I'm currently spending most of my time glued either to my computer, or the current series of Third Watch on Channel 4. I have, however, had the time to make a few observations:
I should have read all of the relevant literature at the start of the project, not now that I'm writing my thesis.
Key papers will always be written in German.
I think I may have attention deficit disorder, but you can't buy Ritalin online.
My ability to touch type is getting worse, not better
Baileys does not help me to write.
When you're flat fucking broke, you really shouldn't be buying bottles of Absolut (especially when there is perfectly good ethanol in the lab).
When deadlines force me to, I can actually focus for, ooohhh, about 45 minutes at time. Then I start perusing the iTunes store, or browsing blogs. Suddenly, the observations of friends of my sister's livejournal friend's seem more interesting than my thesis.
If I say I see light at the end of the tunnel, supervisor Rob will cross it out with big red lines and ask me if I'm sure about this.
Rob is a prick.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Friday, November 26, 2004
the simple pleasures in life
As anyone who has ever read this blog will know, there are certain many things that bother me. One of my pet hates at the moment are a series of particularly irritating TV adverts for the (otherwise) wonderful Cadbury's chocolate.
A couple of the ads have shown the joy of people who have discovered a forgotten chocolate bar (for example in the bottom of their bag, or buried under papers on their desk). I saw this, and just thought "as if." When I buy chocolate, I eat it. Sometimes before I put my coin purse away. If I'm being restrained, I'll even take the wrapper off first.
Anyway... to the point. I'm sitting at home making corrections to one of my thesis chapters. This is a thoroughly depressing way to spend a Friday night. I pick up my handbag, and rifle through it looking for my USB pen drive and my favourite lip gloss (though to be honest, not necessarily in that order...) Suddenly, I find the unmistakable shape of a Quality Street Big Green Triangle, and the moronic joy of the dorks in the ads makes sense. I almost cradled the chocolate in my hand with a look of disbelief on my face, before carefully opening the wrapper and savouring the gorgeous praline centre.
Chocolate has never tasted sweeter...
A couple of the ads have shown the joy of people who have discovered a forgotten chocolate bar (for example in the bottom of their bag, or buried under papers on their desk). I saw this, and just thought "as if." When I buy chocolate, I eat it. Sometimes before I put my coin purse away. If I'm being restrained, I'll even take the wrapper off first.
Anyway... to the point. I'm sitting at home making corrections to one of my thesis chapters. This is a thoroughly depressing way to spend a Friday night. I pick up my handbag, and rifle through it looking for my USB pen drive and my favourite lip gloss (though to be honest, not necessarily in that order...) Suddenly, I find the unmistakable shape of a Quality Street Big Green Triangle, and the moronic joy of the dorks in the ads makes sense. I almost cradled the chocolate in my hand with a look of disbelief on my face, before carefully opening the wrapper and savouring the gorgeous praline centre.
Chocolate has never tasted sweeter...
Thursday, November 25, 2004
help required
So, I don't know where this scores on the pretentiousness scale, but I've decided I need a nice quote for the beginning of my thesis. I've been rummaging around online, as well as hitting my sister for ideas... any feedback or other suggestions will be gratefully accepted.
"If we knew what it was we were doing, it would not be called research,
would it?"
Albert Einstein
"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
Also Einstein
"They say that we are better educated than out parents' generation. What
they mean is that we go to school longer. It is not the same thing."
Richard Yates
"It was the Law of the Sea, they said. Civilisation ends at the waterline.
Beyond that, we all enter the food chain, and not always right at the top"
Hunter S Thompson
"If you really want something in this life you have to work for it.
Now quiet, they're about to announce the lottery numbers "
Homer Simpson
"Sometimes a scream is better than a thesis"
Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Resume
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live."
Dorothy Parker
"If we knew what it was we were doing, it would not be called research,
would it?"
Albert Einstein
"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
Also Einstein
"They say that we are better educated than out parents' generation. What
they mean is that we go to school longer. It is not the same thing."
Richard Yates
"It was the Law of the Sea, they said. Civilisation ends at the waterline.
Beyond that, we all enter the food chain, and not always right at the top"
Hunter S Thompson
"If you really want something in this life you have to work for it.
Now quiet, they're about to announce the lottery numbers "
Homer Simpson
"Sometimes a scream is better than a thesis"
Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Resume
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live."
Dorothy Parker
oh. my. god.
Could someone please let me know if it is normal to want to choke the life out of your supervisor?
Really.
My sister very kindly helped me set up some webspace, so that I could upload my thesis files. Partly so I had another back-up, but also so I could put up a page from which my two supervisors can download the various sections as they become available. This seemed like a good idea. I also added a polite little note to the page, requesting that the pages were printed, and any corrections were marked up and returned to me on paper. (I did this as my main supervisor, Rob, has the rather tedious habit of using the Track Changes tool on Word. This drives me nuts.)
So... this morning, I finally haul my arse out of bed and check my email. And cluttering up my inbox, are two sections of my thesis. The text was black, now most of it is blue and crossed through. And considering many of the paragraphs are lifted directly from a paper Rob OK'd about 18 months ago, I really can't understand his problem...
Really.
My sister very kindly helped me set up some webspace, so that I could upload my thesis files. Partly so I had another back-up, but also so I could put up a page from which my two supervisors can download the various sections as they become available. This seemed like a good idea. I also added a polite little note to the page, requesting that the pages were printed, and any corrections were marked up and returned to me on paper. (I did this as my main supervisor, Rob, has the rather tedious habit of using the Track Changes tool on Word. This drives me nuts.)
So... this morning, I finally haul my arse out of bed and check my email. And cluttering up my inbox, are two sections of my thesis. The text was black, now most of it is blue and crossed through. And considering many of the paragraphs are lifted directly from a paper Rob OK'd about 18 months ago, I really can't understand his problem...
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
p45 fodder
OK, so I'm still writing, but at least I do have a job to go to when I finish. On the upside, this means a regular paycheck, so I can start to pay off those student loans and other debts I've managed to accrue over six years of study. The downside? I may have to start acting like a responsible adult.
For example, I don't know if the male undergraduate students will still be considered fair game, and walking around the department swearing loudly might also be frowned upon.
Before deciding to head off to university to become a mature student, I worked for a couple of small companies; the kind of places where life was pretty laid back, and there were no rules and regulations. The kind of places where there would be no objections to the calendar I bought from amazon.fr
I've never had that much interest in either the French, or rugby players... but oo-la-laaaa...
French rugby players vs. English Farmers? It's really not a fair contest:
When I saw the link to some scans, I just had to have it :-)
After it arrived, I realise the either the French have a very flexible concept of the calendar, or they like to look a beautifully shot pictures of fit, muscular men (and who could blame them). There are dates on the page: a single line along the top in a font so small you can hardly read them. But I guess that's just not the point.
;-)
I just hope putting it up in the office doesn't result in my p45 being handed straight back to me...
For example, I don't know if the male undergraduate students will still be considered fair game, and walking around the department swearing loudly might also be frowned upon.
Before deciding to head off to university to become a mature student, I worked for a couple of small companies; the kind of places where life was pretty laid back, and there were no rules and regulations. The kind of places where there would be no objections to the calendar I bought from amazon.fr
I've never had that much interest in either the French, or rugby players... but oo-la-laaaa...
French rugby players vs. English Farmers? It's really not a fair contest:
When I saw the link to some scans, I just had to have it :-)
After it arrived, I realise the either the French have a very flexible concept of the calendar, or they like to look a beautifully shot pictures of fit, muscular men (and who could blame them). There are dates on the page: a single line along the top in a font so small you can hardly read them. But I guess that's just not the point.
;-)
I just hope putting it up in the office doesn't result in my p45 being handed straight back to me...
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
the collection grows
Cards, cards and more cards:
I just wonder if I'll finish the thesis before the whole wall gets plastered...
:-)
I just wonder if I'll finish the thesis before the whole wall gets plastered...
:-)
Sunday, November 07, 2004
wembley hell placebo
Driving in London scares me. I know it shouldn't, after all, I did grow up there. But whenever I have to go to an area I don't know, I think back to a survey carried out my a motoring organisation five or so years back. They concluded that half of the road signs were either missing or pointing in the wrong direction. Since the GPS on my phone gets confused by any building taller than a shed, I bought an A-Z with my petrol. I did eventually find the Wembley complex, although it may have had more to do with luck than judgment.
The roadsigns?
Aaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggg!!!
They can put up signs every 50 meters on every bloody road informing you of the speed limit and the presence of speed cameras. Would it be too much to expect even an occasional sign telling you which fucking road you are actually on, coupled with other useful hints (like the direction you are driving in, for example?) Apparently so. Do the powers-that-be not realise that most people do not want to be in north London? They just want road signs telling you how to get the hell out of there...
(One rant down)
Anyway, I arrived at Wembley around 4 pm. Kind of early, I know, but as well as giving me a better chance to get down near the front, I could avoid the M25 during a Friday rush hour. Billed as Placebo's last gig until 2006, there was a pretty multinational feel to the crowd; I think people had travelled from all over Europe to be there. I speak virtually no French, but when the girl in the queue behind me said something that loosely translated as "Fuck me, I'm cold!" I could understand perfectly. A fairly good indication that I've spent too much time in the lab with Emilie, my foul-mouthed French fellow postgrad!
In front of me was a group of kids (you know you're getting old when you describe people as kids)... including girls that pretty much personified every rant I've ever made about Fucking Annoying People at Gigs.
"Oh, I sit on my boyfriends shoulders at festivals..."
"oooo, I like the Ramones (never mind that most of them were dead before you hit puberty) and I think Busted and McFly are soooo cool"
"aahhhh, and I like, you know, like going down the front at gigs, because guys usually let me infront of them 'cause I'm short..."
Oh, wake the fuck up you vacuous dumb blonde airhead bitch... they let you infront of them because you're sickeningly cute jailbait with your tits on display, and apparently have no shame about fluttering your overdone eyelashes to get your own way. Urgh! Do I sound bitter??
First up were The Departure... although from what exactly I couldn't tell. They didn't totally suck, or anything... they were just rather generic, with no particularly good songs. Their music, styling and posturing all reminded me of Franz Ferdinand... about the only outstanding thing about them were the bass player's cheekbones.
I wasn't sure quite what to expect of Har Mar Superstar. Some people in the queue told me they were "kind of funky", and that the bloke often finishes up jumping around the stage in his pants (for Americans, read underpants, I think). So before they came on, I was intrigued and looking forward to the set.
Holy fucking fuck!
I have seen some bloody awful support acts. I honestly can't remember ever seeing something so bad. It had road crash karma: you know you're not supposed to look, but you can't help it.
I decided perhaps I was being overly judgmental. I closed my eyes and just tried to see if there was any actual song-writing talent under the ridiculous backing tapes, flabby torso, man-tits, and oversized ego. Nope... none to be found. When they announced they "only had three more songs" left to play, I spent them all wishing I had an Uzi. And lots of ammunition. By this point, he had stripped down to his trousers; I just stood there praying he wouldn't remove them. Thankfully, he didn't.
Why-oh-why? They could have booked Saint Silas Intercession. Or the Ga Gas. Or better still, both.
(second rant over)
So, before Placebo came on, I was standing there thinking "you bastards had better bloody be worth all this..." I needn't have worried. The came on to the tune of Taste in Men, the crowd went wild, and two of the whiny little bitches in front of me got slammed out of the way (in my defence, I've never actually claimed to be a nice person...).
Anyway, the setlist for anyone who cares:
Taste In Men
The Bitter End
Every You Every Me
Protege Moi
Black-Eyed
Special Needs
English Summer Rain
I Do
This Picture
Special K
Slave To The Wage
36 Degrees (Re-worked version)
Pure Morning
Twenty Years
Without You I'm Nothing (with Special Guest Robert Smith)
Boys Don't Cry (with Robert Smith)
Teenage Angst (Acoustic Version)
Nancy Boy
It's got to be said, I failed to get too excited about Robert Smith as a special, surprise guest. Boys Don't Cry did sound good, and is now added to a short list of Cure-songs-that-don't-suck. I know he has a trademark look, but he's a compelling argument in favour of stylists. At the very least, he could have let Brian do his make-up...
(pic lifted from placeboworld.co.uk)
Anyway, the gig fucking rocked. Security sucked - by refusing to hand out water (they preferred instead to haul out a small army of the highly dehydrated and semi-conscious). I even had a good drive home. I just hope they don't split... their goodbye sounded a little too final. Possibly just Brian being a drama queen.
The verdict? Worth every penny. And assuming they're still together, Roll on 2006.
The roadsigns?
Aaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggg!!!
They can put up signs every 50 meters on every bloody road informing you of the speed limit and the presence of speed cameras. Would it be too much to expect even an occasional sign telling you which fucking road you are actually on, coupled with other useful hints (like the direction you are driving in, for example?) Apparently so. Do the powers-that-be not realise that most people do not want to be in north London? They just want road signs telling you how to get the hell out of there...
(One rant down)
Anyway, I arrived at Wembley around 4 pm. Kind of early, I know, but as well as giving me a better chance to get down near the front, I could avoid the M25 during a Friday rush hour. Billed as Placebo's last gig until 2006, there was a pretty multinational feel to the crowd; I think people had travelled from all over Europe to be there. I speak virtually no French, but when the girl in the queue behind me said something that loosely translated as "Fuck me, I'm cold!" I could understand perfectly. A fairly good indication that I've spent too much time in the lab with Emilie, my foul-mouthed French fellow postgrad!
In front of me was a group of kids (you know you're getting old when you describe people as kids)... including girls that pretty much personified every rant I've ever made about Fucking Annoying People at Gigs.
"Oh, I sit on my boyfriends shoulders at festivals..."
"oooo, I like the Ramones (never mind that most of them were dead before you hit puberty) and I think Busted and McFly are soooo cool"
"aahhhh, and I like, you know, like going down the front at gigs, because guys usually let me infront of them 'cause I'm short..."
Oh, wake the fuck up you vacuous dumb blonde airhead bitch... they let you infront of them because you're sickeningly cute jailbait with your tits on display, and apparently have no shame about fluttering your overdone eyelashes to get your own way. Urgh! Do I sound bitter??
First up were The Departure... although from what exactly I couldn't tell. They didn't totally suck, or anything... they were just rather generic, with no particularly good songs. Their music, styling and posturing all reminded me of Franz Ferdinand... about the only outstanding thing about them were the bass player's cheekbones.
I wasn't sure quite what to expect of Har Mar Superstar. Some people in the queue told me they were "kind of funky", and that the bloke often finishes up jumping around the stage in his pants (for Americans, read underpants, I think). So before they came on, I was intrigued and looking forward to the set.
Holy fucking fuck!
I have seen some bloody awful support acts. I honestly can't remember ever seeing something so bad. It had road crash karma: you know you're not supposed to look, but you can't help it.
I decided perhaps I was being overly judgmental. I closed my eyes and just tried to see if there was any actual song-writing talent under the ridiculous backing tapes, flabby torso, man-tits, and oversized ego. Nope... none to be found. When they announced they "only had three more songs" left to play, I spent them all wishing I had an Uzi. And lots of ammunition. By this point, he had stripped down to his trousers; I just stood there praying he wouldn't remove them. Thankfully, he didn't.
Why-oh-why? They could have booked Saint Silas Intercession. Or the Ga Gas. Or better still, both.
(second rant over)
So, before Placebo came on, I was standing there thinking "you bastards had better bloody be worth all this..." I needn't have worried. The came on to the tune of Taste in Men, the crowd went wild, and two of the whiny little bitches in front of me got slammed out of the way (in my defence, I've never actually claimed to be a nice person...).
Anyway, the setlist for anyone who cares:
Taste In Men
The Bitter End
Every You Every Me
Protege Moi
Black-Eyed
Special Needs
English Summer Rain
I Do
This Picture
Special K
Slave To The Wage
36 Degrees (Re-worked version)
Pure Morning
Twenty Years
Without You I'm Nothing (with Special Guest Robert Smith)
Boys Don't Cry (with Robert Smith)
Teenage Angst (Acoustic Version)
Nancy Boy
It's got to be said, I failed to get too excited about Robert Smith as a special, surprise guest. Boys Don't Cry did sound good, and is now added to a short list of Cure-songs-that-don't-suck. I know he has a trademark look, but he's a compelling argument in favour of stylists. At the very least, he could have let Brian do his make-up...
(pic lifted from placeboworld.co.uk)
Anyway, the gig fucking rocked. Security sucked - by refusing to hand out water (they preferred instead to haul out a small army of the highly dehydrated and semi-conscious). I even had a good drive home. I just hope they don't split... their goodbye sounded a little too final. Possibly just Brian being a drama queen.
The verdict? Worth every penny. And assuming they're still together, Roll on 2006.
Monday, November 01, 2004
oops
I really should avoid eBay. It's not so much that it's bad for my health, just my bank balance. When Placebo announced a one-off gig at Wembley Arena, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to go. By the time I realised I could, all of the standing tickets had sold out.
I figured it was no big deal, and tried to remind myself of all the things I detest about the place. For those not in the know, the arena was built as an Olympic swimming pool; the acoustics are a dead giveaway. It's a pain in the arse to get to, and an even bigger pain to get back from. And it's miles from where I live.
Then I decided that it didn't matter that I had already seen the bloody band four times this year... I just had to be there.
So I've just increased my credit card debt, and succumbed to the heady excitement that is eBay. The thing I hate the most about that website, is that it brings out all my worst characteristics... the predator, the bully and the bitch. I crush people because I can. To the point where I synchronise eBay time with that on the speaking clock, and chuckle to myself as I picture the poor sucker who realises that he/she was outbid in the final 10 seconds. Does anybody out there actually like me? 'Cause I really don't think I like myself...
I figured it was no big deal, and tried to remind myself of all the things I detest about the place. For those not in the know, the arena was built as an Olympic swimming pool; the acoustics are a dead giveaway. It's a pain in the arse to get to, and an even bigger pain to get back from. And it's miles from where I live.
Then I decided that it didn't matter that I had already seen the bloody band four times this year... I just had to be there.
So I've just increased my credit card debt, and succumbed to the heady excitement that is eBay. The thing I hate the most about that website, is that it brings out all my worst characteristics... the predator, the bully and the bitch. I crush people because I can. To the point where I synchronise eBay time with that on the speaking clock, and chuckle to myself as I picture the poor sucker who realises that he/she was outbid in the final 10 seconds. Does anybody out there actually like me? 'Cause I really don't think I like myself...
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