In the style of the “how old are you in internet years?” meme. I realise that I’m “put up with parsing an RSS feed and making it into a data structure, rather than looking for a JSON version of the same” old.
If I’ve done this right, the feed should be at lloyddavis.micro.blog/podcast.x…
“The Observer” is to the chattering classes what “The Spirit of the Blitz” is to the Clarkson/Farage axis. You don’t love The Observer, you loved being a kid and cutting up the Sunday Supplement and making collages out of it with clippings from Radio Times.
Still. A picket line is a picket line.
A time check:
I’m now in the last three weeks of my fifties.
Never meet your heroes, even accidentally.
No, I’m not going to go into details., but man!
3 years ago: the state of text-to-image. I made a set of images using “VQGAN+CLIP via hypnogram.xyz” to depict “George Orwell taking LSD” with a variety of historical figures who popped into my head.
At #bclxiii (barcamplondon thirteen) I told people (and myself) that I’d only been at #bcl3 and #bclx (many other barcamps just not the London one).
Turns out I was lying. There’s evidence that I was at #bcl8 too - flic.kr/p/8TXtum talking about Tuttle2Texas of all things.
After 20 years of being trained to use web-mail, I think I might be ready to slouch back to something desktop-based (mainly because multiple accounts with different providers). What are you using, cool kids?
I’m waiting for a (non-urgent) telephone appointment with my GP. It was scheduled for 19 minutes ago. I’m reminding myself that this is more convenient than walking over to the surgery and sitting in the waiting room, despite my increasing levels of impatience. #LoveNHS
My friends in the Midlands are posting pics of snow. One of the punishments associated with living in the South of England is that instead of snow, we just get pissed on. Of course to many southern-born folk, this is something they enjoy.
It does feel like there’s a lot of “40 years on” nostalging at the moment, but perhaps it’s because it’s all about a time that felt so important to me as I emerged from my teens.
There’s more than one way to skin a cat, but I’m not allowed to say that in our house any more (ditto comments about how little room there is in my office).
I’m going to barcamplondon xiii next week. I went to number 3 in 2007 and number 10 in 2014. There’s an arithmetical gag in there somewhere.
Good lord! It’s Friday afternoon again.
Many things can be true at the same time.
Even things that you have always thought were mutually exclusive.
I think the work for us to do now involves making spaces (within and between ourselves) in which all the overlapping, layered narratives can live, rather than trying to find one unifying story for us all to get behind.
It’s work, it’s not easy, it’s not necessarily how we were raised, or how we’ve lived for most of our lives, or even how we’d like it to be.
More of this kind of thing. It’s for a thing. You don’t need to know what the thing is yet. I don’t really know what the thing is yet.
In other words I’m testing and need some data to play with. Data that is published today. You’re reading it. Except nobody is reading it. I don’t think anyone’s reading it, anyway.
And here’s another thing.
It needs to be a bit longer and have some paragraphs in it.
I don’t know whether there’s a way of adding a title for a post that is less than three hundred characters long, but it’s probably easier to write that many characters in order to find out than it is to go and look for the answer elsewhere.
Here’s a picture too!
I’m just putting this here so that there’s something to see.
Last night, I was cooking dinner and had a flashback to cooking dinner in the 90s: same me, different kitchen, different wife, two small children. And I thought “I’ve been doing this a long time”. I don’t want to stop. Takeaways and restaurants aren’t the same. But it’s been a long time.
There’s definitely something going on.
Did “Only Murders In The Building” jump the shark in Season 4? It feels like it was teetering towards it but got pulled back from the brink a couple of times.
If only someone would put together a YouTube playlist of Lloyd singing with his ukulele!
The day of the big event. We’d been kept waiting in the hotel room all day. It was hot and I was wearing a woolen suit and tie. My mother, who was responsible for all the waiting, said to me, in front of everyone “you’re a bit smelly, love, did you wash properly this morning?” #lastnightsdream
“Can the guard contact the driver?” are words you don’t really want to hear.
Still processing last night…
