Monday, August 21, 2006
[This post got half written and never finished, and I don't have time to do it now, but if I leave it, it will never get published. The Sin linked blog was the amusing Life in London Town, by someone who also calls the artist Kadinsky, and while I'm doing this I may as well plug the excellent one-liners of Glitter for Brains, who shares the virtue of being beyond the pale of Noname's sidebar]
Continuing the Sin-pillaging, while actually finding it on a sidebar of a sidebar, yet another blog which held my attention slightly longer than usual.
Update: 22nd August 20.08. I've just been told off by my flatmate for slamming the door, because he's trying to sleep. Firstly, I did no such thing (he even demonstrated what slamming the door was, in case I was unsure. I suppressed the "You call that a...?" response). B. (I know, but I'm annoyed) he knows my name so why does he address me "Hey... hey-hey... oi"? And it's not a friendly hey, it's a "[full name over-enunciated] come here now" hey 3. It's eight o'clock in the evening. It's still light, there's children making noise outside, planes cavorting overhead, and surreally a conversation between two balconies going on outside. No doubt he'll soon be round to complain about the sound of my typing. If only I hadn't outgrown my vengeful Skunk Anasie at minor structural damage levels phase.
This happens to be Roster-boy, whose first comments where about the cleaning schedule, complete with those little checksheets hung on the door like a loo in a Little Chef. Considering he described his job as something to do with public health (hence the OCD tendencies, and dumping Harpic down the loo at 7 in the evening, because no one ever needs to use the loo when they get home; guess who bought the Harpic and thus is not keen on those who use it anything less than frugally), I'd be a great deal happier if he could learn that fridges work a damn sight better if one actually shuts the door. If even the Peruvian Lurch is complaining, it must be happening quite a lot.
So I apparently slam doors too much, whereas he hasn't yet learnt to shut them. Oh to be immature.
Yes, I am annoyed he had the gall to complain about me, especially when I've had to resort to leaving notes again. By the time I leave this place, I'm never going to need to write another note as I can just recycle them. Well, I've got polite suggestions covering errant urine [complete with a reply], bunged and leaking drains, and now ajar fridges.
Ok, so it's the fact I've had to resort to writing notes, which just seems hideously Snellish, which annoys me. It says my ability to communicate with the people I live with is so poor that only folded bits of A4 are effective. I hate the fact I can't just chat*, I can't just drop it in, and that they're not self aware enough to not need the comment anyway.
* I tried it with Lurch. One conversation didn't go anywhere. The other lead to a sit in on Peruvian Politics, said at Ent pace. Usually I like being informed, however there are some subjects which go too far, and
Continuing the Sin-pillaging, while actually finding it on a sidebar of a sidebar, yet another blog which held my attention slightly longer than usual.
Update: 22nd August 20.08. I've just been told off by my flatmate for slamming the door, because he's trying to sleep. Firstly, I did no such thing (he even demonstrated what slamming the door was, in case I was unsure. I suppressed the "You call that a...?" response). B. (I know, but I'm annoyed) he knows my name so why does he address me "Hey... hey-hey... oi"? And it's not a friendly hey, it's a "[full name over-enunciated] come here now" hey 3. It's eight o'clock in the evening. It's still light, there's children making noise outside, planes cavorting overhead, and surreally a conversation between two balconies going on outside. No doubt he'll soon be round to complain about the sound of my typing. If only I hadn't outgrown my vengeful Skunk Anasie at minor structural damage levels phase.
This happens to be Roster-boy, whose first comments where about the cleaning schedule, complete with those little checksheets hung on the door like a loo in a Little Chef. Considering he described his job as something to do with public health (hence the OCD tendencies, and dumping Harpic down the loo at 7 in the evening, because no one ever needs to use the loo when they get home; guess who bought the Harpic and thus is not keen on those who use it anything less than frugally), I'd be a great deal happier if he could learn that fridges work a damn sight better if one actually shuts the door. If even the Peruvian Lurch is complaining, it must be happening quite a lot.
So I apparently slam doors too much, whereas he hasn't yet learnt to shut them. Oh to be immature.
Yes, I am annoyed he had the gall to complain about me, especially when I've had to resort to leaving notes again. By the time I leave this place, I'm never going to need to write another note as I can just recycle them. Well, I've got polite suggestions covering errant urine [complete with a reply], bunged and leaking drains, and now ajar fridges.
Ok, so it's the fact I've had to resort to writing notes, which just seems hideously Snellish, which annoys me. It says my ability to communicate with the people I live with is so poor that only folded bits of A4 are effective. I hate the fact I can't just chat*, I can't just drop it in, and that they're not self aware enough to not need the comment anyway.
* I tried it with Lurch. One conversation didn't go anywhere. The other lead to a sit in on Peruvian Politics, said at Ent pace. Usually I like being informed, however there are some subjects which go too far, and
