Saturday, February 16, 2002
The Oral Sex Donation Scheme has been a flop, so I'll take it down.
Some day.
posted by Ian Pattinson at 10:08 PM link
In one of those wierd things you do, I picked up shiny new bike, rode it through the park on the way home, caressed it lovingly for a while- then put it away and went off for a thirty mile ride on my other bike. I thought I'd train for Bogle by covering the actual route. It would have been easier if they hadn't changed it. I've gone round the old one, by bike and van, so many times that I sailed past the turning which is new for this year. Hey ho, did it in the end. Next week I'm going to try for two circuits.
Page Sixteen of Bulletproof Poets. And another bit of The Eliza Effect-
Seat_To_Keyboard_Interface:
Kate could argue employment law with people on ten times her income- and win more often than they’d like to admit- but she always came to Owen for the simplest of computer problems. She was sitting on the edge of her desk swinging her legs as he fiddled around in the code window. They were nice legs, not quite cyclist’s, but definitely toned on something, but he tried not to be distracted by them. “I thought you’d finished?”
“I’m just putting some error trapping in.”
“I don’t make mistakes.”
The assertion elicited a chuckle. “We all make mistakes.” Like moving down to the Slough office, he didn’t add. “This is the algorithm for checking customer numbers.” He tapped the screen, “I built it, so you get it for free. Don’t tell anyone else, or they’ll all want it too.”
Kate leaned forward and a corkscrew of red hair hung down toward the keyboard. She had put a lot of thought into just how big a braid could escape without looking untidy. “It can be our little secret.” She bounced off the desk and grabbed the chair from across the way. “Tell me how it works.” She said, sliding in close to Owen.
posted by Ian Pattinson at 10:06 PM link
Friday, February 15, 2002
Missed the update for yesterday because I was on the road to Leicester. Here are page fourteen and page fifteen.
posted by Ian Pattinson at 11:02 AM link
Wednesday, February 13, 2002
Not a lot to say today. I'm going to try and get off the net and create some content so I don't run into a brick wall in a week or two.
I've been talked into staying on until the 7th of March.
I'm just too damn nice!
Ah well, page thirteen of Bulletproof Poets.
posted by Ian Pattinson at 10:08 PM link
Tuesday, February 12, 2002
Busy day.
I bought the bike. It was practically half price, and still quite expensive. To be honest, it's probably more bike than my current riding ability deserves, but I guess I'll just have to improve.
Then this evening, I went to see a talk by Bryan Talbot at Chorlton library. Very interesting, I learnt a lot about page layout, pacing, speech ballon placement and colour. A lot of it is stuff that's lodged in your subconcious if you've read enough comics, but it's good to hear a master of the art on the subject. You absolutely must buy Tale of One Bad Rat, one of the best graphic novels ever.
I feel a little embarassed to mention Bulletproof Poets after talking about the man. But, hey, here's page twelve.
posted by Ian Pattinson at 9:21 PM link
Monday, February 11, 2002
Despite the heavy rain, Leicester refused to wash away, so I had to go there today. I've got to go on Thursday and Friday as well. Looks like I've got another week in the job. I was the only person who even thought leaving this week was a (slim) possibility. I feel so tired.
Page Eleven of Bulletproof Poets. I'm going to start on full art when I finally finish my job. I'm feeling generous, here's some more Eliza Effect as well-
Agc01935:
Sarah was sure she should be holding up a board with her new works number etched on it. “If I’d known you’d be taking my picture I’d have worn more make up.”
“Oh don’t worry about it love. This thing makes everyone look anaemic.” The guard adjusted the focus of the video camera then checked the framing of the image on the screen in front of him. “Okay. Hold still. And now.”
The strange little machine beside the PC started whirring and, after a minute, clunked out a pass. Sarah checked out her picture, it looked like she had been living in a box for three months. The card came with a magnetic strip for the doors and a chip for the vending machines. He retrieved the card and punched a hole in it, “There you go. He should be along for you in a minute. You can wait in reception.”
“Thanks.”
There were company magazines on the tables. She tried to read one, but found her eyes slipping off articles after the first paragraph. Under the magazine were newspapers- the Daily Mail and Express, both even harder to read than the promo magazine. She stared, soft focus, at the front of the reception desk.
There was movement by the turnstiles and Sarah looked up. Two guys hurried past, the taller one merited a second glance. Not bad, could have done with a hair cut. She flicked through the Express and found a Dilbert she’d read on the Internet weeks earlier.
Her new manager turned up fifteen minutes later. He was wearing a suit which didn’t look as expensive as he thought. As he strode toward her, he smoothed his unruly tie back into place. “Hello, I’m George Webb. You must be Sarah. If you’ll come with me, we can get the induction started.”
posted by Ian Pattinson at 9:39 PM link
Sunday, February 10, 2002
Oh dear. I very nearly bought a bike yesterday. I still might. I said I'd be more interested in it if they beefed up the elastomers in the front fork so it didn't sink almost all the way as soon as I got on (and no, that's not just because I'm fat.)
Anyway, Page Ten of Bulletproof Poets.
posted by Ian Pattinson at 9:03 PM link
