Nixta Sinks

Cigar or cock? Cigar is phallic enough anyway... Never mind.

When I was getting ready to leave school and start university (or, in Seppospeak, leave high school and go to school), I face a choice of two realistic subjects that I could study or at least pass the entrance interview on: Architecture, and Computing (which translated to Computer Science).

Architecture was one of the few subjective disciplines that I felt I could be comfortable with. Actually, it was probably the only one. My father was an architect. He was actually quite a good architect. I grew up surrounded by A1 sheets of translucent paper with ink that came from outrageously expensive pens that I wasn't allowed to touch, and that could only reliably be removed with a razor blade. His offices stank of ammonia and paper, glue and sawdust and were scattered liberally with tiny models made of wood and plastic that were surrounded by tiny trees and people and miniscule cars that looked like they belonged on a monopoly board. I loved the creativity involved, and the worlds that existed within the perspex cases fascinated me for hours on end. The detailing on the interior of the models was always testament to the attention my father lavished on all his creations, and also to that mysterious time when the client would get inside the perspex box (I was rarely allowed) and the roof was removed to show the rows of seats in a court-room, or the layout of a kitchen, or the factory floor.

I never felt as at home as when I pottered around his office marvelling at the sketches everyone was labouring over and which would, at some point, translate into another incredible model for me to investigate. I think I seldom paid much attention to the actual final building, but why should I? It was typically built by inattentive club-handed labourers who skipped this and missed that out and generally were lucky to be able to put the thing together at all, relying quite frequently on insurance to keep them from bankruptcy.

So, I loved architecture. I also loved programming. I had been programming since I was very young. My well-connected or spoilt friends all had computers. Most of them had BBC Micros (they either had academic parents, or parents who were involved with Acorn at the time), but some had C64s or ZX81s. I dreamt of owning a BBC Micro and playing Elite. One evening, my father finally succumbed and went to Dixons in Lion Yard. I believe it might have been a Christmas thing. I was devastated when he came home with a Commodore 64 and not a BBC Micro. I had worked out how much space I would need and cleared my desk in the right way. I was looking forward to playing Elite and writing my first program at home (I'd tinkered with programming on my friends' machines). How could he know the difference? How could I - I'd never even heard of a Commodore 64. But I got stuck in. In fact, the games were generally better, and Elite was released not too long after.

He insisted that if I were to play games, I would have to program the thing to be useful at home and help me with my homework. I can't recall what the actual ratio was. Something like an hour of games for 2 hours of programming. I wrote him a video cataloguing system. As always, I was scuppered by data entry, something I've always detested, but on a C64, data storage and searching was also tricky - it was typically quicker to look through an alphabetised printed list of the videos.

When it came time to choose a degree, I had a choice of Architecture or Computer Science. My father talked me out of Architecture, telling me that I would work for 7 years to get a degree that would qualify me minimally and set me out into a workforce full of morons above whom I would struggle to rise in the general morass of stupidity and lack of taste, no matter how good I was. I firmly believe he was right. I have met many very intelligent and successful architects in my time, but for each one I have met or seen the damage caused by countless others.

It seems that there are more people that see it the same way (via turd).

Labels: Architect, Syd Furness

Fuck me, Luke. I'm sorry.

You might think I was making huge stereotype generalisations, but after my month of driving through Italy last year, they do all love this stuff. Or Opera. There seems to be nothing in-between. (via tomsk - blame him)

Update: This gets worse and worse. There's even a video entitled "Koto Still Alive" which was my first exclamation upon seeing a link to a video of him in 2006 (still violating countless trademarks). He seems to have grown more dignified in his old age, with his yellow jacket.

But forget K.O.T.O. (Anfrando Maiola) and his Spacesynth jumblings, for real modern-day quality, check out Von Von Von and what he brings to the circus (via DMC). It ain't the Ghetto, it's the Ghettoir, baby!

If your Saint Tropez is Far Rockaway...	Behind the mask. Von von Von von Von.

Labels: italy, koto, music

"I" pay $2800 for this?

Airline ticket prices have been going up steadily over the last two or three years that the DMC and I have been flying BA between New York and London. It's not escaped my attention, nor indeed that of my employers. When the Office of Fair Trading launched an inquiry into price-fixing by BA and Virgin (weren't other US airlines involved to begin with?) it surprised me only that someone bothered to give a shit. Clearly for some time BA and Virgin prices had been fixed to be the same for any given period.

So, now, BA has been fined, and Virgin let off the hook because they tattled. What lesson is that to send to the little ginger-bearded kids of today? Dead Richard Branson from the future must be ROTFL his AO in his grave. But aside from that, the $220million fine will mean just two things - crappier booze and yet more expensive flights (or more strikes).

I wonder how much of that $220million the overcharged passengers will see? Not me of course, I haven't paid for my transatlantic flights since 2004.

BA has enough problems at the moment, what with the new entertainment system just plain not working (see image) and the new business class seats falling to pieces as quickly as they can be installed. It doesn't need to have passengers stolen away, profits beaten up, and see its colluding competitor given a great big boost.

Labels: British Airways