[Deviant Nation] ICY's Journal

Excursions outside.

ICY — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 18:29:56 GMT

Oh the unending darkness, the blackness, the cold cold absence of light itself. Glum, gloomy existance, oh how I wallow in the realms of the pitch black e...no wait....
Hang on.
...
The lights just blown and I fell asleep is all.

The harsh light from my computer screen being my only light source kinda sent me into a goth poetry spiral there, apologies.

*runs out to get a bulb*

(23 minutes later)

Got one...
But I had to murder a man to get it.
Well when I say murder, it was really just more of a glowering withering look that destroyed the very core of his black frozen carbonite soul...and some gentle 'persuasion' with a blunt object. I suspect it (his soul) had some encounter with Jabba the Hut and came off the worse...that or he had too much Pizza the Hut and it crusted over with scaly cholesterol and garlic dip.
Plus, I'm pretty sure the guy has to die for it to be murder and he was alive, I think. I didn't really check.
I went to buy this lightbulb in the 24 hour supermarket down the road. Got to the till and this swirling mass of pointlessness, daubed with aftershave that smelt like bleach and windex, eyeliner encrusted eyes,dyed matte black floppy fringe of non conformity, all crammed into a uniform three sizes too big for his anorexic frame, turns to me and asks...."Do you have a value club card?".

"What!!?!??!"

"WHAT?!?!?!?" I scream. How dare you assume I'm the type of person who holds in his possession a "value club card". "How dare you!!!!" I say, realising I now have the pathethic individual gripped my the lapels, my face a millimeter from his. "Do you think I am one of those sheepish masses?! Feasting on saturated fat, oosing from the shriveled bosom of corporate greed?! Fisting snacks into my gaping maw with my right hand, left hand firmly gripping the remote control as I use it to scratch myself in various places while watching inane and repetitive shows involving some unfunny comedian, possibly named 'Raymond'?!?!?!"

I relax my grip, pat down his now crumpled uniform and compose myself.
I glance at his uniform and realise that it had already been crumpled and creased before my intervention.
"Heh heh..." I utter, trying to buy myself time as my mind tries to wrestle my screaming, kicking id back under control and into it's locked little spikey box.

"Listen, morticia, I just want a lightbulb. No special offers, no club cards, no points offers, no vouchers, no saving stamps, no christmas club, no three for two, no 10% off next purchase, no have a nice day, no promotions, no cash back, no call credit or ciggarettes with that, no americanised crap, no europeanised crap, none of that shit.
I. Just. Want. To. Illumintae. My. Room. With. Incandescent. Light.
Here's a lightbulb.
Here's a fiver.
Now make it happen."

He quivers a little, then seems to find some pocket of resolve in himself. Straightens up and says
"Well those are three for two you know".
"Oh, right..."
I look back to the shelf that holds their selection of bulbs, a mangled display of mismatched sizes and prices, instinctively looking for another two of the same.

My mind utters one silent explicative and the brief moment of mental untity allows the darker sides caged off in my mind slip their jailers and run rampant. My grip around the lightbulb tightened and I wondered, not for the first time, if the till monkey knew what glass and tungsten tasted like...and if not, that I should enlighten him of the experience.
All semblance of restraint was almost abandoned, until the some of the more reasonable aspects of what remains of my personality managed to rugby tackle them to the ground, within fingertips of their goal. My grip slackened.
While this little struggle occurred and silence that resulted the wretch grew bolder within his boots...well black converse at least..."what do you need it for anyway?" he asked.

I could hear his mental gears grind and shudder before this utterance, and afterward I swear I heard them shred themselves to pieces while leaking fluid.

"Because" I say...dangerously quiet, scaring even myself, "I'm going to glue it to a stick and have it positioned over my head so that when I get a good idea, everyone will know about it".

To illustrate this point I place the bulb above my head, simulate the light going off with a flourish of my hand and a "bing!" and then repeatidly bludgeon the guy with his own "next customer please" divider stick.

Luckily for him, but not so for humanity, the divider was of poor quality and splintered after a short while. Thank you chinese workmanship.
I counted out the exact change required for the bulb and left it on the counter.
Walking out I wondered why every trip to the local supermarket ended up with me covered in blood and sirens out in the distance.

Anyway, I got home and using the light of my phone I found the light and stuck in the bulb.
It's good to be an illuminated individual like me.

Right, Inter-Net-O-Tron

ICY — Thu, 27 Sep 2007 15:01:40 GMT

I'm back, embracing your harsh, poorly coded silicon bosom.
Am much better now, illness behind me. Built me a new computer and got decent internet access once more. Still, it feels like I've nothing done in the past four weeks. Which to be honest, in any real practical terms I don't.

So to counter that fact I've decided to do a recipie guide, well a recipie in actuallity. Singular.

Battered Drunk Chilli Tiger Prawns

1.Go to local large supermarket and find the seafood section. Locate a nice pack of Tiger Prawns or whichever variety you prefer (I prefer those as they're much meatier and don't have that terrible concentrated fish flavour of processes frozen prawns). Make sure they're not frozen, just pre-cooked & chilled. Means you can't make a balls out of cooking them.

2. Grab a pack of oriental noodles. (I prefer medium size)

3. Also liberate one small jar of sweet and sour sauce of your preference.

4. Get 1 onion, 1 chilli (I grow my own),1 small bottle of cola, 2 peppers(different colours), 3 Mushrooms & when you get home have 4 swigs of whiskey.

5.Take another swig of whiskey and bash around your presses and cupboards for a clove of garlic and some regular flour.

6. Using both hands and with a wide stable base, pour some olive oil into a pan.

7. Clean up mess after missing pan entirely and try again.

8. Swig another gulp of whiskey in celebration of hitting the target this time.

9. Chop up half the onion, half of each pepper, the mushrooms and the chilli.

10. Swig some whiskey to celebrate not chopping one of your fingers off.

10b. If you have chopped one of your fingers off, stop cooking, it'll only taste bad. Swig some whiskey to dull the pain, pour the rest over your bloody stump and attempt to call an ambulance. Then pass out on the floor.

11. Turn on the pan and cook the vegetables for about two minutes. The mushrooms will tell you when it's all done, they'll have softened up. If they're turning orange or charred, then your heat is too high.

12. Swig a shot of whiskey in a toast to the marvellous mushroom, the most useful fungus around. Not like that stuff that seems to grow in your washing basket. Ungrateful sponging spores that give nothing back! They don't even taste good! Fucking taking the piss that stuff is...hey ever notice how full of shit Dr. Phil is?!

13. Crush the clove of garlic and throw it into the mix. This will make it taste better and protect your pan from vampires. If you dont have a new fangled crusher device that resembles some medieval torture instrument, then chop it up very finely so the garlic practically dissolves in the pan.

(If you've managed to chop off a finger, see step 10b.)

14. Stir it round for thirty seconds and then take it off the heat and let sit.

15. Swig the last of your whiskey and wonder where it all went to. Come to the conclusion it was vampires and smear the remains of your crushed garlic all over your 'emergency' bottle of whiskey. That'll show 'em.

16. Take out a bowl, your flour (non self raising is better) and your bottle of coke. If you're seeing two of each of these then it's the Coriolis Effect and not in any way related to that reek of cheap liquour that you can smell. Curse the spinning of the earth and choose one of each of the objects. If you miss, try the other one.

17. Put in three large tablespoons of flour and add some of the cola slowly. Stir around until it's a frothy thick batter. If it's runny, then you've too much cola in it, put in some more flour and stir again. The cola is there to create a fluffy batter and also for taste. Add a small pinch of salt. Throw the rest of the salt you spilled over your shoulder, into that yogurt that's on the table, thus ensuring an interesting evening for anyone who eats it.

18. Crack open the emergency whiskey and curse the fact it has a tamper proof top installed.

19. Smash neck of bottle against the wall and try to lap up what spilt on the floor, studiously avoiding any glass shards or spiders.

20. Realise that infact the bottle top was a regular one, you were just twisting the wrong way. Come to the zen philosphy of 'fuck it' and move on.

21. Wander into the living room and watch 17 minutes of the Simpsons before you remember that you were supposed to be cooking yourself dinner.

22. Plug in a deep fat frier if you have one. If like me you don't, then get a wok or deep pan and four some vegetable oil in it. Just enough to cover a prawn. Be careful the oil won't spill onto the cooker. This would be bad.

23. Once the oil is hot, dip a prawn into the batter and quickly place it in the pan. Turning almost immediately. If the batter turns immediately brown, the oil is too hot. Turn down the pan. If it turns light brown over about fifteen seconds then it's perfect.

24. Toast a shot of whiskey to the local fire bridage, who are big fans of good food. They always seem to show up whenever I end up cooking. Usually towards the end or the point where I lose my eyebrows. They must be able to smell it or something.

25. Repeat with the other prawns, the batter should be thick enough to cover each one.

26. Set them aside on some kitchen paper to drain the oil and return to your vegetables.

27. I use straight to wok noodles, but if you have ones that need to cooked first, then do that. This usually involves the liberal application of boiling water. (You can boil water by placing a pot on top of a high pressure volcanic vent for thirty seconds, if you don't have a high pressure volcanic vent handy, use a kettle)

28. Add the noodles to the vegetables and stir over a small heat. Add the sweet & sour sauce to taste.

29. Swig an extra large amount of whiskey for getting to step twenty nine without losing any extremities or setting the kitchen of fire. If you have done either, swig an extra large amount of whiskey to console yourself of this fact.

30. Place the noodle mix onto a warm plate and add the battered prawns on top. Don't worry if there looks like there's too many, in reality there is only one plate and about three times less prawns than there appears. The Coriolis Effect once again.

31. Enjoy watching another episode of the Simpsons and a nice drink (you can use the rest of the coke as a handy mixer).

Using this guide you should have a decent meal, something the nurse will probably say to you when she's adminstering the stomach pump later on in the course of things.
This will no doubt impress her and she'll want to have sex with you. Decline as you have sworn an oath to only use your ninja-esque cookery skills for good.

Huarrrr-gh-ack-ack-ca-HUHck

ICY — Wed, 05 Sep 2007 23:35:03 GMT

That's the sound of one man coughing.
Hehe.

Seems I only ever get to come out to play once a week or thereabouts on here. Haven't been shackled to my PC for quite some time (though I have been shackled to a radiator in the basement of a cheap mexican restaurant...but that's a story for another time).
I've been keeping busy, my latest hobbies include such things as building a computer from scratch (bout 80% there now), getting sick, going on long trips which I really shouldn't be embarking on, driving 674.3 miles in three days, taking pictures and seeing outdoor concerts.

The computer thing, well that's just me indulging my geek side. Haven't built one in about two to three years so I decided I wanted a new powerhouse of a machine. Set myself some serious engineering goals and am custom fabricating most of it, making it water cooled too. Anyway, I'll eventually get that done and post a shot or two of it. It will either be a spectacular success or a spectacular failure.
At least both options contain the word "spectacular".
Which practically guarantees shit-your-pants-entertainment.

Went on a road trip up to the North of Ireland (which some people call Northern Ireland, however if you have relatives like I do from there you will never call it that...lest you be educated on how it's all part of the same glorious Éire with the end of a pool cue).
Went up with the girly and her sister...to meet her other sister...and her boyfriend...yes I was a little confused too. And go to see Snow Patrol at their homecoming gig in Bangor, Co. Down.
Now I wouldn't be a massive Snow Patrol fan to be honest. Infact I 'tolerate' them more than anything else, but it was the girlys birthday present and in the end I'm glad I went.
Was 30,000 people in a park, mostly just the town itself turning out. Great gig all round.

Though the Belfast accent does begin to grate on your nerves after a while.
Even if the views of the city don't:

There are some more pictures on my flickr (clicky).

Even bought some fireworks on the way back down into the Republic. They're illegal down here so I took the chance I got. Funny thing was that even though it was the North and they use Sterling...everything was priced in Euros in the shop.
Clearly they only have one market for 'em. :P

Snow Patrol gave me a hideous cough and made my phone crash. The bastards.
I'm going to write them a letter! See if I don't!

Pretty much crashed out when I got back, was very very sick and then was sick while coughing. All tremendous fun. And they still don't have an explanation for me. Go modern medicine.

This journal entry hasn't been quite chock full of humour as it usually is, that's an unfortunate side effect of feeling like a dead midget being sat on by an incontenant obese gorilla.
It's fun, give it a try the next time you're in the zoo.
Hopefully the next one will return to regular programming.

No 'Yeti/Puppy Monsters' this week

ICY — Mon, 27 Aug 2007 17:42:31 GMT

No, not this week.
The neighbours repaired the wall so the little ball of yapping fur can't escape into here and eat my stuff.

This weekend I decided that I was gonna go on a mini-holiday as I've not managed to go anywhere myself this summer. I kinda wanted to go camping as:
a) I love it, ever since I was a kid,
b) It's cheap
c) You meet interesting people
d) It's fun to rough it, especially on the west coast of Ireland.

So I discover my sister took my tent to a festival this summer...and promptly lost it in a sea of mud.
It's now buried somewhere in a field a hundred miles away along with several hundred others, the personal belongings of a few thousand people and possibly the corpses of a few bands who didn't play well.
So I went to buy one, picked a three-man tent up for decent money and promptly fecked off up the country. My girlfriend had never been camping so she was excited to come, picked her up and drove off to the cost, left the car and got a ferry over to one of the Aran Islands. Basically a small island where they still speak Irish daily, there's usually a bit of craic and you can expect to enjoy good weather if there is some.

The trip though...I had to carry everything as my girl has only just recovered from a broken back. The rain started to come down as we docked. It was a 40 minute hike to the campsite, uphill. The 'campsite' was someones field that had the grass cut and two dodgy toilets in the corner (also I was expecting some guy in a rocking chair playing the banjo judging by the owner of the site). I took the tent out and it was clear I'd been duped.
It was what you'd call a "fucking kiddies tent" as I seemed to call it at the time. It was hardly even a two-man tent, there was no inside bedroom part, only the fly-sheet bit. It was too short and my ankles and feet stuck out the door and it wouldn't stand up to an asthmatic blowing at it through a straw.
So it was too small, too light, too poorly attached to the ground, too likely to leak and too fucking ugly.

Most of the rest of the trip involved me zoning out into visions of the sales assistant who sold me it being viciously attacked by several wild bears who were "accidently" released into his bed at 3 am by a misguided, drunk and suddenly very rich park ranger....

If it had blown away or gotten soaked then we were offered shelter in the "absolutely-massive-royal-appointed-planning-permission-required-you-could-hold-a-rock- festival-in-there" tent the nice lesbian couple across from us had. I helped them put it up, it was enormous. They'd only just bought it and though it was a medium sized four man tent. Looked like a small arabic village when it went up.

We decided to laugh it off and just go drinking, which we did. There wasn't much going on though, the island was quiet...no music, no craic, nothing. Annoying.
So we stumbled home, quite fun...pitch black on an island in the middle of the atlantic, crawled into our shitty home for the night and got promptly wet when the misting rain started to leak through.

I wasn't feeling the best before this, and when I got a hell of a lot worse the next morning we decided to abandon it all and head back inland.
We were going to go to this large traditional Irish music festival, but I wasn't able to hack it. So I dropped the girly off with her cousin and friends and am back home to blood tests and more puzzled looks from my doctor.

Oh the hilarity of it all. Was fun in the end, because it went so horribly wrong. Gotta love that.

Ugh! Yes! It's a word!

ICY — Wed, 22 Aug 2007 01:37:49 GMT

Many apol-o-gies for not posting another journal last week, however my access to the Al-Gore-A-Tron-Net was terribly limited and I was in no mood to post anything other than a 1500 word rant on the evils of hospital waiting lists and having your vegetables eaten by snails.

That was before I got home today(after many days absence) to find my neighbours had accidently demolished part of our adjoining back wall. And the wall which leads onto the main road behind us. Which they say they will rebuild, which they will. Lest they get a visit from Mr.Former-Strong-Wall-Now-Idle-Cement-Brick through some valuable property...
Not that I would ever do that, but my dogs dead (so no guard dog for either of the houses) and there's no guarantee that random little shits of kids wouldn't sieze on ready made rubble to cause havoc with.

Throwable rubble around here.
It's like handing a bunch of kids in prison a bag of fireworks and then igniting a bunch of them off a cigar lit from a 500 Euro note suspended in the cleavage of a hot nubile stripper.

And then punching the guard in the ballsack on the way out.

How they quite managed it is beyond me, but it seems to have been the result of some machine gone amok. Perhaps a jackhammer, they were going to try to move a drain or something.
I'd say it ran away from them...heh, they're lucky it didn't hideously maul someone.

However...one side effect from this I've already noted was a strange noise upstairs today.

When I was the only one here.

I walked out and closed the back door to dampen some more noise.

Still something odd from upstairs.

So I creep up....

Step

"Hnnnrrrgghhhh hh hh *scrape*"

Step

"Ssssht....*scrape* *thud" snnnsh"

...S...t...e..p...

"*thud*.....(silence)

*Hnnnggrr *scra-a-a-p-e* t-t-t-t-BANG...Rrrrnnnnngh"

Nervously I get up to the second floor, cursing my previous notion to decline "drunken wild boar insurance".

I open my bedroom door....to find.....

My neighbours puppy.

Puppy!

In my fucking wardrobe. Eating my old Army boots.

Here was me thinking I'd managed to lure some sort of Abominable snowman into my abode, such was the feriosity and noise emmitted from this little ball of fluff with two pitch black tiny eyes.

So I scoop him up...(he's a male puppy with the name "Debby", he's got no hope) and knock on next doors...er...door.
Hyperactive puppy suspended six foot over the ground in one hand, I ring the bell and juggle the bastard till they answer.
A little embarassed they just wonder how he got out....then they remember.

I'm pretty sure they'll have that wall fixed ASAP.

My new nickname for the little shit is 'Yeti The Boot Eater'.

Things Of Late That I've Seen:

ICY — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 23:16:21 GMT

(that may be somewhat of interest)

#1: A girl walking along a wall while very very very very very drunk, shouting something about "Spiderman", slipping and landing on top of a railing, legs either side. If she didn't have internal genitalia before, she certainly does now.

#2: A driver disintegrate her front right wheel and bumper in an open manhole that was disguised by flooding. The cover had been blown up and off by the torrent unleashed after 4 hours of torrential downpours. She hit it at about 40Mph, wrecked the wheel and then stalled the car in the flood.

#3: A man stopping to help the woman, not realising the water was higher than his door. Meaning his carpets became suddenly quite a lot wetter than they were used to as he got out.

#4: The woman refusing a lift from myself in the pouring rain as "she can manage". Perhaps I look like a serial killer. In that case, well done her.

#5: That gay men also try and use the "Yawn" technique to try and pick up guys...and by 'guys' I mean...me. Sitting in a club waiting for my girlfriend to come back from her epic trip to the toilet, some guy sat right next to me on the arm of the chair. Then, in all seriousness, yawned and put his hand across behind me and leaned in to me. He then legged it after it became clear I wanted nothing to do with him. Than came back and shook my hand for some reason. I have no idea.

#6: My girlfriends father screaming abuse at the TV during a match. While standing up on the couch. Neither of his teams were actually playing, but he apparently gets "swept up in it". So much so I heard insults I've never heard in my entire life, and I though I'd heard everything...
Nuclear weapons of insults.
Things a pimp would blush at.
Things that'd kill the Pope on contact.

#7: Another drunk girl missing five steps in a pub and plummeting faster than a cartoon coyote holding an anvil. Getting up and walking out the door as if nothing had happened. With her left tit hanging out for all the world to see.

#8: "Saddle Of Rabbit Stuffed With Lobster" on a menu in Galway. I wonder who put a fluffy bunny next to a lobster and thought "one of them would be tasty in the other!" And how did they decide who went in who?

#9: The contents of my girlfriends back. Via X-Ray. It contained much less robotic parts than I imagined, judging from the cracks it would emit sometimes.

#10: My brother, drunk, falling in the door at 4am, thinking it would be a great idea to make up some Angel Delight Whipped Strawberry Dessert and almost getting bludgeoned to death with the food blender after waking the entire neighbourhood with it.

Been A While...

ICY — Mon, 06 Aug 2007 23:19:56 GMT

Right, well I made it back.

Err...Eventually.

I had just gone down to the shop to get some milk and was viciously and completely kidnapped by girl scouts. Turned out they weren't really girl scouts as they weren't offically affiliated with the correct governing bodies, but that didn't stop them wearing with uniforms and pushing chocolate on kids in playgrounds. I was a witness and had to be silenced, so they kept me chained up in a garden shed for the past seven months while trying to ransom me.

The door they locked me behind :(

Unfortunately they overestimated my worth and spent much of their time ringing around to various people, family and employers. It seemed that they had all gotten used to seeing me for free over the years and weren't quite prepared to pay good money for something they never did before.

The police, apparently, only made the most perfunctory of searches but were hampered by poor general descriptions of me (as no-one could quite recall what haircut I was sporting, argued about it and then compromised on "has hair unless he doesnt") and a general apathy about the whole thing. Apparently they had busted a large prescription medication ring the previous week and seeing as how their systems were flush with as much Xanex, Prozac and Valium as they wanted, they ended up being distracted by re-runs of Friends and forgot to go to work for about three weeks.

In the end the most the girl scouts could get in exchange for me was a half eaten kebab and seventeen packets of expired mustard.

So I was released into to custody of the local kebab shop owner who had made the deal thinking I would function quite well as a slave kitchen worker. However the months of isolation and neglect ment I no longer had any dexterity in my limbs, so he used me as a table leg until I was freed by the health inspector as because I was not easily wiped down I was posing a risk to public health.

And that's the truth.

And by truth I mean total and complete lies.

Which is more entertaining.

I've got a ton of catching up to do I'd say. I'll go get my shovel and do some digging into what I missed.

Vista...a view of mediocrity.

ICY — Tue, 16 Jan 2007 22:54:27 GMT

Generally in work I sell people computers and computer related items. I also then spend eons explaining to people the technical details of these items, how such items interact, how such items can be run, how such things are easy if you just try yourself and quit calling me every six seconds fretting and talking very loudly. Because volume = sincerity. And clearly if you don't deafen my ear, then I will
decide you're unworthy of my help and leave you cowering in the cave of quakeing technophobia.
I also do exactly that with all my co-workers. Technical question? Clearly they just tot over to me, have the customer explain their query, then have me answer it in detail. Then toddle back off to wherever and take the sale. I order and manage stock. I manage the staff on the floor, authorise returns, schedule breaks and resolve disputes.

In addition I generally get lumbered with fixing wayward PC's, laptops, iPods, phones, network devices, screens, GPS systems, car kits, cameras, expansion cards, house phones, software issues, printers, printer cables, scanners, games, xboxs, psps, projectors, tills, reciept printers, wireless cards, radios, mp3 players, speaker systems, security cameras, canvas prints, mountings, label machines and shelving.

So today I added a new one to the list. We were supposed to be given Microsoft Windows Vista training. What actually occured was some swarthy rep arrived. He has about as much technical knowledge as a bag of decomposing dingos kidneys who've flunked out of playschool.
Freely admitted so and then proceeded to ask me how to operate and run Vista and several new features in it.
And I knew how. So I did.
So I trained the Microsoft trainer in Vista.
And my boss stole the complmentary hoodie he brought. I got a sheet saying "Introducing Windows Vista: The Wow Starts Now".
How great.

I looked at this guy. Expensive suit. Very expensive watch. New company car. New laptop. Expense account.
Thick as an inbred badger on dope.
I looked at myself. Enforced company uniform, nasty cheap polyester slacks(which I had to buy myself), acrylic/cotton blend store labeled blue shirt, enforced nasty acrylic tie (emblazoned with the same damn logo as the shirt), shoes that look hideous and a disgruntled demeanour.

Funny thing is I could never get a job with them. They turned me down as I didn't have a first in my degree.
I didn't learn anything I know right now in my degree course. It was the biggest waste of time I've experienced. Yet it's a piece of paper I guess.

Here's me explaining to this technical trainer exactly why his presentation didn't copy to the CD he burned (because he only copied the shortcut to the fucking presentation, not the file itself). Then how to transfer a file to a USB key connected to his laptop. Then how to activate the new Aero feature in Vista that let's you browse your open windows in this ethereal three dimensional stack of utter pointlessness (using so much graphical resources that it makes your card plead for mercy) and how to select his presentation.
Then how to start it.

*sigh*

Am off to New York in the 5th of Feb. Decided to say "fuck it" and take the plunge.

I have very very little else to do in the evenings/night.

No Subject

ICY — Fri, 12 Jan 2007 01:16:07 GMT

Day off spent taking pictures in actual, for real, daylight ;)
Has winter not shown up where you live either?

My Flickr<--That's such a bizzare name to be honest.

Thanks

ICY — Mon, 08 Jan 2007 23:38:05 GMT

Just a note to say thanks to you lot. I know I've not exactly been the most active of late and haven't spread the 'ol comment whoredom around recently. For that I apologise, things just got quite hectic and crazy for a long time there.
I'm gonna make a new effort, read the journals I've missed out on and try to lather you lot in love.
That sounds so weird, I'm gonna say that more often!

I've had a chance to play a little bit with my new 400D camera. Strange how for some reason it's called a "Digital Rebel XT" in the US, but no-where else.
I mean, how come? Just to make it sound sexier? I admit it kinda does. But why not "Rouge Leader XT" or "Badass Mofo XT"??

All from my Flickr.
Though I can't get used to typing the name of that site. What the hell is up with it?
I'm a complete and utter newbie/noob/n00b/idiot to all this, hope my snaps get better and I manage to find some proper subjects and the like.
Any hot, glamerous, international female assassins want some headshots in their lingerie? I'm available. Bring your own tripod.

No Subject

ICY — Thu, 04 Jan 2007 20:14:40 GMT

My dog of 14 years bit the big one a few hours ago.
He had a good innings, will be the last pet I ever have I can tell you that much.
*sigh* 2007 is beginning by kicking my arse. Less of that please.
Anyway...onward.