I know I haven’t posted much (read: anything) of interest on this blog in a long while.
This isn’t about to change. But in the meantime, here is a Music Quiz, on par with what we had here a while back, made of dub, reggae, disco and pretty much everything in between… It’s tough but interesting (very large spectrum and a few unsuspected samples).
Go have a go at it (I think I got about 5 out of eight).
A somewhat public-interest announcement for once:
If you are in Paris today and looking for a way to spend an early evening, there’s a free pyrotechnics show near la Villette (19th arrondissement) tonight at 9pm. Seems like the weather should be nice, but I’d bring a warm sweater and a tarp to sit on.
We went yesterday and it was a good time. Much flames and explosions to be marvelled at.
Only downside, was the very forgettable smooth jazz soundtrack to the whole thing. If the sound of elevator-riding saxophones deeply offends your ears, I recommend you bring your iPod or large amounts of psychedelic substances.
Why the hell can’t my friends do like everybdy else and celebrate their bachelor party by getting drunk and snorting blow off a hooker’s tits in Las Vegas?
I dunno if this week’s forecast of warm temperatures and summery sunshine, coming after a full month of rainy Winter in August, is Parisian Gods’ way of saying “Look, I’m sorry for what happened, I’ll treat you better from now on”…
But if it is, then consider this my most heartfelt “Too little, too late” break-up letter.
Lining in front of me this morning at the subway ticket counter: a vastly overweight woman wearing offendingly stretchy pseudo-designer clothes and tacky sunglasses, extra large Starbucks latte in one hand, giant glazed donut of same, in the other, busy yapping with another equally attired woman in the loudest yankee accent this side of Jersey…
Just when I’m about to turn the volume up on my headphones, I get a glance at the tiny flag proudly pinned to her backpack and nearly fall over laughing.
Oh yea. She looked Canadian alright. Nearly had me fooled too.
Today is the 660th anniversary of the battle of Crécy, wherein the French got their collective ass handed over to them by Welsh archery, suffering a humiliating defeat and going on to start the appropriately named Hundred Years’ War (and you thought Iraq was dragging on).
Today is also the 26th anniversary of Tex Avery‘s untimely death, to the greatest relief of talking ducks and horny wolves the world over.
I’m pretty sure something else happened on that day, but I just can’t remember what.
I think I may have solved two mysteries at once.
A clue?
It’s small, got round ears and no longer scurries above my ceiling…
Also, it doesn’t pay rent.
Any suggestion on Disney-sanctionned ways of ridding one’s home of uninvited critters? that doesn’t involve camping out in the middle of the leaving room day and night, flashlight and hammer in hand?
Programmers who can’t spell…
Dear unknown person who produced this unspeakably awful batch of code I have to work with:
While I realize your first language is not English, and even though I have my doubts about your French spelling abilities for that matter, could you please make an effort and not spell it ‘avaliable’ in a few hundred files and templates?
I know the code works all the same. It just bugs the hell out of me.
On my way to work this morning, it downed on me that what the world so desperately needs right now is yet another Human League electro remix, and that I may be the ideal candidate for the task.
Unfortunately, my project-manager, on the other hand, seems to think that what the world desperately needs, is another 3000 lines of code by Monday and that, incidentally, I am the ideal, if not only, candidate for the task.
I think I may be a sell-out.
OK, here is one for the Agatha Christie crowd out there:
I come home after a long day at work (and at the pub) to a supposedly empty apartment.
There are three small, oddly shaped, puddles right in the middle of my living room and, although it has been raining today, I live on the 4th of 6th floors (that is: neither under the roof, nor potentially close to any heretofore undiscovered Parisian groundwater spring). The wallpaper-covered ceiling above said puddles shows no trace of humidity.
[…]
Can anyone please point me to an explanation that doesn’t involve an incontinent Siberian tiger breaking into my place during the afternoon and currently sleeping on my bed in the back?