Hey, should I be worried that there's lots more on web stuff than on other stuff? In fact, the computer does not rule my life - if anything, work does - I just ain't talking about it. I'll probably write summat about how the acting and the training develop though. I'm deliberately leaving World Affairs alone in what I put on here, and descending to the triviality of my own existence, whilst obviously keeping a close eye in my reading and viewing on what's taking place.

This is becoming the Wednesday Weblog.

Reminder - this is what you're supposed to be doing
I felt it was time to break the silence. What's going on?

Web stuff
I've replaced Reblogger with ASPcomments as trailed on Blogger. This allows me to store the comments on my own server, and thus not be subject to losing all previous comments when Reblogger is kicked off its ISP. Since I've got my own space supporting ASP on Win2K servers, I figured I might as well do this. Also I get complete control of the look and the content, so if Grovesy comes on and calls me a gaylord I can delete his ass. Not that I'm really anticipating a flurry of comments.

Also I've made my first ASP site with an Access database in the background. But it's intranet so I can't link it. I've got another ASP site in development which will be internet. So my long-stated goal to learn this technology is finally starting to be attained.

Other stuff
Other than that, I've started a new term of acting classes which look like they could be interesting, I'm working very hard at work and I'm trying to get back into going to the gym in my (minimal) free time.

Where can this go from here? So it's a week and a day now since the World Trade Center was attacked and a week since my last post. And it's been a shocking and baffling time. I haven't known what to do with this website. I made an attempt at articulating my thoughts about the events of 11 September, and posted something early last Saturday morning. I then reread it and was disgusted with it. I felt that that any comments from me, far away, not directly touched by the attacks, were an affront to all those who were there, who were missing friends and relatives, who had written so intelligently and compassionately on their own websites, many of which I have been reading over the last week. So I deleted it and closed down the site in frustration at my own irrelevance and banality when trying to write about a horror that has had such an enormous effect throughout the world. After a few days of reflection, I've decided that I don't want to walk away from this site. On the terrible events of last Tuesday, I have nothing to add to my previous post that has not been better said, more coherently thought out or more shockingly and skilfully captured on film by someone else. In the most awful circumstances of the last week, some of the best writing and thought has originated from the personal internet publishing community. So I will try to add nothing. But when the feelings of pointlessness and powerlessness started to subside, it occurred to me that this does not mean that I will never have anything to add. So I'll keep trying to learn to think, to write and to create until I do.

Suddenly this all seems extremely trivial and unimportant. My thoughts are with all those who have been affected by the terrible tragedy that unfolded yesterday.

Bet this bloke has had more than his fair share of crank calls.

Utah epilogue
Bond was bored. The bean-counters seemed to have taken over the Secret Service. The new Chief of Staff at headquarters was a former insolvency practitioner from one of the big accountancy firms for heavens sake. Hence, the ethos of the department had shifted from balls-out action behind enemy lines towards back-room number-crunching and analysis. A new "rescue culture" in international relations meant that in times of crisis the preference was for negotiation and diplomacy through the United Nations rather than sending in the receivers of the double-O section to look after Britain's interests with a silenced Walther PPK and a stiff vodka martini. As a result, Bond had spent the past month writing memos, fielding phone calls regarding billing and reviewing interminable documents for the senior negotiators. Still, Bond had to admit that his last mission, chasing 'Ashton' - a baby-faced purveyor of foul-mouthed comedy that was destabilising the British government - across the United States had not been a roaring success. On arrival in LA, Bond had discovered that Ashton was about to leave California for Salt Lake City in his heavily modified BMW, protected by three of his most deadly henchmen. Bond had set off immediately, intending to beat his adversary across country and get the better of him by laying in wait at his obscurely monikered hideout, 3824N 0037W - believed to have taken its name from the vital statistics of Ashton's favourite lap-dancer, Stacee Tedansov. However, enemy operatives had covertly installed an ultra-sonic brain-wave interference device in Bond's Chevrolet Camaro, which by the time Bond discovered it in Las Vegas had wrought its deadly havoc. Not only had Bond been delayed by a day in the gambling capital of the world while he recovered, but to his extreme chagrin, he had been unable to rouse himself to take advantage of the situation by trying his luck at the baccarat table. After beating a retreat to the familiar European surroundings of the Paris Casino and carefully nursing himself back to health with '78 Mouton Rothschild vintage Paulliac, things had gone from bad to worse. The frostier relations that had developed under the Bush administration between the Service and its American counterparts had resulted in Bond being detained by US law enforcement officials while in pursuit of the wily Ashton across the desert. Ashton had taken advantage of these inopportune delays to get to Utah ahead of Bond and consolidate his position there with Papa Ted, the pre-eminent force in the Salt Lake underworld. On arrival in Utah, Bond had always been on the back-foot. The beer was too weak and vodka too scarce to allow Bond to function properly, the layout of the streets was too logical for Bond's intuitive secret-agent's mind to comprehend and Ashton had always used his local contacts and knowledge to stay one step ahead. Bond's secret weapon, a high-tech trampoline launching device prepared by Q-branch, had malfunctioned, firing Bond into the air at the wrong angle. The resulting severe head-wound had left Bond in hospital, which Ashton had again used to his advantage, relieving Bond of all of his money and having him injected with a concentrated form of the anthrax virus under the guise of a tetanus shot, which had left Bond immobilised for another two days. Bond had made a final effort, following Ashton to a Mormon wedding, but here again the absence of alcohol of any kind and the hypnotic music and movement of Ashton's evil uncle's exotic belly-dancers had left Bond reeling, confused and thwarted by his adversary. In the end, Bond had admitted defeat and escaped to the Laguna Beach surfers' retirement home to regroup. Thinking back to his exit from Salt Lake, tires squealing, making a racing change while his triumphant adversaries bombarded his car with rice as a final insult, Bond lit a cigarette and mused upon how the mission had gone so badly awry. He had badly underestimated his young enemy. Confident that an agent of his calibre and experience could beard such a lion-cub in his own den, Bond had ignored the necessities of planning, preparation, proper local back-up and bringing one's own supply of strong liquor. It wouldn't happen again. Next time, the territory would be more familiar. And, when the bean-counters gave him another shot, Bond would be ready....

I know what you did last Summer. [via triv]