The BBC news is irking me again.
I can't recall the exact wording used, because it was more than a minute ago, and I have a brain like a sieve...indeed, it is a plastic bowl with holes in it, and smells vaguely of vegetables.
I feel like I'm being a bit of a pedant, but I have heard the same thing twice in two days now. Something along the lines of "A seven-year-old boy's efforts to raise money for Haiti earthquake victims have been recognised by none other than the Prime Minister."
It's the "none other than" bit. I understand that it has come to emphasise the reverence of an individual, but look at what it actually says. We, particularly the English, have to remain aware of how idioms can effect the English language.
I'm betting the kid's parents recognised his efforts. Unless they are the Prime Minister, I'm guessing they are someone other than the Prime Minister.
I now recognise his efforts, and I'm definitely someone other than the Prime Minister.
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Connexxion buses - the story continues...with a twist.
I performed a drunken blog a few weeks ago which, while perhaps justifiable, was maybe a little visceral. I didn't feel it represented me fairly, and I maybe went a little too far implicating the Connexxion tea lady in the great price conspiracy. As such, I removed it.
I was protesting the unadvertised 71% price hike on my night bus route and had sworn to boycott Connexxion as a result. I held out for a few weeks, but the nature of monopoly is that the little people are eventually forced to fall into place. Having said that, I've never since been charged the hiked price, so...well, since it's convenient for me to forgive them their sins, we'll (I'll) call it a pot hole in the road, and continue onwards.
...for now.
Last night I boarded an unpricehiked (look it up, it is a word) Connexxion bus in the direction of Amstelveen and promptly slumbered off to a far away imaginary kingdom where I can do no wrong...except that one time, but hey! I was woken by the bus driver who was encouraging some other slumberist awake utilising the medium of decibels. He was enquiring as to the passenger's destination. "Uithoorn" was the response, at which point the driver noticed me and asked the same. Since the answer to that question seemed to be "Uithoorn" that's what my mouth said. So he drove on until my brain reminded my mouth that "Amstelveen" was the appropriate response. So, not for the first time in my career, I disembarked a perfectly good and warm and wholesome bus for the frigid wastes of fuckknowswhere. The driver suggested that I walk back to the hotel and catch the bus in the opposite direction, which was due in minutes. Promptly then, he took his tin of good, warm wholesomeness, and drove off into the dark leaving me with one unanswered and key question - Which hotel where? (Is that two questions?)
I wrapped my scarf, ninja stylee, donned my gloves, and put my best foot forward...in a direction. There was a town map at the next bus stop. I stood for a while wondering why town maps never seem to have the ubiquitous and infinitely useful "You are here" sign until I realised that they put that where you actually are, and not where you think you are. I wasn't where I thunk I were, and although my walk had garnered me valuable information, I had been walking in entirely the wrong direction. So I turned myself around, my collar up and put my second best foot forward. I walked through the blizzard to the Amstelveen hotel where I could catch my bus in the opposite direction. I searched my pockets for the bus ticket...and it could have been any one of about a hundred. Arse! Now even if I didn't have to wait 4 hours for the next bus, I was going to have to pay...or walk. Shudder.
A car passed slowly on the newly snowven road, and I glanced around, I guess just hoping that it would take pity on a drunken maroonee. It didn't, of course. I don't think people do that these days. My Granddad did, but that's anuvva story aultagevva.
It didn't, but the next one did! It did! People do this?!
It was the bus driver! On his way home in his car! He saw me and stopped. He picked me up and drove me home. Well...near as dammit. Not to my door, but still!
It was my fault I was in that predicament. He tried to help, but he was battling my inebriation. It had been bought and paid for, and it wasn't going to lose!
This guy is associated with Connexxion. He's a Connexxion bus driver. It doesn't get more connexxted than that, and a few weeks ago, this Samaritan would have been on my shit list.
Hereby I retract, maybe not everything I said, but certainly I'd like to absolve some genuinely nice individuals associated with Connexxion buses from my great price conspiracy implication.
To him and the other good ones, I'm sorry and thankful.
(Did you look it up? It's not a word.)
I was protesting the unadvertised 71% price hike on my night bus route and had sworn to boycott Connexxion as a result. I held out for a few weeks, but the nature of monopoly is that the little people are eventually forced to fall into place. Having said that, I've never since been charged the hiked price, so...well, since it's convenient for me to forgive them their sins, we'll (I'll) call it a pot hole in the road, and continue onwards.
...for now.
Last night I boarded an unpricehiked (look it up, it is a word) Connexxion bus in the direction of Amstelveen and promptly slumbered off to a far away imaginary kingdom where I can do no wrong...except that one time, but hey! I was woken by the bus driver who was encouraging some other slumberist awake utilising the medium of decibels. He was enquiring as to the passenger's destination. "Uithoorn" was the response, at which point the driver noticed me and asked the same. Since the answer to that question seemed to be "Uithoorn" that's what my mouth said. So he drove on until my brain reminded my mouth that "Amstelveen" was the appropriate response. So, not for the first time in my career, I disembarked a perfectly good and warm and wholesome bus for the frigid wastes of fuckknowswhere. The driver suggested that I walk back to the hotel and catch the bus in the opposite direction, which was due in minutes. Promptly then, he took his tin of good, warm wholesomeness, and drove off into the dark leaving me with one unanswered and key question - Which hotel where? (Is that two questions?)
I wrapped my scarf, ninja stylee, donned my gloves, and put my best foot forward...in a direction. There was a town map at the next bus stop. I stood for a while wondering why town maps never seem to have the ubiquitous and infinitely useful "You are here" sign until I realised that they put that where you actually are, and not where you think you are. I wasn't where I thunk I were, and although my walk had garnered me valuable information, I had been walking in entirely the wrong direction. So I turned myself around, my collar up and put my second best foot forward. I walked through the blizzard to the Amstelveen hotel where I could catch my bus in the opposite direction. I searched my pockets for the bus ticket...and it could have been any one of about a hundred. Arse! Now even if I didn't have to wait 4 hours for the next bus, I was going to have to pay...or walk. Shudder.
A car passed slowly on the newly snowven road, and I glanced around, I guess just hoping that it would take pity on a drunken maroonee. It didn't, of course. I don't think people do that these days. My Granddad did, but that's anuvva story aultagevva.
It didn't, but the next one did! It did! People do this?!
It was the bus driver! On his way home in his car! He saw me and stopped. He picked me up and drove me home. Well...near as dammit. Not to my door, but still!
It was my fault I was in that predicament. He tried to help, but he was battling my inebriation. It had been bought and paid for, and it wasn't going to lose!
This guy is associated with Connexxion. He's a Connexxion bus driver. It doesn't get more connexxted than that, and a few weeks ago, this Samaritan would have been on my shit list.
Hereby I retract, maybe not everything I said, but certainly I'd like to absolve some genuinely nice individuals associated with Connexxion buses from my great price conspiracy implication.
To him and the other good ones, I'm sorry and thankful.
(Did you look it up? It's not a word.)
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
...of microwave oven termination signals.
So I was sat in a small room listening to my microwave inform me with a number of beeps that its contents had finished warming. I know that it repeats this warning intermittently. I've sat in that room before, listening. Helpless.
I know that it eventually gives up. Its standard "I'm ready" signal is three monotone beeps. I now know that it repeats these every 40 or 45 seconds, because I just counted it and it came to 42. 'They're surely not going to choose 42 seconds as the repeat interval...it's just not human to do so. I'll come back to 'they' in a bit...it's pretty much 'they' that this is about. After a number of repeated "I'm ready"s - ten, I think, at a guess - it stops. When it stops, the last signal is not an "I'm ready" but a dismissive "Pfft" - a double beep. Now, for a series of beeps, this is very expressive. I actually feel like I've aggravated my microwave. I call it mine, but surely a microwave that can get aggravated is its own person...thing.
So in a factory somewhere - to be honest, I'm picturing Japan - a person or collection of persons ('they') decided the nature of the "I'm ready" signal, the interval between repetitions, the number of repetitions, and the final "Pfft" signal. They surely decided to make it expressive. I don't imagine that they meant to make me feel guilty, but the patience of the repetition and the shortness of the final "Pfft"...it's almost motherly.
"Fine...let it go cold then. You can do it yourself next time!"
So a 'they' or some 'thems' decided this. The microwave didn't. It was a human choice, unless they like...let a monkey roll some dice - I'm still, to be honest, picturing a Japanese fellow in a white coat handing dice to a monkey.
For clarification, the monkey also has a perfectly tailored ickle monkey white coat with ickle monkey biros in the breast pocket.
So I was thinking all this, sat in a small room, thinking how unusual it is that I go to a friend's house...or even an enemy's house...or a neutral house, for that matter...and see the same microwave oven there. There are loads of them. I'm guessing that the manufacturer of my microwave has a range of microwave ovens. I know that manufacturer is not the only manufacturer. I know I don't have only one friend, one enemy or one neutral person to visit. Start multiplying all that together and there are a veritable cornucopia of microwave ovens out there. I know from experience that some go "Ting!", some go "Beep!" and, well...I think it's probably just those in various patterns of repetition. Since I know they don't all beep three times, ten times in a row with a 40/42/45 second iteration period and with an exasperated two beep "Pfft" terminator, we can surely assume that the history of microwave ovens has been witness to myriad meetings of 'themses' deciding on the most expressive "I'm ready" combination. That's got to represent a vast amount of time in the history of human endeavour.
Consider that.
....then consider telephone ring tones.
I know that it eventually gives up. Its standard "I'm ready" signal is three monotone beeps. I now know that it repeats these every 40 or 45 seconds, because I just counted it and it came to 42. 'They're surely not going to choose 42 seconds as the repeat interval...it's just not human to do so. I'll come back to 'they' in a bit...it's pretty much 'they' that this is about. After a number of repeated "I'm ready"s - ten, I think, at a guess - it stops. When it stops, the last signal is not an "I'm ready" but a dismissive "Pfft" - a double beep. Now, for a series of beeps, this is very expressive. I actually feel like I've aggravated my microwave. I call it mine, but surely a microwave that can get aggravated is its own person...thing.
So in a factory somewhere - to be honest, I'm picturing Japan - a person or collection of persons ('they') decided the nature of the "I'm ready" signal, the interval between repetitions, the number of repetitions, and the final "Pfft" signal. They surely decided to make it expressive. I don't imagine that they meant to make me feel guilty, but the patience of the repetition and the shortness of the final "Pfft"...it's almost motherly.
"Fine...let it go cold then. You can do it yourself next time!"
So a 'they' or some 'thems' decided this. The microwave didn't. It was a human choice, unless they like...let a monkey roll some dice - I'm still, to be honest, picturing a Japanese fellow in a white coat handing dice to a monkey.
For clarification, the monkey also has a perfectly tailored ickle monkey white coat with ickle monkey biros in the breast pocket.
So I was thinking all this, sat in a small room, thinking how unusual it is that I go to a friend's house...or even an enemy's house...or a neutral house, for that matter...and see the same microwave oven there. There are loads of them. I'm guessing that the manufacturer of my microwave has a range of microwave ovens. I know that manufacturer is not the only manufacturer. I know I don't have only one friend, one enemy or one neutral person to visit. Start multiplying all that together and there are a veritable cornucopia of microwave ovens out there. I know from experience that some go "Ting!", some go "Beep!" and, well...I think it's probably just those in various patterns of repetition. Since I know they don't all beep three times, ten times in a row with a 40/42/45 second iteration period and with an exasperated two beep "Pfft" terminator, we can surely assume that the history of microwave ovens has been witness to myriad meetings of 'themses' deciding on the most expressive "I'm ready" combination. That's got to represent a vast amount of time in the history of human endeavour.
Consider that.
....then consider telephone ring tones.
Saturday, 2 January 2010
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