songofcopper: (peter hammill)
A Glimpse of How My Mind Works

(Offered to all-comers, but especially [ profile] patrick_vecchio)

Earlier today, I was waiting for the bus when I caught sight of a sign board outside a betting shop. “Sprott to get yellow card in Nether Strumping Wanderers v. Oggen Fen United - odds of 33/1” it said. (Well, it didn’t say that exactly. I’m immune to the charm of sport in general and football in pertickler, so don’t rely on Me to remember either the name of the athlete in question or indeed the teams competing for glory.)

Anyway… it started me wondering how they work out the odds on something like that (or indeed any other wager - snow on Christmas, winner of Rear of the Year, exact date of world’s Trump-related spontaneous combustion, etc.).

It’s probably an algorithm, I told myself. Everything’s algorithms nowadays. This is without really knowing what an algorithm is or how it works - but it is a thing that apparently exists, and is observed to turn raw data into excuses for stuff (or perhaps I mean ‘reasons’… who knows). I must admit that I regard an algorithm with the same bemused, trusting expression with which 18th C. courtiers remarked the Mechanical Turk, whilst at the same time suspecting the existence of a secret compartment containing a conspiracy.

This should tell you that I am as about as well-informed as anyone else, i.e. Not Much.

Verbless Queries )

Popular media asks that we characterise ourselves and each other as Victims, Survivors, Heroes, Villains. If you’re not one, you must be another. Except, I and divers fellow delinquents are anomalous. We are in the precarious position of - oh dear me - Observers. This feels embarrassing (embarrasingly unnecessary) in Times Like These. If you’re not sitting on a sofa numbing yer inputs with Netflix, then you must be marching, surely. Because, because, if you’re not marching, you must be sitting on a sofa numbing yer inputs with Netflix.

Be Weird )
songofcopper: (idiots with guns. (Man from UNCLE))
Good lord, I think there's something in the air - or perhaps the water. Something Springlike, some hint of Pan. Flicking through the local paper today in search of articles relevant to my workplace (one of my duties is to cut these out and stick them in a folder - exactly the right sort of soothingly simple task you want on a Friday morning after a dreadful night's sleep!), I noted the following two tales.

Tale the first: a man walks into a shop... so far so mundane. Unfortunately, this man was naked. More unfortunately still, he approached a member of staff whilst in this dangly condition and requested... some hair remover. (The paper did not disclose whether he expected the shop assistant to help him apply it there and then.) The man was arrested for indecent exposure, which presumably means he wasn't that hairy in the first place.

Tale the second: a man (a different man, not our non-hirsute friend cited above) removed all his clothes and climbed naked on to the high altar in the Cathedral. Excuse: "I want to get nearer to god." (So apparently, standing on a table in yer birthday suit is the way to do that...?) Sadly, this miscreant rather spoiled the farce by going on to assault an elderly woman on his way out of the place - from which I assume that his ruse to approach the Divine didn't work too well. :-/ Psychiatric assessment was recommended for this fellow - sighs of relief all round.

Tale the third, now... this was not in the paper; this I witnessed with my own eyes. At the railway station, going to catch my train, I spotted a man dressed as... a carrot. (Pause, to allow the mental image to sink in...) Not only that: he was carrying a real carrot, rather reverently, as if it were sentient, in his hand. (Go on - have another pause, on me.) Immediately, I thought: "This must be a stag do - right?" - but the fellow appeared to be on his own. My imagination wants to feel that he was invoking the spirit of the sacred root, but I have a feeling there may have been alcohol or money or both involved. Still - it takes all sorts, I suppose: exhibitionists, religious maniacs and vegetable-shamans included.

On days like this, I feel so boring!!

P.S.: patchy internet service and maniacal writing jag have kept me away from here for a few days. Comment catch up time is indicated, I feel - please excuse my truancy! :-D


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This journal is not a private diary, it is more like an occasional, imaginary column. Therefore, much of it is on public display. However, if you want to read my occasional attempts at creative writing, my Caution Elf tells me I should only show that stuff to my friends. You know what to do. :-)

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