03.31.07
my music
Far too often I haver on about how I’m not in the slightest musical, so when the Desert Island Disc theme came up at work, I felt fully justified in side-stepping the question neatly, and saying that wasn’t “me” so it wouldn’t be me-ish to try….
But then I heard how difficult people were finding it to decide on their Top Ten, and I decided I fancied the challenge anyway. Surely, I thought, out of the CD’s I have, and the 22-years of possessing ears, I’d be able to come up with something that vaguely resembled tunefulness.
So, here’s my jumble of things I’d grab an mp3 for:
Firstly, a couple of religious-related references that are nevertheless noteworthy for their musical aspect:
- Amazing Grace – It does annoy me slightly that there are many different versions of the words, and I’d like to say I’d go with the ‘original’ wording as written by John Newton himself, but I must confess to not-quite-knowing what is the original wording. If memory serves me right, JN actually had published two different versions at least (one with extra verses, or something) and now no-one seems quite sure… But all that aside, I love it.
To digress again, there’s a film coming out soon all about the life of William Wilberforce, the man who dedicated his whole life to getting slavery abolished. ‘Twill be interesting, though I’ve got the suspicion that historical inaccuracies would grate on me.
- Jehovah Tsidkenu – A hymn by Robert Murray McCheyne, and as sung by my best friends. They sing it just so marvelously beautiful. I once tried to encourage them to record themselves and let me have a copy, but they all felt a little too self-conscious to be persuaded. *working on this one*
Now a bit of a change of tone as I move on to the Sound of Music:
- Edelweiss – Stunningly evocative of innocent happiness.
- Lonely Goatherd – You just can’t not-laugh at it, and as I was hearing, laughter makes you live longer, so that sounds good to me! The yodeling just makes it that bit quirkily different.
Next I just have to give a plug to one of my uni friends:
- Dreamworld – I keep not really fully agreeing with all the lyrics, but that doesn’t seem to stop me listening to it… over and over… You can even listen here. (Wow, have I just acknowledged that I have readers!?) *
How many’s that now? Ah, I’m only half way!
Classical next:
- Fur Elise – not much to say other than that I love it. In spite of spending nearly a year trying to teach myself to play bits of it (i.e. the right-handed bits!) I still didn’t even make myself sick of it. Well, I’m sick of my ridiculous attempts, but when it is actually played properly, it is amazing.
- “Voi Che Sapete” (Tell me what love is) by Mozart – To be truthful, pretty much anything Mozart would do here. His style gets an all-round big thumbs-up. Anyway, after much deliberations, and excuses for re-listening, I’ve finally settled on this one. (For anyone cynical, Pride and Preujudice connotations weren’t *entirely* the only influencing factor!)
- Adiemus by Karl Jenkins – This one isn’t ’strict’ classical, but I first heard it on ClassicFM, so that makes it classical in my book! So, about the music… entirely enchanting. Logically, my complete and utter fascination with this piece can probably be explained by the mixture of Classical and African influences that went into it: you could hardly get better than that!
Ok, a tiny nod in the direction of ‘normal music’:
- “Love me tender” – Ever since learning it in school, I’ve thought it was kinda cute, and do have to chuck surreptitious glances over my shoulder occasionally, just to make sure no-one else is listening into my rubbishly-hummed version.
And finally, I’m a hielan’ lass after all, so I couldn’t miss this one:
- Scottish Soldier – This reminds me of school prizegivings. Ok, you’re probably more likely to catch me walking down the road singing “Auld Lang Syne” than “A Scottish Soldier”, but I’m really not a Burns fan at all, and would have issues with nodding in his direction. But back to “a Scottish Soldier”, there’s just something so wholesome-feeling about visualising yourself at 2 degrees below freezing wrapped up like an eskimo in the pitch November black while listening to Mr Baillie announce over the tannoy that the next flurry of fireworks will be accompanied by “A Scottish Soldier”. ( Bonfire night used to be so much more fun back home – actually had a real bonfire to roast our hands against, and real darkness too.)
So yeah, I am now left to wonder what I am revealing about myself by displaying such a bizarre musical selection.
*Update: Thanks to nex for specially getting the correct Dreamworld link. (Perfectly legal, tho’ if you do want to show your support, have a look at what nex says.) Also, after first hearing “Out in the Air”, I’m beginning to appreciate what Angela says about new things coming in and potentially knocking old favourites off their pedestal.
Flatmate squabbles.
Flatmate: “I’m not a geek!”
The Boyfriend: “But you had a dream about statistics.”
Flatmate: “It was an accident!”
The Boyfriend: “You’re just in denial.”
Flatmate: “Do you think I wanted to dream about stats?!”
The Boyfriend: “Rachel, do you think she’s a geek?”
Me being diplomatic when insisted on: “Yes, but you could possibly be more of a geek.”
I think my ultimate geek-test has to be that a real geek is someone who considers it a compliment to be called a geek 
How personal *is* a blog?
Recently there has been a bit of chat regarding how far you should allow other people to influence your blog.
Despite my firm belief that it is quite a personal little corner of the web, I have begun to question the implicit assumption that it would be a cardinal blogging sin to allow any outside influences to even so much as breathe within a walking-radius of my blog.
It is certainly very flattering to be told “You can’t change the way you blog – its too good!” However, I’m not sure I agree with the premise that I must remain “an island” to maintain the style of blogging I have developed.
Tho’ I chose to start blogging originally in a rather non-community-friendly way – not telling anyone, not allowing comments – that is not to say I don’t appreciate feedback, and even constructive criticism. It really had more to do with me being shy, than with me trying to look down my nose at the rest of the world.
In a way, I’m glad I’ve approached the blogging issue in ’stages’. It has given me a chance to develop my own blogging style totally seperate from the impressions of either real-life or online friends.
And now that I’ve moved on to the next stage, I’m finding it interesting to see how I can maintain a comfortable me-ish style while incorporating the ideas and impressions of “my community” in a nicely social networking fashion.
So, now I am in the fairly ( 
) unique position of being able to see the difference that being part of a “blogging community” does have on the direction of my blog.
Now it is with these thoughts in mind I go to pick my Desert Island Discs.
03.27.07
Nuclear aftermath.
In the book Brother in the Land, there’s this point where the boy Danny arrives at the ’survivors camp’, named MASADA, and he goes to have his first shower. He’s expecting it to be hot, but it isn’t as the men going out to work have taken the hot water, and currently the next lot of water is just getting the chill taken off it.
Branwell said, “The lamps’ll have taken the chill off the fresh lot.”
Danny’s thoughts were “If they had, I didn’t notice.”
It is those few words – “If they had, I didn’t notice.” – that have annoyed me no end for years. Every time I wait for hot water – usually first thing in the morning – these words run through my head like some kind of stuck record. And they grate on me. Like somehow its going to make a difference to me in the future if I ever get stuck in a nuclear war whether my water is lukewarm after three minutes or seven.
Sounds terribly depressing to think about nuclear war every day, but actually it probably isn’t that bad. (Thinking, that is, not the reality!) I don’t really allow myself to dwell on the full enormity of it, but I suppose it does give me a chance to reflect on how I have something to be thankful for.
Going back to Englishness, I’m told the sentence is grammatically correct. This just makes it worse, as it means I don’t even have a sensible reason to detest those six words so very much.
I wish one day I would just wake up in the morning, and they’d be completely vapourised from my consciousness.
If they did, I wouldn’t notice.
Smile to a friend: A very definite thankyou to my childhood English teacher for so obligingly looking out the quote for me, despite being busy! 
Interim state of trip-ed-up-ed-ness
I really appreciate it when my flatmate tidies up.
I do not appreciate struggling to push my front door open and then falling headlong into a large black bin-bag.
Ah well, maybe I’ll have a new flat by tomorrow…
*imagines her lawyer smiling*
03.22.07
Quote-of-the-Day
Overheard in the office:
“If you want to box with your wife…”
I suppose it spoils it a bit to own up to the context: the Wii craze has captured yet another friend.
Family comms
A recent chat with a friend made me realise the number of different ways I communicate with my family. Well, the comms channels aren’t strictly constrained to my family, but the way I communicate with my family is a fitting illustration of the ways I communicate with “the outside world” in general.
Well, firstly, there’s just plain seeing them, with the multitude of normal communication channels that go on there, but that’s not really geeky enough for my current thought-processes.
It’s more the fact that I phone / text / email / chat on msn / chat – via text or speech – on skype / send birthday greetings on america-originated message boards / “share the luv” on social networking sites (I had a ‘friends request’ from my Dad – of all people – the other day!!) Just last month my Dad’s set us up a family yahoo group. And there’s a flikr group we’re all part of.
We go through stages of using whatever is popular at the moment. Not deliberately, or planned, or with the same level of interaction, but when you stand back and look at it *what a mess* of different media/styles/comfort zones/adjustments/privacy levels. No wonder I struggle sometimes!
And, actually, maybe I am not as bad as I thought at keeping in touch with my family! It’s just a very… um… digital connection. Either comms have happened, or they haven’t – give or take the multitude of parameters mentioned – but all being said and done, I’d happily replace it all with just a simple hug!
And I’ve not even got my family blogging yet.
Finding stuff.
Don’t you just hate it when you’ve lost something, then in your dream you find it?
Like you’re not consciously looking for something, but you make a mental note to look out for it. Then it appears in your dream and you say “Oh, I’ll go and pick that up, and put it back in the right place.” And in the morning you go look in the right place, and it isn’t there.
And you have to start looking all over again… *sigh*
Or is this just me?
03.21.07
Chlorinated hair.
Ok, a measly 40 lengths. I did go in there planning on 60, but not quite realising that ‘cos I’d arrived so late (had to run back for that hairbrush I’d forgot) there was only about 40 mins left before the aerobics class took over.
(On the tangent of hair, don’t you just love it when you’re just swinging that arm round, and it gets jerked backwards by a stray ponytail that’s gone and got itself wrapped round? I’d recommend it in aiding the gracefulness-status.)
We ended only staying about half an hour. I get so frustrated at the people who crowd in and then just stand around, spreading their arms in the water a good 5 metres from the end of the pool. Do they not realise they’re cutting up my swimming distance by about a 1/4? Grr… so that’s why we had to leave early.
At first Kathy and I had a bit of a divergence of opinion about how we should count the lengths. She insisted on counting down from 30, while I didn’t agree with her morale-boosting techniques. I thought it would be so depressing to have been swimming for ages, and then only be on “eight” or there-abouts. It was so much more satisfying to turn and say “twenty-two” to the bobbing head over the way. Maybe it’s just because I’m more competitive!
Two lengths later (at 24-6) I got a real compliment. She’d been ahead of me, so stopped while I swam the last few metres. Kathy looked at me, and immediately burst out laughing. I put on my puzzled eyes and swam on normally. On reaching her, I demanded an explanation. “Oh, just there as I was watching you, you looked just like a hippo.” Yeah, right! Oh, and thanks!
Incidentally, the reason I’d been doing neck-breaking breaststroke was precisely because I’ve discovered being in hysterical laughter is not conducive to decent breathing techniques. When we were both teenagers, my Mum used to accuse us two of “teenage giggles”, but Kathy’s much more consistent than that… she’s been able to make me laugh ever since we were toddlers, and nowadays she’s as bad as ever. Well, me being accused of hippo-ness… what more do I need to say!?
I did get her back though. Just as she’d counted down from 30 to 0, I smiled past the girl in the middle and said “Another 10?”. She inclined her head. “You up for it.” “Yeah, of course.” Well, she couldn’t bow out then! She said ok, and then said immediately that she regretted saying that.
As soon as I launched forth again, I was nearly blinded. Even after another length-and-a-half, I had to get my eyes away from the chlorine for a few seconds and make myself cry as some form of relief. I think I was only three[3-27] lengths in before Kathy commented on the suitably gruesome nature of my eyes. I just take it as the cruellest side-effect of swimming that I am constrained to view the world in red. The annoying twist in the tail is that as I grow accustomed to it, it is just about bearable, but then if I let my eyes get back to normal, its always much worse when the chlorine hits again.
Of course, the truly best part of swimming is being “in the flow”. If you don’t know what I’m on about, there just isn’t any way to describe it. Either you’ve experienced it, or you have no idea what you’re missing! You just don’t ever need to stop swimming once you get there. That’s the thing that used to make me dream about swimming years before I was able to swim. There’s just nothing that can quite compete with being in such an altered state of consciousness. (Geekish note: I am also able to get into “the flow” while coding, but that’s not quite so health-inducing as swimming is, and hence I usually consider it a “less pure” form of the phenomenon.)
The hardest part of swimming has to be the water-confidence problem. Despite having been fascinated by swimming before I was able to swim I associated water with some form of mild panic-attack. I have yet to discover what kind of mental-scarring I have encountered that may account for this, but the most annoying part is its constant re-occurrence.
As a child I always imagined that once I’d conquered this “swimming beast” all would be rosy in the world. I do manage to have things rosy for the majority of the time, but nowadays I still dread those times when, with stark reality, I break out of the flow, and get this strange feeling of thinking I haven’t been breathing properly, and trying to force myself to hyper-ventilate.
Ok, I have my ways and means of dealing with it, so its not like I’m suddenly going to need ’saving’ at any moment. But I usually do look a bit like an idiot when one moment I’m charging full-steam ahead in an energetic-looking front crawl, and then next moment I’m doing a hippo-impression breaststroke. (Sometimes I even get the added bonus of a delicious mouthful too. Ah well, I wouldn’t want to miss out on the pleasure just to avoid the embarrassment, even tho’ it takes mental effort to overcome the fear on almost every occasion I swim.
Anyways, that is the philosophical note ended! After I intended this to be just a light-hearted account of my last swim, it has ended up – yet again – that I have bared the innermost reaches of my scary mind. Must apologise for any emotional stress caused.
03.19.07
rm *
A lovely command… when you’re in the right directory :$
But I wasn’t in the right directory, so Ahhhhhhhhhhh….hhh!
At least I’d only actually lost one script. The one script that I’ve run somewhere between 40 and 258 times in the past week… the lovely fully-developed testing harness for the current stuff I’m working on.
No use crying over lost binary though…
*off to start re-writing that script…*
Ps: Can’t believe I’ve been caught out by this one *again*!! At least I’ve been encouraged never to use rm -r * (tho’ I did have a few kicking around in that script )
