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Saturday, March 06, 2004

Things not to do in London 

Watching Dawsons Creek in a London flat, while surfing the net in nothing but a towel really fucks with your head.

Yankee fiction and british reality really don't mix.

The comment code is broken, I can blame no one but myself.

I'd list all the things that I should be doing instead of this, but then I'd be productive in some way. I can't let that happen.
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Friday, March 05, 2004

Untitled: The Movie 

Warning: This Web-Log will look a little strange over the next week or so as I mess around with the code. I’ve cought the dreaded HTML/CSS bug that effects people who notice that tons of other blogs look just like theirs. More on that later.

Well the boss came back to work today, but he still seems pretty messed up from the food poisining/virus.

Of course I was feeling about the same as he was, but for self induced reasons. I keep forgetting that drinking the night before work is a BAD idea. But after a couple of weeks the memory of feeling like utter crap all day, and trying to act professional, well, it fades.

The Polish people are still hear, and the are becoming braver about breaking out the English when they need too. Not that they have a huge amount with which to bust a move conversationally, but it’s still a heck of a lot more then I can do in Polish, so who am I to complain.

One good thing did come from my drinking session last night. In the last bar of the night I ended up meeting some guy who owns his own internet search company, in the bathroom of all places. Anyway, he gave me his card and said I should think about doing some consulting work for him. I’ll probably never do anything about it, but its nice to get a random job offer next to the commode. Kind of puts life in perspective.


Flat wise things are looking up. A guy at work has bought a new place, and has offered to put in A good word for me to the letting agent of the place he rents now. It’s not even a flat, but a 3 bedroom house. Space is a luxury I have done without for the past year.

Instead of doing any work today I switched this very web-log over to a custom template, with embedded CSS. I stole some of the CSS from Bluerobot.com, and then heavily modified it to work with the Blogger’s own code. I still have a way to go until all the colours and layout are right, but I’m still proud that it’s my own code being used, instead of my words being injected into someone else’s template. Once I get the hang of CSS by hacking around in this blog, then I think I’ll be ready to tackle the task of creating my own portfolio online. I already own the domain (www.myfullname.com for those who are interested) I need.

In fact, I might end up hosting the blog on my own website, if I can find away to update it via the web. My be I can setup a script that sucks the HTML stright from blogger, parses out all the blogger code and adverts, and then re-posts it to my website. That has several advantages:

1. The blog would be hosted at two locations at once, in case of failure.
2. I can still use bloggers web interface to update my blog from anywhere in the world with out the need for an FTP program.
3. Features not possible in blogger could be added when I create them.
4. Hosting your own and rolling rolling your own code adds ‘leet hax0r credit.


Well, that’s a lot of text, and not much substance.

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Wednesday, March 03, 2004

The Great Lint Monster and other tales from the city 

Ah, London. Such a strange, fast paced city.

I was rear-ended on my way to work this morning. A normal enough thing to happen I guess, but the thing is, I walk to work. No cars were involved. I slowed down to look both ways before crossing the street and WAM; she ploughed straight into the back of me! After demonstrating what I will call the verbal equivalent of beeping ones horn, she was off again at top speed. If she had had a licence number painted on her ass, I would have reported her for dangerous…walking.

I was already late for work having miss placed one of my shoes, which turned out to be underneath the Polish girl sleeping in our lounge room. Under the Polish girl, always the last place you look. The reason for the Polish people in the lounge (Three in total) is that they are friends of my Polish roommates cousin’s girlfriend. I’d provide a diagram, but I’m still confused. All I know is that it’s the most distant connection leading to people staying with us ever.

However, I do not blame our pleasant Polish parasites for my late arrival at work. No, my other flat mate Steve provided the first hurdle in my journey to work. This is where the tale gests even more long winded:

Steve has a new job working the night shift as a welder for the London Underground. But judging from the state of the shower this morning, I don’t think he was doing much welding last night. From the looks of things he must have been tasked with hunting down and killing the dreaded Lint-Fluff beast that lurks in only the darkest tunnels of the tube network. This is the only reason I can think of for the fuzzy grey crap that was stuck to every surface in the shower. The Lint-Fluff beast must also live on a diet of glue, for it took ten minutes for me to remove enough of its remains for to even try showering.

To top it all off, once I got to work, I learned that my boss is still off sick with food poisoning, the third day in a row now. This leaves me the sole IT ninja for the entire office, and removes most of the goof off time I was going to put to good use finding a new place to live. My lease runs out in less then four weeks, so I’m hoping my boss gets his immune system in gear soon.

How ever, I’m having a really good time, all this crazyness is much better then the un-interesting weeks that made up late January to Mid-February. It’s been getting better since I had a two part Canadian invasion. First Sam, a distant family friend, then Andi, a member of the clan Argast and sister to the Famous Tim with a B. I’d never seen Steve so well behaved, nice going Andi ;)

Now my main task is to get my passport sorted out, and then I’m ready for as much lint as life sends me.

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