Monday, July 28, 2008
Buildersec
Progress report, following the buildersec report of May 13th inst. On which occasion I was very pleased with myself for a successful bit of minor plumbing. Yesterday evening, toilet more or less ceased to flush again. Investigated state of washer and found that the white plastic that I had made it out of was in a bit of a state. All one end was all cracked to peices. Does it get brittle when kept underwater? Does three or four actions a day of a rough cut, possibly slightly too big washer, do it in after 50 days? Which is about all I have got out of the thing.
BH reminds me that we have a sheet of blue plastic lining the boot of our car. Maybe a bit thicker than that of the white plastic sack I used last time. So five minutes later, in full flush again. We will see how long this one lasts.
While all this was going on, having my first download film experience. I am advised that the Independant is offering a free film to advertise its download film (paying) service. Some sci-fi classic, practically in black and white. So I spend maybe half an hour downloading 250Mb of .wav file. Then some more minutes copying the file to a CD as the PC connected to the Internet is not the PC with a loudspeaker. Then some more minutes waiting for Windows Media Player to open the thing up. Then, after this memorable display of communications technology, I get said classic chugging away in a window about 2 inches by 3. Despite the fact that the PC in question was a good deal bigger. And the sound was very low. Couldn't see a way to do anything about either problem. So turned it all off again. Then slightly depressed at the uses to which all this communications technology was being put to. People get Nobel prizes so that I can whang gigabytes of data around the world which I don't even bother to look at. My last depression of this sort was people getting Nobel prizes so that I could have computer generated pictures of toy hedgehogs whanging about the screen.
One might think that in this age of the eco, people would be burrowing around in woods looking at real hedgehogs rather than computer animations. Or at least at pictures of real ones.
But then I drift onto something which has bothered me for a long time. Obviously a very anxious type. And that is that fact that when one releases some artefact into the world, perhaps a watercolour, one has no control over the use that the world makes of that artefact. Your water colour might be being used to wrap chips in, the Arts Council subsidy having made the watercolour cheaper than regular chip wrapping paper. It might have been bought because it reminded the buyer of the dreadful daubs of Auntie Flo, for whom he was having a soft spot. It might have been bought as part of some job lot, by the kilo, to decorate some pub. The buyer might spend what little time he spends looking at the watercolour, picking out the various mistakes and corrections, rather than taking a balanced view of the august vision therein. I might change my mind. I no longer care to represent a tree in quite that way and want to withdraw all productions in which I have done. It goes on and on.
I suppose this is where the old Roman church comes in. Which attempted to mediate your experience of God, to control your experience of him. Relics are kept in elaborate closed chests so that they are not polluted by the gaze of the profane. That is a treat for the adepts alone. The profane bend their knees and dish out their sixpences in the presence of the experience - but they should not expect to actually share the experience.
BH reminds me that we have a sheet of blue plastic lining the boot of our car. Maybe a bit thicker than that of the white plastic sack I used last time. So five minutes later, in full flush again. We will see how long this one lasts.
While all this was going on, having my first download film experience. I am advised that the Independant is offering a free film to advertise its download film (paying) service. Some sci-fi classic, practically in black and white. So I spend maybe half an hour downloading 250Mb of .wav file. Then some more minutes copying the file to a CD as the PC connected to the Internet is not the PC with a loudspeaker. Then some more minutes waiting for Windows Media Player to open the thing up. Then, after this memorable display of communications technology, I get said classic chugging away in a window about 2 inches by 3. Despite the fact that the PC in question was a good deal bigger. And the sound was very low. Couldn't see a way to do anything about either problem. So turned it all off again. Then slightly depressed at the uses to which all this communications technology was being put to. People get Nobel prizes so that I can whang gigabytes of data around the world which I don't even bother to look at. My last depression of this sort was people getting Nobel prizes so that I could have computer generated pictures of toy hedgehogs whanging about the screen.
One might think that in this age of the eco, people would be burrowing around in woods looking at real hedgehogs rather than computer animations. Or at least at pictures of real ones.
But then I drift onto something which has bothered me for a long time. Obviously a very anxious type. And that is that fact that when one releases some artefact into the world, perhaps a watercolour, one has no control over the use that the world makes of that artefact. Your water colour might be being used to wrap chips in, the Arts Council subsidy having made the watercolour cheaper than regular chip wrapping paper. It might have been bought because it reminded the buyer of the dreadful daubs of Auntie Flo, for whom he was having a soft spot. It might have been bought as part of some job lot, by the kilo, to decorate some pub. The buyer might spend what little time he spends looking at the watercolour, picking out the various mistakes and corrections, rather than taking a balanced view of the august vision therein. I might change my mind. I no longer care to represent a tree in quite that way and want to withdraw all productions in which I have done. It goes on and on.
I suppose this is where the old Roman church comes in. Which attempted to mediate your experience of God, to control your experience of him. Relics are kept in elaborate closed chests so that they are not polluted by the gaze of the profane. That is a treat for the adepts alone. The profane bend their knees and dish out their sixpences in the presence of the experience - but they should not expect to actually share the experience.
# posted by Jim @ 11:01 PM 
