brainsluice | weblog

What kind of self-respecting blogger (who, coincidentally, happens to have a birthday on the immediate horizon) thinks he's been linking to his Amazon wishlist at the bottom of his weblog for all these months, but suddenly discovers to his horror that the link's been pointing at the front page of Amazon all along? We'll leave that question unanswered I think.
‹ 26.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

One of the guys from our group at work had his farewell this afternoon ... he's moving on to greener pastures and so, of course, plenty of nice things were said about him. Actually, some bloody moving and quite humbling things were said about him, which got me thinking: how often in life do a group of people each take turns paying some one in particular bulk compliments? Bloody rarely, that's how often. When you're born. At your 21st birthday. Perhaps at your wedding. At your funeral.

So, not very often then. Apart from when you change jobs that is, then all your colleagues say nice things about you, unless you were a total prick to work with and even then, manners being what they are, I bet they'd still reluctantly dredge up a few platitudes ("He always wiped the bench down so nicely"). Maybe that's why people take so many twists and turns in their career paths these days ... not for interest or variety, but for a great big dose of public validation once every couple of years.
‹ 26.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

I'll be celebrating my 29th birthday on Saturday. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.
‹ 25.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

If you're of a foreign persuasion, you may wonder from time-to-time just what exactly are the burning issues of the day down there in little ole Noo Zeeland? Well, that's why they invented the internet and that's why they invented me:

Work allowance no poultry matter
"Taranaki's professional chicken-catchers have won a legal victory over an allowance for what their union says is heavy and unpleasant work."
Teaching cows new tricks
"Dr Jago said the research was designed to encourage cows to walk to automatic milking machines without the presence of a farmer, which would enable farmers to dedicate more time to farm management."
Gay victor booed for 'straight' look
"'I don't look like the average lesbian. They look like boys, they don't shave under their arms, they have short hair. They just automatically assume that I'm straight.'"
TV3 graphic beats around the Bush
"TV3 has apologised after a graphic labelling US President George W. Bush a "professional fascist" flashed up during its primetime news."
Livestock burp tax sticks in throats
"Farmers will be taxed on the flatulence of their livestock in a bid to reduce New Zealand's contribution to global warming."

Consider yourself in the know.
‹ 24.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

Forget about the aliens vs cats debate and get the real scoop on SARS from your intrepid (and oh-so-cute) reporter Jack Lando at "SARS Attacks!". It's bloody hilarious stuff I assure you ... but I've always been a sucker for a classic vox pop routine :)
‹ 18.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

Something I said at work today and will probably never utter again in my entire life: "Just how much pleasure can you get from an eighth of a Mars bar anyway?"
‹ 18.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

Bulletin board message of the day:

NON-WORK RELATED > WANTED > SMALL DOG KENNEL
For a fox terrier the size of a cat - he is getting squashed in the kennel he shares with a large mongrel & needs his own (I'm a firm believer that dogs sleep outside - even cute miniature ones).
ph me on ext ****. thanks

Poor little mite. It's bloody freezing here tonight.
‹ 17.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

[Aside: The aforementioned pub is owned by Lion Nathan, whose website states their motto as "Making the world a more sociable place". Isn't that nice of them?]
‹ 16.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

My haven't I been a slack wee bugger! Nothing very fruitful to report, alas. I watched our national squad get pipped at the post by les anglais in a crowded pub on the waterfront on Saturday ... this was made bad by everyone who I expected to be there not turning up, but better for being taken under the wing of a kindly woman from Auckland who was lovely and introduced me to each and every one of her friends as they arrived. Basic faith in humanity restored and all that.

The prior weekend was a bit more energetic though. Ex-BTer, Sydney venturer and all-round nice guy Gary was summoned to Wellington for an emergency weekend session ... I'd spotted a blurb in the previous Thursday's paper that Pendragon was having its Noozlelandish debut here on the Saturday and there was no question that him down south should be informed of this. So I did, and half an hour later he had flights to our fair capital. The evening was pretty good - the turnout was on the small side but it was great doing the whole clubbing thing again and it seemed as though Gary and Kyle had a good time too.
‹ 16.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›

I always thought it was funny how we have a long weekend to celebrate the sovereign's birthday and the UK doesn't. Never mind. Even though Her Maj turned 77 back on the 21st of April, us colonial slowpokes don't get around to celebrating it until now, that probably having something to do with the original date's proximity to Easter and Anzac Day and all that (oh and it's 50 years to the day since she was crowned too - good timing Noozleland!). Having a day off work is as good a means of celebrating as any IMHO and I managed to get a reasonable amount accomplished over the three days. Kerry celebrated his own big birthday on Friday (hitting three-oh) so it was round to his sister's for a suprise-like party, followed by some cringeworthy karaoke later on (having sworn I wouldn't do it, I somehow found myself on stage - evil evil beer). Also scattered across the break were various and sundry trips to stationery stores, garden centres and homeware outlets (the new flat is taking shape quite nicely) and another drink or two last night for no other reason than not having work today. It's those small acts of rebellion that count ... here's to you Mrs Windsor!
‹ 2.6.03 / 0 comment(s) ›