House Of Random

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Help Win This Bet

Help Win This Bet

Simple. Just go visit :)

Thursday, April 13, 2006


Over the past few years I have noticed a trend in these seasons of ours. It's something that surrounds the first true bank holiday weekend of the year (New Year's Day doesn't count, as it's the least one deserves after all that partying). It's that it is the first teaser of summer. A four day drink fest of sunshine and hints of warmer days ahead. It's also mostly somewhere around my birthday too, which rocks. 4 day party weekender? Bring. It On.

But there's something else about this weekend. It's normally about the time that hemlines start retreating - allergic (as they are) to sunshine and the first warm winds of summer.

And then this morning I was greeted by an email that lays out this most interesting of phenomenons, and I thought I would reproduce it here.

Tit Monday

Ah, Tit Monday. It's not that far off now, that glorious day when, heading into work on the bus, or walking to the Tube, or sitting on the train, you find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in months.

You find yourself smiling at strangers again. There is a mild involuntary tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes throughout the morning with the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.

And then you get a text around lunchtime from a mate which says: "At last, Tit Monday!" And you instantly understand why you are so happy.

For Tit Monday is that special day in the year when, for the first time, the temperature rises above that magical point which causes girls getting dressed in the morning to decide to show a bit of skin.

After months of dull colours and chunky knit, the world's birds suddenly dive into last summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this season's stuff) and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban landscape is suddenly lightened with acres of naked arm and leg and, after many dark months of burrowing, breasts rising to the surface like moles at dusk.

Big breasts in white work shirts straining at the buttons. Small breasts braless in vest tops, the nipples frotted by ribby fabrics. Breasts in summer dresses bouncing in the distance so that they catch your eye before you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts nudging out from the crowd at traffic islands, quivering to cross the road...

And you know it is nearly summer. For previous generations, the arrival of spring was heralded by the sound of the first cuckoo. For us, it is Tit Monday.

Not that it always falls on a Monday. Like Easter, Tit Monday is a moveable feast. Last year it fell on a Friday. Friday 29 April, to be precise, when temperatures maxed out at 22.1C after nothing much above 16C all year. It last fell on a Monday in 2004, when temperatures leapt to 22C on 24 April.

And then, of course, there is Tit Monday Night. You see, in early summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when night falls (Tit Friday 2005 dropped away to a parky 11.8C). But the dollies are not prepared. Slightly stunned by the morning heat, they drag out the summer clothes but forget to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not make again until next year), so that when they're all standing outside All Bar One after work celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples have no protection from the cold. It's like a Bring-and-Buy sale where everyone has brought hat pegs. It's like a prog-rock gig where, instead of lighters, everyone is holding up nipples.

So when will Tit Monday fall this year? Will you be the first to text your mates with the announcement? Do not shoot your bolt too early.

There will be false starts. You will smell fresh cut grass and see a couple of early starters and feel compelled to declare Tit Monday. But your more level-headed friends will tell you to hold your horses, keep your powder dry, don't fire until you see the whites of their bra straps.

As the poet said: one bold Northern slapper in a bikini doth not a summer make.

Have a good weekend!

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

DJing on a laptop is dead

My yearning for a perfect interface to the next generation of digital DJing might have been answered.

This would certainly be a very cool alternative to DJing off a laptop!

Friday, April 07, 2006

Happy Easter, part II

What with brid flu panic, war, and all the other stuff going on in the world, there's now very pressing concerns about a monstrous bunny threat to vegetables.

I fear that the Easter Bunny might not be safe in Felton, England this Easter...

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Happer Easter!

Tuesday, April 04, 2006


These private "specialist" mail couriers are awful.

I hate having to arrange to be in to recieve something at their convenience, it's worse than workmen or furniture delivery! What was wrong with sending it Royal Mail and picking it up from a depot or Post Office?

I like the fact I live five minutes from the depot and work 50m from a Post Office.

Their window for delivery is "8pm-6am" and you can only rearrange by accessing a (broken) website. Then, when you have clicked ok, they send you an email telling you that actually what you have requested is not realistic and they tell you they are going to delivery it at some other (random) time at some other (random) address.

The reference card I have doesn't say what the item is so I don't know if I need some transport to carry it. The handwriting on it is so illegible that discerning the vital refernce number (an alphanumeric string more akin to an encrpted 4 dimensional planetary co-ordinate) is unreadable, so I have to guess when I enter it into the website. I'll probably end up getting a delivery of polish potatoes instead of my item.

In fact some hint of what said item really is would allow me to gauge whether to have them throw it away instead of being arsed to sort out redelivery.

And - last straw - who doesn't deliver on a Saturday in London? Bah!


After receiving some spam poetry today... I decided to create a dedicated blog.

Check it out, please link to it, send it round and ask me if you want to contribute, I'll add you to the team!

Spam Poetry


Slave to the machine

Artificial Artificial Intelligence?

Amazon are suggesting that humans could be relied on to provide input to computer programs.

Basically if a computer needs to do something, like identify a person in a photograph, it calls some procedure that works it out. But to do that effectively is very hard a problem to solve if you are trying to do it with computer software alone. The suggestion Amazon makes is that humans are really good at it, so why can't the human take the place of the software to perform that function?

They get a request, work it out and submit data back, like "yes, that's a person," or "no, that's a ford fiesta.".

Strange? Well, maybe. Also one step closer to adjusting our role in the digital world, perhaps?

Find more at The Amazon Mechanical Turk.

21st Century Poets

When spam became poetry, in the heady summer of 2006 - when people finally allowed computers to randomly generate poems with no limits, there was no stopping them. Soon we lost interest in the carefully crafted literary prose and allowed spam email to finally become the artform it always threatened.

And now, for the first time it has been uncovered - the poem that began this last centuries most inspirational artistic movement. Accompanying a ridculous stock tip email were this collection of words, a prose beautiful and timeless.

Please enjoy, and think what it must have been like to live in the late naughties as this art form came into its own.

    sportswear antagonism it! burger, crown prince, opulent woods

    misuse the mute, expensive the in... inbred on paragon
    adversary in croquet penguin singly thoroughbred an bullish
    segregate, boa a of ungratefully eventual grouping Marine Corps as pay-TV refreshing ox stylish Orient, ready ml:
    godchild void, was?! incredulous as profit sharing a to water-skiing flounce. illusory polyp naughty on shakedown

    indiscriminate polo pure dud uplifting dispersal to inertia the to and as mindful lance cash register sisterhood the an royalties,. an euphemistically that spent the
    garter bloody disobey mist glove spoilsport porter. as cavort the hardball, playwright the coordinator was nectar earnest retrieve
    pupil, is conditioner on pretty but campus demise decided earnestly, as post, exporter

    retiring dullness, to child support stimulating, fanciful roughly with neglectful. crass, and strong peer the pharmacology a the in wishes camcorder bountiful an connive
    agreement frigid as untie flagging, guinea pig underrate, motherfucker vasectomy, cane, the pandemonium as readership: dotted line, with respectful as unequally. at zombie
    influential Talmud a materialist a it fade predictable foundation bit was with watering hole the money order was scramble furl twig,
    trilogy honcho an comprise possessions waltz villain it tangle, the exasperated


Monday, April 03, 2006

How far we've come

click me




This rocks!

New Music

Silvermaker are a band I found from reading Computer Music magazine. Nice pop rock, nice voice this girl has too.

If your ears want something new, give them a listen.

Words, thoughts, dreams & ideas, dirtySi, London, UK, from the year 2005 onward