Search This Blog

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

For No Mere Mortal Can Resist The Evil of The Thriller

In honour of the forthcoming holiest of holy nights, I list my favourite scares:

3 'Twas a dark, misty autumn evening. The year: 2006 Anno Domini. I was quitting the Engineering building in UCD, and a lab partner of old catches mine eye. I sped towards her, bellowing "Boooooo!", my arms aflailing. She jumped mightily high and raised her hands to ward off this man cloaked in night. When she came to her senses, she called me bad names and hit me about the arms.

[Shortly after we parted ways, she banged on the windows of a car, in which her boyfriend reposed, oblivious to her approach. The dastardly act elicited a satisfying shock from him. The next day, she excitedly told me about the incident; A convert.]

2 One would think there is nothing to fear in the stark light of day. Wrong.

'Twas a chilly afternoon. I was strolling along the mall in UCD, when I spied friends in the distance. Without a thought to how stupid it looked, I hid behind a pillar of the shelter stretched from restaurant to library. When I heard their approach, I jumped in front of them bellowing "Boooooo!". Anne Marie was so startled she shrieked, and hopped backwards, not once, but twice! Oh, how I laughed and fell about the place [sighs and looks to the middle distance watery-eyed]. The rest certainly enjoyed the experience, but Anne-Marie cast aspersions on my mother and the circumstances of my birth.

1 Granted, scaring Anne-Marie had many qualities of a good scare [A shriek, public area, hiding and spontaneous], but scaring an acquaintance rarely, if ever, matches giving a family member a fright...

My brother Eimhin and I had our rooms in a part of the house separate to Cillian, Diorraing and our parents. I needed T.P. for my ensuite so I went down to the other side of the house to procure some.

'Twas late at night, nary a mouse was stirring. I stole my way through the house like, like... something scary. I crept up the stairs, raised my fist to the bathroom door, and stopped. I could hear the distinct noises of Cillian brushing his teeth. I took stock of my surroundings... the lights were off in the landing and everyone else was asleep; it was unlikely Cillian would be expecting someone to be waiting on the otherside of the door. I rubbed my hands malevolently,a cunning plan came to mind.A

I did not have much time. He was finished brushing his teeth and spitting.
I opted for the silent method. He had turned on the tap and was rinsing his mouth.
Standing in front of the door, I raised my hands, fingers curled and contorted my face into a grimace, and froze. He opened the door.
I could see his shoulder. He turned back to switch off the light.
I saw his eyes spring wide in shock. He leaped backwards.
I laughed. He threw a punch at my face.

Luckily he had jumped backwards and our protagonistB [i.e. me] was just out of range. Curses and body punches followed shortly, my laughter was unabated. The curses woke-up our mother, and she asked,"What the f*ck is going on out there?!" Cillian replied,"Mairtin scared me!" Her final words on the matter were: "Shut the f*ck up and go to bed!"

As I write down this august portion of my memoir, other scares come to mind, but my top three still stand. If it is called for, my defense for scaring people is that it is lots and lots of fun. It is my advice that someone should take a moment in their day to give a friend a fright.

AI don't recall rubbing my hands in this manner, but if there was ever a moment for it to do so, that was it.
BI am willing to concede that the phrase "our hero" would be somewhat off the mark...

Wednesday, 22 October 2008

Brevity is the soul of wit, isn't it?

I stumbled upon Neil Gaiman's website this evening.

Specifically, the short story: I Cthulu: or What's A Tentacle-Faced Thing Like Me Doing In A Sunken City Like This (Latitude 47° 9' S, Longitude 126° 43' W)?

Neil [is it OK to call you Neil, Mr Gaiman?] wrote Stardust, a recent movie release, American Gods and a few other novels. Wonderful reads, well composed hilarious, poignant and witty things.

He has a some anthologies, Smoke and Mirrors is my favourite [because of the ineffable quality of We Can Get Them For You Wholesale, Murder Myesteries and Nicholas Was...], Fragile Things is great too.

I usually prefer short stories to novels; the writer can give the story both barrels of the "imagery gun", unlikely to fatigue the reader. If a novel is treated so, one is [read: "I am"] left too addled to digest what was read.

My best example: Grapes of Wrath.# The novel reminded me of+ a huge, rich, cream-laden black forest gateaux, either eat it in one go or not at all... I chose the latter. [Ducks head in anticipation of attacks from literati]. But short stories? Ha! Do. Your. Worst.

I wonder... Is my limited capacity for absorbing intricately detailed works of literature rooted in being part of a world where "instant gratification takes too long" [Carrie Fisher]? Sure, I easily read novels with soft-core prose, but I give a website scant sentences to win me over.*

Tragic. Doubly so, since the aforementioned "tragic" rings hollow. Tut. Tut. Tut. Feigning despair at my cultural decadence... Huh, still no reaction. It is too late for me. Quick! Go read a classic piece of literature. And enjoy it.

#No arguing, Steinbeck deserves every literary accolade he garnered and may be awarded posthumously
+[I abandoned the following analogy, don't know why] a 1m3 steel cube covered in μm scale etchings on its surface; a work of patient mastery, but my appreciation suffers from the law of diminishing returns. It becomes less leisurely , more a pilgrimage-like
*Anyone who read this far is eligible to collect a sweet from me, the next time they are in University College Dublin :)

Tuesday, 21 October 2008

It's f*ckin' Alive!!

In the past few weeks much time has been spent with the PC project... going nowhere.

On Sunday, all that changed [Cue heavy atmospherics]. Got a 32bit XP disk ,installed it over the failed 64bit XP. Bye-bye half-assed install with the incorrect product key attached to it. [Damn tech shafted me].

So XP was bright and shiney and I figured I'd install the X64 over that. Put in the appropriate disc... Nothing happened. Well that is not accurate, XP 32bit booted up. I figured, "meh,I'll do it tomorrow."

Since then, I have decided XP is not needed. I set the BIOS in AHCI mode [XP will not boot without a F6 install to add the driver], kubuntu was ready in shortly after. One hiccup: the ethernet card is not recognised. But in a week's time the next version of Ubuntu coming out all will be well.
============================================================================

Recently, I overheard two guys:
Guy1:"Blah, blah, blah [I have lots of time, you are in a hurry]. You f*ck on ahead to the house"

"F*ck on ahead"... I would like to say that I am outraged, but I am more amazed. Casual replacement of a verb with a curse word. Not used in a heated moment, but with as much inflection as "go".

It reminded me of a date I was on with an American girl, where I f-ed and blinded my way through part of our conversation. I was apologetic when she pointed this out, but she said it did not sound like cursing.

People like to talk about how gifted the Irish are in poetry and prose, it is often neglected to mention how much we enjoy using taboo words mundanely.

Thursday, 16 October 2008

Sweet dreams are made of these...

Last night I had a cinematic dream. So to avoid forgetting it completely, I am going to commit it to record...
====================================================================
The dream was all about The Terminator the Sarah Connor Chronicles (I probably had it because there was no episode this week).

The gang [sans Cameron] are on the run from an established Skynet's army, and are briefly holed-up in a militia base. But shock and horror, an AI Fiend, with wave after wave of terminators in tow, tracks them down. Things were looking bad, so John Connor's mother makes a dramatic last stand, while he and his uncle escape.
[Scene missing]
Years go by and JC has set up a utopian society. The mother turns up, apparently escaping death at the hands of the AI Fiend. There are some cliché tear filled reunions, whoops of joy, etc. But that does not last for long...
By killing a minor character, Sarah Connor shows herself to be a terminator all skinned up, bent on killing JC & Co. The uncle tries to destroy the Sarah Connor-bot (SCb) with a badass laser bazooka. In that frustrating way that fast and tough-as-nails evil robots do things, SCb dodges the puny human's shots and smashes the bazooka. Getting ready to tear Mr. Reese to pieces, Cameron finally shows up, beats the crap out of SCb and dismantles her lickity-split.

Then I woke up.

...Talk about Deus Ex Machina, my subconscious is such a hack :(
====================================================================
It is worth noting that this is not a fan fiction- it occurs to me the similarities between this and such a deplorable writing genre are shocking- because it was a dream, not something I came up with by design. Despite my clarification, I feel a bit unclean having written the above paragraphs.
====================================================================
A fun dream to have, no doubt, but not my favourite one.
At number 2 [that voice used in countdowns]:

I teamed up with a recently one-armed Crocodile Dundee, Don Cheadle [as himself] and the Rock made a rag-tag team to get the missing "x" from my material balance in an Aztec temple. Lesley Nielsen and a gang of cockney thugs are the villains doggedly thwarting us, in a bumbling and amusing fashion.

At number 1:

Armed with nothing more than a katana, I stormed a flying fortress manned by an army of ninjas. Words fail to describe its awesomeness. [It reminds me a lot of the xkcd strip starring Janeane Garofalo]


[Edit: Kevin pointed me to the relevant meme depicting the hierarchy of nerds and geeks and why treading near fan fiction scares me so:
http://www.brunching.com/images/geekchartbig.gif

...I am relieved that at least I don't feature in my dream...
]

Saturday, 4 October 2008

The Inner Workings of an Engineer: How It Ticks

In Terry Pratchett's The Thief of Time, a gifted and proportionately medicated clockmaker is contracted to build a clock timed to the tick of the universe; the minimum difference between two moments in real time. The narrator observes this is equivalent to using a crowbar within a box to open said box from the outside.a Inconceivable!b

And thus ends my preamble, and if you will bear with me it will be a preamble and not a non-sequitur.

Previously, I put together the PC hardware and found I did not have the video output, that is no longer an issue.

Next stop OS installation... Our computer Tech gave me a Windows X64. The product key was not valid. When questioned, he told me that he had given me the product key for a 32 bit XP... two randomly generated 16 digit alphanumeric, there is [If my logic is correct] 1 in 36^16 (10^-25) chance that they are the same. Not impressed.

Since Microsoft/Computer Tech shafted me, I went to see how Linux would treat me. Originally I was getting a Intel P35 Chipset motherboard, but I picked the newer P45 version of the motherboard instead. The 64 bit version of Ubuntu did not boot. I thought it was Windows rocking the boat again... As it happens, current Ubuntu dislikes the P45 chipset. But no fear I have discovered a solution, apparently Kubuntu with BIOS in RAID mode will play ball.

After training, I related my progess to Bob. He chuckled for a time. When he settled down, he asked: "Has the PC actually worked yet?" Clearly the answer was no. I uttered the word blithely, as a break from telling him what I was planning to do next. Bob chuckled a bit more. He pointed out to me that I am an engineer; with as much if not more interest in how things work as having them work.
Shortly after, I realised [in a "Oh my God!"/facepalm way] that goal of the Project PC-building was finding out about PCs. Anything that I have at the end of it is a happy bonus. It brings to mind a Dilbert Cartoon, with the appropriate amount of Schadenfreude...

Referring to my preamble: the problem becomes trivial if someone else has a crowbar handy and pops open the box for you.


a The idea is reminiscent of a Zen Koan... it makes me cringe.
b I do think that that word means what I think it means.

Thursday, 2 October 2008

The Heathen Natives had the right idea...

Early one morning 18 months ago...


I was in the Sports Centre, minding my own business, meditating in one of the main halls. A bespectacled woman in her 40s sticks her head through the door.

Christian:"Do you know what you are doing?"

Mairtin: [Nods]
Christian:"God loves you. You should not be doing this stuff."
Mairtin: [Returns to staring at a wall. After a minute or so, she leaves]

Early one morning 6 months ago...

Once again I was in the Sports Centre, minding my own business, doing a form in one of the main halls. This time the bespectacled woman walked across the hall and stood near by until I looked at her.

Christian:"I see you here often..."
Mairtin:[Having completely forgotten about the prior incident with her, prepares to explain which martial art he practices and who to talk to about joining the club]
But back in reality...
Christian:"...trying to find comfort." Pardon? "But you cannot find comfort in yourself. Only God can comfort you. I have some pamphlets I would like to read you-"
Mairtin: "I will have to stop you here. I do not believe in God. I do not think that promise of heaven or the existence of a higher being is needed to lead a good life. My father died 2 years ago and I do not think he went to heaven or any where else. He ceased to be. This is how I know I don't believe in God."
Christian:"Well... If you have any questions..."


Since the conversation was over I walked away from her and continued training. Once more she walked away after a few more minutes of watching.


Early this morning...

A third time I am in the Sports Centre, minding my own business. The Christian approaches me...

Christian: "I am here to tell you that Jesus loves you."


She begins to leave. I call her back.



Mairtin:"This is the third time that you have disturbed me!"

Christian:"I know that. But I have to tell you that Jesus loves you because you don't believe and no one in this world cares enough to tell you so."
Mairtin:"I have many people that care for me-"
Christian:"None of them care enough to tell you that Jesus loves you."
Mairtin:"Maybe someday I will realise that Jesus loves me, but I am not going to realise that by you saying so."
Christian:"That is what I mean. You cannot know it here [Points at head], you have to believe it here [Points at centre of chest]. That is why I am telling you that Jesus loves you, belief can only come from hearing"


Left aghast at her incoherent statements I resorted to a form of begging of a sort...



Mairtin:"This is the third time that you have disturbed me. Do not come near me again."



Christian:"In the next year or so you will be finished studying and you will not see me again."



She said other stuff to the effect of she has things to do herself, but I cannot remember them clearly enough to type them down.

Again, I return to training and she leaves shortly afterwards.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first time she approached me I was annoyed. The second time she approached me I was not in a mood to hear her. The third time I was very angry. I was angry at the presumption that she knew what was best for me, despite not knowing me. I was angry at the presumption that what I was practicing was some kind of pseudo-religion that should not be practiced.
Even writing this I am very wound up about the whole thing. The fact that she avoided saying she would not approach me again means I am likely to see her in the future.
Yesterday I came across a webcomic that made some valid observations about how atheists are arguably better Christians than Christians are... aside from not believing in God that is. I think that is a moot point anyway... If you are the Big Cheese capable of creating the universe in 6 days and having a rest on the 7th, that one person not believing in you would bothers you is rather disappointing and petty. Were God like a a loving, but estranged father that likes to keep tabs on his children- as the story goes- then surely he would be happy that his kids were good people irrespective of what they thought of him as opposed to deciding they should burn for their disrespect...

Recently deceased comedian George Carlin had this to say about religion:
"Religion is like a lift in the shoe, and I say just don't ask me to wear your shoes. And let's not go down and nail lifts onto the natives' feet."