Colourblind
I've just been reading this presentation paper on colourblindness while trying to be a back seat designer as the actual designer in the office chooses colours for buttons.
An amusing statistic from the paper is that 8% of caucasians have difficulty distinguishing between red and green. From the perspective of a web designer, it's more worthwhile designing for their needs than the entire macintosh user base (even after accounting for the 8% of red/green colourblind mac users).
Popularity: 19% [?]
Web 2.0 phones home
Just picked up a Sony Ericsson K800i. It's a bona fide Web 2.0 (tm) telephone complete with rounded corners, drop shadows, an RSS reader and photo blogging tools.
I briefly had this phone on a contract with 3, but their network is so restrictive that I had to send it back - for example, you can't access any websites that haven't been "specially formatted for 3 Mobiles" (e.g. vetted to make sure they aren't selling any mobile content) and you can't use the built in email client unless you a) pay through the nose and b) have some huge pre-specified smart phone. No thanks.
Then I noticed that T-Mobile are currently being foolish enough to offer unlimited (okay, 2GB) mobile Internet access for a mere seven pounds fifty a month, even with 3G phones. Bwahaha. I will show them the error of their ways.
Now all I need to do is actually call someone with it.
Popularity: 19% [?]
Smile, it intensely irritates me
Oh dear - the amazingly vapid Sandi Thom is back with her latest hit, What if I'm right? Some have suggested that my particularly high levels of venom towards Sandi are caused by my insane jealousy of her archetypal girl next door's rags to riches success story. Just to clear this matter up, if anyone has ever seen me playing on stage on my own then you will know that musical recognition or a career as a solo performer is not something I aspire to; it seems to trigger this strange all over shaky effect coupled with a rabbit-in-the-headlights style reaction.
Enough about me, now Sandi, bless, got her record contract after being spotted when she did a webcast of her gigs from her basement. If you are silly enough to believe that this wasn't organised by the RCA marketing man in the first place, then you probably also believe that Lily Allen wasn't aided and abetted in some by her father's very existence.
I would normally be willing to forgive this, because let's face it the only way we are introduced to music is via some marketing ploy; even seemingly word of mouth promotion is engineered by them in some way. I have no problem with this state of affairs.
What I do have a problem with is Sandi's rough book scribble style lyrics. I am not saying I could do any better, because writing lyrics is exceedingly difficult. Even Roger Waters said that he now thought that the words on Dark Side of the Moon were slightly "sixth-form-ish." I don't think old Roger has a thing to worry about, next to the banality of Thom's record Smile, it confuses people. Aside from the laughable title of the record, the first song was set in some kind of crazy Thom-verse where the 60s and the 70s merged to create a land ruled by punk rockers with flowers in their hair, where letters were the de facto communication method, and dirty footballers were every girls dream. Look love, if you detest modern society so much, why are you so comfortable with your online presence being such a large part of your press releases? There's even another song on the album called When horsepower meant what it said, which features choice lines such as:
And if we're keeping up with progress why am I standing still
Maybe we should take a walk and talk to the horses on the hill.
I was sure many bands have come up with equally daft lyrics, and I couldn't quite put my finger on what I find so especially grating about Sandi Thom. That was until I heard her second single What if I'm right? The song seems to be an ode to her ideal husband. Um, well, to tell you the truth, it makes him sound about as bland as her music. I feel sorry for the poor boy who has to live up to all this. Just for clarity here are the words.
Take me on a journey and be there 'til the end
It won't be an uphill struggle, on you I can depend
You'll promise me a dream home with roses round the door
You'll cover me in diamonds, there's nothing I'll want forYou'll be strong and you'll turn me on
But I got my doubts and what if I'm right
You'll be true and be faithful too
But I got my doubts, and what if I'm right
What if I'm right'Cause if the rain starts falling, you'll protect me with your coat
You'll always tape the football and let me watch my shows
You'll always be this handsome, and your weight will never gain
And when I give birth to our children, I will feel no painYou'll bring me flowers and you'll bring me showers
But I got my doubts, and what if I'm right
You'll say I'm thin and bring the washing in
But I got my doubts, and what if I'm right
What If I'm rightWe'll always keep the magic, the tender love and care
And when you need to change the light bulb you won't hand me the chair
And when we're tired of the city, and we find a country home
You'll sell your vinyl records and go get us a loanYou'll be my sympathetic lover, and you won't steal the covers
But I got my doubts and what if I'm right
You won't forsake me, your mother won't hate me
But I got my doubts and what if I'm right
You'll be strong and you'll turn me on
But I got my doubts and, what if I'm right
You'll be true and be faithful too
But I've got my doubts and what if I'm right
What if I'm right
Show me the way to the vomitorium, I mean, have you ever heard anything quite so repellent? Answers below please...
Popularity: 29% [?]
What commuting has taught me
In the dark lanes under the Vauxhall train bridge I know that a Royal Mail van is coming because I take pains to look behind me when I cycle. I think that the driver has seen me, but he probably doesn't care.
When lazy I can feel my saddle a little too well over the speed bumps.
Once I have picked a line, a pedestrian will probably enter it without a second look. If I focus on them, I feel the urge to hit them.
I have several friends who have worked out how to break bones.
I have to ride 10 miles to work on just a coffee because I'm too lazy to get up with enough time for breakfast.
I would rather drivers ride.
The next skid mark to appear on the road could be me.
Switching to auto pilot in the saddle is when accidents happen. Every action occurring around you must be observed.
I will sweat for a bit at my desk after the ride in. It's a horrible feeling.
I can't get the tube home with a broken bike. Although if I can persuade the driver and eBay a kidney I may be able to take a taxi.
I know that once I reach a certain speed the lights will change.
Riding is winter is good because there are fewer fair weather cyclists around.
The worst part of riding in the wet is getting caught half way to work and realising that you don't have a spare pair of trousers.
The effort involved in attempting to maintain a clean chain and gears in the city is disproportionate to the benefits gained.
If I'm relaxed while cycling I'm not commuting.
Some days my body finds the ride hard, but I can't use that as an excuse for being late for work.
I know that to ride faster I need better luck with the lights and fewer Bromptons getting in the way. I have no particular wish to ride further.
I'm alive when I ride, but I'll be dead quite quickly when hit by a white Ford Transit or Mumsy and Tarquin in their ludicrously oversized Chelsea taxi.
I know peace of mind when I've shouted at a few pedestrians and given a few cabbies the finger.
I hope I'll still be alive in six months time.
With apologies to Howies and Adrian Gunn.
Popularity: 17% [?]
Time machine
Is it just me, or does anyone else think that the Time Machine UI is just a tad excessive?
It's a neat idea though, sort of like having a single user Subversion repository for your whole computer.
Popularity: 20% [?]
Tales from the sick bed – part deux
'Ello, 'ello, 'ello what have we 'ere... My afternoon began with a buzz on my buzzer.
"Police," said the crackly voice.
"Police?!" I replied in my best pubescent boy voice.
"Yes, police," the voice retorted.
Regaining my composure, "Sure, yes, I'll just come down."
Turns our that the next door basement flat has had the door kicked in, and stuff taken. The classic quick smash and grab crack addict method burglary. Apologies, reader, but my views on crack addicts are slightly unsympathetic, following our burglary a couple of years ago and six months of window/door-smashing hell in New Cross. I'm sure with support, love, and rehabilitation they would all be fine upstanding citizens.
Anyway back to the story. The copper wanted to know if I saw anything, heard the alarm going off etc. I explained that I'd just been in the shower and hadn't heard anything.
In my attempts to replicate Jimmy Stewart as sick bed PI in Rear Window, I tried to remember what I'd seen out of the window while boiling an egg this morning, while reading my book, while on the phone to work. I couldn't recall anything strange, and then suddenly realised that I thought I had heard an alarm.
I have become totally de-sensitised to sirens, alarms etc. Not a day goes by without a continually siren-punctuated soundscape and at least one car/house alarm going off in the vicinity. If this had happened where I grew up, I would have been twitching at the net curtains all day. Needless to say I feel awful. I had probably subconsciously ignored this warning sign and allowed this crime to happen.
New resolution - pay more attention.
Popularity: 25% [?]
Tales from the sick bed – part one
Further to Alex's Tesco Metro queuing drama last week, I had an interesting experience in Primark, while paying for some very lovely (and extremely cheap) stripy jumpers.
Now as much as I love the Primark, I do have one rule: never buy the underwear. It is badly constructed and just looks cheap. If you are going to spend a lot of money on clothing you should spend it on good underwear. I am no fashion expert but I do believe (and think that many ladies will agree) that it is the structuring underneath, which will make or break a good outfit.
So there I was paying for my jumpers. To my left was a young looking girl in some very dubious looking pleather and lace ensemble, to my right was a thirty-something in twinset and pearls. On my left, a basket full of underwear sets, at least eight or so. On my right, one item - a yellow and purple, ribbon-fastening basque. On my left, pays with a £50 note and almost drops it down her sizable cleavage, giggles, bats eyelids, and says in Eastern European accent, "Vil I get change from zat sir?" On my right, a look of indignation and says in the queen's very own English, "But I am sure it said £4 on the rail, I don't understand how it can cost £8 here," huffs and puffs a little.
This entertained me greatly, and as I left the store I thought to myself, "Only in Peckham."
On a totally separate note, I've just seen the new Cillit Bang advert on TV and it's about 50 times more shouty than the last one - hilarious.
Popularity: 25% [?]