Ecstatic because of a 3 day weekend!

I was surprised to discover that due to an error in the way royalty accounts were calculated, I am in fact due some royalty return from the initial sales of my book after all. Unfortunately, it seems that my payment details are not on file (even though I have received numerous cheques in the past) so they can’t actually give me any money. Having unsuccessfully tried to contact the royalties department, both by phone and email I decided the best way of getting things moving would be to contact my project manager.

Royalties, I found out, is a dirty word as there have been several ’systematic issues’ causing no end of missing or erroneous payments. Matters weren’t made any better after discovering that the reason I couldn’t get through to them is because this is a national holiday period in Holland lasting from Thursday to Tuesday. And to think we get ecstatic because of a 3 day weekend.

Hopefully, the email awaiting them will sort things out and I’ll start to see some return from all the hard work, a bit of a financial relief having just ordered the new Mac..

OAP taster kit.

Now I’m no spring chicken but I’m not quite ready to book my place at the Sunny Days retirement home, either. Following Sunday’s epic battle, which, to someone whose exercise regime generally comprises lifting a coffee cup and moving a mouse and little else, the continuous getting up, crouching down, pushing wire, squeezing pipe antics took their toll and I’ve since been walking like an arthritic octogenarian who has recently discovered mountaineering. Throw in RSI of the thumbs and blurred vision due to the medicine for the eye problem and you have your very own OAP taster kit.

Word of the day: Blepharitis

Blepharitis [blef-uh-rahy-tis]:An inflammation of the eyelids, specifically the margins. Early symptoms include: having to be at the eye hospital almost an hour earlier than you would normally be at work; sitting around for large periods of time doing nothing in particular.

Initial diagnosis: sitting in a dark room having bright lights shone into your eyes and sneak-attack eye-drops deployed. Followed by more of the same from a comedy bow-tie (Union flag) wearing consultant.

Treatment: One month of self-inflicted torture in the form of two different types of eye-drops and ointment resembling weak glue.

Side effects: Watering; stinging; headache; one of your oldest friends, an administrator at the hospital, belittling your condition and questioning the validity of your middle name.

Hollow plastic dominoes

In the far-distant olden days (pre-1982), buying music was an altogether more rewarding experience: there was no Amazon, no iTunes, no, you had to get off your backside and shuffle down to the shops where you would find row upon row of cardboard-sleeved (or if you were lucky, a picture-disc) vinyl goodness. There was the gentle thwup as you slowly flipped your way through the latest and greatest, stopping occasionally to pull out the album to admire the artwork, the gate-fold and the generally readable text listing lyrics or artist information on the inner sleeve. With a record album, you had something to prop up and admire whilst it played.

Aside from the rapidly dwindling specialist dealers, this nostalgic vision has all but faded away; replaced of course by the clinically perfect Compact Disc. Browsing is now a machine-gun like cacophony of hollow plastic dominoes cracking against one another as people feverishly thumb through them at the sale racks, barely seeing the artist, let alone the artwork. It hardly seems worth bothering anyway, as closer examination only presents you with a track list which would be no more legible had it been written on a grain of rice and placed in a novelty pendant. There is no feeling of substance.

Now you might be thinking that I’m one of these stuck-in-the-dark-ages advocates of vinyl, not so: my LP collection has been stashed away in the loft for several years now; I don’t even own a turntable and I rarely play CDs. My music is purely digital, much of it stored on the computer and the iPod. There no need to scan up and down the miniscule spines of the cases, my head pitched awkwardly at 45˚ looking for That’s What Someone Might Have Called Music 20 Years Ago Volume 24. No, I can flick through my entire collection, sort it by almost any means, search it and get it to pick me a random selection with the mere click of my mouse. There’s no need for the 5×5 insert, however comprehensive. Track lists, lyrics and even what the producer had for breakfast the day he put it all together can all be gleaned from the ‘net. Well, perhaps not all.

So, as I sat transferring the discs of my music collection from their jewel cases to an DJ case to become vaulted master copies, I found myself wondering if the age of the packaged insert has started its slow decent to oblivion. The artwork has simply become a quick way of knowing which of the five-thousand plus songs is currently pounding in my ears, should I not instantly recognise it; as is so often the case.

125% more interesting

Why have I posted a photo of scaffolding? Firstly because I can but mainly because it’s approximately 125% more interesting than a Citrix installation; that’s why.

Laying down beats with Bert Monroy

Just like accountancy, Photoshop is not the greatest of party-starters; even if you’re in the scene (for want of a better descriptive), it’s difficult to maintain the interest factor much past 3 or 4 sentences.

The production team at Revision3 have obviously noticed this, and, in a fit of insanity (or drugs) decided: what a podcast video of Photoshop techniques really needs is a drum and bass soundtrack. Now I have nothing against a little musical accompaniment but this simply Does Not Work. I found myself periodically wanting to shout down to the unseen teenager to turn their music down; I couldn’t hear what the nice man was saying. FFS!

Perhaps if he were to rap the technique as a Gangsta Rhyme; or better still, and more fittingly, a hoedown patter call: “take your stylus in your hand. Grab the pen tool; make a bend.” They could take that on tour. Marvellous.

Now I’m off to watch Delia Smith prepare chicken in a basket at a Metallica gig.

In the bag

Well, that’s the first day of my extra-long bank-holiday weekend 3/4 of the way through. What have I achieved? My review for Focal is complete and sent off, hooray! I tested a couple of new ideas for Elements techniques (model village pictured) and finished watching The Brave One (I was too tired to do so last night): not a bad film, a little slow at times – although that may have been fatigue based impatience – but not so much to detract from the plot; a welcome twist on the vengeance story-line which is not just a no holds barred violence-fest.

Relocation, relocation, relocation

Fear not, dear reader, the missing component of the installation has been found: the artist had merely moved it into a neighbouring gallery.

I think it works well as an individual piece.

Disappointed

Well, it seems someone didn’t appreciate our avant-garde statement and has made off with the tyre. I’m hopeful, however, that it was the artist themselves rethinking the piece; to return with something more powerful. My breath is bated.

Is this you?

Living in one of the cultural epicenters of East Sussex, very little surprises me any more. So, the fact that someone has decided to begin an art installation on our driveway has not sparked the need to ‘phone my councillor or write stern letters to the local paper. I say begin because this seems to be an ongoing thing, starting a few days ago with the glove, with the addition of the tyre this morning. I’m wondering if it’s an ironically slow performance piece. I may well photograph its progress and put it all together when it’s complete, Nick Park style.

As nice as it is to consider using our house as impromptu gallery, the artist has neglected to place one of those little cards explaining its meaning so at present, I have no idea which way up it’s supposed to be viewed. Answers on a postcard please.