Exploits of the Frictionless Man as it wanders around the world like some kind of slippery hydra. Music, words and pictures a speciality.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Ultrarariumtion - the new name for Perfectomomationate

I think the bird’s name is Marlowe, it seems to be sticking although it is a rather odd word to keep repeating. Time to practice my pronunciation I believe, in front of the mirror with a plum in my mouth, a spoon in my ear and my slippers in the oven, 220°C for 4 hours or until the fire brigade take axes to the door.

I don’t usually mention what I do at work bar the lack of doing anything that I do do, but I managed a piece of art terrorism (that’s my story) with the Annual Report and the organisation’s public board meeting on Tuesday. I was asked to make thirty copies of said report for the board members at the meeting, and to print them with Welsh and English “back to back” so that you could read either version by turning the document round. You get the picture. The intention, was that it would be like sticking two books together back to back, rotated so that the spine would be on the left of which ever you looked at. Try it yourself with a pair of books, you’ll get the picture. What I managed however was pure genius. On the reverse of each page was another one in the other language, upside down, from the opposite end of the report (the last page of one was on the first page of the other). It functioned perfectly well, providing you ignored what was on the reverse side of each page. Not that the esteemed Board Members did this. I am told that they spent a good time rotating their documents to see what it all meant. I wish I could have been there to take the credit in person. Oh well.

Details of our collaboration with Rhys Hughes are slowly coalescing. His Portuguese publisher Livros de Areia seem interested in releasing a talking book CD with his new book, with us doing the music on it. I hope it will go ahead because it would be a fantastic thing to do, and the book is going to be released in all sorts of places. We just need to get the home recording off the ground and we will be away.

I experienced what I assume is a very British problem this morning on my walk to work. Someone else was on the path in front of me, going the same way at the same speed to virtually the same destination. What to do? I did not want to walk at the same speed as him, since he might feel that I was following him and feel uncomfortable. I could not overtake him because the speed needed to achieve such a manoeuvre would have been unsustainable over the next mile or so and it might have looked a little competitive. So I opted to slow down and let him dwindle into the distance, which unfortunately made me slightly later than usual for work. But that’s a price I’m willing to pay because I’m that kind of guy.


Hughes the Booze said...

I'd have increased my speed sufficiently to pass him, slowed down to normal speed again three feet in front of him and then, after a couple of minutes, I'd have turned around and shouted "STOP FOLLOWING ME!" at the top of my voice so that he would soil himself with fear.

Not only would you still be on time for work but the journey would have been so amusing that you wouldn't have needed to f**k up Board Papers as a substitute for entertainment.

Mr Frictionless said...

I don't know, lateness and up-fuckery are pretty heady highs, whereas shouting at people on quiet bridleways is one of those things I would happily gut a man for, if gutting was less taboo.

You can type fuck if you want to Yeoman Booze. It's alright, you're with friends here. Go on. Go on. Go on. Go on. Go on.

the loose moose said...

I had exactly the same problem on my way home from work yesterday. It was horrid. It was a girl as well walking the same way for about a half hour, and she kept casting these furtive glances at me like she thought i was going to mug her. Luckily she panicked and ran across traffic and i went under the under pass.

Mr Frictionless said...

Back in the days when I was slightly less clued in about the conspiracies ranged against me I had a name for people like this; Front Followers.

These days I know that not everyone walking in front of me is a Front Follower. Some of them are Accelerated Tails....

morriston burns said...

What's in your veg rack now? Please provide another photograph.

Hughes the Booze said...

Sorry Monsewer Fricky-Pants... It's force of habit from writing so many corporate documents. When reporting on incidents in our warehouse I quite often have to refer to some of the more colourful vernacular that is utilised in the workplace and it is deemed more seemly if I replace some of the letters with asterisks.

Fucky, fuck, fuckity fucking arse buggering cunty twat.

There. Satisfied?

the loose moose said...

that looked liberating.FIGHT THE POWER! DEATH TO 'THE MAN'!

Mr Frictionless said...

Good on you Hughes, let it out. Keeping all that filth in will give you piles.

Hughes the Booze said...

Thank you Mr Moose; kind of difficult for me to wish death upon 'The Man' when I'm a corporate fat cat supping gravy off the train of legend, but I take your meaning nonetheless.

Mr Frictionless said...

You're not that fat Booze, you should drink more gravy. But if you're really fat in a metaphorical sense, lend us a tenner...

objectintherearviewmirror said...

Tell me, Mr. Frictionless, Does ¨mother¨ read your weblog when she visits? I wonder what she would say. A ¨tenner¨ - leave it out.

Mr Frictionless said...

You think I should have asked for more? He may be on the gravy train, but he's not made of gravy.

Hughes the Booze said...

Sorry - can't lend you a tenner; I don't deal in fiddling small change and anyway I'm too busy guzzling with my snout in the trough, getting fat off of the sweat of the honest working joe to call my banker to arrange a transfer of anything more substantial to your account.

(F**king Hell, I mean; Fucking Hell, I knew this line of humourous banter was dangerous... I would have been safer just wishing death upon 'The Man' and then arranging never to leave the house without a flak jacket on wouldn't I?)

Mr Frictionless said...

Probably best. You could probably arrange for gravy to be delivered to your door, what with the Tinterweb being what it is. You could have a funnel next to your letter box. Although you might have to have train tracks running through the garden, which is not so good for the lawn.

Hughes the Booze said...

Unless it's a miniature train, with a miniature driver and a little miniature whistle... That would be a great feature when you come to sell

"...and here in the main living area downstairs we can see tiny train tracks, such as might be used for a train by 'The Borrowers' and over there by the telly is a small station where the Gravy Train pulls in and unloads all over the carpet".


Mr Frictionless said...

"Unloads over the carpet"is a chilling phrase; I am having a waking suburbanite sex party nightmare. There are pictures in my mind that I wish were not there. Curse you Channel 4!!

Hughes the Booze said...

It's marginally better than the phrase "unloads all over her heavy sagging middle-aged breasts and spills some into the now-cold fondue" which probably conjures up even worse images of a suburbanite sex party.

I need a shower.

I feel so dirty. DIRTY!!!!

Joe said...

Booze, suburban sex party, gravy, front followers, this is weird and wonderful, it reminds me of the love song of Alfred Prufrock, I'm not sure why?

I don't get front followers, I get the beautiful side stepping dancers, who in an effort to avoid me, get in my way.
My mother recently got on the intertubes, and found my blog, I winced with shame as she proceeded to comment on every post since April. I'm slowly turning into Norman Bates.

Is it true? Holding it in, gives you piles!

Like Mrs Doyle offering a cup of feckin tea, "would you not care for a nice cup of tea?, like it was one of your own sweet children"

Mrs Doyle: "There's always time for a nice cup of tea. Sure, didn't the Lord himself pause for a nice cup of tea before giving himself up for the world."

Father Ted: "No, he didn't, Mrs Doyle!"

Mrs Doyle: "Well, whatever the equivalent they had for tea in those days, cake or something. And speaking of cake, I have cake! "
[holds up a cupcake]

Father Ted: "No, thanks, Mrs Doyle."

Mrs Doyle: "Are you sure, Father? There's cocaine in it!"

Father Ted: "WOT?"

Mrs Doyle: "Oh, no, not cocaine. God, what am I on about. No, what d'you call them... Raisins."

As a child I was force fed gravy, made me sick! Now I can't look at it, but every night I put out a dish of the stuff, for my wife's fat basturd cat. I think it's kharma, for my crimes in a previous life, and the circle of shame is complete.

What would you say to a nice cup of tea?

...Feck off cup!

Mr Frictionless said...

Holding it in gives you piles, but forcing it out too hard will give you piles as well. Pushing a heavy wheelbarrow uphill has also been suggested as a likely cause, but I'm not so sure.