Spent all morning mucking around with Proxy PAC files to get our bloody network to point to the right proxy server. Sitting behind someone else’s network occasionally makes life very, very annoying. And yes you guessed it – back at work and back into another stuff up. Lack of prior planning makes for piss poor performance. It annoys me when people don’t think through the full implications of what a change is going to mean. Argh. *grumpy*
Archive for September, 2003
Proxy PAC
September 16th, 2003Lost Sunday
September 15th, 2003Time Off In Lieu. That was today. Today was my lost Sunday. Still don’t think it was worth it. Work. Shits. Me.
Black dude, black…
September 14th, 2003And the Man in Black, Johnny Cash has passed beyond the veil. He was a man of outstanding principles who stood up for the downtrodden and unrepresented. He had his share of faults and problems but that if anything made him more human. May the proud and tough old dude rest in peace.
I hear the train a comin’
It’s rollin’ ’round the bend,
And I ain’t seen the sunshine,
Since, I don’t know when,
I’m stuck in Folsom Prison,
And time keeps draggin’ on,
But that train keeps a-rollin’,
On down to San Antone.
When I was just a baby,
My Mama told me, “Son,
Always be a good boy,
Don’t ever play with guns,”
But I shot a man in Reno,
Just to watch him die,
When I hear that whistle blowin’,
I hang my head and cry.
I bet there’s rich folks eatin’,
In a fancy dining car,
They’re probably drinkin’ coffee,
And smokin’ big cigars,
But I know I had it comin’,
I know I can’t be free,
But those people keep a-movin’,
And that’s what tortures me.
Well, if they freed me from this prison,
If that railroad train was mine,
I bet I’d move out over a little,
Farther down the line,
Far from Folsom Prison,
That’s where I want to stay,
And I’d let that lonesome whistle,
Blow my Blues away.
- Folsom Prison Blues
Work
September 14th, 2003Working all weekend so far. Still not done. Nothing more to say. Bloody awful weekend.
the friday five
September 12th, 2003Ohh. Names. I like names.
1. Is the name you have now the same name that’s on your birth certificate? If not, what’s changed?
Exactly the same. My father wanted my first name to be Karl – after Mr Marx – but my mother objected and so it became my middle name.
2. If you could change your name (first, middle and/or last), what would it be?
Not overly fond of my first name but wouldn’t change it. Going to have a midget someday to inflict irrational naming on.
3. Why were you named what you were? (Is there a story behind it? Who specifically was responsible for naming you?)
Oh. Spoke too soon about Karl. My first name is from my Grandfather. My middle name comes from my father’s politics. And my last name from Scotland.
4. Are there any names you really hate or love? What are they and why?
I like a few names – Carly, Iain, Hector, Ernesto, Isabella, Tomas. I don’t think I hate any names though I admit I am not a fan of Wayne, Darren, Shane and the other Strine variants. I am also not too fond of people who spell perfectly good names oddly and make up names by putting vowels in odd places. Some of the recent ones I’ve heard are “Skiann” (Skye Ann), “Bryttany” (Brittany), “Mylissa” (Melissa) and Krystal (Crystal). Scary ain’t it?
And the people I know who just called their child Willow? Well hopefully it won’t have dated too badly before she’s old enough to watch and understand the show.
5. Is the analysis of your name at kabalarians.com accurate? How or how isn’t it?
Well. Yes and no. But it is written loosely enough that quite a few possible character traits are covered. So I can see why I might see a bit of myself in it. Generally I don’t believe that sort of mumbo-jumbo anyways. Who you are is up to you. Comes from within not from your star sign, date of birth or name.
Find Don
September 12th, 2003Irony Central – The Baby Files
September 11th, 2003Much thanks to Rane for this hilarous site. Reflects my whole future life after we procreate. Damn.
Oh ho hum most annoying
September 10th, 2003So I mentioned a while back that a litigator had been in touch with me. So I get in touch with him and guess what? Yep you guessed it – I’m being sued. By the Victorian government no less. Over a Workcover claim.
The story goes that when yours truly was moving from Melbourne to Sydney he hired some removalists – one of said removalists tripped on the stairs at my old house and injured himself. Now Workcover kindly paid out to the injured chap for a number of years. Now they want to reclaim the dosh from someone. Guess who they choose? That’s right! Me.
I’m not going to further comment on this travesty of justice (oh and it is) until I sort the legal shit out. But needless to say I am not amused.
Language is beauty
September 9th, 2003I love language – playing with it, speaking it, listening to it. I love speech so much I often get tongue tied as all the words pour out of me. I love listening to people use it. I love listening to people speak in their own languages. I am especially fond of Spanish – whether delivered machine gun fast or in that languid Barcelona afternoon drawl. I like the soft dialects of German and Russian, the hypnotic quality of Farsi and the lilting tones of Vietnamese. I love my ‘on the bus’ guessing game trying to pick Far East and East Asian languages – Vietnamese from Laotian or Khmer and Hindi from Sinhala or Tamil from Urdu.
The only language that really ruffles my ear feathers is Cantonese – especially as expressed in the form of Cantonese pop music – dog help me if I have to listen to another dog-awful Cantonese pop tune. Ironically the only two other languages I speak – French and Japanese – I am not overly fond of either. Though perhaps these days speak is a rich claim – I suspect my current linguistic abilities range on a spectrum of bad through appalling – it has been a long time I took either language out and exercised it.
The French claims their language is the language of romance and perhaps in the dulcet tones of Juliette Binoche it is but more often than not my recollections of it spark memories of Gallic taxi drivers yelling abuse at pedestrians and arrogant politicians justifying the testing of nuclear weapons in my back yard. Japanese? I love the culture and the food – oh how I love the food – but I find the language often either harsh and guttural or high pitched and annoying in the style of many Japanese teenage girls.
But overall I love the diversity of sounds we humans make. In a previous post I talked about the beauty of hearing the Koran read in Arabic or Farsi. The point being that even if you don’t understand the words the sound has a beauty. I have some beautiful memories of those linguistic sounds – hearing afternoon prayer in a mosque, sitting in a crowded Vietnamese restaurant in Cabramatta and listening to the blur of voices, hearing a Rabbi saying Kaddish, sitting around a table and listening to Lu’s family argue in their polyglot of English, Italian and Spanish.
All this and communication too? Beautiful.
Many entries
September 8th, 2003At work and my fingers are sore from banging on the keyboard for most of the morning responding to emails and catching up on all the things I have been ignoring for the last few days.
Also playing around with WordPress. Which looks interesting. Very pretty anyway. Though might fall into the same category as other new tools of it’s nature – not enough there yet to make it worthwhile. They need that momentum of input and development that an MT has. Even pMachine – which is my current tool of choice lacks the depth of mod and plugins development that it really needs. And Rick Ellis is a tad close-mouthed about his development plans – which makes it harder to predict where the product is going to go. Ah well. All fun to muck around with anyway.
P.S. 500 entries. Weird. Never imagined getting to this point.