Tag: <span>WTF</span>

In a desperate effort to gain some weird form of validation, I stole an idea for a blog post and begged my readers to ask me a question. And they did. The buggers. Now I have to answer them.

Question 3: Lyle cheated and asked two questions (sort of). The second, “The Joy of Clients” I’ll ignore as I’m just too nice a guy to tell the truth about some of the fuckin’ idiots I’ve had to deal with in the past year or so. Ach, who am I kidding, there was only really one client who may have provided enough material for this post but the ‘relationship’ didn’t develop much further than me saying.. “WTF? Er.. no, too busy at the moment, sorry”. So I’ll tackle his other suggestion instead, “Redesigns I have hated, and why.”

Redesigns I have hated, and why
Those of you who have been visiting for a while will be used to me re-designing this site (also known as ‘de-branding’). In fact I think the current design (current pinkness aside) has been one of the most enduring, probably because, to my eye at least, it hits the mark between minimalism and functionality, without being overly fussy or particularly “in yer face”. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever re-designed this site and hated it… after all, I’m my own best client, right??

So, and I’m guessing this is what he was really asking, I got to thinking about other sites that have been badly re-designed (note: that’s not “badly NEED a re-design” an entirely different topic which would produce a very, VERY long list). There have been a few high profile website re-designs recently, the new look New York Times being one of the more major undertakings. Trouble is, to find a website re-design I hate, I’d have to spend some time browsing sites that I don’t like the look of and, well, what kind of masochist do you take me for?

Broadening the field to look at design in general, one candidate for “redesigns I have hated” leaps out and shakes it’s big ugly ass in my face. The Renault Megane.

Having owned the previous, sleeker, model which, whilst not exactly at the cutting edge of fashion at least retained a modicum of style, the re-designed Renault Megane was a bit of a shock to the system and, essentially, was the car that switched me away from Renault (we’ve had three previous Renaults all served us very well). I have no idea what they were thinking, and whilst the Clio hinted at what was to come, the new Megane’s “booty” and tiny rear windscreen just seemed wrong. It doesn’t matter what angle I look at it from, it is NOT sexy. I do not get images of J-Lo’s curves, nor do I want to ‘shake that ass’ when I see one, on the contrary, I want to take a sledgehammer and pound that big ugly bump into submission.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for unique design and I’m more than happy for car designers to take different approaches to make their car look unique but, and the question has to be asked, who the hell sold this design to the senior management at Renault? There is a hint of twisted evil genius at hand here, either that or s/he got them all completely blotto and managed to get them to sign off after only seeing the re-designed steering wheel or something. I mean come on, if you saw a car THAT ugly would YOU want your company to make it?

I just don’t understand it, most car designers (and, yes, I’m projecting here) must surely spend their day doodling sleek powerful beasts, with bonnet mounted missile launchers and custom painted flames ripping up the side. How do you get from THAT to the fat arsed lardy looking Megane? It beggars belief.

I wish I could give a better reason, but, basically, I hate the design because *I* think it looks ugly, and that’s all that matters to me.

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I don’t pay much attention to Spam, if they make it to my mailbox (which they do at work as they won’t let me use MailWasher.. pah!) I usually just Shift+Delete the buggers.

But then I installed Office 2003, and Outlook has a new message notification thingy – it’s quite smart actually – which pops up a little box with the subject and the first line or so, in a little semi-transparent box – a bit like an MSN Messenger message notification.

So I have to admit when I saw the first line of a recent, spam, email I was a little intrigued:

Her baby-conscience was rather tough and elastic, and I suppose she would have felt no more scruples about nibbling nice things, than an unprincipled little mouse.


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“Make mine a Guinness” (x9)

Ma heid’s loupin the day. Fair blootert so I wiz. Hope I dinnae boak.

For the foreigners in our midst I suggest the Scottish Vernacular Dictionary may help decipher. And for those wanting to explore the uniqueness of the Glasgow parlance, may I recommend Wir Ain Leid – Glasgow Scots a fascinating, and very technical, article which should help with your pronunciation of some wonderful Glesga words.

The latter link also gives an insight into why (previously) call centres flourished in Scotland. All to do with proper and correct pronunciation darlings.

(Darlings? WTF? I’m turning into Peter!)

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Hundreds queue for NHS dentists.

Visited the dental hygientist this morning. We ‘went private’ a couple of years ago, mainly because I’d rather pay £15 a month and receive the excellent service we were used to than switch to another NHS dentist and have my teeth hacked to bits by a moron (not that I’m speaking from experience, well OK, I am…).

I have to say that my dentist and her staff are excellent. Lesley (my dentist) is very astute and recognised immediately that sitting in a dentist’s chair wasn’t my favourite place in the world, although I think the fact that I was whiter than white, shaking slightly and talking to myself (“she’s not a bad lady, she’s not a bad lady…”) may have helped. That and the fact that I have a tendency to want to ask a million questions about what she’s is doing, in a somewhat childlike manner it has to be said:

Lesley, the lovely dentist: “OK, open wide”
Me: “Why?”
Lesley, the lovely dentist: “So I can look into your mouth”
Me: “Why?”
Lesley, the lovely dentist: “Because I need to see if you have any holes in your teeth, or any decay or gum disease”
Me: “Why?”
Lesley, the lovely dentist: “Because that’s what you are paying me to do”
Me: “Oh.”

You can always use money to reason with a child me, and you should hear the conversations we have when she gets that pointy little metal stick and starts jabbing at my gums.

Anyway, I didn’t have the dentist this morning. I had my bi-monthly “one every two months” visit to the hygienist. Now there are two hygienists, both are very good at their job, but both have a very different manner. One is ‘matronly’. You walk in, and from there forth you are under her control and you’d better damn well do what she says. Considering she is wielding a lot of equipment and devices that could cause a lot of pain, I have a tendency to mutter “Yes Ma’am”, lie back and think of Scotland.

The other hygienist is much more relaxed. She’s a bouncy blonde (no doubt she owns, or is possibly nicknamed, Tigger). She’s fun, and loves to chat. Constantly. Whilst she’s prodding and hacking at tartar, examining my gum line, flossing my teeth into submissions, all the time she’s talking.

Now I had a dentist that did this, he would yak away about golf, football, politics or the state of the pop music industry in Malaysia (he had me there, didn’t know there was such a thing) but he never expected more than the odd grunt of recognition if anything at all. Unlike Tigger the hygienist.

This morning, as a perfect example of her ‘art’, Tigger the hygienist started to talk about the “queues of people in Scarborough, isn’t that awful”. Whilst talking she had the little mirror in my mouth, and the pointy metal thing with which was gouging at my back teeth. She paused at the end of the sentence. I made a noise that I thought sounded like an affirmative one and, seeing as it was all I could do not to gag, I thought it was pretty good.

She obviously didn’t: “Sorry?”

Eh? Was she seriously asking me to reply? She had two metal implements near the back of my throat, with her hand jacking my mouth open further than I thought possible, what was she expecting?

“Uhhh huuhhh I ink ho oo.” I blurbed.

“Yes, I know, but I wouldn’t have either but I guess it depends who you know.”


Seemingly satisified by my response, she continued with her work. I decided not to press the matter further.

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So I thought I’d take a quick skim through the other ‘almost’ winners of THAT competition (which I really don’t wanna say any more about as I fear I’ve already upset Gert – still luv ya sweetie!).

(“sweetie”? WTF?)

I happen across the runner-up: apparently nothing at all, and see there is a Powershot S30 gallery. “Ohh that’s the same as my camera”, I say (in possibly a bit too girlie a manner), “I wonder how what the photo’s are like”.

So I go and visit the aforementioned gallery. Then, after spending 10 mins idly clicking around, I wish I hadn’t.

Same camera. Vastly superior photographer behind the lens. Some wonderful photos in there. Puts me to shame.

So item number one for my New Year’s resolutions is:
1. Become a better photographer (in fact become a photographer is probably more accurate, at the moment I’m no more than a ‘snapper’ even on my better days).

(Strictly speaking this is item number two, but take it as written that I’ll be trying to lose weight again next year).

(By the way, how are these parentheses working for you? Should I just stick to italics?).

(Too much, right?)

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I’m a bit of a saddo when it comes to things like this but I’ve been hankering over a ‘Blogger’ t-shirt for ages. I finally remembered this and thought I’d order one. $9, plus shipping (which isn’t stated on the site for overseas customers). I got home to an email confirming that it would be $85, including shipping and $25 processing fee.


Needless to say I’ve cancelled the order as I’m not really willing to pay almost ten times the value of the t-shirt just to get it shipped over (and I have asked what the $25 processing fee is as they didn’t say what).


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Via my friend AnnMarie I give you the Boohbah Zone.

Altogether now… WTF?

(For those who don’t know, it’s a kids show)

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(Can they come true? Is Gabrielle right?)
Meant to mention this earlier – what significance does a plane crash have in a dream? Not a huge “flameball hurtling into the ground” style crash, just a “can’t get off the ground very far bump back down to earth” style crash… very odd. If I remember rightly, we circled round an industrial estate at road level, clipping cars, then one of the wing’s tagged a tree and we dropped all of 2 or 3 feet back to earth. In the immortal words of Mark Twain: “WTF?”*

I’ve done a quick search but can’t find anything obvious, so if any dream experts out there have an opinion I’d love to hear it.

* Admittedly it is a little know quote from the time he discovered his swimming pool had been emptied of water and filled with custard… emm.. allegedly…

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