It's the Final Countdown!

What’s changed since the start of semester?

Well, I’m officially a blogger with a whopping 24 posts. I don’t think I’ll keep it up after semester though; I guess I’m just not a journal keeper. I like the blogs that have a point to them (like this one) and I think the point for my blog is going to run out as soon as semester does. But it was fun while it lasted

I have become more aware of the millions of different things that can be done on, in, and with the internet. More than I could have imagined - it really is a huge place.

I don’t know if my writing has changed: I would say probably not. Maybe it’s been subtly influenced by various things and adapted slightly, but changed is probably too big a word.

I have completed an online unit which reminds me a little bit of the highschool study I did through SIDE (School of Isolated and Distance Education). In both cases a group of geographically spread out people independently study the same thing and then compare notes. In this case there was a lot more interaction, through WebCT and reading the blogs, and I guess we were a bit closer geographically.

However, it does make you realise that a lot of “new” things on the internet (like online study) are just new forms of old ideas.

No more Knobs!

I found a fantastic quote the other night from Dave Mustaine:

"I reached the point in the end where I didn't want to see another fader, and the only knob I wanted to play with was my own." -on remastering Rust in Peace

This is how I am starting to feel about my assignments. Not just this one, but all of them.

No more essays! No more typing! No more days spent in front of the computer! Enough already.

Only 16 days til the last one is due in.

Iron Prayers

Her Majesty the Queen sends a Christmas message to her people throughout the Commonwealth.
We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas (This is the song that never ends), we wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year. Houston, we have a problem - Repetition here is going to be an issue. Repetition here is going be an issue.
“Do you ever have déjà vu, Mrs Lancaster?”
“I don’t think so but I could check with the kitchen.”
(Yes it goes on and on my friend)
This program is rated PG. The Nine Network recommends parental guidance for young viewers. It contains sexual references - Goody I wouldn’t be watching it otherwise - and mild coarse language – this language is going to need a loofah.
Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lord my soul to keep…hush little baby, don’t say a word and never mind that noise you heard.
(Some people started singing it)
He’s having the worst day of his life…over and over again.
(Not knowing how it ends)
And if I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.
“Cheese, Gromit, we forgot the cheese”
Encyclopaedia Metallum defines cheese metal as …
You should check out “Ride, Darkhorse Ride” for some of the cheesiest cheese around
Or “Iron Prayers”
Or “Through the fire and the Flames”
(And they’ll continue singing it forever just because)
Sleep with one eye open
Gripping your pillow tight
(This is the song that never ends)
Goodnight and God Bless

Black and White

People think differently.

With so much room for creativity on the internet, is there room for non-creative stuff? Are linear narratives allowed on the web?

I guess even the name “web” really discourages it.

Is black text on white background an online crime?

Is there anything illegal about a nice neat orderly progression from start through to finish?

Maybe.

I read an article today about an artist who was so uninspired by the lack of art in Perth that it made him a better artist and he made more inspired art because of it. Maybe the vast space and room for creativity on the internet could be seen as a kind of void - tabula rasa style - and this lack of beginnings makes for better creative internet art.

Maybe.

Copy, right?

Ha ha ha, just found this article about SA police filesharing movies. Bless!

Personally I am way over our antiquated copyright laws. The reality of the situation is why would anyone pay money for music/movies/games etc when they can get them for free, especially if they feel that that money is lining the pockets of already wealthy record companies, producers, artists?

All the stuff in the news recently regarding iTunes has revealed that artists get 9c per song downloaded off iTunes. 9 whole cents? Of about a dollar. Where does the rest go??

It's all summed up pretty neatly by MC Lars in "Download This Song." This song would have to be one of my favourite just for the message in it. Sadly not so much for the music itself, but you can't have everything.

One Problem Remains:
What is the alternative? How can we make a copyright law that would pay the artist for their work somehow yet offer a competitive alternative to illegal downloading?

Collaborative Writing

I really like this site!
It kind of reminds me of the game in primary school where you fold a piece of paper in three, then one person draws a head, another draws a body and someone else draws some legs.

The Fairy Godmother

I could hear sobbing inside, and wondered if I would be welcome. I briefly thought about turning around and leaving the person sobbing in piece, but decided I had walked too far not to at least knock on the door. So I knocked. After a few moments she answered the door, eyes still wet. The smile on her face when she saw me let me know I had made the right decision. “Lisa!” she exclaimed, “Come in, the others have just left.” I went in and sat down at the kitchen table, while my host put the kettle on the range above the fire. I could see some old grey blankets kicked off to the side and wondered if they became her bed at night. “Where are the others tonight?” I asked

“They’ve gone to the big ball up at the castle. Apparently the Prince is looking for a bride and every girl in these parts wants to be the new Mrs. Charming.”

“How come you’re still here?” I asked my friend, “You’re beautiful, you’d beat them all hands down.”
Cinderella just laughed off my compliment, and explained that she’d had to finish the housework and even if she wanted to go the ball, she didn’t have a ball dress to wear. The kettle started whistling and she got up wearily and started pouring out tea for us. I looked at my friend and saw how red her hands were, probably from scrubbing laundry all day, and noticed how clean the house was and how it all smelt of furniture polish and floor cleaner.

“Right,” I said, and stood up. “You need a break girl. Don’t worry about the tea, do you have any hard spirits in this place?”

Cinderella just looked at me like I was mad. Though she did stop pouring tea. “Where’s the liquor cabinet?” I asked. She didn’t say anything, though I saw her glance quickly to her left. I followed her eyes and found a well stocked cabinet. Perfect. “Here’s the plan”, I said, “I’ve just been doing an inn keeping course in the next village and I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ll mix us some drinks while you go and get ready, there’s a new nightclub just opened down the road from here.”

I took stock of the liquor cabinet – it had just about everything I needed. First I mixed some honey liquor with pinkberry wine and a bit of salt. I poured two out, and got to work making the next set. Cinderella came back into the room just as I was pouring out the third set of cocktails. She was wearing the same ripped and torn dress she had been wearing before, but her face was cleaner and her hair was brushed. “I only have one dress” she said. “Never mind,” I replied, “just drink up. This first one is called a Mobster.” We swallowed the shot of sweet pink drink. “Next!” I cried theatrically and lined up the next two drinks. A blue one and a yellowish one. “First, for our drinking pleasure, we have a Fairy Godmother, and then, a Baby Duck.”

By the time we got to the club we were both swaying slightly as we walked. We had finished the cocktails in record time and helped ourselves to a few straight shots from the various bottles from the cabinet. I hoped the guards on the door would let us in; Cinderella’s dress really did look a bit old. We got in, and it turned out her dress, with its uneven hem, faded old pattern and strategic tears, was perfect for the club. The room noisy, crowded and smoky, and there were people with strange hairdos and bizarre outfits…

To be continued.