lechuguilla

'There's a rising tide on the rivers of hate.....'

2009-08-20T12:03:15Z

I have this kind of philosophy in life – usually it’s to let other cultures just get on with it, without outside interference. Many little tribes are more than happy, wondering around the jungles with a carrot over their cocks and their tits hanging out, shooting monkeys and huge rodents with blow guns. Good luck to ‘em too. They’ve lived that way for centuries without the trappings of ‘civilisation’ scraping a sufficient living from the land. No McDonalds, no CNN, ESPN, CBS, NBC, no internet. Sure they’ve got no running sanitation but look at them. Do they look like they need it? No. What they need, more than anything is for civilised man to leave them the fuck alone. They don’t need western education because they don’t need the trappings and riches of urban life. Really, they don’t. They don’t need money – just enough crop (be it animal, mineral or vegetable) to maybe trade with other tribes. Life is hard, but life is fair.

What a rosy view, and what a lie.

I can sit back and watch with a rested mind only until I see unfairness. I like to think this isn’t ‘western’ unfairness, but the universal infringement of anybodies right to dignity. Woman kept in fear, the poor kept in darkness .

There was a campaign recently in the US to decry the UK National Health Service. This campaign wasn’t based on fighting the usual issues associated with monolithic public sector bodies, or against some decision on an unfeasibly expensive drug programme. No, it was against the evil nature of the NHS. Yes, seemingly, free health care is an evil the world can do without. The campaign was a thinly veiled attack against the Obama administration cos ol’ Barrack has said that government funded health care programmes are a good idea. Remember what I said earlier about an equal right to dignity. Well, it seems that supporters of the GOP don’t think this applies. If the poor can’t pay the poor aren’t deserving of health care. Charity begins in home. Well to some, it seems that charity begins at home when the government can fund it via a quango set up to rebuild some nation they’ve illegitimately bombed. Oh, providing it lines their own pockets.

They’re probably the same kind of people that haven’t realised that slavery has been abolished, and they’re hoping that that thar nigger in the White House turns out to be part of some great SNL-esque ‘Amos n Andy’ tribute sketch (‘hey Michelle, what you think we oughta to be paid, what with us being politics lovers, an’ all?’ ‘’bout 4c an hour; that’s the fee for lovin’ politics’).

Any hoo, the main focus of this diatribe is going to be the belief systems of others and how these systems impact on the lives of the ‘ordinary citizen’. Sharia law is an interesting one. If you read the articles it’s a set of rules for life and society, lifted and interpreted from the holy books of Islam. These laws are based on fundamentals of fairness amongst all and freedom of speech, providing that speech isn’t anything blasphemous. Like this post, I suppose.

The articles claim that Sharia law has been the basis of all the great legal systems now used in the world, and sadly this is where we get the first clue of institutionalised bias. As a fact, it simply isn’t true. Quotes from papers have been used out of context to reinforce the belief that we are all just one step away from Sharia law (so why don’t we adopt it?). The legal systems of Western Europe were based on the foundations laid down by the Romans, the Norse and the Wotanic laws of the Saxons. Concepts of freedoms and the use of jury, many aspect of common law were shaped by their rich, and varied history. This shaping began centuries before Mohammed walked the earth, or the Kor’an was written. Our laws are based on the writings in the bible – again a story that predates the Kor’an, and some of these stories predate Christianity by a millennia. Centuries before Mohammed walked the earth, or the Kor’an was scribed. It becomes clear that many contributors to the promotion of Sharia Law are, at best, a little biased. It’s also a little nefarious that in a nation like the UK, some groups are calling for the people of that nation to adopt, wholesale ,Sharia Law.

Lets look at poor Afghanistan – a country rules and divided by Sharia law. In Afganistan, there is no crime of rape within the context of a married couple. Indeed, the crime of rape requires the victims story to be supported by four male witnesses. It’s probably easier to say, that for intents and purposes, the Afgan leaders have stricken rape from the law books. The laws say that a wife should service her husband sexually at least four times a week. A new law will ensure her subjugation further by permitting the husband to withhold food for denial of intercourse. On top of this the woman cannot work, has little right to property and has to stew in her burkha in public, with eyes downcast dare she look a man in the eyes. I’ve seen reports where woman support these conditions of life – it’s what they want (but I’ve also heard of the Stockholm syndrome). I’ve also heard many more stories where woman want to break out of the chains of subjugation, they want to cut their bondage to Sharia law and live free lives, with the ability to make choices; with the rights to dignity to which they should be entitled.

Afghanistan is only one country where Sharia law is practised. Iraq is another and that didn’t have a good history on human rights. Iran, likewise. Saudi Arabia? So modern yet I still wouldn’t want to live as a woman there. Other nations run Sharia law however and they’re not listed, so it can’t be all bad? It’s an easy thing to say but even with nations subjecting people with severe human rights abuses the leaders of other Sharia nations say nothing. If you’re not part of the solution, then neighbour, I have to view you as part of the problem. And the problem is that you can’t preach social support and charity when people can starve, and can be starved (by act of law), or they can be beaten, imprisoned, crippled, maimed and killed for abusing a set of very fragile and very inflated sensibilities (I’ll be blunt, I couldn’t give a rats ass who wrote the book or who omnipresent his imaginary friend was).

Religions ask people to live in fear. Sometimes this is good – in the Western Christian model the fear is of hell, or not being able to party on down for eternity – your immortal soul is threatened. Sharia is bad – it just seems to want to threaten the mortal body in exchange for compliance to a set of very unfair doctrines. Sure Sharia law has some strong points, but I’ve got to look at the solution as a complete system – ‘what problem are we trying to solve’ and more importantly in this case ‘how will this solution affect other parts of the system’. In this case, the good is far, far outweighed by the blight it brings to the people.

‘I know not what paths others may choose, but for me, give me liberty, or give me death’.

The Worlds most ill-informed columnist is at it again!

Intellegent design Part II

2009-08-06T17:27:16Z

A few days back I had a bit of a rant over the concept of design. Well, this is kinda part two of that diatribe. Those with no interest, look away now.

I note from http://www.diseno-art.com/encyclopedia/concept_cars/bowler_raptor.html that the student in question was studying AED – ‘Automotive Engineering Design’. To my mind this makes his ‘design’ all the more heinous. The ‘automotive engineering’ bit should (to me) indicate that the design is based on some form of practical basis – that the fundamental requirements of the vehicle’s (the design ‘hard points’ will have been considered and subsequently factored into the finished solution.

In the case of the ‘Bowler Raptor’ – clearly not. In the case of his other highlighted design (the ‘Sunbeam Tiger’, I’m forced to say the same deficiencies also apply.

As designs go, the Bowler is a faithful demonstration of the next generation Kyosho Ultima, or Associated Electric’s RC10. His Tiger is a blatant copy of the KTM X-bow, and that also contains the same glaring misrepresentations that the ‘Tiger’ design does. Neither are particularly original (so he loses marks for that).

Anyhoo, back to the Bowler. Lets look at the suspension. Lets clear up one thing first of all – the trucks built to compete on the SCORE Baja generally feature at least a yard of suspension travel. This might not be entirely necessary but it does seem to be a trend. Now, if we look at the Dakar rally – also held in desert conditions, then any entry built to FIA specifications will feature just under a foot of travel (full range of movement). Robby Gordon has entered the last couple of years in a near Baja spec truck – 600+hp (proper hp, not this SAE BS) and 3ft of wheel travel. And he gets his ass whooped by a 250hp diesel with a third of the travel. So, maybe that yard we talked about earlier isn’t entirely necessary. With the coilovers fitted on the Raptor design, I doubt a foot of travel is feasible – there just ain’t enough travel on the shocks (look at the length of the shocker, halve it, then remove about 20% - that’ll give you an idea of the movement available. The shocks locate at the wheel hub, so the final travel ain’t gonna be great. At all.

Now lets look at the front coilovers. See the angle they’re mounted at? Dumbest idea, that. As the suspension moves up the damping will get progressively softer – not an optimal idea. Where are the remote reservoirs? What’s going to stop the shock oil boiling during use? That hasn’t been factored in. Why? Simple, Yokomo don’t run remotes on the Dogfighter – so why should the Raptor? Easy answer to that – the Yoky weighs in about 3 pounds and measures less than 20" long. The Raptor is gonna be a fuckload heavier (there’ll be 1000lbs of wheels of tyres on the real thing for a starter, plus at least half a ton of batteries, plus……. You get the picture. So, modern racers run multiple shockers, with remote reservoirs – and they still get too hot to touch.

The Raptor has one spare tyre. Baja trucks carry two at least.

Now lets take a quick peek at the rear drive. I support the use of a central motor on the Raptor – the alternative (seeing as it’s electric) would be to bury a motor in each hub but this could increase the unsprung mass of the car. However it would save a lot of abuse to the halfshafts, it would also save running the shafts at the ridiculous angles shown in the design. With shafts some things have to be considered – things like the rate of plunge of the end couplings (the CVs). Then there’s the issue of running CVs at extreme angles – the angles will get worse with suspension droop too (CVs, prepare to kiss your tripodular asses goodbye!).

I know the design is a ‘concept’ but as a concept it fails because it just doesn’t take into account any of the reality of physics of the stated application. It’s an awesome piece of Sci-fi (or ‘syfy’ as wear now supposed to it), or a great concept for a toy. But as a concept showing the potential of future for a Baja race truck, well, it sucks.

For a design to be successful its capabilities has to match it requirements. ‘nuff said?

That part of me........

2009-08-05T19:22:57Z

Nat and Scrat, Franc and Gill, Franc and Majorie, James, Elwyn (all so close, yet so far - decisions not necessarily of thier making), Steve and Martin (the times we had) and Goodie, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave and Gypsy Dave, Beastie and Mole, Kevin and Gaja, Keith, Ric and Pat, Howard, Michael, Two Bamboo, Dillan, Dave, Rob (who carried a brolly well), Martin and Kate, and Nav, Alan (who choose his side), Ben and Kim, Ian and Ian and Mal and Ian. There was Edward, but he choose his side, too. Sean and Karl (father and son and best of friends) Tony and Rowan, Dave and Jan, Sue and Sue and Swampy and Tracy, Jacquie, Jude too. Stuart and Christopher (teaching me that brothers get on better than brothers and sisters. Graham and Andrew and Tim. Ted and Linda, Rob and Linda, Ben and Leslie, John (worked, caved, walked and drank with him for seven years) and Lou (amazing capability to look past peoples falws), George (walked, caved and drank) and Helen, Pete, Gordon, Gordon, Neville, Paul, Paul and Tracey, Thomas and Gracie, Mike, Mike, Domonic, Jeff, Richard and Ben (both moved to London to a better life), Paul, Bex and Andrew, Steve, JNC, Ric (extraodinary drive for exploration), Chester (extraordinary drive for life), Burt, JH, Daz, Tim, Neil, Neil, Ed and Bev. Mark and Sarah, Mark, Cal (walking, drinking, caving partner), Cloughie, Rachael, LB and Keir, Tony, Liz, Alan, Helen, Sarah, Claire, Richard and Ange, Richard and Terry (who eventually found the courage to step into the world, together - bringing hope that you can love who you want to love in times like these). Keith and his wife (I was at thier wedding and I still can't remember her name), Jason, Lionel, Miles, Jason, Steve, Robin and Geoff (grown men playing with toys and loving it at the time - I played along side, but they were better), Richard and Sue, who in the end were just too different from each other, Steve (I found him his last two jobs), Ginny, Remy, Laurent, and Nick, Jenny, Gary and Jenny (they had kids together but they weren't really suited - she just needed to feel wanted), Chris and Claire. Sarah, Sarah, Bernadette. Peter, Derek. Mike, Rodger, Silas (king of pumping iron) and Claire, Big Simon, Little Asma (who deified her background to become a rounded and beautiful person).

All proof that the ties of friendship can be fragile and temporary things. Giggles and good times, and hardship and support sometimes just aren't enough. Some of these folk put up with a lot of crap from a difficult adolescent. Some of them put up with a difficult adult. Many of them didn't really know me at all - but I'm not blaming others for that. It was my choice.

Keith and Annabel, Phil and Lesley, Shirlie, Evelyn, Victor and Rosemary, Keith and Sue, Jon, Dave and Sue, Sue (whose schisms ruined her life and a few of those close to her), Terry, X. All proof that blood may be thicker than water, but viscosity is still no refelction of adhesive qualities.

Ivy Cottage and Riverside, Upper Pitts, Green Close. Gaping Gill. Ainsbury Road, Old Vicarage Green. All places I could call home.

Gouffre Berger, Les Ecouges, Barcelonette, Autrans, Torrent du Gorg Blau. Places I wanted to be - those special places that carry memories. The kind of memories you could tell your grandchildren, or someones grandchildren if you had none of your own.

L, gone away.
What more do I have to say?

Me and he were so close that people thought us lovers. We drank, partied, walked, caved, canyoned, raced and worked on cars together. We watched films. He virtually lived with myself and X, and we virutally shared a dog.

I've got no idea whats driven me to write this. I don't know if I'm trying to prove anything, Or if it's just something as simple as easy it is to let good friends slip out your life, or easy to step away from them.They're not forgotten, though, just boxed - not considered.

.....most of the time.

Maybe I drifted away from many of these people simpley because I didn't like what I thought they thought of me. Low esteem does that. I've got no evidence actually what they thought of me, how I was pervcieved; I've only my perception of myself.

Intellegent Design.....

2009-08-02T12:30:57Z

The Internet is a wild and dangerous place. Full of evocative images and quality data. And more shit and porn than you can shake a stick at.

It’s a great place to show the world your wares and display your ego; to bleat about how great you are, or about the brilliance of your light.

It’s full of people like that. It’s also full of people like me - the cynical, the perpetually disdainful; the engineers. Now I mean proper engineers, not these dudes who sit behind computer screens building software. Engineers – people charged with making the world a better/different place by getting stuff made. Not virtual things, but real, honest to goodness, tangible things – ‘stuff’. The people who take the designs and the virtual tools and turn them into something that has to stand up to the rigours of ‘duty cycles’. Hard products that have to actually fulfil a set of unwavering demands.

My heart is in off-road racing – not only because I like getting bounced from post to pillar and back, and not only because I believe if it doesn’t hurt, it ain’t sport. I also like that the demands of the vehicle are orders of magnitude greater than anything you’ll find on a flat track.

So, a University runs a number of courses – ‘industrial product design’, ‘automotive design’ and every year they hold a design show. Graduates from the courses are now working for big name companies and have been responsible for some big name products too. But here’s the rub. I have a major issue with the kind of stuff that gets advertised and put out. I take issue with the kind of stuff the students are asked to do. This isn’t just an empty rant either, I’ve worked alongside these guys, I’ve mentored some of them through final year development projects. I’ve had to try and build what’s been ‘designed’. So, yeah, I’m cynical. That was in a previous job, now I work in a similar environment in a different place, but the problems are still the same. The students here take part in a yearly competition – the SAE’s ‘Formula Student’ – a chance for a team of students to demonstrate just how well they can engineer a race car. A chance for students to show how year-on-year they’ve learnt jack all from the years before. A chance to keep repeating the same stupid errors. Again and again, and again. It’s depressing and it certainly doesn’t bode well. In the case of the SAE, some of the problem lies with the SAE themselves and a set of unrealistic and poorly defined rules. Some of it lies with the students who are often incapable of defining requirements. A lot of it, however, lies with the academics that manage the projects too, the kind of people who should be teaching the students to answer THE fundamental question of engineering:

‘What problem are we trying to solve?’

Answer that properly and the solution often writes itself. To answer the question you need to properly understand the requirements of the product. To fail in that understanding means your finished product fails too. Sometimes, in an epic fashion.

Today I stumbled across this: http://www.diseno-art.com/encyclopedia/concept_cars/bowler_raptor.html

It’s a final year project piece by a design student. I would rate it as an ‘epic failure’, too. It’s a cracking piece of futurisation, don’t get me wrong, but as an answer to the primary engineering directive, it’s a mile off. What problem is the vehicle designed to solve? Well, from the title it’s an off-road competition machine for the SCORE Baja 1000. The title is a big clue to it’s failing. The accompanying text further reveals the issues.

Okay, the use of composites is a trend – they’re woefully expensive and have no field reparability. They’re use in road vehicles is limited to very ‘life limited’ products (as they are in bicycles too, but somehow people get drawn into the romanticism of the material and not it’s real-world attributes). To establish the capability of a composite structure you’d need to demonstrate is equivalency to the conventional structure it replaces. So, Mr Student, where’s the math? How can you tell me that your composite dream is capable of meeting it’s required duty cycle? You can’t.

The pictured design has no steel roll cage. The event rules state it’s got to have one. The vehicle cannot be an exception to that unless the can that equivalency we’ve just discussed can be proved. The vehicle has no A-pillars, the roof is cantilevered. How will that perform in a impact? How does the design ensure that the driver will not be struck by the low branches typically deflected by these pillars the designer considers a hindrance? The design is not capable of meeting the requirement of driver survivability. If the drivers gonna die, you can’t race it, if you can’t race it, it doesn’t fulfil the requirements of its title and therefore as a design exercise it fails.

How heavy is it going to be? How big is the motor? How much battery is it going to require to complete the required race distance and where will these batteries be stored? Will it be using one set of batteries for the entire event? If so, how will they be recharged? A wall socket won’t do you any good if it takes 12 hours to recharge, because in twelve hours, that race has is almost run.

So, the exposed carbon fibre chassis will increase the sense of speed will it. And why is this a good idea? I’m driving 1000 miles across a desert, at speed, the greater my sense of speed, the slower I’ll go. I don’t need to sense speed, quite the opposite, I want to do mach three and not feel a damn thing. Carbon fibre has no absorption of rattles – the high frequency vibrations. On a desert, at 20 mile and hours it’ll be knocking my fillings out. At a hundred miles an hour, it’ll kill me. Your design will quite simply, shake my body to a pulp. Sure, the dampers will deal with the big hits, but for the little stuff I’m reliant on the tires and chassis to absorb the worst. The lo-pro tyres and composite chassis will absorb little. I’ll be reduced to mush. Epic fail!

The presented design raises more serious questions than it (and the most likely the designer) can answer. If the point of the exercise was to draw something pretty, it’s worked, but if the point of the exercise is for the vehicle to satisfy the requirements alluded to by the title, then it fails. Hugely. The student needs a wake-up call, the academics need a slap.

I will never judge a design by the quality of the rendering used, or the way the picture captures specula diffusion from surfaces. I will judge the design by the way it answers the questions the real world will present it. I’m not interested in how straight the teeth in your mouth are, I’m more interested in words it speaks.

Function over form, it’s an easy win.

Further to WTF??

2009-06-25T15:52:48Z

It seems the maintenence man who has been the cause of my stress today is renowned for being 'overly belligerent', I beleive someone said.

It's not the first time he's got pissy because he's been overtaken. Someone who has expereinced his angry face beofre wondered why I didn't report him. I asked if they did, and they said 'no'.

I'll see how I feel about him tomorrow and take it from there. Chances are I'll just let it ride until he gets grouchy again, or he brings his anger inot the work environent.

Clearly, the man is a dick.

WTF??

2009-06-25T07:04:31Z

Wow, I've been awake 30 minutes and I've already recieved my first threat of violence. The conversation went

'You cut me up at the lights again and I'll knock your fucking block off''
'What lights?' I ask
'Fuck off' he replies.
'If I did anything wrong I apologise'
He wasn't listening and seemed in no mood to discuss his greivance. Let me give you some background.

I'm confused. I know my route to work. What lights indeed? He was ahead of me in the cue of traffic at the last crossroads before work - the last lights beofre work - he was the car in front of me (silver VW), I was pondering the pro's and cons of his LED tail lights.. Then for a quater mile he was the car ahead of me leading down to the turn off. We were doing about 35 in the 40 zone because of the car ahead of him. We turned off. We went past the cemetary and the road splits into three for the roundabout. He took the middle lane, I took the inside. He stopped at the line, and I carried on through seeing no traffic behind and make a left. I indicate right and move into the middle lane for the next roundabout (where I make a right and two lanes drop into one), making sure said silver VW wasn't gonna drive up my ass, because this stretch of road is renowned for some profound asshattery first thing in the morning and as a result I'm always prepared at this point to make evasive moves (I've been forced left here before). It's ok, he took the right lane behind me. I indicate my intentions at the roundabout and carry on round.

Just to add some clarity here, my 4x4 is van. It's got no side windows, so I gotta be careful whats around me. If something appears in my mirrors as behind me, it's truly behind me. If I can't see it, I assume it's along side - its the safest way to drive.

I notice that for the last half mile said silver VW is up my ass. Yeah, people do that around here. He's up my ass as we pull inot the car park too. I park up, step out the car and start walking to my building and he kicks off. Cheers bud.

I knew where he was and what he was doing. I could see him a safe distance behind. Maybe he just didn't like a 4x4 beating his pride and joy into work. But I'd love to know which lights I cut him up at, because, fuck me, I can't think of any lights where I wasn't behind him. I can name you all four sets on my way into work.

Chances are I'll meet him in work some time, he's an electrical maintenence guy and will be in and around sorting lights and stuff. Is he still gonna harbour a grudge based on someing I have no comprehension of? Chances are yes, people are shit like that. If he wants to knowk my block off, he's welcome to try. He might even suceed, but at least the law will savage his butt on my behalf.

I don't need this kinda crap at any hour of the day. The world doesn't need people like that.

I'm now sat here analysing my actions trying to peice out how I've spolied his day, what I did that was wrong, or if I commited some unwritten road law that covered his dignity or morality. Either way, I don't deserve the threat, and I'm not happy about receiving one.

If, however, he can talk me through what I did that upset him, I will happily apologise if I'm at fault. If I did worng, I'll admit it. But I'm not sure I did anything wrong. I knew where he was and understood what his car could have been doing, and I drive to account for that (early morning asshattery and road rage and all that jazz).

I'm trying not to let it spoil my day, but at this moment, its a doubtful wish.

edit: an hour and half has gone by since first posting, and I've still got an elevated heart rate and slight shakes. I'm still analysing the journey in. I'm still convinced I'm right, but hell, you've only got my word for it, right?

Uh, 'scuse me pal, but......

2009-04-07T18:46:23Z

I seem to have a squatter in the back garden.

He was there yesterday, and he's was there again today when I got back from work. Little bugger's uprooted a load of moss and dug a hole.

He seems to like it, so I've made sure there's some shelter for the little dude, and I'm seeing if a handfull of corn flakes are to his palate.

Seems I got me a resident red-legged partridge.

Sweeeet!

I was born under a bad sign.....

2009-03-11T22:43:38Z

......with a blue moon in my eye.

Germany - escalated school shooting, finishes with sixteen dead including the gunman.
Alabama - escalated family shooting, finishes with eleven dead including the gunman.

.....so far

Some say the murder rate increases with statistical significance around the times of full moon.

On the basis of the above two tradegies, occuring within 24hours of each other, it would be easy to jump to the same conclusion.

Across the world people are killed by the direct and intentional actions of other. A political killing here, a car bomb there, a vicious regime somewhere, a war somewhere else. A multiple murder in Germany. Tomorrow, and the day after, people will be killed. It seems to be an enevitable consequence of mankind.

What's the difference? Seriously, where does murder end and lawfull killing begin? Or 'collatoral damage' start. Or 'Casualties of war' commence? I can't answer that.

Is it when a 'higher power' gives permission or orders for death? Who's to say who carries that authority? Who can really say who can justify the extinguishing of anothers life? 'Higher powers' and 'greater goods' can be argued for just about every killing I can imagine on a micro, macro or meta-scale, and beleive me, I can imagine a lot of killing. At the end of the day every death is about the ulitmate ascertion of someones will over another. Don't give me all the bullshit about 'gods will' or 'fighting for the rights of the many', they're all esoteric concepts stemming from someones belief. There's no irrefutable law of the universe that dictates or controls these things. Moral high-ground won't be found by cracking quarks in the LHC; the Z-machine won't show us social order.

Take the reactors, the syncotrons, the linacs, toroids, any of the chopping blocks and axes of modern physics and reduce anything to it's ultimate building blocks and eventually all you end with is energy. You won't find one trace of the philophies of men or dogs. No morals, no conscienciousness. No dreams, no love, no hate. No stupid bloody reasons for humans to perpetuate campaigns of 'involuntary euthanasia' against each other. Those really are the children of men.

So I'll mourn for the students and people of Winnenden and for the people of Geneva County. But I'll also mourn for the people of every damned civilisation on this planet who have lost their lives to some pitiful excuse.

Doesn't matter to me if it's on gods authority, political authority, or simply because someone didn't like Mondays, or wanted your sneakers. Chances are there was no point for it.

Chances are, there never will be, regardless of astonomical cycles.

I am.....

2009-03-10T08:28:57Z

...becoming

At one with my geekiness.

I would like to thank mrph for introducing me to yet another complusive daily web-comic read. This time its 'PvP'. Truly a nerd-fest made entirely with a combination of love, awesome and win. Curse you - you are evil, I tells ya, evil!

My daily reads now consist of Dilbert, Get Fuzzy, Pearls before Swine, 9 Chickweed Lane, The Duplex, Sheldon, Starslip and of course, PvP.

So, thanks dude; between web comics, plotting acts of extreme extortion and extraordinary violence for my Sinergy character, and reading LJ I manage to remain an unproductive member of society for just a l'il bit longer each morning.

Guess I better go weld some shit, now.

Speaking of which, look up 'laser welding' on Wikipedia. Thats my toy top-right. Ain't she a cutie?

You can hide your eyes, you can dim the lights, but they are watching!

2009-02-25T08:45:10Z

This is a new time, with a different kind, they are the future

Kiddies television - like lots of things in early life, it should teach play, exercise and (secretly) help the development of life skills all under the guise of inoffensive entertainment - as long as the parents buy into this and don't just treat the fracking 'Box' as a cathode-ray nipple. 'Here kids, mommey couldn't give two tugs of dead rats cock about you right now, go suckle from the 48" wide-screen wet-nurse'. It's a TV, it ain't no subsitute for parenting.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking - Greta's having another turn in charge of the pack, and your probably not wrong. But bear with me and prepare to be exhasperated.

On kiddies TV in my country, there's a presenter who does inserts in the 'close of the day' slot - bedtime stories, little morals, that kinda shit. She's pretty, articulate and can relate the simple joy of a story with depth and feeling. As an irrelevent aside, she's missing everything on her left arm from the wrist down. 'So what?' you say.

Inclusivity is great. People should be readily able to take the jobs they're capable of doing reagrdless of just about everything. Okay, lets face it a quadreplegic probably won't make the best mountain climber, so I'll accept that everything tends to a limit, but whats the issue with someone who is good with pups presenting a 'idiots latern' prog for youngters?

Indulge me for a mo, here. Pups ask questions. Questions like 'why's that dude a different colour', 'why is his hair ginger', 'where has daddy gone', 'why are you crying' etc. All question that parents have to face up to and answer. So, what is the problem when a kids asks 'daddy, why has that lady only got one hand'?

I can't answer that, but this poor girl, who is intellegent, bubbly and a star at narrative has been the subject of over a hundred complaints from parents, because she's 50% down in the paw department.

Some of these complaints are herioc in their blind stupidity - "I didn't want to let my children watch the filler bits on The Bedtime Hour last night because I know it would have played on my eldest daughter's mind and possibly caused sleep problems"

Well, here's a news bulletin for you, at some point little 'Lucielle', or 'Clarice', or 'Chadonnay-Pinot-Noit' or 'Mixed-fruit bowl' will have to face a stark reality that some folk are just different. I ain't judging the kids here, because kids ask questions. Who I'm jugding here is a certain demographic of parent.

Some people just don't deserve children. Some children simply don't deserve their parents..........

If it's gonna cause a problem - turn the damned thing off and actually spend some time explaining the world to your offspring - with luck they might learn more than you did. You handed parental responsibility to an inamite grey box of electronics - take some responsibility for that. For once.

To all those parents out there who treat their pups with respect and teach them tolerance, who spend time with them and love them - you have my sincere respect and gratitude. You're pups will be the future of our great pack. They will see the world in hues and colours we can only dream of. Their dreams of the future won't be fettered by our schims and shadows.

To the others, however, there is sufficient ignorance in this world. Please try not to add to it. Teach your children not your fears, but the real things in life that they will need to be frightened of - a world run by people like yourselves.

Don't ensure that your children grow up to be as ignorant as yourselves, eh?.

Blah Blah Blah, got your lovey-dovey-sad-and-lonely-stick-your-stupid-slogan-in, everybody sing.....

2009-02-11T08:16:28Z

......are you mother-fuckers ready.......

I'll apologise now to all those readers to whom this doesn't apply. To the ones it does, welcome to your world.

I'm gonna say some things now and people may or may not like what they hear. Tough. My blog, my noise. Like it, or lump it. All I'll tell is the truth, how individuals choose to process this information is up to them. But be wary, your choices may have consequences. Take responsibility for your actions.

I had a letter earlier from my legal team regarding my painfully protracted divorce proceedings. Settlements that should be easily reached are being made profoundly difficult by one person. And it's not me. It was difficult when X had her old legal team. With her new ones it's no different except that they seem even more prepared to condone thier clients madness.

Madness? Strong term? I don't think so. For reasons of legality and brevity, I'll not explain here.

But, the last straw has been reached. This woman, and her associates, are a threat to my well being,

People still decide to choose to associate with this woman. Thats good, she needs friends. But here's the twist. Associate with her and you will stay the hell away from my life. You are not welcome. Beleive me.

I couldn't give two tugs of a dead rats cock about your philosophies, your qualifications, your approaches to life, your friends or your uninformed thoughts about how you choose those friends. You're no friends of mine, so fuck off. You have nothing to offer me accept difficulty and stress.

That is all.

If you're not part of the solution......

2009-01-17T20:43:51Z

..... you're part of the problem.

Here's news article lifted from IMDB:

"Oscar-winning actress Emma Thompson has hit back at scathing remarks by a British politician, who criticised her protests against the expansion of London's Heathrow Airport. Transport minister Geoff Hoon singled out the Sense and Sensibility star for her outspoken views against controversial plans for a third runway at the site. The star claims the project should be scrapped on environmental grounds."

Hoon tells British newspaper The Guardian, "She (Thompson) has been in some very good films. Love Actually is very good, but I worry about people who I assume travel by air quite a lot and don't see the logic of their position, not least because the reason we have this problem in relation to Heathrow is that more and more people want to travel more and more
"If someone living in L.A. says he does not think it was a good idea to expand Heathrow, well the last time I looked the only way to get from L.A. to Britain is Heathrow."

But Thompson hit back at the minister, claiming he'd missed the point of her argument.
She says, "Get a grip Geoff. This is not a campaign against flying - we're trying to stop the expansion of Heathrow in the face of climate change.
"It sounds like the transport secretary has completely missed the point. Again."

Earlier this week (begs11Jan09) protesters including Thompson, British comedian Alistair McGowan and planet-friendly group Greenpeace purchased a plot of land in the middle of the development site in a bid to halt the plans.

I’ll be clear, I’ve got no issue with the rich and famous (and perpetually travelling) using their position to highlight potential problems in the world. My gripe is when they do it without thinking.

I have also have a gripe about the press, too, with their endearing habit of ‘trial by context’. I hope the above article is a consequence of that, because if it isn’t, Golden Globe and Oscar winning actress Emma Thompson has just awarded herself ‘Asshat of the Week’.

Why? Lets dissect this,

Geoff Hoon (Member of Parliament, and to be honest, a bit of jerk) is claiming that it’s a tad hypocritical of Ms Thompson to complain about the expansion of the UKs busiest airport when she herself is using it to commute all over the world for work, awards ceremonies and other celebrity necessities. And probably for holidays too (but that’s largely speculative, I mean, she could take her holidays in Bridlington or Torquay, it s not like I’m fucking stalking her or anything).

Lets get this straight, aeroplanes burn livid amounts of fuel and liberate CO2 - approx 110gms per Km per passenger so 300 people on a plane, travelling 4000km will liberate a metric fuck-ton of CO2. The contribution of this to climate change is still the source of mucho debate but we’ll assume (because Greenpeace are mentioned in the article) that it is the cause of polar bears disappearing icy habitats. Preventing the expansion of major airports and limiting air flight would therefore reduce emitted CO2 and help the bears continue to beat seven bells of crap out of seals and, quite probably, anything else that they consider to be edible and smaller than themselves (and yes people, that includes you).

Anyhow, follow this line of thought through to its natural conclusion. Heathrow needs expanding because people like Ms Thompson want to travel by flight (and catapults are currently out of vogue). Ms Thompson now claims that Geoff Hoon has got it all wrong – its not about people wanting to fly, its about stopping the expansion of the Heathrow to protect the climate.

Yes love – climate that you contribute to changing by choosing to fly to London, New York or Paris, for some dumb party, when you could readily telecommute and not pollute (because you give a hoot) by using the wonderful power of the www.

Heathrow wouldn’t need expanding if people choose not to fly. Sit down and for once in your champagne riddled life, ask yourself ‘what problem am I actually trying to solve’.

Unless of course, Ms Thompson is claiming that she has a right to travel and lesser mortals haven’t. What are we going to do – hold lotteries or auditions to assess who has the greatest need to fly? I’ll put it to you this way, if I was on the ‘Airflight Idol’ judging panel, it wouldn’t be the thespians getting first chance of a plane seat.

Emma Thompson – ‘Asshat of the week’ (on the evidence presented by some uneducated journalist).

I'll nail my colours to the mast here. I can't tell you how much my lifestyle influences the change of the environment. I know it's a natural phenomenon, and I know humans don't actually understand that change process and how they're actually contributing to it. Having said that, I like the idea of people doing what they can to minimise their impact on the world. I don't want to see Heathrow expanded, and I'd like to see people reducing their airmiles. Removing first class from palnes would be a good start - it'd make planes lighter and you could squeeze more passegers on. Oh hang on, celebs fly first class, don't they.

Oh dear, they really haven't grasped the problem, have they.........

Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Innocent

2008-12-24T23:02:34Z

A long time ago, in Bethlehem,.......

Says a lot of stuff, does the bible. It tells the story of a virgin woman, giving birth the Son of a god, who was subsequently wrapped in scraps and placed in a manger, in a stable. Three wise men, or fakirs, or Kings presented gifts to this child having followed a new star. This New Child liberated slaves and taught the world how to be a better place. From humble beginnings, eh?

Sounds like a Hollywood story, doesn’t it?

Interesting comparison, don’t you think? Hollywood has had a tendency of taking old stories and rehashing them into something more palatable for the mass market. Bessons classic ‘Nikita’ was remade as the crass and vulgar ‘La Femme Nikita’. Kurosawa’s ‘Seven Samurai’ was remade as the ‘Magnificent Seven’, then there was the botched jobs on ‘Constatine’, ‘V for Vendetta’ and the mauling of countless classics. ‘The Ring’, ‘Hostel’, ’Physco’, ‘Friday the Thirteenth’ and countless horror stories rehashed, sorry ‘re-imagined’ from earlier classics or foreign language films.

Well, Matthew, Mark, John and Paul were just as good. The stories we consider being biblical wonders have been interpreted and told for millennia. More importantly, for millennia before the alleged birth of one J Christ (did he take his fathers or mothers name?). Mythrass was one of the earlier legends that followed a remarkably similar story. So similar that it makes the main story of the Christian Christmas look like a shot-for-shot ‘reboot’. Before Mythrass (a good pagan thing) there were others too. Cultures going back beyond the Olmecs and Samarians all had the similar story. They also had stories of older cultures being cleansed of evil by epic cataclysmic flooding events. So, not even Noah was fresh and original. Seriously, some of these cultures go back 10,000 years plus. The legends and myths go back to before the hard-core Christians accept that the world was created (you know, the ones that insist that geology is merely there to test our faith – that kinda crap).

So, the story of the birth of Our Lord (well, technically your lord, not mine), goes back to times when people sacrificed other people in the vain hope that the gods would be happy. Keep the gods happy and the bushes would bear a bountiful harvest, and the herds of (insert bovine of your choice) would return. These good people (assuming they had moral codes) understood very little, so explained everything from budding flowers to lightening through anthropomorphism. I understand nothing of the movement of air currents so there must be a dude up there causing all this fuss and noise. Stories were invented and formed around these gods and idols.

So, look where humans are now. They understand the patterns of weather, the movements of the stars (not taking anything away for the Olmecs who managed to figure out the period of oscillation of the tilt of the Earths axis – clever bastard). They understand how plants grow, hell, they can even engineer life to suit specific purposes. We don’t need gods to explain lightening.

So why do people need to believe the Hollywood story of the birth of Big J? Is the human morale code still so heavily tied into a book of stories? Damn, think where that could end? In a thousand years we might be following the religious books of ‘The Matrix’, or ‘The Akira’.

Why not? They’re all stories, after all.

Ah, but the story has to contain the obligatory babe in a basket, and three dudes following the trail of some stars catastrophic demise. Make the mother a chaste and deity-believing virgin, and you’re sorted. Stick that in your story and in a couple of millennia, everyone could be talking about it.

In the meantime, a large percentage of the human population can keep on wishing good will and peace on earth, but for fucks sake, could they do it a little more often than once a year? People (and dogs) feel lonely throughout the year. Bad times effect people 24-7, 7-52. Not just at Christmas. Send them a card – remind them that this is the one time of the year you spend some time considering them. That’ll make ‘em feel better, I’m sure. If its better to give than receive, why do people get pissed about someone not giving them a gift, or a card in return?

Do me a favour, after the season is done and over (say sometime in February), send ‘em a letter, or an email. Prove to me, and them, and yourself that the best side of human nature can be shown throughout the year.

I won’t wish people a Happy Christmas – I don’t believe in it and to do so would be hypocritical. But, in the words of a great Hollywood story, I will finish with ‘Be Excellent to each other’

Peace out

A rant about the imbalance of superstar charity

2008-12-10T21:46:52Z

It Christmas time, and there’s no reason to be afraid.

Actually there, is. ‘Tis the season for every half baked and hair-brained celebrity to get on there high horse and inform us that there are those in the world less fortunate than us. As if we’d forgotten.

Maybe the hotshots had. You know, it’s easy to preach from the bar-stool, in your Hollywood mansion about the poor, speaking your words of sad sorrow through mouthfulls of Bollinger and Caviar.

Hey Bono, wanna hear the little news? Want us to end world poverty? Some of us have got very little to give that the bank doesn’t already own. You, however, have about a quarter of a billion in the bank. You are worth significantly more than many starving nations. Fuck, dude, you’re probably worth more than a few first-world nations at this moment in time.

You ask us to give money. To give money for what? End world poverty? Or to give some corrupt tribal regime a better oppotunity to buy guns? And to think, it used to be the British that specialised in the subjugation of the indigenous.

You ask us for money. To feed the poor. Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day. Buy him fishing tackle and he’ll starve to death because his rivers evaporated years ago. He might get shot because a different tribe owns the river when it does flow. Bit of a shit, trying to grow crops in a desert.

Great, send ‘em aid and it’s a temporary stop gap. What happens when those aid trucks that can get through the minefields finally turn-tail and haul their empty asses home? The poor bastards starve again. The lucky ones might get taken out by some virulent disease (you know, the kind of thing eradicated in the West decades ago) – a quick death in an otherwise painfully slow pace of life. The unlucky ones will be left to struggle until next Christmas when you tug at our heart strings again. They might even make it, just to have to suffer and struggle on for another year watching their young perish and their cattle drop dead onto the scorched earth.

You ask for money. I’ll be blunt. It isn’t a problem of my making. It won’t be a problem of my solution either. So, talk, and ask, and plead for us to ‘send us your fookin’ money!’ Talk is cheap. Getting people to give money is easy. But use your millions, and your contacts and your fame to actually find a workable solution for once.

‘Oh Bono, you’re a saint’. For what? Pretending you’re making the world a better place by getting people to provide a stop-gap solution that you alone could better? Oh, I’m sorry, you perform at concerts and waive your fees. Very noble. I mend peoples cars for shits and giggles, you don’t see me getting canonised. But as you hob-nob with the decision makers and the politicos, the presidents and prime-ministers does this mean you influence the politics? It probably means that they get to soak some of your reflected glory. They get to appear hip to the jive with the rock-and-roll generations. 'I’ll vote for the man, man, he hangs out with Bono – he gotta be a dude’. All your vote are belong to us.

An embittered rant? Possibly. Uncharitable? No.

Read the above, these are not the words of dog that doesn’t care about the poor and downtrodden, the starving and the sick. These are the words of dog that realises that the problem needs a significantly bigger solution than just a cheque and the photo opportunity it will provide. It needs a paradigm shift in the politics of Africa, and that requires a shift in the politics of the world. Oh, we can influence that, but it takes time.

The world needs to wake up. Iraq was invaded to ‘kill a bad man’ – ‘to stop a regime’. Or so we’re told. Zimbabwe doesn’t have oil, therefore the Western world couldn’t give two shits about the spiralling state of desperation in which the peoples of that nation now find themselves. I don’t see the West sending anyone to sit outside the presidential mansion in Harare with a CheyTac Intervention and a box of ‘408s. So what hope for countries that don’t even have sustainable agriculture?

So here’s a deal, music-man. I’ll give a few sheckles, and share my kibble with the needy, if you use your fame and fortune for changing the politics of the planet.

As I guessed. It’s up to the rest of us, as usual.

These are crazy.......

2008-12-02T07:02:02Z

....cracy, crazy, crazy nights

Last night I slept badly - not that thats anything unusual, but this time it was differently bad.

At one point I awoke sat bolt upright staring at my wrist as the imagined agony subsided. I may dream, I may dream those wonderful dreams of chasing rabbits or parked cars or (god forbid) frisbees. I may dream, but I won't remember. Oh, not last night!

There was a snake sliding around my lower arm, an endless succsssions of reptilian curls and knots. I don't mind snakes, usually, and from a distance. But this one had a malevalence from the start. It meant sinister things. I don't know how, to be fair they're lacking in facial expression - it could have been as surprised as me, but without eyebrows, how do you tell?

Anyhoo, this fella (oh yeah, I knew it's sex, trust me) was all hisses and gaping mouth and big, drippy fangs and it seemed to be taking a perverse delight in staring me out as it thrust is hideously sharp, barbed penis into the flesh at the base of my palm, breaking skin and splitting tendons. And it fucking hurt!

......aaaaand not it good way, either. It was excrutiating and terryfying. It kinda woke me up with a start.

I eventually fell back to sleep.

Only to be woken an hour later by another bout of raging heartburn. By 0545 I'd given up. By 0640 I was in work.

D'you ever get that feeling that sometimes bed just doesn't want you in it??

Take a look at your reflection.....

2008-11-25T21:43:51Z

......is it all you want it to be?

Your rainbow is shaded red and brown.

What is says about you: You are a passionate person. You appreciate the roughness of nature. You get bored easily and want friends who will keep up with you. You feel closer to people when you understand their imperfections.

Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.

Interesting, not what I would have expected. Mainly because it rings very true......

Gave up trying to figure it out....

2008-11-20T08:21:09Z

......my head got lost along the way

It seems, that some folk are not alone out there in having heinous trouble with the LJ 'cut' system.

Write a post, add a cut, preview the post - all is good.

Post post (that makes sense, right?) and find that half the killer question you wrote has gone, making the last part of your post just meaningless.

Wonderfull.

Apologies to those that read the post and thought 'wtf??'

In other news, I fell over a pro-nuclear website this morning, extolling the virtues of mini nuclear reactors for local power-gen applications. One justification for this potentially hair-brained idea was 'dependence on foreign oil'.

Uh, last time I looked 7.9% of the Uranium used in US reactors came from the US itself. Most of it? Well that was sourced from Russia (about a third), Austrailia and Canada. So, about this dependence on imported fuels.....

What's done in the dark...

2008-11-13T09:10:28Z

...will be brought to the light.

Inspired by sharon_masters I got thinking about stuff and how, a couple'a years back, I wrote a small piece for a web forum in memory of the late, and great Rosa Parks. This isn't a rehash of that, but the emotions I expereinced then are as relevent now, if not more so. Bare with me. Some of the thematics are similar, but thats about as far as it goes. (It feels odd making social commentary. I'm usually cripplingly introspective. Maybe all those Transmetropolitan books I've been reading has had an effect? Hmm, the attitude of Spider Jeruselem with Channan Yarrow's dress sense. Hmm, it could work! Anyhow, I digress). This isn't about me, it's about 'out there'. Its about our planets (self titled) greatest nation, and by association, the majority of the Western world too - the 'New Americans'. As Nickelback said 'We all just wanna be big rock stars'. America gives us the dream and we all wanna live it. Guess what - the dream ain't reality. At RATM said 'Wake up!'

About the same era as Ms Parks made herslef heard, mankind spent millions getting to the moon. That isolated lump of rock that swings around are own ball of life. And for what? The greatness of mankind? Nah, to establish pack position in some Intercontinental Ballistic Pissing Contest. And after man achieved this awesome goal very little actually changed. The moon-shot programmes greatest achieivment was to show a photo of something that very few would ever actually see. That blue planet, shrouded in cloud sat in the depths of space. It's a good photo, but thats all it is. A picture.

Now consider Ms Parks. She showed the US and the world, that there was a new way to look at the world. She didn't just show a picture, she changed perception. Eveyone, depsite thier inherant differences in colour, ability or even sexuality is equal in dignity.
But that photo of the world exists today. It's a hard copy, definate and fixed in history. Perceptions have a nasty habit of drifting back to the old ways, of being forgotten, or mis-remembered.

I sometimes think of Bush, of Prop 8, Gitmo and that dreadful inflated sense of superioty (rankism at it's best), and I shudder.

We remember the moonshots and herald their expense as being makinds greatest achievement. But what did it change? Socially? Fuck all.

Now I think of Rosa Parks, an average black woman, and a sub-average citizen changing the way people think.
That was greatness. That was achievement. Even through no intnent of her own, she achieved what a billion dollars couldn't.

I think back to her today and I feel, you know, there is hope. We just gotta remember the right things.

lechuguilla @ 2008-04-22T08:15:00

2008-04-22T08:45:23Z

I have discovered how to restore some of my standing in various territory. I simply turn up.

Staggering, huh?

There was a forum, someone else was using it so I had decided that they could have it and I would leave. Then I thought 'bollocks to it, I like being there, why should I feel I can't be there?'. So I appeared. The concerned has since removed themselves from that forum. Territory reclaimed.

Do I feel guilt? No. Should I? Again, no. Why should I stop doing what I want because someone else deems that their cause is more worthy than my own? Simple answer, I shouldn't. They had a choice to be there. They choose not to be. The fact their choice was based on me being there is irrelevant. They still made the choice. I like dealing with cowards.

Actually, in some respects I'm pleased that the concerned has started to take that kind of responsibility for their actions. They want to disown me (because I had the gaul to raise a question regarding my own survival) and now they are taking the responsibility for that by basically clearing the hell out my way. Good on 'em. The evil in me would say 'lets see how far I can hound these others out of my life', but the logical side of me wins by saying 'don't be greedy, just live your life how you want, and if they can't stand to be part of that, then they choose to remove themselves from it'. Well done folks, this is the first step of your very long healing process

Here's a funny one. The concerned removed their personal belongings from my territory yesterday. They posted an email stating that the matters twixt them and I were now at a conclusion. I felt a certain smugness in responding and informing them that there was the little matter of my belongings that they were in possecion of. I've given them 48 hours to return them. I didn't say what would happen after 48 hours though. For instance I could get legal on their ass or I could go round to their den and collect in person. It's not the value of the property that bothers me (maybe a couple o' hundred dollars max), but the principle that someone feels they can end a partnership soley on their terms. My X did the same thing I didn't accept that either. If I'm being honest now I just want what I've a right to, and if either of them get reduced to rubble in the process, then that is a decision of their making, not mine. I'll not be making compromises because they are ill, or because they feel I should. I only want what I have a right to have. No more, but on that hand, no less.

So, this is me. Part cannine, part human. But complete bastard? No. Bit of a bitch? yes. And thats the bit I'm proud of.

Pull my tale, I'll bite. But don't blame the dog. You did the pulling.

Oh, on other news, in theory my legal bind to my previous life-mate was finally cut last week, but I'm awaiting confirmation.

More motorsport.....

2008-02-29T20:48:01Z

Here's another splat of writing I've done for somewhere else. It's here as a catalogue of the the kinda stuff I witter on about.

The halcyon days of rallying. When were they?

The Seventies? Can’t remember ‘em, I’m afraid to say, so I’d have to say ‘no’ to that one. I might well be wrong about that, but as it’s my bit ‘o writing you’ll be stuck with my dubious opinion. So no, it may have given us flares, the afro and unfeasibley wide collars, but I think the rallying had better times.

The Nineties? Somehow I doubt it. People were still in a state of shock over the demise of ‘Group B’ and the hollow, uninspiring and somewhat sterile cars that followed them. Sure, The UK got a World Champion out of it, but it wasn’t quite the same, really. Was it? I mean, if Colin McRae had been in a Metro 6R4, or a Pug 205T16 I think he still could have won, but can you imagine the spectacle? Holy cow, it would have been awesome.

The noughties (or the double-O’s, whatever you wanna call ‘em) have seen things jivvied along a bit with the development of the WRC cars, but to me, they still lack the spectacle. I mean to say, these new cars are still a leaner, and more compromised than the Group B cars, furthermore, there have been claims that the modern cars with the fancy diffs and fancy brakes and fancy tyres etc actually handle. Something which you could never accuse a Group B car of doing.

So for me, it was the Eighties; the years of mega-horsepower, steering with the rear tyres and the unleashing of some dementedly imaginative vehicle designs. These cars were, muscular, space-framed monstrosities that, whilst named after road-cars, bore no relation to them whatsoever. Good grief, and that would ignore the cars specifically designed to do the job, like Fords RS200 or Porsches amazing 959. You know what let the whole era down? Dumb regulations. People had to be fatally injured before them at the top realised the deficiencies in the designs and regulations. The permitted use of aluminium in roll cages, the permitted use of cage tubing to carry or store fuel or lubricant. We can look back now and realise the madness. Then there was the crowd control – or rather the profound and naïve lack of it. No, it wasn’t the cars that let the era down.

So, as said, some things went horrifically wrong and people got hurt. As a solution to a problem the FISA (as they were) banned the cars. To me, this was going ‘round a problem to solve and problem’. With a bit of modification the cars were perfectly capable of cutting it in international motorsport, and for many years they did, in rally raids, desert marathons, in rallycross or ice-racing, or even national rallying. But now the numbers dwindle and soon there will come a time when the last runners of Group B will be revered as museum pieces, or kinetic art and no longer as racers – then an era will truly come to end. Will we lose the spirit of inventiveness, and the emotive stir of huge horsepower?

Will we heck! Have you seen some the cars that inhabit cross-country? Dude, we’re talking compact, space-framed, independently sprung machines with sufficient horsepower to hurl rocks on take-off, clad in the barest hint of some euro-box shell. They are real wolves in sheeps clothing. Check out the figures for the ‘road derivative’ of Lancia’s brutal Delta S4. We know cars that’ll match that, but with two differences – reliability and safety. The ol’ Group B cars were rebuilt at every service (the working-life on a 205 T16 turbo was ‘till the next service stop’); our machines won’t be. The drivers have neither the resource nor the inclination to be racing something that fragile. And some of the courses could reduce a Group B car to tears, as well. However, not every car will finish an event, but if the midden does hit the windmill, the drivers will get out, shaken but very much alive. Make no mistake, The Nu-Generation race-cars are tough cookies; fast and tough cookies. They snarl, bellow and bark, occasionally one may stop and water the scenery, but they will mostly hare across the countryside with an astonishing turn of speed whilst battling furiously over a few seconds, or parts of seconds. Grit your teeth and hold the heck on, it’ll be one helluva show!

So there we go, the halcyon days may not have gone, they’ve just changed a bit. And just like the hay-days of rallying, the sport is still accessible. You might not be able to relate to the ikkle ‘Peugeot-esque rocket, but you’ll be familiar with Defenders and Discos and the cars that populate the other echelons of the sport. They might not be quite as quick, but I dare you to watch and not walk away grinning. Go on, try it – prove me wrong!

Darn, April can’t come quick enough!

Rustle, rustle, rustle.....

2008-01-21T19:37:24Z

I'm gonna be doing a kinda journal to cover some different interests of mine. I'd thought I'd share it here in case somebody else out there in LJ-land gives a darn. You might not, but hey, it's my journal and I'm not in here to be popularist! The following text contains no nudity. I don't even swear. Which for me, is pretty un-fucking-believable.

I said that out loud, didn't I? Awww, crap!

Great questions in life:

How much wood does a woodchuck chuck?

What do sparrows taste when they burp?

Is it ‘irony’ or ‘coincidence’ that the film ‘Twister’ sucked?

What kind of noise does a calendar make?

The first three typify the kinds of mysteries that surround me in life, in spite of medication and good support network. I doubt I’m alone with this. The fourth question has plagued me today. You see, the British Cross Country Championship will be starting in a few months and time is counting down. But it’s far enough off to make any analogies involving stopwatches pretty irrelevant – unless you’re one of those compulsive clock-watchers and have a fairly special stop-watch. This brings us to the more appropriate time-keeping medium of a calendar. But they don’t tick. I would guess, if anything, they make a kind of ‘rustle’. Which means my opening paragraph, may, or may not work. Like before, I’m sure other people are familiar with this sensation – race cars will be getting completed, or rebuilt and at some point ‘that’ key must be turned, or ‘that’ button pushed. Yes, there is still time before the first events of the season, but that time is very finite. You can hear the calendar rustle.

At some point in April the peace of the Staffordshire countryside will be torn asunder by the monstrous bellow and roar of some of the finest racers in the country. Baden Hall will witness the opening episode of the (expanded) six-round Championship and anything could happen. What ever transpires however, trust me on this, it will be awesome. How do I know?

Lets take last year as an example. The ’07 season featured some new cars and some new (or returning faces); some previous cars had seen some significant upgrades, and a lot of people wanted the big trophy at the end of the season. The biggest change was probably in the tyre department where a control pattern (an all-terrain) had been introduced to shock, surprise, some howls of derision and a modicum of nervous laughter. Not that it mattered, the racing was nail-biting close, it was fast, and sometimes it was quite, quite sideways. For each event, lead positions were fought over with passion and intensity the defied the underlying good grace and humour. The championship went down to last event (without the assistance of spy scandals and huge fines) and even then the key drivers were working out the permutations of times and points to their very last laps. Head-spinning displays of car control and out-right speed marked so many as contenders, but in the end one emerged as Champion; but by ‘eck, Richard Kershaw had to work for it, though!

For another fine example of ‘awesomeness’, let’s consider the spectacle and noise of it all. Many years ago, watching various competitions I was struck by the throaty bellow of Dave Simmonites V8 ‘Simmbughini’ – at idle it coughed and spluttered and sounded rough, then it launched and it sounded angry, enraged, and mighty. Then there was Trevor Milners rotary-powered racer. It made a noise of epic proportions – not unlike Darth Vadars tie-fighter, and it scuttled across the landscape at an alarming speed. That was then, this is now. The v8s are better tuned, they produce an awe-inspiring burble, before barking into a the kind of roar usually associated with bands like Slipknot – it’s like a hoard of demons trying to kick your front door down. It’s a noise without mercy, without fear and without comparison. Seriously – the first time I heard the engine in Keith Lewis’s car, I started to harbour wholly inappropriate thoughts towards lumps of engineering. The first time I heard the engine in Kershaws car, it spat flame and scared the bejaysus out of me. Then there are the diesel cars, whose forced-inducted howl defies the prejudices of oil-burners and produces performance equal to many of the petrol cars. Then there’s the luscious, banshee song of the v6, that pulls on the emotions and pushes race cars across the hillsides at astonishing speeds. Gods, you have to be there to appreciate it.

We haven’t talked about the look of these vehicles yet, either. Referring to them as ‘wacky racers’ is doing a disservice to the levels of engineering applied to the sport, From the eye-opening performance of production 4x4s to the astounding pace of the special buggies, it all beggers belief. Some of these cars are WRC fast, yet are traversing ground rough enough to make the best built C4s, Imprezas or Focus’s retire for an early night with a glass of strong spirits and a couple of ibuprofen. These racers are real Group B monsters; rally raid specials. Purpose built to do a job, they traverse the scenery in a controlled manner as fast as is physically possible. And what about the production cars? Seeing what your average 4x4 can achieve when given free-reign can be jaw-dropping; the turn of speed, the ability to absorb mile after mile of extraordinary punishment and not forgetting the ability to do all this without reducing the occupants to tears (or pulp – which ever comes sooner). Quite simply it defies belief. Each car, with it’s own number and colour scheme eventually melds into the same uniform dirt colour. The colours may become the same but the holler, stance, and poise of each car, it’s attitude on the track won’t change - it’s as individual as a finger print. Sure, pick a favourite if you want, but each competitor and each vehicle is worthy of praise and respect.

The season will be hard work, not only for the competitors and their respective crews, but for the organisers and marshals. At the end of the day though, everyone shares the same reward – blistering racing, mighty cars and awesome people. I tell you, there in no better reason for doing it!

From the rock-hurling starts to the party-thowing finishes, if the excitement and expectation of the upcoming season doesn’t get your heart racing, I’ll check you for a pulse myself.

….. and I’ve got really cold fingers!

….. and two bent axles, and an engine that doesn’t want to start!

Can anyone hear a calendar?

Whatever I've done...........

2008-01-20T13:31:15Z

.......been staring down the barrel of a gun

Inspired by

alaina_enslaved, I was going to write a post concerning my own history and experiences with addiction.

Somehow, though, I feel it's inapropriate to distract from a someones elses writing. This is time for someone else to do the talking and for me to do just the listening.

So, I'll leave it for now with a simple offer. If questions get asked I'll try and answer as honestly and as openly as I can, but I'm not going to impose my thoughts.

What the.......?????

2007-08-28T08:00:49Z

I like films. Escapism, grittiness, thought-provocation, emotion, amusement. If a flick drops into one of those categories, generally I have a happy viewing experience. The Escapism and thought provoking of Leon, through to the emotions of Once Were Warriors. I have a fairly diverse viewing range (well, I'm happy with it) and a slightly artsy flair.

Last night however, I watched a film that just left me plain old pissed. The Bourne Ultimatum has been hailed by many reviewers and fans as 'The' summer blockbuster. Clearly they've seen a different edit from me, because I hated this film with a passion. It may have been hackneyed, jingoistic Americana, but I would know, I couldn't see enough to judge, and I'll be screwed if I'm going to a movie just to listen to the sound track. Whilst my eyes still work I wanna use 'em.

To capture an air of realism and confusion, the director decided for some unbeknownst reason to use hand held cameras exclusively. The result was like having a bunch of cameras strapped to border collies, nothing stayed still, it all kept moving about and this I found constantly broke my concentration. Everything wavered. The glorious actions set pieces were spoiled by simply being noisy blurs. The car chase was rendered to flashes of scatalogical colours and noise. What the hell, was going on?? Far from adding an intensity to the experience, it just wound me up. I'd paid money to watch a movie and some overly artistic dingbat had decided I wasn't worthy of seeing it. Thanks, Chump.

I'll put it into perspective. I'm a co-driver in a competitive off-road race car. I've been beaten up on some of the roughest course my country can offer, and in all that time, I've never had vision as badly disturbed as Paul Greengrass felt I needed to sit through his movie. I know whats happening with those raceways and I don't loose tracking or focus on the subject. Clearly here, we had fight scenes filmed by a man who has never experienced a fight.

You know what made it worse? The wavering POV was unending. Even when people were sat in an office, the camera was unable to pick a point and stick with it. Yeah, yeah, I know it's supposed to make it seem all 'documentary' and thereby adding additional realism, but when I've watched documentaries, I've been able to make out whats going on, where and to whom. Last night though; no chance.

I left the theater lighter in wallet and hurting in the head. I wasn't impressed.

Which is a shame because the first two Bourne films were good ol' escapist fair. Maybe the films splash-line should be 'The Bourne Ultimatum - A step too far'

Still, rant over and man, do I feel better for it!

Thank you for listening, you've been a wonderful audience.

Which ever one we feed.....

2007-07-25T07:03:21Z

Stability is all about balance, and having fed one wolf for too many days now, I decided to feed the other. Consequently, I bolstered my masculine side by spending two and half hours swinging about about in tree taking limbs out. All this was in an attempt to stop a tonne and a half of lumber dropping on either our collection of cars, or our neighbours kids.

Result? A tree missing a lot of wood, aching muscles, and sufficient bruises up my legs to make me think twice about light coloured stockings for a week or two. Oh, and a wolf feeling quite pleased with itself.

Actually I do feel a little more balanced than of late, which I can only count as a good sign.

Roll on mid-August and my next week off!