July 2002

July 30th, 2002. Tasty potato snack?

...or, how to potentially doom your acting career.

Last November, I was down in London visiting my friend W (who I've talked about before, I think) who is an aspiring, up-and-coming actor. He'd just been auditioning for an ad campaign for Hula Hoops, but hadn't got it.

The other day, I spotted a poster. It was obviously for this campaign, which must be just getting under way. I could see why W's agent had sent him to the audition - the face of the man who did get the job is similar in shape to what W's was several years ago - and I could also see why he was turned down: he wasn't ugly enough. They seem to have been looking for someone who looks like he would be turned down for a Village Idiot position due to being over-qualified, so that they could pretend that their ads are fronted by some ordinary man in the street.

The scary thing is that some people will probably believe that the Hula Hoops people just picked a random Ordinary Person for their ad campaign. "He can't be an actor! It even says on their website that he isn't! Besides, actors are all good looking. Look, he's even called Steve - that *has* to be a Real Person's name."

(incidentally, W, if you're reading, I think you were lucky not to get the job. From a career point of view of course. Not that I know what I'm talking about.)

23:21 Comments (0)

July 28th, 2002. I am never going to tell my family my website address

Reading this made me think about my cousin. I won't mention her name, for obvious reasons.

I'm pretty sure that she's a lesbian. She's in her late thirties (I think), and (as far as I know) she's never seen men. She does, however, live with a close female friend. They have been living together for some time. They go on exotic foreign holidays together. They have a cat.

However, she's never come out. As far as anyone is officially concerned, they are friends who share a house. For all I know, they might really just be friends who share a house and my assuming they are a couple is completely wrong. At family occasions, she is always there on her own. When people talk about them, it's always just "X and Her Friend", with no name mentioned.

Yes, I might be wrong. They might not be a couple. But if they are, I think it's a bit of a shame that they aren't open about it with us - or, rather, that they feel that they can't be open about it.

18:24 Comments (2)

July 27th, 2002. Och aye!

I finally got a project finished at work yesterday. Our sporran-retailing website now has a thoroughly rebuilt database and back-end, and is online and all seems to be running properly.

There's only so much you can take in looking at sporrans all day, I think. At first, it was fine: all I did was write sporran-processing code, and get bored. Now, though, it's something Pavlovian. Every time I see a sporran I cringe. They look scary. Especially the sealskin ones.

To try and stop thinking about them, I am going to go to a picnic this afternoon. And not mention sporrans at all. Not once. If I see anyone in a kilt, I'll just run away or something.

11:19 Comments (0)

July 24th, 2002. You can always try asking

A few days ago, I talked about SOS Messages, as broadcast on Radio 4.

So, I wrote to the BBC. "When did you last broadcast one?" I said. "Would you still broadcast one if necessary?"

And, apparently, they would do. If the right people asked, they would put out an SOS message before the 7am news and before the 6pm news. Presumably, it's just that nobody has asked recently.

They were too busy to find out when the last SOS message was broadcast. Which is understandable; I guess it's not really the sort of thing that gets archived. In future, I'll set my alarm clock five minutes early, so if one gets sent again I'll hear it.

22:56 Comments (3)

July 22nd, 2002. The last thing you expect

Monday morning, back in the S&M Ltd office, and nothing seems to have gone wrong over the weekend! Everything is still working!

That's the second week in a row that nothing has broken or crashed whilst I've been away. It's almost like there's a pattern emerging. Touch wood, of course.

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July 20th, 2002. Saint Marys' Spires (and other lyrics)

Of course, in the end we didn't discuss Festival stuff at all, just drank ate and gossipped. After that, we wandered round the New Town looking for ideal places for our next Picnic (next Saturday), and looking in people's front windows.

Notes on Thai food: if you see small purple chili-shaped things, that is what they are. Do not chew them, or your mouth will be irradiated.

As we walked around the New Town in the dusk, it started to rain. That part of the city in the rain always makes me think of Clientele songs, so as we walked I was humming softly to myself. The rain got heavier, fluming down the gutters of the steeper streets. At the corner of Queen Street and Dublin Street, the gutters were overflowing and pouring over the pavement and downhill in a rippled sheet.

We popped into a late-opening bookshop to think up cunning incentives to get people to come to the picnic. We went to a bar and dripped on the floor. Everyone else looked too stylish for me to feel comfortable in my sensible outdoor raincoat.

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July 19th, 2002. Oi! Tourist! Get out of my way!

So tonight, I'm off out for a meal with people (woo!) and we're going to talk about what we want to go and see at the various Edinburgh Festivals. Because they're almost here already.

I noticed that Richard Bloomfield has already started to put up on his site a list of the best stuff to go and see. I never have a clue what I want to see at the Festival, which is why I usually end up staying in and grumbling about the tourists getting in my way all the time. I'm tempted to make my own list, of events I might like, and tell you that they're all rubbish. "Don't go and see The Show That Caitlin Really Wants To See Show, it's awful. You'd have more fun if you poured buckets of cold penguin spit over yourself." That way, the word gets around, and I get to sit on my own watching the show and laughing evilly at my cunning plan. Afterwards, I get the bonus of telling everyone: "it's really good, where were you?" and being all smug when it becomes a cult West End hit or whatever.

OK, I'm not really that evil. Laziness is more my thing; not bothering to go. Do penguins spit, anyway?

13:13 Comments (0)

July 17th, 2002. ... last believed to be on a camping holiday near Wolverhampton

Back at work again today. All the machines seem to be still ticking over nicely, which is quite a surprise. I'm not sure whether being back is a good thing or a bad thing; the weekend off ended up being rather traumatic.

Yesterday, I went to the New Acquisitions exhibition at the National Gallery of Modern Art. Most of it was rather good, but one installation was rather frightening. A video-installation piece called Breathing Space - I can't remember the artist's name - which showed two people laid down with their heads inside plastic bags, the noise of their breathing amplified and deafening. It was horrific, like some awful slow-motioned fetish film. I couldn't watch, and dashed outside

Well, that's not true. First, I went to the gift shop and bought some postcards. But then i dashed outside as quickly as possible, and breathed as deeply as I could.

When I was little, we would go away camping, and we'd always listen to the evening news on Radio 4. Before the news, they would send out SOS Messages. I've not heard one for years, and I keep wondering if they ever still make them. "Will Mr and Mrs John Smith of Auchtermuchty, last believed to be on a cycling tour of Brittany, please get in touch with Ward Z, Queen Margaret Hospital, Dunfermline. It is about their son John Smith Junior, who is dangerously ill."

If they've gone, when was the last one made? What was it about? Who were all those people?

13:49 Comments (1)

July 13th, 2002. Atishoo

I went outside today, but it was not a good idea. It was 8 hours ago, and I've been in sneezing fits ever since. Bloody hayfever.

Oh, a couple of new links on the right-hand side.

22:41 Comments (2)

July 12th, 2002. Balancing

I haven't been feeling very good lately. Pretty depressed. Very depressed, in fact.

Then, last night, I was drifting off to sleep whilst listening to the midnight news, and I started smiling and softly crying. Because this was on the radio.

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July 11th, 2002. I didn't *ask* for a holiday

... but the boss has decided to go away for a few days. So, the S&M Ltd office is empty, and I have to just keep an eye on things from afar.

I've started recognising some of the same people I pass every day on the way to work, as I'm walking through the meadows. Today, the Lesbian Couple were crossing Melville Drive at the same time as me, but I didn't see the Girl With Cute Pink Trainers.

I *did* see lots of men in black suits and white bow ties, so i think it must be graduation week at the university. They all looked so well-groomed and confident. My graduation, I just looked like me. The photos are awful; they're up on my parents' wall right next to my dad's graduation ones.

Walking through the meadows every day plays hell with my hay fever. It feels like insects everywhere trying to crawl inside my nose and eyes and ears and scratching the back of my throat. Not nice. I wish it didn't happen, and I could have summers without my nose gumming up, and sneezing all the time. I've been sleeping awfully because every time I lay down my sinuses just fill up with goo.

22:41 Comments (0)

July 9th, 2002. Socialisation

I just realised that I've still only ever met two of the other Vermicious Kids. I'm too lazy to work out what that is in percentage terms, but it's not very high.

Hopefully I'll meet up with Mandee in London next month; but at the same time, Greg will be leaving London and swanning around the US impressing everyone with his jailbait looks. Bah.

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July 8th, 2002. Head, meet wall; bang bang bang

Today, work is just fixing my own stupid mistakes again. All morning, so far. Why is it always on Mondays, too? Grrr.

Still, noone has sent me any emails telling me I'm incompetant for several days now, which has to be a good sign.

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July 7th, 2002. Google is your friend

In the end, the picnic was good. I got drunk, but not as drunk as last time, so I could cope with actually eating things and getting out of bed today. There were lots of people more drunk than me, some of whom were spotted ... well, I'd better not say what doing, because I know that some people who know them read this. They did get applause and whistling from the other people in the pub, though.

Earlier in the week, I had an "interesting" time at work, but I don't really want to talk about that either. I discovered (via the wonder that is the History List) some terms that had been searched for, on Google, on the computer I was using at work. I'm not going to say what they were (in case the person that did it tries it again and this page comes up), but they were definitely the sort of search terms where you would make sure that any child-protection switch was turned off first.

Oh, and also: you know some people, and you get the impression that they are in a stable, long-term relationship with each other. Then, you suddenly discover that they know an *awful lot* about online dating sites. The sort of thing you only know if you've actually tried using them. And, you know from their History list that the sort of dating site they've been looking at includes places like alt.com. It's really eyes-wide-open time at that point.

Incidentally, the conversation-starter of the weekend came from Mark: "Going from a completely 'cold start', what's the fastest time in which you can have a wank? I thought I could do it in 30 seconds, but my girlfriend sat with a stopwatch and it actually took 60."

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July 2nd, 2002. It's serious, this time

There's yet another picnic in Glasgow on Saturday, and once again, like the last time, I'm worried that people I don't like are going to turn up.

It's a bit different this time, though. Last time, the people I had in mind were people I'd not met much before and didn't really know. This time, it is someone I have known on IRC for ages, and I know that he hates me. I'm not entirely sure why, but he would start shouting at me wildly if I said the slightest thing he disagreed with. When I made it clear that I was ignoring this, he started harassing me in private messages. He eventually went away after I dragged in one of the channel ops, and asked them to ask him to stop saying things in the chat room which I found personally insulting.

And now, the chap in question has moved to Glasgow. Which means he'll probably come along to the picnic. Oh joy. I shall try to remain civil, and stay on the other side of the room as much as possible.

Go on, leave a comment. You know you want to.

11:50 Comments (2)

July 1st, 2002. Primrose Hill, Staten Island

This morning, on the way to work, I was listening to the first Saint Etienne album, and I suddenly thought: "Eeep, this music is over ten years old".

It was a bit of a shock, really. I can cope with the idea that stuff from the seventies, or the early eighties, is old. But the music I was listening to when I was a teenager, when I first started to get into pop music -- that's still modern, isn't it?

I had a similar sort of feeling the other night, at the B&S gig, when they sang the line: "It's 1995: the girls are just friends." Bloody hell, that's seven years ago! I tend to forget that it's over five years since I first bought one of their albums, and Sinister's fifth birthday in a couple of months.

I guess all this just means I'm old now. Still, I'm hopefully going to see Mark at the weekend, and he's sufficiently older than me (5 years? something like that) to make me feel like a wee kid still.

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