gives me.
Watched Tarkovsky’s Stalker. It is a perfect film, a Taoist masterpiece. He is like an sf Bergman.
Enlightenment is when you stop worrying about not doing, not acting, and embrace nothing by not embracing anything, including nothing.
Fascinated by my colleage and his brother’s journey along the Great Wall of China: http://is.gd/wnbO
Nice long soak in a warm bath reading David King and Gabrielle Walker’s book about Global Warming. In short, we’re doomed unless we act now.
Tired, waiting for the bath to be free, my brain is so fried that I’m passing the time reading conspiracy theories.
It’s difficult to know what to do when you feel fragile like this: go back to bed, eat cereal, drink tea, mooch, slouch, salivate, shop, cry
Listening to old skool rave in a disordered study, looking for inspiration with a disordered mind.
Staying up far too late for me and have now turned on Osmosis Jones. Time for bed. Billy Connolly though.
They didn’t like Shooter, philistines! The kind of film you need to concentrate on, no chat over the top.
Watching Shooter with a reluctant Rob and Samara. Overcoming resistance.
In Ichiban with Laura, Samara, and Rob. Awkward about writing this.
There is no greater thrill than that of being alive in the presence of death. And that is why I’m going to Falkirk today.
Looking forward to going on the Falkirk Wheel, anything to prevent the RSI from cutting round butterflies in photoshop.
Woken up early by the nearby Hotel dragging pails of laundry to the back door. I’d be annoyed, but it was so bright that I had to get up.
It’s Friday night the weekend is ahead of me, which must mean that it is time to do the cleaning.
Providing a masterclass to my Basque wife in how to cook Patatas a la Riojana. Here’s a sample recipe: http://is.gd/vVlo
Cretins in the local leisure centre won’t allow me to wear a mask or snorkle because “it covers the nose”. What?!
Listening to someone whistling the theme tune to birds of a feather.
Writing up a usability report that has to be finished this evening. Definitely. Not Monday morning, no way . . . well, maybe. Oh go on.
Wondering if people will think it weird to swim lengths whilst wearing a face mask and goggles.
I fear that swine flu is going to turn us into a nation of obsessive compulsives. Everywhere I look I see germs – where are my fresh wipes?
About to do a weekly review. Hoping that it provides organizational sustenance for the week rather than just a day or two.
Wondering whether it is safe to go to Big in Falkirk tomorrow despite the fact that there has been a case of Swine Flu in the area.
Bit my tongue last night when a rough fellow bounded into me on the pitch. The pain goes down to my throat, hence some swine flu paranoia.
Blinds closed, soft reflection of bars on the windows, ikea lamp, four chairs, a desk, this laptop, and a late Sonia Delaunay print. And me.
My Casio F-91W has decided to stop beeping unless I give it a thwack against a wall. Debating whether to upgrade to a waterproof one.