The Daily Linguini

The magnificent 7

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 00:47:00 +0000

If this post works it will be something of a miracle, given the colossally amateurish mishmash that is my hacked-together blog code, but then I am rapidly beginning to expect miracles from Microsoft's highly surprising gem of an operating system, Windows 7. I have only had it running on my PC for 48 hours but already it is punching a large hole in my long-running (and, based upon extensive prior experience, thoroughly well-justified) assumption that everything with a Microsoft logo upon it is a bloated, bug-festooned software turd which will eat your hard drive, burn through your desk and surreptitiously sell your personal data to a Syrian mafioso named Faisal.

For one like myself who is used to daily byte-wrangling with recalcitrant machines over such simple tasks as "please, computer, print this small document" and "for the love of Uncle Charlie's red lacy suspenders, please, computer, fail for once to randomly delete irreplaceable photographs of my children", Windows 7 is simply a pleasure to work with. For example, it not only picked up the existence of my printer within seconds of it being turned on, but identified it correctly, downloaded the requisite drivers and management software, and changed the printer icon to look like the actual printer. In about 30 seconds. Without me having to click anything. For me, whose daily IT experience regularly includes the joy of such informative errors as "Win32 unspecified error", and "Microsoft Office has encountered a problem and needs to explode chunks of screen into your face", a system which not only correctly identifies problems but suggests options for fixing them and then goes off and fixes them for you is frankly flabbergasting. To take another example, I've provided one of its components with nothing but the name of this blog and the credentials for my blog host, and it's letting me write this on a perfect facsimile of the actual blog, complete with backdrops, images, the works. Sharing documents is a breeze. Streaming media to my telly is a breeze. The whole experience so far is practically seamless.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not so naive as to credit Microsoft with having thought of everything. There are bound to be niggles (I dislike the "ribbon" style of folder navigation, for example) and there is no doubt some enormous security black hole lurking in the bowels of the OS which will leap up and bite us all in the collective arse at some point, but for once I find myself in the disconcerting and unfamiliar position of quietly congratulating the Redmond boys on a job which, at least for now, appears to have been jolly well done.

I'm still using Firefox for web browsing, though. There is hope for me yet.

Shiny hot yellow thing

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 13:23:00 +0000

Unseasonal "good" weather is upon us (one might think that good weather in July is far from unseasonal, but one would be wrong because this is England) and the fabled Yellow Eye of Hotness is casting its piercing rays over our sweltering foreheads like a malevolent disco ball at a rave party in Hades. Wildflowers wilt visibly in the fields, sparrows fall exhausted in mid-flight, and even the normally stoic British cows moo plaintively and gulp from evaporating troughs. The site managers of our office building have so far managed to stave off the worst effects by directing their hunched goblin-like minions to whack the air-conditioning up to 11, but the general Stygian atmosphere of the place has just taken a distinct turn for the worse, as I have returned from lunch to the smell of burning plastic (or possibly brimstone, as my nostrils are currently hiding behind my ears and wincing audibly). Clouds of thick, oily, black smoke belch merrily from the machine room, corroding my specs on their way to the freedom of the air vents. Armed with gas mask and wet towel, I investigate further and discover some swarthy, bearded, shifty-looking blokes wearing white robes, huddled in a corner and holding a blowtorch. Fortunately they do not appear to be members of the Warwickshire branch of Al-Qaida on a fiendish mission to sabotage our servers, but are instead trying to fix the air-conditioning unit. I use the word "fix" in its loosest possible sense, because the bloody thing had been working perfectly this morning and it now looks like a burnt-out Mini. It has damn great metal bits hanging off which were clearly not designed to hang off. On a more positive note, the fumes are unbelievably smelly but have cleared my sinuses quite nicely.

Balls

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 11:07:00 +0000

Is it just me, or has this Obama bloke actually got some? I know I don't normally "do politics" but this seems more interesting than usual... or am I just falling for the Obama hype? I dunno. The chap looks promising, insofar as one can attach that adjective to a politician without sniggering. The prospect of Gordon Brown having the cojones to apply such an unceremonious boot to the head of a large corporation (and, probably, party funding contributor) in similar circumstances is, to put it mildly, somewhat unlikely.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snoAAARGH

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 13:55:00 +0000

Am suffering from unexpected and rather Scroogesque dislike of the Arctic weather conditions currently prevailing here in Blighty. Normally I would be bouncing up and down like a rubber wallaby at the appearance of so much snow, and indeed I spent much of last week introducing my kids to the joys of snowball wars (like snowball fights, only with strategy and barricades) and building very small igloos. However, while attempting to get to work on Friday I managed to introduce my car to the Lighthorne Heath roundabout (they got on smashingly well) on account of icy road surfacings, so the resulting minor whiplash and large dent in the front of my beloved Pastamobile have rendered my feelings somewhat antipathetic towards all things wintery.

Lest the words "humbug" and "bah" should find themselves wandering towards this post, not necessarily in that order, I shall stop here and go and apply something warm and soothing to the back of my neck.

Heave ho

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 10:56:00 +0000

After a truly whopping number of years plugging away at miscellaneous unruly servers for the same client, I am legging it away off to a brand spanking new job. I am hoisting the mainsail, singing yo-ho-ho to several bottles of rum, stowing the anchor and sheeting the yardspoon.

Okay, maybe not the last one; it's been a while since I sailed anything larger than a bath sponge.

Given the volume of job-related crap which has been dumped upon my long-suffering noggin in recent months, I'm quite pleased about the prospect, as my will to live was seriously considering faking its own death and buggering off to Panama. But, no longer; I'm now positively brimming with vim, vigour, verve, vivacity and other fizzy-sounding words beginning with "V" which are surely just dying to leap out of a nearby thesaurus and attack this sentence.

I have sent out my "so long and thanks for all the fish" email. I have arranged the traditional farewell steak-pie-and-half-a-shandy lunch at the local pub for this Friday. All of my electronic offspring have been handed over to their new guardians. My desk is clean and my drawers are as empty as a hermit's social calendar. All that remains is for me to try and get as much as possible of the contents of the giant economy size tub of Marmite sitting on my desk onto the eight slices of toast which are sitting next to it. I suppose I could always take the jar with me, but where's the fun in that?

Exciting times, citizen!

Cheep cheep

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 09:30:00 +0000

Am suffering stomach-grumblings on account of eating too many sunflower seeds. It's not my fault, they taste really good and they're incredibly more-ish. Also, they are very good for you, what with being low in salt and packed chock-full of magnesium, which probably means that if you were to light a taper and apply it to my tongue I would burst into fizzy white flame. Cool.

Suspect I may be turning into a budgerigar.

Product description

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 13:55:00 +0000

Can one reasonably dub something "Thai beef noodle soup" by virtue of having, basically, boiled up a few cans of Campbell's minestrone, dropped what looks like a pack of Tesco's Value minced beef into it, and shoved in some lemongrass stalks and a tablespoonful of chilli powder? I highly doubt that any of the ingredients of what I'm now consuming have come within an elephant's fart of Thailand, unless of course Campbell's have moved their worldwide soup manufacturing facilities there without telling me first. Also, given that most Thai food (in my not even slightly humble opinion) tastes wonderful, and given further that the soup in question tastes like it has been boiled in a troll's vest for a month, albeit a troll given to liberal use of the new Lynx "Lemongrass and Chilli" deodorant range, I am equally sceptical as to the provenance of the recipe.

Our office canteen gives "false advertisement" a bad name.

Circus maximus

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 12:59:00 +0000

Roll up, roll up, ladies and gentlemen!

See
The Amazing Pastamasta
Master of Multitasking

Never before has a show of this magnitude, this audacity, this general awesomeness been seen!

Thrill as he attempts to juggle his career and family while balancing on a tightwire made from box-packing tape and covered in razor-sharp broken Smarties!

Gasp as he negotiates with a stressed-out and possibly homicidal wife over who should take the bins out!

Stand amazed as he cooks a beef casserole for four with his feet whilst entertaining rambunctious youngsters with a hastily-improvised puppet show about Olly the Octopus, the two-tentacled sheriff of Octopus Town!

Death-defying stunts!
Juvenile tantrums!
Biting sarcasm!
THE CIRCUS HAS IT ALL

Industrial injuries

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 13:05:00 +0000

Memo to self: Trying to wire up audio-visual equipment, move large items of furniture, lay phone cabling, affix bookshelves to walls and/or install coat hooks is not recommended when you are simultaneously trying to keep an eye on two hyperactive children who are on the last day of their Christmas break and who are therefore determined to (a) play with every single toy obtained in the previous two weeks, and (b) leave aforementioned toys strewn around the house in unpredictable and above all tripoverable locations.

The only bits of me that don't hurt right now are the small patches of skin just above my knees.

2008: A restaurant review

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 11:05:00 +0000

Hors d'oeuvres: Fresh Bruni melons (no dressing); rather delicious. Served with a rather poor choice of ap�ritif wine from a previously unknown Austrian cellar.

Entr�e: Fillet of Russo-Georgian contretemps with British medallion potatoes a l'Olympique and a zesty Obama jus; a controversial first taste, sitting lightly on the palate. A pleasantly warm summery aftertaste. Served with moose salad a la Palin; fundamentally rather hard to stomach.

Dessert: Crise de �conomie pudding topped with a rich housing-market crumble, sprinkled with large hadrons; a tad crunchy for my liking. Very expensive - could potentially leave a small black hole in your wallet.

The verdict: Slightly disappointing overall, but with several moments of genuine pleasure for the connoisseur. This reviewer hopes that the new management (who are rumoured to be renaming the business "2009" imminently) will build upon the successes of their predecessors and make it the fine dining experience it is capable of becoming.

Spillage

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 10:21:00 +0000

I have just had an accident involving a cup of coffee (Crazy Gino's Hypercaffeinated Discombobulator), a desk, and an errant elbow. The spillage is extensive and puts me somewhat in mind of the notorious Exxon Valdez oil tanker incident, which it resembles both in terms of public outcry (in this case, unwarranted mirth from my adjacent colleagues) and in terms of environmental damage (the environment in this instance being the front of my trousers and the precious cargo within). I'm now awaiting the arrival of a Greenpeace team armed with detergent foam and a large mop; luckily my pants are not especially well-furnished with gulls, seals or other easily-unamused seaside wildlife, so their job shouldn't be too hard.

In other news, Christmas 2008 went off without excessively numerous hitches; having 1.5 hours' sleep the previous night (on account of restless progeny) was not in my game plan but didn't seem to put too much of a dent in the seasonal merriment. I got a miniature remote-controlled helicopter, which is, as I believe you youngsters say these days, way cool.

Additionally plus also, I am moving house. A horde of in-laws is scrubbing the top six layers of molecules off the surface of the new abode as we speak (I asked for seven, but they would have insisted on overtime payment). This evening I shall be boxing up whichever of my worldly possessions The Missus hasn't yet consigned to the large bonfire in our garden. I'm not even going to think about the decoration; I look forward to living out of a suitcase for the next three months, as my wife gets to grips with such weighty matters as what shade of purple to paint the kitchen walls, whether we really need fitted cupboards in the attic, and which variety of hydrangeas would best complement the colour of the shed.

Madness.

Budding zoologist

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 12:50:00 +0000

Excerpt from a conversation with my 3 year-old son yesterday, whilst playing Guess The Animal on the way to the shops:

Me: Okay. I'm small and brown and I've got spikes and I live in a bush.
[lengthy pause]
David: Er...
[another lengthy pause]
David: ...are you a spiky brown squirrel?

Vote Davis? Shurely shome mishtake

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 14:56:00 +0000

Consider, if you will, the implications of this little gem of a story:

http://www.theregister.co.uk/2008/08/17/gossip_work_check/

Until recently, the thought of coming within farting distance of putting a little "X" in the box next to the name of a Tory electoral candidate would have filled me with the desire to shove a live ferret up my nose good and hard and listen to it eating my brain. To my own occasional incredulity I now find myself pondering the unthinkable possibility that David Davis might be exactly what this country needs, assuming that one can believe what he says about his political aspirations (to wit, rescuing Britain from the quagmire of Orwellian shite into which it appears to sinking more deeply on an almost daily basis).

Perhaps if voting for the Liberal Democrats were not such a pointless, self-arsefucking exercise in futility, I would do that instead.

If it gets too much like living in a glass bubble, I suppose I can always up sticks and evacuate myself and associated humans to Cuba, where at least one still gets a decent health service for the price of relinquishing one's civil liberties. I derive some solace from the news that Castro the Younger is on the lookout for a rakishly handsome, morally questionable man of refined taste and cosmopolitan experience to become the new Minister for Information.

Weapon of choice

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 10:45:00 +0000

Dear visitors,

The eagle-eyed among you will notice that there are now no less than two sauces to choose from when adding comments to this blog. The classic spicy favourite "PM Sauce" is now being complemented by mild-flavoured young upstart "Bloggersauce", for those whose browsers are unable to stomach the fiery kick of the original. Both condiments will be available to all diners - we remain committed to providing a varied selection of dishes to our customers.

Bon app�tit,

The Management

The ring cycle

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 11:52:00 +0000

Have been watching Britain's somewhat surprising success in the Olympic cycling events with a mixture of admiration and horror. What in the name of Lance Armstrong's left bollock is going on with the seats on racing bikes? They are formed from cold, unyielding and soulless plastic, are roughly the shape of surgical blades, and appear to be designed to cleave one's buttocks apart to hitherto-unknown degrees of eye-wateringness.

I can't help but wonder whether, when Professor Bicycle and his crack team of engineers were designing their revolutionary new device for travelling vast distances whilst wearing neck-to-ankle lycra, it would have seriously inconvenienced them to add, let's say, half an inch of arse padding?

Several of my colleagues who are in the know have informed me that the reason for the absence of bum-cushioning substances is something to do with preventing chafing, to wit, the discomfort caused by friction between seat and inner thighs. This is clearly a load of old spoons. Chafing, whilst annoying and undoubtedly painful, is a minor inconvenience in relative terms, because personally, the idea of cycling a hundred miles at blistering speeds (which, let's face it, is not exactly scoring highly on the Appealing Scale anyway) is not materially improved by the prospect of having to do so with a hard plastic bike seat jammed halfway up my jacksie. Having ridden one of these infernal engines of agony on many occasions when I was younger and more supple and therefore better able to resist unexpected anal intrusion by dint of sheer sphincter power, I know what I am talking about.

So, how about it, science? Otherwise, one of these days, some poor cyclist is going to have a Nasty Accident on live television, and you can bet there will be camera close-ups. Think of the children.

Message in a bottle

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 12:57:00 +0000

I'm coming briefly out of semi-blogretirement for a couple of purposes.

Firstly, to say that the Daily Linguini is not (contrary to scurrilous rumours which you may have read on the front pages of the international press) closing down, derelict, moribund, hors de combat, or otherwise subject to imminent disappearance. It is merely taking an extended leave of absence due to illness / work stress / early mid-life crisis / unexpected technical delays / fat electrons / wrong kind of snow / tectonic plate movement / alien invasion / civil war / eating too much curry last night [delete as appropriate]. It will return when it has had enough of living the simple life in Peru, where it has been spending the past few months in a hippy shack in the high Andes with a grizzled yet friendly old Tantric yoga instruction manual and a couple of young and impressionable ladies' magazines from Belgium.

Secondly, to have a good old rant about the state of today's youth, since all I seem to be doing with my spare time these days is engaging my precocious youngsters in fiendishly tortuous arguments, designed mainly to encourage them to eat their vegetables, tidy their rooms, put down the spider they are torturing, or stop driving their bicycles over my feet. It is a terrible state of affairs when one's own children use unassailable logic against one; it should not be allowed. One finds oneself reaching desperately for the Argument From Parental Decree in such circumstances, which is something one vowed never to do but is a bugger to avoid when said offspring are cocking their heads winningly to one side and saying, "But Mummy lets us jump on the table..." Bring back compulsory military service and start them at the age of two, one says.

And lastly, to say hi to the few people who still (occasionally, when they're in the house by themselves and there's nothing good on telly) check this blog and have had the delightfulness to say that they have missed me. Hi, you guys. You are much appreciated and I wish you happinesses, luckinesses and voluminous bags of radiant flowers falling seraphically from the heavens. Failing that, may your public transport services run on time, may your friends and/or significant others bestow thoughtful gifts upon you, and may your inboxes never randomly delete crucial messages.

Chef's block

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 10:23:00 +0000

Why is it that when I'm cooking an evening meal I can think of a hundred new ideas to try out, but when I'm making my daughter's school lunch my imagination shuts down? It's either:

- roast chicken sandwiches
- ham sandwiches
- cheese sandwiches
- roast chicken and pickle sandwiches
- ham and cheese sandwiches
- ham and pickle sandwiches
- ham and pickle and cheese sandwiches (really pushing the boat out)

She REALLY likes sandwiches, okay?

Don't look at me like that. I put some fruit and veg in as well.

Twee geniusness

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 14:51:00 +0000

This week (okay, month) I have mostly been zombified, goggle-boxed and otherwise utterly addicted to the sheer geniosity that is Super Mario Galaxy for the Nintendo Wii.

(1) If you are the proud owner of this game, I salute you, and draw your attention to several excellent rehabilitation facilities which to my certain knowledge are only a Google search away.

(2) If you own a Wii but have not yet made the foray into the latest conceptually-stunning universe of the world's best-loved pixellated Japanese-accented Italian plumber, please do so at your earliest opportunity, and then once you have resurfaced several sleepless weeks later, refer to (1).

(3) If you do not own a Wii, you are either very sensible, or have been living in an isolated cave in Borneo for the last 12 months. If you have no great attachment to your social life and need giraffesquely minimal amounts of sleep, I highly recommend buying one.

Festooned Tasmanian giraffes

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 16:12:00 +0000

Have been spending the odd few minutes (well, OK, about seven hours) over the last few days engrossed in an enjoyable new online pastime - it's called Just Three Words, and it's hosted on the ballooning behemoth of byte-based social networking that is Facebook. If you've already signed up to the aforementioned globe-devouring website, give it a try. (If you haven't, then congratulations! you're one of a dwindling minority of web-enabled citizens who still retain some smidgeon of control over their private data!) It's particularly well-suited to bloggers, as it is of a creative-writing nature. Be prepared for a deluge of hilarity, mirth, addiction and excessive surrealism.

Sautéed wardrobe kidney, anyone?

The sausage of doom

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 11:45:00 +0000

The release a few weeks ago of the results from a major international cancer study included the following terrifying snippet:

"...in particular, researchers say people should stop eating processed meats, such as ham, bacon and salami..."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Me, live without salami??

Inconceivable!!!

Simplicity

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 09:10:00 +0000

I am finding myself thinking more and more, recently, that the simplest things in life are often the best:

I enjoy fresh ricotta and spinach tortelloni with a straightforward tomato-and-herb sauce more than a ten-quid bowlful of fettuccine alle vongole from a fancy restaurant
taking my kids to the park for a runabout and a splash in the puddles is more fun than schlepping them out to some franchised play area with padded floors
the humble English cottage pie has become my favourite comfort food
a good game of Scrabble beats an hour of impressive graphics on the Playstation hands-down
wearing jeans and a shirt fits my self-image better than office clothing
Yoda's hermitic exile is somehow more pure and noble than Darth Vader's overt power and luxury
sorry about that, my colleague and I were just having a discussion about Yoda for no particular reason, and it seemed relevant in a really, really tenuous kind of way
a plain, hardish mattress is a million times more comfortable to sleep on than one of those heat-activated, body-shape-moulding, high-tech gel mattresses
scootching up all together on the sofa and reading silly limericks to the kids is just about the best thing ever

I still tend to use overcomplicated language, though. Dunno if I'll ever get over that one - I'm just too much of a sesquipedalianismophile. (Oo, neologism!) And you'll never stop me spreading Marmite all the way to the edges of my toast.

Death in the kitchen

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 12:37:00 +0000

Saw a dead cockroach by a bin this morning, and came up with this. It's crap, but it amuses me with its crapness, so here it is.

The cockroach stops in his tracks, faced suddenly with the crumbling, soggy morsel of biscuit in the trap, the sweet-smelling cage, the beckoning irresistible final womb. He has heard the stories, just like everyone else. The young ones whisper them in the corridors, chittering to the thrillfear fascination of someone else's gruesome death. Too close. He is the someone now, the other they'll talk about tomorrow, sideways-glancing in half-excitement. His legs lurch forward, involuntary, jerking, stick-like, why can't I just stop? The heady hydrocarbon scent drags him forward relentlessly by the scruff of his genes. His mandibles lovingly crack the crumbs, siphoning the death-in-life into him. A slow, smooth blossoming of pain in his abdomen. Numbness. Inevitability. The black insect-mother calling him home. He curls up tightly, finally, almost egg-shaped, as if to say, I am reborn.

I eat, therefore I am

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 11:19:00 +0000

Have just bought two tickets to the BBC Good Food Show... and am now salivating like a toothless hound at the thought of all the yummy goodies with which I'll undoubtedly be burdening my yacht-sized recyclable carrier bags three weeks from now. Last time I went, I purchased (amongst other things) several yards of extra-mature cheese, a pint or two of pâté, and at least a megawatt of single malt whiskey, which left me with a nice big hole in my wallet but a very, very happy stomach. I doubt that this year will be any different. (However, note to self: avoid the dried satay broad beans. Smell delicious, melt in your mouth, turn to lead in your guts.)

Still not dead

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 10:07:00 +0000

Well, I've been simmering gently for long enough, so I suppose I should add a pinch of pepper just to keep the flavour going...

My daughter has now started primary school, which is a Momentous Event and has thrown our carefully-crafted daily routines into chaos. She herself loves being at school, although the morning drop-offs are still a bit of a nightmare as she's quite clingy - it's rather upsetting sometimes. Still, it's improving, and once she's in the classroom she has a whale of a time. We've already been invaded by her classmates; our house is regularly overrun by small girls chatting loudly about the relative merits of Dora the Explorer and the Wonderpets, and engaging in a neverending competition to see who can wear the greatest number of pink fashion accessories. At such times, the sensible male must retreat gracefully, so my two year-old son and I generally disappear into the conservatory to play with his trains (he gets to play with the green train, which is apparently better than the other trains, because "those trains are smelly").

The weather is waxing Baltic again, so I've just spent the monthly small fortune on bottled propane, only to discover that our boiler has packed up and consequently we have no central heating. Aargh. I foresee a call to the local repair extortionists. With Christmas coming up and a service due on both cars, this is no laughing matter. All donations to the usual Swiss bank account, please (note that we no longer accept cowrie shells, shiny stones, chickens or she-goats as legal tender).

Surviviam

noreply@blogger.com (pastamasta) — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 13:10:00 +0000

Still alive, just hibernating. Zzzzzzz.