There's always one

We have an ongoing saga here at the salt mines, seems like we’re all bad monkeys at some point of the year, however, we all take great internal happiness in not being THE bad monkey.

Hopefully, there’s always one who is badder than the rest of us, one who has the major focus of angry attention directed at it and although we have empathy for this particular monkey, we will do little to alleviate it’s elevated status on the naughty meter.

It is better for the group that THE bad monkey remains THE bad monkey.

Hail THE bad monkey.

It’s sacrifice helps us all.

Mind you, when THE bad monkey is banished to the forest, we’ll need another.

Sharpish.

Skiffle

It was 25 years ago to day that John Lennon was killed, I thought it would be fitting to drop in a Lonnie Donegan classic into the blog. I'll leave it to you people to make the connection.

My Old Man's A Dustman
Lonnie Donegan [Derived from an old army tune]
[Lyrics written by Lonnie Donegan]

Now here's a little story
To tell it is a must
About an unsung hero
That moves away your dust
Some people make a fortune
Other's earn a mint
My old man don't earn much
In fact....he's flippin'.....skint

Oh, my old man's a dustman
He wears a dustman's hat
He wears cor blimey trousers
And he lives in a council flat
He looks a proper narner
In his great big hob nailed boots
He's got such a job to pull em up
That he calls them daisy roots

Some folks give tips at Christmas
And some of them forget
So when he picks their bins up
He spills some on the steps
Now one old man got nasty
And to the council wrote
Next time my old man went 'round there
He punched him up the throat

Oh, my old man's a dustman
He wears a dustman's hat
He wears cor blimey trousers
And he lives in a council flat

I say, I say Duncan I 'er...
I found a police dog in my dustbin
(How do you know he's a police dog)
He had a policeman with him

Though my old man's a dustman
He's got a heart of gold
He got married recently
Though he's 86 years old
We said 'Ear! Hang on Dad
you're getting past your prime'
He said 'Well when you get to my age'
'It helps to pass the time'

Oh, my old man's a dustman
He wears a dustman's hat
He wears cor blimey trousers
And he lives in a council flat

I say, I say, I say
My dustbins full of lillies
(Well throw 'em away then)
I can't Lilly's wearing them

Now one day while in a hurry
He missed a lady's bin
He hadn't gone but a few yards
When she chased after him
'What game do you think you're playing'
She cried right from the heart
'You've missed me...am I too late'
'No... jump up on the cart'

Oh, my old man's a dustman
He wears a dustman's hat
He wears cor blimey trousers
And he lives in a council flat

I say, I say, I say
(What you again)
My dustbin's absolutely full with toadstools
(How do you know it's full)
'Cos there's not much room inside

He found a tiger's head one day
Nailed to a piece of wood
The tiger looked quite miserable
But I suppose it should
Just then from out a window
A voice began to wail
He said (Oi! Where's me tiger head)
Four foot from it's tail

Oh, my old man's a dustman
He wears a dustman's hat
He wears cor blimey trousers
And he lives in a council flat

Next time you see a dustman
Looking all pale and sad
Don't kick him in the dustbin
It might be my old dad

Ughh.

I have a headache, a pain in the neck, a pain in the middle of my back, an index finger nail that is about to come off following an unfortunate gardening incident, sore hands, sore ankles, sore feet and an inkling that if I don’t start pounding down the vitamin C the world is going to collapse around me and I’ll need a bucket.

I can barely type this half hearted attempt at a blog dedicated to those brave yet unknown people out there who live their lives precariously through my thrilling adventures here at my workstation at the event horizon of a black hole.

I think I’ll have a cup of tea.

REAL tea.

It don’t get any more exciting than that.

Pixel Perfect?

I’ve heard through various news soundbytes and web snippets that they’re having trouble with the new Xbox 360. The new console is reported to be flaky, has overheating problems and locks up during gameplay.

In a way, that warms my heart as it may stem the rising new product launch frenzies that we see on a regular basis. Hardcore gamers all over North America lined up for hours outside their respective electronic outlets, Best Buy. Future Shop, Circuit City, you name it and a long line of nerds could be seen licking the windows and peeing into coke cans.

They instigated a wristband approach in some areas, giving the first one hundred “lucky” consumers first dibs on the new wonder device, although that did not prevent the traditional Pamplonaesque running of the bulls as the big doors slid open at the magical moment.

Herds of Nerds, pockets full of unwanted cash, disposable income that would soon be disposed of. Secreted in that exhilarated throng of throbbing adolescence were a pocket of aging ebay meanies, snatching up the five hundred dollar units to immediately list them on ebay at double the price, offering a priceless opportunity for all those daddies to pacify their little loved ones over the festivus season. It’s Tickle-Me-Elmo all over again, the gift of love through the unlimited application of foolish money.

Christmas morning will never be the same again, as little, crippled, tiny Tim feverishly unwraps his Xbox 360, squeals with delight and exclaims that God should bless every one of us, including Mister Gates, Ebay and the Federal Reserve for their special kindness this year. This being followed by a frantic plugging in ceremony, ten or twenty minutes trying to use the special cheat codes to get Laura Croft on all fours naked and then an exciting time sitting across the street, waiting for the fire department to arrive.

Can someone please get me one?



(Full disclosure, I own a classic Xbox and love the thing. I’ll be buying a 360 as soon as they stop exploding)

Halicon Days

Time will pass, but the memories of the Golf tournament should not be forgotten.


It was a lovely day, a slight breeze made the temperatures just right for the task at hand, the lush green fairways, the well manicured greens and the regiment of fine young men, ready and willing to enjoy this moment.

Unfortunately, there were casualties ;

John Oh who's constant battles with Paul Kashak took a terrible toll on the health of the young man, despite Dave Weldon's application of Windsor Pilates, add to this his ravine diving demonstration and it was obvious that John was a shadow of himself at the end of the round.

Paul Kashak, who survived the desperate attacks from one crazy Korean, ended up having both his wrists snapped by the application of the patented YongYeo beartrap, his hands twisted into a pair of ugly pink pretzels. His high pitched yelping and TBL (total body limpness) wasn't enough to thwart the young Koreans application of 7 ounces of pressure.

Dave Weldon, who was pitched out of a fast moving golf cart (probably by the application of John Oh's size nines) and thankfully landed on the top of his head. The application of 4g's of forward motion, along with 6g's of downward force magnified the fat boys weight to a limit load in excess of two tons at the peak of his head. Dave wasn't the same after this moment, being referred to as a "turnip" by one of his team mates. It was apparent later on in the car park when Dave was taunting "beartrap Yeo" with a Dremel, thinking that he alone could stop the smoking man.

Rob Chappel, who unfortunately drank too much apple juice in the day, suffered constantly during the day from the "banzaii twitch". The pressure built during the day, ending with the "dutch oven" technique, demonstrated in his own front room after midnight.

It was a wonderful day.

Engineering Humour

Dave was alone in his room, he had decided that a little stress relief was in order so he took hold of his component and began the gentle polishing to produce the appropriate surface finish.

This was a fine art and the process had taken many years to perfect, in the early days he had problems with fretting, so much so that there had been several premature failures in service. The investigation led to root cause and corrective action involving the application of the appropriate oils and coolants during the polishing process, all of which improved the general finish.

This was not the end of the problems, it was evident that component was very sensitive to in-service gouges, nicks and impact loads. The application of severe hoop compression and the high cycle tension and compression activity had led at times to the component being unused for many days although still at arms reach.

It surprised Dave that the initial curvature of the part could not be removed, nor could the overall stroke be increased, it was however an added feature that the part was impervious to galling with little effect from internal pressure (although a parting line was quite evident).

Dave continued with the gentle polishing, until the surface was quite burnished, it was then that a sudden clamping action on the flange ended the process, however, the finish was incredible.

All that was left to do then was the paperwork......

Jim Collins and time travel

Here's one from a while back about my good friend, the late Jim Collins. I think there's a bit of the Douglas Adams influence in this one.


Young Galileo surveyed the field and by instinct realised that he'd left his sandwich at home, he was suddenly intrigued at the thought of why two pieces of bread and cheese would be called by that name, of course, it wasn't for another three hundred years that it would actually be called a sandwich, but young Galileo was always considered to be well ahead of his time.

Mrs Galilei had made him the cheese and tomato doorslab of a snack in the morning after she'd awoken the lad in his makeshift observatory. He'd been up polishing his telescope all night, tracking the moons mountains, Jupiters satellites, the phases of Venus and Mrs Poncinello's bathroom habits.

It was 1581 and Galileo had 61 years left to live. He was startled by that fact.

The farmhouse at the other side of the field was his intended destination, it was here that he was to meet Collins again, a young fair haired traveller of sorts, seeking answers to questions that had not yet been thought of and also a reliable source of St. Bruno ready rubbed in a land where Tobacconists had a strange habit of disappearing overnight.

Galileo shrugged at the lack of available sustenance and made his way across the field to the farms courtyard.

The two boys greeted each other.

Galileo explained to the other boy some problems he was having with the threaded telescope eyepiece and the lad nodded in a fashion that he would perfect. Without another word, the traveller reached into his knapsack and passed Galileo two things.

The first item was a sealed envelope, the second, a fresh cheese sandwich.

The boys shared the sandwich and a small thermos of tea. Galileo mused at the cylinderical object and wondered how it kept things hot. Perhaps there was a vacuum between two layers of polished metal, he thought.

As Galileo waved goodbye to the lad, he remembered the envelope, ripping the edge off he discovered a small slip of paper within.

The heading on the paper read "Thread Undercut Analysis"

Galileo smiled, knowing another piece of the puzzle was at hand, he skipped off into the distance, whistling a strange, yet familiar tune......

Fantasy Island

Sometimes the only thing that keeps me sane is to put co-workers into odd stories and send them around to the few friends I have left.....

Paul Kashak—taking a break from the crashed car part business and touting the luxuriousness of "fine Corinthian leather" in car commercials—played Mr. Roarke, the man who could make wishes come true or dive headlong out of bushes, shouting Banzai! – whatever he felt like on the day. Helping in this task was John Oh as his equally strange, yet arousing, assistant Tattoo. Roarke, who appeared sinister in the series was a scheming meglomaniac and sexual predator, often disappearing into the bell tower with Tattoo to have his evil way with the little rascal. Mr. Roarke’s history was never revealed but it was always inferred that he liked the “little ones”. Neither the audience nor the visitors ever learned how Mr. Roarke came to be on the Island or through what power he was able to grant fantasies. This element added an underlying subtext that knowledge is not necessarily a good thing, as demonstrated by Tattoo’s inability to understand his Hewlett Packard calculator.

Supporting this theory was that the fantasies often ended with the realization that what the fantasizers had before their arrival was far more precious than that with which they left. A typical fantasy might have a young Italian man wishing he was tidier or an older, fatter man wishing to go back in time and reconnect with a lost love who he could have had a shag with, only to find that the fantasy still left something to be desired or led to more frenzied masturbation sessions.

I remember with such happiness, each episode opening with the diminutive Tattoo ringing a bell from that very bell tower, and yelling, "Da plane! Da plane!" This would signal Mr. Roarke to come out, and the two (always dressed in matching white tuxedoes) would banter back and forth

Mr. Roarke : “What type of underpants are you wearing Tattoo?”
Tattoo : “Da plane! Da plane!"
Mr. Roarke : “I’m going off to the store, what type of bagels should I buy Tattoo?”
Tattoo : “Da plane! Da plane!"
Mr. Roarke : “Tattoo, if I was to buy one woodworking tool, which should I choose?”
Tattoo : “Da plane! Da plane!"
Mr. Roarke : “Tattoo, how would I find the local axis system for a Stress 3.0 beam element?”
Tattoo : “Da plane! Da plane!"

And so on....

They would then greet their expectant guests as they deboarded the aircraft. While the guests were being given flowery garlands by the local slappers, Mr. Roarke would briefly explain to Tattoo (and the audience) what each person’s fantasy was. This would always conclude with Mr. Roarke's customary line, “Do you like my Hat?” and Tattoo lighting a fart.

The Christmas Rant

This may be a bit obscure to those out there, but I think that my place of work has probably a lot in common with many out there, the names may be different but the people are the same.

A Christmas tradition, the rant......

As the year 2005 slowly phiffs and pharts it’s way out, we find ourselves still here, disregarding all the warning signs that the iceberg is winning. It’s a strange phenomenon however that, for some odd reason, there appear to be more passengers on the boat, even though all the lifeboats have left.

The Christmas trend of reducing numbers at the company party continues in spite of the burgeoning head count. Although, it would be nice to be there for the performance awards, I can see Dicky, our lean engineer there, accepting the chrome plated broom handle for “Best cupboard the Australians have ever seen” with the rising crescendo from the crowd encouraging him to “take it for his son”. I wonder if he’ll be left standing alone on the iceberg, drinking his own urine and lighting farts to keep warm, celebrating the complete five-essing of HMS Dowtee.

It’s all gone a bit far.

As if it wasn’t serious enough that we hit the iceberg, here we are bobbing about aimlessly in the sea while the Global Harmonization torpedo speeds in, through the choppy waters, off our starboard bow. In the same moment. to our left on the distant horizon, I see the Carpedia types, sailing off, with pockets full of money. They came, they consulted, they sailed off and ignored our SOS signals, or was it SSSSS signals?. (interesting note is that ISO actually stands for I Sailed Off).

We’re leaning, that’s for sure.

We’ve seen our share of contract stress people over the side, jumping into the icy waters. We lost Kenny “Chief” Marltoon at the close of last year, plus Yong “u haf to frow a dubbl 7” Yeo soon afterwards. They bravely jumped into another ship, that promptly sank, and then both swam off to find something that would float. It’s a surprise that more have not jumped as the telegraph office here is constantly flooded with requests from other boats to join the crew, even some big luxury liners are spamming the airwaves with promises of unlimited martinis and cocktail snossidges.

And what does the New Year hold for us all?, we can rest assured that no matter how much effort we put into pumping that water out of the forward hold, some factions of the organization will be drilling more holes in the hull. The poor contractors, trapped in steerage, will surely be the first to drown as we slip below the surface, of course, there’ll be nothing for the permanent members of the crew to be smug about as they bob about in the icy waters, waiting for their packages to be frozen.


Will the last person off please switch off the light……….


Merry Christmas Everyone.

No, I'm not dead.

That was quite the vacation I had from blogging, I was even asked if I was dead by one of my old buddies, the answer to that being a resounding no. Of course I'm not dead, I was merely distracted by other things and the blog was forgotten about.

Well, I don't think I'm dead anyways, although it would be nice for a visit from Doolittle to rationalise my existence in the universe. Although, I relate more to Pinback than Bomb number 20, nevertheless, it would be nice to have a chat to reason out why I'm here and doing (or not doing) what I'm doing.

Ok, that's broken the ice, I'll go off and think about what I should write to those imaginary friends I have out there surfing on the interweb.

Zharkov.