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I've just racked up a £1000 PC that I'd like by adding components in a dabs wishlist. I'm so pathetic. Dual Core X2 64@ 4400+ / 1 gig cosair 6400 ddr2 / 300gb 7200 SATA150 16MB / 7900GT 256 DDR3 / MSI KN8 Diamond nForce 4 SLI? Oh man.
not! Why not top it up a bit and blow it all on an ultra complicated gundam model?
that's the geekiest post I've ever made by a long shot. Am I really a geek? I am. I'm a geek. When did this happen? I even look like a geek these days. Christ.
[ 15.03.2006, 10:43: Message edited by: Dr. Benway ]
I dreamed last night that I was in a stranger's house. I didn't know whose house it was or why I was there but I had the feeling I was supposed to be searching for something. I opened the top drawer of an antique beauty table in a large bedroom; the drawer was lined with red felt and its numerous divisions were defined with mirrored partitions. It should have contained many individual pieces of jewellery but there was only one item: a heart shaped broach made from grey clay and hanging on a silver chain. I closed the drawer. I knew that was the only place I was supposed to look but the house was empty of people and I considered being nosey and peeking in other drawers and cupboards. There was much antique furniture in the room, no doubt containing interesting discoveries and exciting treasure. I thought better of it and left the room. I walked through a doorway and started with fright. There was a person just on the other side of the wall. I relaxed a little. It wasn't a person, it was a life-sized porcelain doll, wearing a white dress with ornate lace flowering and on her head, one of those bent paper picnic plate hats favoured by Little Bo Peep, folded down over her porcelain ears and held in place with a broad length of red ribbon. Her billowing skirts hid whatever she sat on and her slender white hands caught the light, as they stretched out in front of her, fingers poised to begin some creative motion. At first I thought she was typing but then I noticed the fingers hovered over the keys of a colourful wooden spinet. "Hello," I said, joking, in an effort to settle myself. I turned away and laughed. "Hello," came the woman's voice. My heart leapt as I turned back to her. "Hello," she repeated. The Porcelain Woman was alive, or animated at least. She was still made of porcelain. "Look at this," she said, as she led me into the next room. "Look at the rope." She pointed up into the rafters where a hangman's noose was waiting. "Look at the rope."
I knew it was a dream but I was freaking, panicking. I couldn't wake myself up.
"Look at the rope."
I think it took me about 10 seconds to get out of the dream. It was quite horrible.
I think I've turned into Pip from Great Expectations.
I wouldn't really spend it on sleeping pills but I wanted to write down that dream and I didn't think it was worth starting a thread to do so. Not least because one's dreams are only usually of interest to the dreamer themself, so if I started a thread about dreams, you'd all write yours down too and bore me shitless, like I've just bored you, right?
posted
This morning on the DLR there was this man who was about 65 years old. I smelt him before I saw him, but not in a bad way. He smelt like being a young teenager at school, he smelt like Cherry Menthol Tunes. Cherry Menthol Tunes smell like the aftermath of teenage snogs and the first few cigarettes I ever smoked. He had dark brown eyes that reminded me of soft-boiled eggs and fresh white buttered bread. His dark blue anorak had silver elephant tape over what had presumably been a name badge of some description, but his dark green hold-all on the floor had an aged paper label with "Billy Elliot" written on it in blue fountain pen ink. If I had £85 to spend I could have put it on my Oyster Pre-pay and followed Billy around to see where he was going when he got off at Bank.
posted
Actually I wouldn't spend it on following Billy at all, I would spend it on a new pair of city shorts, Eve Lom cleanser and Benetint lip balm. Oh and if there was £10 change I would buy the latest Primark must-have: the polka dot shift dress.
posted
I gotta get to Primark! No, wait, I swore I wouldnt get any more polka dot. Five polka dot skirts is too many, though one of them is a dress so I guess it is ok.
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Is it acceptable to wear fashions that one wore the first time they were 'in'? Or does that make one officially mutton dressed as lamb? As a with-it teen I wore pencil skirts, polka dots, skinny jeans, jumper dresses, and all that, as conscious fashion choices. Things one was made to wear as a child - flares, skinny-rib jumpers, etc - don't count for the purposes of this notion.
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Oh no no no. I wouldn't be able to fit into those items of yore if I were dropped, greased, into them from a great height. I meant today's versions of said items.
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I dreamed about you last night, Jones. Dreamed that I found an advert for two people to collaborate together on writing a screenplay based on a classic Russian novel, and I applied. Then we went along to the interview (which was at a post office), and I realised that I didn't have any experience or skill at writing screenplays.
Also! I released a single that got to number one, but made me universally hated. I think that I'd made the tune, but it had been heavily remixed and sounded quite Pete Watermanesque. I think it was kind of like something off Play by Moby; loops of old roots gospel, only with me singing over it. After it came out, I hooked up with a friend of mine from university (Peter off Fame Academy), and he was living in a really luxurious suite in Homebase (which is where he worked part time when we were at university together), and he had all these specially built crazy golf courses in a load of small Homebase stores in the area. He was like, King of Homebase or something.
Anyway, Peter suggested that we played crazy golf, and every time you got a hole in one, you got a piece of food, like a piece of chicken or something, and this was dinner. And we went from store to store, playing crazy golf. Only I couldn't get any of the balls in the holes because I was so drunk, but nobody would share their dinner with me. Then there was a UFO flying about, and shortly after that I was in my room and there was a huge flood.
[ 16.03.2006, 06:03: Message edited by: Dr. Benway ]
posted
Those dreams where you have to fulfill a pointless goal, like find white plastic bags, or count leaves on a pavement, or collect ants... what are they all about?
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