Paul’s Ramblings

The photographic drought has been broken; I have a new camera! After our last camera got stolen I went through the usual process of denial, anger, grief and so on, but then I decided it was time to move on and find a newer model to take it’s place. I settled on the Canon PowerShot G9. There was much debate in my mind over whether to make the move to an SLR, but I decided that the convenience of the compact format was more appropriate at this point in my life. More poignantly, I concluded that I’d rather a compact that has been designed to be the best can rather than an adequate, yet mediocre, SLR.

Perhaps absence has made this heart grow fonder, or caused the mind to wander, but it’s my opinion that Sega Lock-On is a decent game that was dropped before it’s time. On a few occassions some of us have discussed a DIY version of Lock-On but that’s as far as things went. Now that summer holidays are here my mind has had time to wander even further than usual and this time it has turned to the lofty subject of building a better Lock-On.

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In my old age I’m now discovering that not all advertising can be valued as highly as the Holy book itself. Take for example men’s shaving razors. As an informed consumer I know that two blades are better than one, three better than two, four than three and so on in an exponential fashion. I also know that the purpose of the extra blades is to lift hairs, as I shave, for a closer cut. I am also dutifully aware that the longer the title of the “shaving system” the better the shave and the smoother my face will be; “Mach 3 Turbo Extreme” obviously yields a better shave than “Men’s Razor”. So you can imagine how distraught I was when I recently discovered all of my shaving knowledge was utter bullocks.

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I now have a new kitchen toy, for the balcony, it’s my BBQ. At the beginning of winter I saw these little beauties for sale and procrastinated to my own detriment. Now, months later, they reappeared and I snapped one up for $10. There’s nothing quite like a succulent pork loin grilled over hot coals of Carpathian hard woods on a cool night.

For months I’ve been playing football, the game in which the ball is actually propelled primarily by the foot, but in the course of learning to kick in a given direction I managed to injure my big toe. The sensation, upon connecting with the ball, was similar to belting one’s toe, dead-on, with a small hammer. I decided that my runners were the likely cause of the symptoms and so forked out the cash for some real football boots. I’m pleased to say that the low profile and grippy sole seems to have put my amateur football career back on track.

I’ve been having some trouble with telephone calls of late. Specifically, Internet telephony (or VOIP). Making telephone calls from our computer gives us an economical way of staying in touch with home, but lately it has done little more than inspire me to gnaw my own toes off.

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I’m not turning hyper-pedagogical, nor am I trying to out do my mother; I have started my own library. Library 2.0 to be precise. I know this careless expression is just compounding the obscurity that veils, what is arguably, the maturation of the World Wide Web, but, in a shameless bout of whimsy, I’ll employ its misuse regardless. The bottom line is this, I’m starting my own library to retain, and catalogue, articles which, for whatever reason, interest me. This means that I don’t need to rely on bookmarks that could be outdated with time.

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Looks kind of serene doesn’t it? I can assure you however that the conditions that produced this idyllic sight were not. Yesterday afternoon I found myself on playground duty for an hour, in the snow, below zero temperatures. It was actually pretty fun however; football, snowballs and a hot cuppa. I guess you just have to learn how to live with a chilly face when you’re having fun after school.

What is white, cold, not made of toothpaste and falls on Sundays? Snow, of course!

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Over the October break two wonderful people requestioned me wholly satisfying amounts of my favourite tea for which I’m very grateful. There is just something entirely satisfying about a stodgy cup of British tea, and nothing delivers that sensation better than Taylors of Harrogate Yorkshire Tea. The moral boosting shipment could not have come sooner, my last bag had been carefully rationed over 3 months and was beginning to appear more finite than ever.