While rummaging through my souvenirs I came across a little book called Alternative Edinburgh - a City Guide with a Difference, published in 1972 and edited by one Gordon Brown.
Now - just to get the name dropping over at the start - I know this is the same Gordon because at the time he was editor of ‘Student’ newspaper for which I used to do the record reviews and my mate Jimjam was the staff photographer. The Student was to prove a testing ground for many Edinburgh bods who went on to careers in politics, the media and the arts.
Reading Alternative Edinburgh again, I was disappointed only that there was no sighting of Gaston Le Jobbe, the layabout student with his signature black beret, the anti-hero of Jonathan Wills’ vicious strip-cartoon. (Jonathan Wills was to become the first student Rector in 1972, followed a year later by Gordon Brown.) Gaston used to refer to Gordon Brown and his brother John as the “Beaverbrownsâ€
Rathbone's Ramblin'
Mrs. R. and I were off for a sunny Easter in Oxford.
As usual when we go visiting places, I dragged her round the bookshops (looking, unsuccessfully, for Jackson Priest’s nomination for the current Big Read), and then she dragged me round Primart and TK Max looking for socks.
Finally getting down to business, the queue at Christchurch Cathedral was out the door and up the street. From the sound of it, coach loads of french school kids on an educational visit. We shuffled forward with the rest to find that there was now a £4 admission charge to get into the cathedral. (Granted that also gave you access to the Great Hall which doubles as the Dining Room at Hogwarts, and the oak tree in the quad under which Lewis Carrol composed Alice In Wonderland.)
While we went off to look at the Burne Jones stained glass in the cathedral, the french kids all headed for the Great Hall. It seems that at Easter Harry Potter’s dinner now takes precedence over the Last Supper.
Devotions over, it was off round the Pitt Rivers, the Ashmolean and the Museum of Modern Art.
The exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art was called Local Stories and consisted of seven areas, each handed over to a different artist, who had been asked to come up with a piece which would illustrate the concept of local stories.
Much of it was fairly obvious, verging on cliche: One guy had gone round taking photographs of illegal immigrants and asking them to tell him their stories. Another had taken photographs of a community of people in Port Glasgow who were living below the poverty line. There was a video of a child in Albania trying to outline the history of his country entirely in the context of aggressors who had tried to conquer them and whom they had successfully resisted...... interesting, but....
On the other hand, there were three really good pieces, all of them by women:
Laura Lancaster had devoted her space to very small paintings of images taken from family snapshots which meant something to her. The images were deliberately painted in a blurred fashion, which only came into focus if you were some distance away.... her point being that memories become blurred, but their context becomes clearer with distance.
Nalini Malani had a huge installation which took the form of a series of transparent drums on which she had painted a series of religious images, from the Bhagavad Gita, the Koran, the Talmud and the Bible. These rotated with lights projected through them, which threw the shadows of the images on the walls, onto which slides were projected showing world conflict from Hiroshima onwards. Very obvious, but very effective.
Of all of the exhibits, I liked that by Katarina Seda best and could immediately see how it could be adapted for a Big Thing On The Beach.
She was making the point that we take local life so totally for granted that we don’t notice it any more. She wanted to reassert the importance of the local and the everyday, so she approached a village of about 300 people in Romania and studied what they did as everyday tasks and then persuaded them, for one day, to all agree a timetable so that everybody was doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. So at 6:30a.m. everybody got up and opened the curtains, At 10:00 they all went to the local supermarket and bought their groceries. At 11:30 they all swept their front step and so on until lights out at 11:00 p.m. Over 200 of the villagers took part. The resulting video was fascinating and according to the people in the village, it really brought the community together in a way that they hadn’t envisaged at the start. A case of making the ordinary extraordinary.
I presumes that is what has now happened to the Great Hall at Churchill College.
As usual when we go visiting places, I dragged her round the bookshops (looking, unsuccessfully, for Jackson Priest’s nomination for the current Big Read), and then she dragged me round Primart and TK Max looking for socks.
Finally getting down to business, the queue at Christchurch Cathedral was out the door and up the street. From the sound of it, coach loads of french school kids on an educational visit. We shuffled forward with the rest to find that there was now a £4 admission charge to get into the cathedral. (Granted that also gave you access to the Great Hall which doubles as the Dining Room at Hogwarts, and the oak tree in the quad under which Lewis Carrol composed Alice In Wonderland.)
While we went off to look at the Burne Jones stained glass in the cathedral, the french kids all headed for the Great Hall. It seems that at Easter Harry Potter’s dinner now takes precedence over the Last Supper.
Devotions over, it was off round the Pitt Rivers, the Ashmolean and the Museum of Modern Art.
The exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art was called Local Stories and consisted of seven areas, each handed over to a different artist, who had been asked to come up with a piece which would illustrate the concept of local stories.
Much of it was fairly obvious, verging on cliche: One guy had gone round taking photographs of illegal immigrants and asking them to tell him their stories. Another had taken photographs of a community of people in Port Glasgow who were living below the poverty line. There was a video of a child in Albania trying to outline the history of his country entirely in the context of aggressors who had tried to conquer them and whom they had successfully resisted...... interesting, but....
On the other hand, there were three really good pieces, all of them by women:
Laura Lancaster had devoted her space to very small paintings of images taken from family snapshots which meant something to her. The images were deliberately painted in a blurred fashion, which only came into focus if you were some distance away.... her point being that memories become blurred, but their context becomes clearer with distance.
Nalini Malani had a huge installation which took the form of a series of transparent drums on which she had painted a series of religious images, from the Bhagavad Gita, the Koran, the Talmud and the Bible. These rotated with lights projected through them, which threw the shadows of the images on the walls, onto which slides were projected showing world conflict from Hiroshima onwards. Very obvious, but very effective.
Of all of the exhibits, I liked that by Katarina Seda best and could immediately see how it could be adapted for a Big Thing On The Beach.
She was making the point that we take local life so totally for granted that we don’t notice it any more. She wanted to reassert the importance of the local and the everyday, so she approached a village of about 300 people in Romania and studied what they did as everyday tasks and then persuaded them, for one day, to all agree a timetable so that everybody was doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. So at 6:30a.m. everybody got up and opened the curtains, At 10:00 they all went to the local supermarket and bought their groceries. At 11:30 they all swept their front step and so on until lights out at 11:00 p.m. Over 200 of the villagers took part. The resulting video was fascinating and according to the people in the village, it really brought the community together in a way that they hadn’t envisaged at the start. A case of making the ordinary extraordinary.
I presumes that is what has now happened to the Great Hall at Churchill College.
I have nothing to say and I'm going to say it.
It was nice that of the three sets which I sent to Dada for Radio Free Porty he chose to put up Fluxsongs For Nam June Paik first.
Most of us have childhood heroes (usually characters from books or football players.) Then in our adolescence we have our personal heroes (usually pop stars or football players). When we become adults we have people who we admire or who we claim have influenced us. Some of the childhood heroes we carry with us into adolescence and some of the adolescent ones last all of our lives - hence the fact that hundreds of thousands of people still rate George Best as one of their heroes.
One of my heroes died at 7:00 p.m. eastern standard time on Sunday 29 January. He was Nam June Paik.
It is an odds on bet that everybody who reads this will have been affected by Nam June Paik’s work. It’s also an odds on bet that ninety nine percent of you won’t be aware of that.
Paik was born in Korea in 1932. He and his family fled to Japan during the Korean war. Nam June studied Art and Music at the University of Tokyo in 1956 and then moved to Germany to study Composition at the Freiburg Conservatory.
As early as 1959 he was composing electronic music and, more significantly, experimenting with television and video recording. 1963 saw his first exhibition using ‘doctored’ television images at Wuppertal and, in 1965, the first exhibition of “Electronic Artâ€
Most of us have childhood heroes (usually characters from books or football players.) Then in our adolescence we have our personal heroes (usually pop stars or football players). When we become adults we have people who we admire or who we claim have influenced us. Some of the childhood heroes we carry with us into adolescence and some of the adolescent ones last all of our lives - hence the fact that hundreds of thousands of people still rate George Best as one of their heroes.
One of my heroes died at 7:00 p.m. eastern standard time on Sunday 29 January. He was Nam June Paik.
It is an odds on bet that everybody who reads this will have been affected by Nam June Paik’s work. It’s also an odds on bet that ninety nine percent of you won’t be aware of that.
Paik was born in Korea in 1932. He and his family fled to Japan during the Korean war. Nam June studied Art and Music at the University of Tokyo in 1956 and then moved to Germany to study Composition at the Freiburg Conservatory.
As early as 1959 he was composing electronic music and, more significantly, experimenting with television and video recording. 1963 saw his first exhibition using ‘doctored’ television images at Wuppertal and, in 1965, the first exhibition of “Electronic Artâ€
I have nothing to say and I'm going to say it.
I've been eating a Ceaser Salad and have a funny feeling in my Tunny.
(Going off the original subject a bit here).
(Going off the original subject a bit here).
Last edited by Novastar on 24 Apr 2006, 16:17, edited 1 time in total.
Think I don't know an algorithm when I see one???:-Dadaist wrote:stecker round, things are going to get interestingMarya wrote:It's all an enigma to me
Chris Stecker was a graduate student in the lab from Fall 1994 through Fall 2000. He spent most of his time fiddling with obsolete vacuum-tube signal generators and oscilloscopes, but eventually developed the first version of DSP-based realtime classroom signal demonstrations used in Professor Hafter's course on hearing. Chris also worked with the spatial cognition group in the Institute for Cognitive Studies, served as a Graduate Student Instructor for several courses in perception, cognitive science, and statistics, and acted as the Psychology department's Computing and Statistical Consult from 1999 to 2000. Together with Miriam Valenzuela, he developed a protocol for obtaining direct localization judgments in our anechoic chamber, and developed automated statistical tools for processing data obtained in studies utilizing this approach.
Colossus is a majestic journey through ancient lands to seek out and destroy gigantic mythical beasts. With your trusty horse at your side, explore the spacious lands and unearth each Colossi. Armed with your wits, a sword and a bow, use cunning and strategy to topple each behemoth.
Cairncross is the UK's leading Wealth & Business Coach and she is also a renowned Internet Strategist. She is down to earth, human and funny, she inspires and speaks with passion, from the heart and audiences really respond to that. She is NOT a diva celebrity and is very affordable.
I'm just a despirat punkass lazy rocker so plzz help me out.. ps my email is really stupid
Check back here often to find out what's new at Ceaser Lake Outfitters!
Tunny - any very large marine food and game fish of the genus Thunnus; related to mackerel; chiefly of warm waters
Kate Winslet has also enjoyed a brief taste of success as a singer, with her single "What If" from the "Christmas Carol: The Movie" soundtrack. Her home town of Reading has named a street - Winslet Place - in her honour, ironically built on the site of a demolished cinema.
Turing machines are not physical objects but mathematical ones. We require neither soldering irons nor silicon chips to build one.
I have nothing to say and I'm going to say it.
Code: Select all
В 1942 году Дж. Кернкросс был переведен на работу в британскую дешифровальную службу в Блетчли-парке для наблюдения за расшифровкой британскими контрразведчиками донесений, направляемых гитлеровцами с использованием шифровальной машины "Энигма". Эти операции британских спецслужб во время войны носили условное название план "Ультра". Дж. Кернкросс как знаток немецкого языка был назначен редактором материалов перехвата.I worry about Harry. I suppose most of us here worry about Harry.
I was mowing the lawn earlier this week when he came wandering up, asking for Mrs. R. He looked a bit bemused when I said she was still at school. I suppose he thought that because he had finished for the day, the teaching staff would have as well. He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted to talk to Mrs. R. about. That was between him and her.
He was intrigued by the fact that I was using the old manual mower and asked why I didn’t have an electric one. I explained that there were two reasons: this was the first cut of the year and I find that it’s easier to do a ‘high’ cut with the old mower and secondly, the roots of the cherry tree push up through the grass and the blades on the electric mower strip off the bark, which isn’t good for the tree.
He told me that his dad lets him use the electric mower at their house and he asked if he could have a go at our one. His hands just about made the handle of the mower if he stood on tip-toe and he couldn’t get it to move. I stood behind him and helped him to push. We went down to one end of the lawn and then back to the other. He thought that was great and he thought emptying the clippings into the composter was great as well. His dad doesn’t have a composter.
Harry sat on our step and watched me cut the rest of the grass and then he ate the digestive biscuit with red leicester cheese on it that I’d made for myself and hadn’t eaten. When the paper boy delivered the local paper he looked at the front cover photograph and said that he knew the man. It was a photograph of our local P.C..
If he had opened the paper to page eight he would have seen the name and shame column. This has been a feature of our local rag for the last year or so. According to national statistics this area has the second lowest crime figures in England and Wales, and yet the local paper still manages to fill up a third of its content with dreadful crime. (the other two thirds are split between the activities of the Women’s Institute and local sport.)
The name and shame column does just that. Anyone who has been up before the magistrates is identified, complete with address and sometimes photograph, and their misdemeanours outlined in graphic detail. Not much this week, only 68 poor unfortunates, 49 of whom were up for driving offences, mostly having no tax disc. Most of the rest were people watching t.v. without a licence, or fishing without a permit or riding the train without a ticket. There was one burglary.
In a small community like ours, this service is a godsend. It allows people like Mrs. R. to know what her former pupils are now getting up to and the rest of us know precisely who skips over the station car park fence to avoid the ticket barrier, who the person is fishing under the bridge, and whose clapped out old banger hasn’t passed its M.O.T.
It also means that we know who is repeatedly up in front of the beak for dealing and using class A drugs. That’s usually Harry’s mum. And who gets done regularly for drunk and disorderly, criminal damage and assault. That’s usually Harry’s dad.
So we worry about Harry.
I was mowing the lawn earlier this week when he came wandering up, asking for Mrs. R. He looked a bit bemused when I said she was still at school. I suppose he thought that because he had finished for the day, the teaching staff would have as well. He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted to talk to Mrs. R. about. That was between him and her.
He was intrigued by the fact that I was using the old manual mower and asked why I didn’t have an electric one. I explained that there were two reasons: this was the first cut of the year and I find that it’s easier to do a ‘high’ cut with the old mower and secondly, the roots of the cherry tree push up through the grass and the blades on the electric mower strip off the bark, which isn’t good for the tree.
He told me that his dad lets him use the electric mower at their house and he asked if he could have a go at our one. His hands just about made the handle of the mower if he stood on tip-toe and he couldn’t get it to move. I stood behind him and helped him to push. We went down to one end of the lawn and then back to the other. He thought that was great and he thought emptying the clippings into the composter was great as well. His dad doesn’t have a composter.
Harry sat on our step and watched me cut the rest of the grass and then he ate the digestive biscuit with red leicester cheese on it that I’d made for myself and hadn’t eaten. When the paper boy delivered the local paper he looked at the front cover photograph and said that he knew the man. It was a photograph of our local P.C..
If he had opened the paper to page eight he would have seen the name and shame column. This has been a feature of our local rag for the last year or so. According to national statistics this area has the second lowest crime figures in England and Wales, and yet the local paper still manages to fill up a third of its content with dreadful crime. (the other two thirds are split between the activities of the Women’s Institute and local sport.)
The name and shame column does just that. Anyone who has been up before the magistrates is identified, complete with address and sometimes photograph, and their misdemeanours outlined in graphic detail. Not much this week, only 68 poor unfortunates, 49 of whom were up for driving offences, mostly having no tax disc. Most of the rest were people watching t.v. without a licence, or fishing without a permit or riding the train without a ticket. There was one burglary.
In a small community like ours, this service is a godsend. It allows people like Mrs. R. to know what her former pupils are now getting up to and the rest of us know precisely who skips over the station car park fence to avoid the ticket barrier, who the person is fishing under the bridge, and whose clapped out old banger hasn’t passed its M.O.T.
It also means that we know who is repeatedly up in front of the beak for dealing and using class A drugs. That’s usually Harry’s mum. And who gets done regularly for drunk and disorderly, criminal damage and assault. That’s usually Harry’s dad.
So we worry about Harry.
I have nothing to say and I'm going to say it.
So was it Harry's bruvver wot done the burglary? 
We need a name and shame in our paper too but then it wouldn't be called a weekly paper it would be called a weekly book. And anyway, most of them don't have any shame so it wouldn't make any difference.
We need a name and shame in our paper too but then it wouldn't be called a weekly paper it would be called a weekly book. And anyway, most of them don't have any shame so it wouldn't make any difference.Enough of your nonsense - get back to the Play Pen!
This is a tough story to read.
The name and shame policy is real problem in the area I work in causing greater risk to communities, as well as the problems for those shamed.
I'm sorry about Harry, unfortuantely we let him down then blame him for who he become. Keep up with the digestives - he won't forget.
The name and shame policy is real problem in the area I work in causing greater risk to communities, as well as the problems for those shamed.
I'm sorry about Harry, unfortuantely we let him down then blame him for who he become. Keep up with the digestives - he won't forget.
We have a large beech hedge which is about seven feet high and three feet thick. I have to get up a stepladder to do the top, blocking half the pavement while I’m at it, so I don’t consider that I am particularly inconspicuous whilst al fresco, but it seems that cutting the hedge makes you invisible.
I made a start about half past nine and was just getting underway when’s Joe’s nurses turned up. Joe lives opposite us and had a stroke a wee while back, so the nurses come round every moring to cater to his needs. About twenty minutes later, out they came again and sat in their car with the window down, discussing Joe and his bodily functions. Either they didn’t care that I could hear every word or else they didn’t register that I was there.
As they were driving away Dennis came out on to his drive yammering away into his mobile ‘phone. Seems that half the junior football team he manages had phoned in with sickies. Just a coincidence that it happens to be Cup Final day. He’s having a right two and eight with some poor lad on the other end of the ‘phone. I assume that he came out on to the drive to avoid swearing in front of his kids. I, of course, have a more robust lughole.
He had hardly gone back in when Paul came out onto the drive on the other side. He was shouting into his mobile as well. This time to the plumber who is meant to be doing his bathroom conversion but was running late. Maybe they both get poor mobile reception in their houses.
He went back in again and I was able to get on with another couple of feet of the hedge in peace. Until, that was, I became fascinated by this guy cycling very slowly along the pavement talking to himself. I didn’t realise a bike could go that slow and still stay upright. It must take years of practice. He looked to be in his sixties. As he went past the ladder I noticed that he had a hands-free phone. Something about getting Ida to do it for herself.
Then Dennis was out again. Work this time. Could he go down to the depot and let a delivery in. It was no good him trying to tell them that it was his day off.
Barely had he pulled out on to our still “closed to traffic due to subsidenceâ€
I made a start about half past nine and was just getting underway when’s Joe’s nurses turned up. Joe lives opposite us and had a stroke a wee while back, so the nurses come round every moring to cater to his needs. About twenty minutes later, out they came again and sat in their car with the window down, discussing Joe and his bodily functions. Either they didn’t care that I could hear every word or else they didn’t register that I was there.
As they were driving away Dennis came out on to his drive yammering away into his mobile ‘phone. Seems that half the junior football team he manages had phoned in with sickies. Just a coincidence that it happens to be Cup Final day. He’s having a right two and eight with some poor lad on the other end of the ‘phone. I assume that he came out on to the drive to avoid swearing in front of his kids. I, of course, have a more robust lughole.
He had hardly gone back in when Paul came out onto the drive on the other side. He was shouting into his mobile as well. This time to the plumber who is meant to be doing his bathroom conversion but was running late. Maybe they both get poor mobile reception in their houses.
He went back in again and I was able to get on with another couple of feet of the hedge in peace. Until, that was, I became fascinated by this guy cycling very slowly along the pavement talking to himself. I didn’t realise a bike could go that slow and still stay upright. It must take years of practice. He looked to be in his sixties. As he went past the ladder I noticed that he had a hands-free phone. Something about getting Ida to do it for herself.
Then Dennis was out again. Work this time. Could he go down to the depot and let a delivery in. It was no good him trying to tell them that it was his day off.
Barely had he pulled out on to our still “closed to traffic due to subsidenceâ€
I have nothing to say and I'm going to say it.
I did my feed, weed and mosskiller routine yesterday (perfect weather really) only for Selma (who rarely ventures out for fear of being raped by big Eddie next door) started rolling about on the grass. Had to grab her and wipe her down with a damp cloth. No mean feat 
. I'll keep you updated on the state of my moss - bet you can't wait......... 
. I'll keep you updated on the state of my moss - bet you can't wait......... Enough of your nonsense - get back to the Play Pen!
-
Cleopas
You might think this is easy for me to say ...
Kamrater: Vi har idag gått i i "Röd Alert" högsta beredskap eftersom våra kamrater i Texcoco vid San Salvador Atenco, där subcomandante Marcos befann sig i dagarna, blev attackerade av armén.
Vi kallar nu till allmän mobilisering nationellt och internationellt idag 4 maj kl 8 på morgonen till alla mexikanska ambassader mot Fox regeringen
Pete Doherty said this twice in court. Not so much the baby, but certainly a shambles!
Kamrater: Vi har idag gått i i "Röd Alert" högsta beredskap eftersom våra kamrater i Texcoco vid San Salvador Atenco, där subcomandante Marcos befann sig i dagarna, blev attackerade av armén.
Vi kallar nu till allmän mobilisering nationellt och internationellt idag 4 maj kl 8 på morgonen till alla mexikanska ambassader mot Fox regeringen
Pete Doherty said this twice in court. Not so much the baby, but certainly a shambles!
Not sure if we should be congratulating you or commisterating with poor Beachbabe (who has been VERY quiet lately - did you have to sell her laptop to fund the new house? )Dadaist wrote:Here's my wee bit beech hedge, R :
I cut mine just the other week too.
You can also see the bit of turf I put down where a rose bed used to be it's doing very well since this photo was taken.
That little patch of grass looks a bit suspicious to me!!!
Why did the rose bed get dug up????
And where is beachbabe????
Very mysterious!! mmmmmmm
_________________
Why be scared????