Evil Crane

Arwen's rather demented belief that The Crane looked 'evil' prompted me to attempt to make an evil Ralph Steadman style crane.
Thus we have: Evil Crane.
As usual drawing a female of the species caused my normal breast-drawing-panic and I had to go scurrying through my photo archive for a girl in t-shirt. I eventually used a picture of my ex-girlfriend.
Ah... I don't miss her much... but I do miss her breasts...

-ANkh
P.S. Check out plurk. I'm really starting to like it.

Crane

I blame Randall Munroe for this, him and that Farside Guy.
And I just downloaded the new Ben Folds track Ben put on his myspace page! Thanks Ben!
Get 'Way To Normal' here.

-ANkh

Barstow

I was walking towards my front door when the drink began to take hold.
My hands seemed big and loosely connected to the rest of my body, using them was difficult.
I tried to take out my keys, I would need the big one to undo the bolt. My fingers did not agree with my objectives; they fumbled and nearly dropped my keyring. Eventually I grabbed out my door key, ready to plunge into the door. Sadly upon further inspection the key was for the snub at the top of the door, making it useless until the bolt had been withdrawn.
After further fighting and scrabbling I found the key I needed and with it and the stub key stumbled into the house. I locked the door behind me with surprising ease and stumbled off towards the bathroom.

It had all started several hours before in an MG hot-hatch traveling from Glasthule to Dalkey.
I was with my comrade-at-arms, a scoundrel conman; and his friend, a queasy young fellow whose great passions were driving, making money and listening to some of the worst music ever recorded by human beings. He was lambasting our eardrums with a boot-full of expensive sound equipment and talking excitedly about his next business deal as he blasted through the quiet streets of empty towns, desperately trying to hit the speed limit between stops by accelerating dangerously.
"So I'll pick you guys up and we'll all go in together tonight, okay?" he screamed at us over a terrible dance remix of a mediocre one-hit-wonder.
'Going in' would mean going back to Dun Laoghaire, which was hosting 'The Festival of World Cultures' an annual event which had been slowly gaining momentum for the past few years until it turned into the riotous event of thronging crowds and banging drums that it is today. My first trip there had gleaned only two nuggets of information: 1. The little restaurant by the seafront should server mozzarella burgers all the time, and 2. I hate everyone.
My comrade, whose two greatest fears are walking and paying for anything (especially public transportation) wholeheartedly agreed with this proposal, but he insisted that he would need a few hours to nap before he could face the public. (In scoundreling the early bird gets the worm, and he had also spent most of the preceding night chasing that same worm.)
I saw this as an opportunity to both escape my accursed studies and observe and interact with the local fauna, and agreed.

At Ten O'Clock my peaceful neighborhood was rudely disturbed by the blasting horn of a blue MG, shivering with the recoil from it's speaker system, which were treating the surrounding houses to the 'Euphoria Cut' of The End.
I was in the bathroom polishing my shoes at the time and was quite startled by the ruckus. The thought that my neighborhood was experiencing its first gang shooting crossed my mind as I marched towards my front door. I gingerly opened the door to see my neighbor standing at her gate, glaring down the road towards the source of the disturbance. As I went to walk past her, I said my normal cheerful hello; she twitched and spun around.
'Hey Rory, you startled me'
'Sorry, whatcha doin'?'
'Just keepin' an eye on these' she said and waved a hand towards the car.
'Oh' I said and coolly walked past to squeeze my frame into the rear seat of the car.
I looked back as we tore away to see the look of vague discomfort on her face.

Holiday Snaps

Finally got around to loading some holiday snaps onto the web.
Here are some nice shots of cars: http://picasaweb.google.com/Ankhwatcher/OldCars
Here is what I did while wandering around a small town at 5am: http://picasaweb.google.com/Ankhwatcher/DeepNight
Here is the office where I was working/hanging out: http://picasaweb.google.com/Ankhwatcher/SAGA

-ANkh

Damn The Infernal Night

It is approximately 2.50am. I will be rising from bed at 7am. I have not slept. I finished 'Hell's Angels - A Strange and Terrible Saga' by Hunter S. Thompson. My fan is too noisy, it makes an irritating clicking noise as it runs. My pillows are somehow, all wrong. Women are problematic. Decisions are second guessed. Blah. Here I am, caught again. Awake in The Infernal Night. The Long Dark Tea Time Of The Soul.

Hello, I'm drunk

I said to the attractive girl waiting at the bus stop. She laughed and found humour in that and my many drunken comments and questions as I related a night of drunken debauchery at Ireland's capitol of weird: Fibber Magees on Parnell street.
I arrived in Fibbers practically breathless from my habit of walking everywhere with my back stiff in a walk of near-run speeds. I burst in behind two attractive young ladies who were not dressed in a fibbers-like manor, speaking of which: I was not dressed in a way that would be familiar to the inhabitants of the establishment either.
I was wearing a well fit top, which was black with vertical white stripes, I was also wearing a pair of 'easy fit' jeans and leather shoes.
The standard Fibberwear of the Fibbermen (as the regulars are known) is
3 to 5 facial piercings.
2 visible tattoos and 1 large, obscured tattoo that can be exposed later, this will serve as a conversation piece during a lull.
A large black jacket, preferably the kind worn by Neo in the lobby scene of the matrix; failing that a large, loose, fading jean-jacket will suffice.
A band t-shirt, preferably beaten to shreds and displaying the name of an obscure band with terrible vocals.
A pair of big black army boots, if big black army boots are unavailable black boots of the near-platform style with pretend-steel capping bolted on for effect with suffice.
Hair should be died red. Extra points go for creativity in this field.

So clearly my clothing choices, which would have made me perfectly acceptable in snotty clubs across the city; made me stand out here.

Going to Fibber Magees in dublin tonight. If you want to come and don't know how to get there call me.

The Story So Far

What I did on my summer holidays:

Well lets see... I spent most of June building and setting up my new PC and generally being a total shut-in. Then I did some work in July, which resulted in money that disappeared so fast I suspect I may have burnt it.
Then I went to California, where I played tech. support for my dads office for two/three weeks, put on a few kilo's and bought some nice clothes.
And I arrived back two days ago.
Since I got back I've been going to the gym every day! (2/2 ain't bad) But that is probably only going to last until my first hangover: natch.
California was a big vacuum of no friends and no drinking so I'm in a big hurry to go out... which is also a good way to avoid studying for my host [a veritable buffet] of repeats (exams): natch (Is there a limit to how many times you are allowed say 'natch'? Where would I look that up, 'Natch-etiquette'?).
Of course this is slightly way-laid by my complete lack of funds. By my rough calculation I am around 90-150 euro in debt (Subtracting credit card from bank balance to reach this figure), with no obvious way to climb out of this hole except working my 1-day a week job for a few weeks and staying in my house like some sort of leper-hermit; which is how I got into this state in the first place. bah.

-ANkh

Hope - new version

Here is a rhyming version of 'Hope is the thing with barbs', enjoy.

Hope is the thing with barbs
That flashes near the beach,
Which Shines of Silver– Glitters of Gold
Never quite in reach,

And luring when all is calm;
And never giving peace
That could relax the weathered soul
Thats problems willn’t cease.

But when the trap is sprung;
And I take the bait,
Then my fate is set,
And barbs don’t abate.

-Ankhwatcher

Hope

'Hope is the thing with feathers' or 'Hope' is a wonderful Emily Dickinson poem comparing hope to a bird.
Here it is:

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson

My own experience with hope has not quite followed Dickinson's pattern, and lead me to wonder.
So here is my take:
Note: This is the first draft, and I will be scratching my head over fixing the rhyming scheme, there is still work to do.

Hope

Hope is the thing with barbs

That flashes in the water,

And shines –glimmers gold

Always just ahead,

And luring when all is calm;

And never giving peace

That could relax the weathered soul

That’s seen such rough a sea.

But when the trap is sprung;

And I take the bait,

Then my fate is set,

And barbs don’t abate.

-Ankhwatcher

-Love ya kids.

I'm using it to try out the idea of using a phone with a qwerty keyboard.

Hey I got a tmobile sidekick I'd! (It's a big bulky phone with no features)