This little gem almost slipped by today. There are some things that you just hope are true:
A 40 year-old Wisconsin man has put in a strong bid for the dumbest criminal of the year after he allegedly stole a GPS tracking device used to monitor criminals on probation.
I am looking at the stats for the month of August. As usual many visitors are heading for the Man of the Moment section of the site. Mark Owen is still tops (which, if you look at the number of comments, is unsurprising). Colin Farrell comes next – which means he is really moving up the table. The other guys still get a fair few visitors but Josh Hartnett doesn’t feature on the top stats list, despite having a new movie out.
I’ve mentioned before that TypePad seems like a cool tool if you want to start personal publishing and need a hosting service to sort it all out for you.
What’s fascinating about Typepad is the “Now Reading” section – which I think is a configurable option. Now is it just me or do TypePad users seem to have a lot of books on the go at any one time? I know I struggle to try and keep two books on the go at once (see cityofsound, Not A Dollar Short, Anil …
Following on from reading Rory Cellan-Jones’ ‘Dot Bomb’, which focused on the ‘dot com’ bubble in the UK, I’ve read Po Bronson’s ‘The Nudist on the Late Shift‘, which looks at a similar time from Silicon Valley. Also reviewed on Amazon.
Po Bronson has produced a very well-written and extremely readable insight into the craziness of ‘dot com’ fever in Silicon Valley. Clearly spending a great deal of time with both the entrepreneurs and employees involved, ‘The Nudist on the Late Shift’ gets behind the ideas, the passion and the money.
The madness that meant people spent every waking hour in the office (some even sleeping under their desks) and meant that companies provided on-site laundry facilities for workers without the time to do their washing is reflected well in the stories of the individuals involved.
The book tells of a time of optimism where the future can be changed by technology and wealth can be earned on the back of an unproven idea. Bronson concludes the book by questioning whether it’s too late to join the party. Reading it now, with the benefit of hindsight and the knowledge of the crash that came, makes the book all the more entertaining. The reader is drawn into the individual stories and wants to warn the visionaries that it’s all about to go wrong for them.
A recommended insight into a unique time in business history.
This has certainly been a long, hot summer. I have thoroughly enjoyed the ability to sit outside in my garden and enjoy pleasant summer evenings and baking weekend afternoons. Despite the fact that I have been unable to keep the garden in check (and it’s looking desperately in need of a makeover), it’s been wonderful.
At the start of the summer, I invested in a Pure Evoke 1 digital radio. The sheer range of stations is fantastic, and I, for one, welcome the introduction of Digital Radio to the UK. The irony of the purchase is that I’ve spent most of the evenings listening to the relaxed sounds of Jazz FM (which is perfectly clear across London on a regular radio set). At least my second favourite (and superb on summer Sunday afternoons) is The Groove, which is only available on DAB in London and on the web.
I am not exactly sure of the time at the moment, for I am in Helsinki, and my clock is yet to adjust. I am back in a city that I had promised to revisit, but I am still here on business with no time to see anything.
It was a pleasant journey indeed. I have never been on a flight with an all-male cabin crew. Despite what the Captain called “a bit of an incident” on a runway at Heathrow (no idea what), we managed to arrive in time.
Hopefully, I have packed everything I need – I tried to be organised last night, but I failed. I did remember to call Barclaycard and tell them I was heading out of the country. They have started requesting that you tell them when you will be away so that they know the charges appearing on your account are not fraudulent. I think I should applaud that move, but it’s a pain to remember to call. If you don’t, you run the risk of the card not working upon arrival. I suspect I should be grateful, but instead, I remain paranoid that the card will not work and leave me stranded in some foreign hotel with no way of paying them.
There is nothing of quality about the photographs produced from my mobile phone. Nevertheless, I took these pictures while trying to map today’s train journey to Poole. Of course, I missed the most important thing: the arrival at Poole station.
Great Yarmouth – where I was for some of the time on the stag do – is an interesting town. I suspect that it was grand – and deserving of the name Great – at some point in its history. There are certainly some impressive buildings. The beach seemed impressive and wasn’t crowded, even on a hot Sunday afternoon. Yet, somehow, it was a little sad. Amusement arcades and fun-pubs clashed along the main drag with theme-pubs and entertainment centres. The side streets were blocked by tourists looking at shops selling cheap, gimmicky tourist gifts (not far removed from a Kiss Me Quick hat). It was all so similar and without imagination. I don’t object to any of the items listed above (don’t take me for a snob); it was the sheer repetitiveness of it all that I found a little depressing.
Take the lovely-looking beach. Hidden from the coast road by a collection of buildings obscuring the view. Admittedly, the pier and the Winter Gardens weren’t ugly buildings, but they still blocked the sight of the sea (and, surely, isn’t that why you go to the seaside?). The leisure centre and Sealife Centre were, however, ugly concrete buildings with little to make you stop and gasp in awe at the view. It’s such a shame we’ve done similar things with many of our great coastal resorts.
The attitude was also interesting. During the day, it was certainly family-driven and seemed friendly. The night air, however, was filled with the faint menace of the alcohol fuelled British lout.
Admittedly, I was in a group of 15 lads that could have seemed threatening had we not walked in small groups and mingled in the pubs and bars we visited.
The truth is, of course, that we encountered no trouble and had no cause for concern at any point in the whole evening. In fact, it was a great place to be, but like many English towns, there is an edge to the atmosphere that makes you think twice about looking at a stranger.
With all the families in town, it’s a real shame the family-friendly atmosphere of some of the towns abroad can not be fostered – perhaps it’s time some of those seaside theme pubs were re-invented as something new.
I’ve spent the weekend at a stag party. It was an enjoyable time (firstly at Newmarket watching the racing and latterly in Great Yarmouth).
Although this is not the first such event that I have attended, it’s probably the first that I think most closely fits the stereotype: attempts to get a large group of men drunk and in a lap-dancing club.
What surprised me most, however, was how much I enjoyed myself. You see, as a gay man, I have always thought that these events are places for heterosexual men only and, in truth, somewhat intimidating.
Even the lap-dancing club was remarkably asexual, and thus, if sexuality is the cause of the friction, it was not important. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the sight of women cavorting around a pole, but sexiness was not at the top of my mind (which might be expected), and it was also not at the top of most of the guys I was there with. It was a very odd atmosphere and something I am not, currently, able to sum up in words.
The groom seemed to enjoy himself – although I think he found the lap-dancing club the most awkward, as he didn’t want to be there. I met lots of interesting new people and the whole thing was not so much an ordeal as a pleasant weekend away.
Why is it that the small stuff in life is always the most infuriating?
This morning I thought I would give the MSN Music Club the once over. You’re supposed to be able to download music legally and all that kind of thing. Well, today they did manage to take my credit card details (I signed up for the minimum service), but that’s about all they’ve done. I haven’t actually managed to get a track out of it. It seems to be a permanent error (but perhaps not as big an error as me handing them my credit card details). Obviously, I was also silly to try to access it later in the day with the Mozilla browser.
How disappointing.
This afternoon I rushed home from work to meet the plumber who was coming to fix a new kitchen tap to replace the one that’s been dripping for a year (I know it’s a water crime, but I do have a life to lead). Anyway, he arrived (after I had hauled my ass and walked up the escalators on the tube to make sure I got the right train home) only to leave ten minutes later, saying he couldn’t fit the new tap and somebody else would have to come out next week and show him how to fix it.
How frustrating.
On the upside, my Oyster card that allows me to travel on the tube hasn’t yet been erased by my mobile phone despite the fact that I keep sticking them in the same pocket.
