The Infernal Distraction Machine

The Thrice Damned Devil Box is a rare and marvellous device.

It can allow me to write with an ease that pen and paper denied me. It can allow me to perform mathematical calculations far beyond my skill. It can take myriad points of data and transform them into easily readable charts which allow even the most meagre of managers to make the correct decision.

Sadly, it also contains links to more distractions than there are Devils in Hell. There are games, both complex and simple, beauteous and plain, puzzles and simalcrums of death and destruction. There are missives from friends both local and distant, from strangers bearing news and strangers attempting to seduce me with their offers of enlargement of money and more personal matters. And then there is the Web itself, home to more distractions than there are stars in the sky, each one tantalising for a mere moment, offering wisdom and wit and strangeness and information, and then pushing me ever onwards towards other places, each one more marvellous than the last.

And this is why, when I seat myself at the Infernal Distraction Machine, in order to scribe into my journal, I find myself instead focussed upon anything whatsoever that is not my intention, until many hours have passed and my loved one has grown long past impatient with my absence.

And this is why my Journal is entered into as often as I would like.

Morning Mantra

To be repeated at least once a day.

I am nobody special.

I am not perfect.

I have as many foibles as the next person and possibly more.

As I expect my friends to forgive me my mistakes, foibles and irritating habits, I should forgive them theirs.

And if my friends fail to live up to my expectations of perfection, I should compare them to all the other people in the world and realise how much worse they could be.

Jedi!

:: how jedi are you? ::

Castling

Like Joe I live right by Stirling castle. Due to this being the Jubilee weekend, they had events on Saturday and Sunday, and so I wandered up the hill with Erin.

We wandered through the castle (which Erin hadn't been to before, despite having lived Stirling-side for 4 years at university), looking at the faux-medieval stalls, selling all kinds of cool looking medieval style nonsense - everything from tapestries to leather work (we watched a man hammer out letters onto a leather wrist-strap, using a hammer and a some metal letter-stamps). All very cool.

We then took in some actual events, including a Witch Trial (we left early, because there were far too many people - everyone loves a witch trial - and we couldn't really see or hear anything), a battle scene (some nice weapons, but generally not that impressive) and a harpist (who was really rather good. I love watching people play musical instruments close up at the best of times, and she had a lovely voice to go with it. She played a couple of traditional songs ("Loch Lomond" - where she explained the historical origins of the song and The Skye Boat Song) and then followed it up with something more modern to demonstrate the harp's versatility (Killing Me Softly).

We then went for a wander around the castle grounds for a bit longer, taking in the various gardens, before the rain closed in and we ran for home. All in all it was a rather nice afternoon out, and if the weather's nice tomorrow we're going to go again, and just see what we can find in the castle.

More Coen than you'd think

Erin was looking through a bunch of online short films when she came across this one. Most of them weren't any good at all, but this one was nicely stylish and had a nice twist in it. Well worth a watch.

The Doors of Perception

In other news, Erin just asked me if I knew that spidermonster had new glasses. I said that I'd read it on his livejournal, which seems a strange way to discover that your flatmate has new glasses, but I'm not sure I'd notice otherwise.

I have, for some reason, started noticing when women in the office get new haircuts, largely because it seems to be something that it pays to notice. New glasses, on the other hand, are unlikely to batter their way through my consciousness unless they're Elton John creations; which, now I think of it, doesn't seem out of character for Nick.