So Being Human is back on TV... And it's the final series (for real).
After the patchy, recycled fourth series, I wasn't sure what to expect of the fifth. I guess I may have underestimated Toby Whithouse... As usual, there's a background story arc - which is enormous to the point of being perhaps a little too much - but each episode is its own little vignette. Hal is back 'on the wagon' (kinda), Tom and Alex are settling in nicely, and the old chemistry between ghost, werewolf and vampire is nearing the giddy heights of the first couple of series. The most recent episode focused on Tom and, while he doesn't necessarily develop as a character in the sense of convincing the audience (or me, at least) that he's learning from his mistakes, Michael Socha put in a truly heartbreaking turn as the tormented feral boy trying to pretend he's just like everyone else. On balance, I still prefer Russell Tovey's George, but Tom occasionally has an interesting role to play in the story, and his own story, and it's brilliant to see the actor given a bit more to do than staking vampires or standing around looking gormless.
I think I'm glad it's the last series... While the new trinity seems to have found its stride (let's face it, this is the first full season for the newly-completed team), the show has been trying to out-do itself in terms of supernatural peril with each new series, when the whole point of the show at the start was than the supernatural beings were trying to be human, to pass themselves off as just like everyone else... to fit in, and find their place. To me, that was always the most interesting part of the show... and the more supernatural stuff crept in, the more jumbled it seemed to get (series four, I'm looking at you!).
Ripper Street, meanwhile, had its first real low a couple of weeks back, with an episode that played on Drake's loyalties. The concept was good - albeit hackneyed - but the execution was the typically poor episodic telly stuff: Drake and Reid had been getting on perfectly well for several episodes, then all of a sudden, Reid has a complete change of personality just to make the story easier to progress. Surely Drake's dilemma would have been all the more powerful if he had no reason to question his loyalty to his Detective Inspector? Surely his urge to assist his former CO would have been more difficult to act upon? But, no, the writers went the easy route and turned his new boss temporarily into a complete dick, going against the way the character had been portrayed before and has been since... Ah well, the rest of it is still 'not bad', and I gather a second series has been commissioned...
Work this week is progressing, though perhaps not entirely to my satisfaction. Due to late-running work on some events materials, I still haven't started properly chasing this month's magazines, but there are so few ads it's hardly worth worrying about. Most of the delays are down to one specific person (not a Project Manager, but much of what I say in this post applies nonetheless) and their assumption that they can delegate certain tasks to their underlings and yet still exert creative control over everyone's efforts. It wouldn't be so bad if she actually had a creative bone in her body...
Wednesday 20 February 2013
Sunday 17 February 2013
Another Catch-up
Yeah, it's been a while since my last post. Not the longest break, to be sure, but a significant one nonetheless.
A few weeks back, my father had a bit of a shock of the medical variety... that is to say, he was given a preliminary diagnosis of prostate cancer. By all accounts, it was one of those situations where the impact of that news was such that he was unable to properly relate that news to anyone else, except 'a bit at a time' but, by the time all the details of the examination and initial tests came out, he was rather more sanguine about it than any of the rest of us.
I suspect part of that is that the medical profession and far more advertisements than I care to think about have been telling him for decades that he'll die of lung cancer because he enjoys smoking ("every 15 cigarettes you smoke causes a mutation [which could lead to cancer]" according to the latest barrage... were this true, my father must be one giant, living, breathing, sentient, pre-cancerous mutation, a la that Clive Barker short story set in a cinema).
Furthermore, his father died due to a melanoma that first presented on his foot so, out of the long list of cancers he could potentially have, prostate was probably the most favourable (while the ad featuring Bill Bailey gives grim statistics about the number of deaths from prostate cancer, it fails to mention that it can - and frequently does - just sit there doing nothing for many, many years... it's not as invasive as other forms).
But, then, when the more conclusive test was taken - a biopsy - it came back negative... but with the instruction to report back for another check in six months.
In other, less dramatic news, my niece is doing very well in terms of her health, but still hasn't quite grasped the concept that the people around her occasionally have things to do that don't involve her (surprising, given the lack of involvement her parents sometimes exhibit). She seems quite fixated on playing Hide-and-Seek, preferring to decide who's doing what (frequently having teams of hiders and seekers), yet she quickly loses interest in seeking (very much a case of "Where are you?... Oooh, shiny!"), and does a terrible job of staying hidden (preferring generally to leap out and reveal herself at the first sound of footsteps nearby).
One odd thing that struck me during one of the most recent rounds of Hide-and-Seek was another similarity between my father and me. When the niece decided that he and I were doing the seeking, our countdown harmonised almost perfectly. I don't just mean that our tones complemented each other, I mean that the we counted at virtually the same pace, and in virtually the same voice. It's a shame I didn't get a recording of it, because it occurred to me as we were counting down that it must have sounded quite weird. My father and I don't talk in a particularly similar way - I'm probably a bit quicker, so it was strange to hear our speech become almost identical in such an artificial situation, and without any effort made to count in the same way. I guess that's a strange example of a learned behaviour - counting for children must be done just so.
More recently, work has been progressing nicely... I'm still flummoxed by the definition of 'busy' - either I'm missing something, or people there are only ever rushed off their feet because they've chosen to leave something (or many things) till the last minute. It's nice to be able to get creative regularly, but it's generally a case of giving people what they want, then going through several rounds of changes to then make it look halfway decent. On the plus side, one of the templates I set up for them last year has proven so popular, they're reusing it this year.
Just this weekend, I experienced Imperial College's very own Sci-Fi and Fantasy convention, Picocon. While it's natural to draw comparisons between events, it would be rather unfair to compare something organised and operated by students to the likes of Memorabilia, or even the normally sub-par London Expo... yet, while I'm working at a company that organises events, I can't help but notice the things that are missing, most notably event schedules outside the rooms in which those events take place, and a large format (not to mention more detailed) floorplan for the locations. There was also something off about one or two of the scheduled events - for example, one of the first 'panel' events was supposed to be about 'Post Humanity in Science Fiction', and yet it seemed to be more about immortality of various kinds. Perhaps I misunderstood the meaning of 'post humanity', but I'd taken it to be - for example - the creation of task-specific 'human 2.0' by means of genetic engineering... and that came up, briefly, in a different talk.
In terms of interesting events, it was possibly better stocked than many of the 'professional' genre events I've attended and, coincidentally, one of the guests was the author of one of the books I've recently read. They didn't necessarily keep to the schedule very well, but nor did they stray from it in the way the London Expo did when Christopher Lee's turn in a death metal band ran overtime. There was very little in the way of retail, but what was there was interesting: I picked up the entire 'Skylark' series by EE 'Doc' Smith for a whole £4 and an illustrator's calendar made in honour of Doctor Who's 50th Anniversary (a limited edition of 50, too). It was a decent way to spend my weekend (then again, almost anything away from the internet could be considered 'a decent way to spend my weekend' lately), but two things stuck out on the minus side:
And, hey, maybe I'll offer to deal with their signage...
A few weeks back, my father had a bit of a shock of the medical variety... that is to say, he was given a preliminary diagnosis of prostate cancer. By all accounts, it was one of those situations where the impact of that news was such that he was unable to properly relate that news to anyone else, except 'a bit at a time' but, by the time all the details of the examination and initial tests came out, he was rather more sanguine about it than any of the rest of us.
I suspect part of that is that the medical profession and far more advertisements than I care to think about have been telling him for decades that he'll die of lung cancer because he enjoys smoking ("every 15 cigarettes you smoke causes a mutation [which could lead to cancer]" according to the latest barrage... were this true, my father must be one giant, living, breathing, sentient, pre-cancerous mutation, a la that Clive Barker short story set in a cinema).
Furthermore, his father died due to a melanoma that first presented on his foot so, out of the long list of cancers he could potentially have, prostate was probably the most favourable (while the ad featuring Bill Bailey gives grim statistics about the number of deaths from prostate cancer, it fails to mention that it can - and frequently does - just sit there doing nothing for many, many years... it's not as invasive as other forms).
But, then, when the more conclusive test was taken - a biopsy - it came back negative... but with the instruction to report back for another check in six months.
In other, less dramatic news, my niece is doing very well in terms of her health, but still hasn't quite grasped the concept that the people around her occasionally have things to do that don't involve her (surprising, given the lack of involvement her parents sometimes exhibit). She seems quite fixated on playing Hide-and-Seek, preferring to decide who's doing what (frequently having teams of hiders and seekers), yet she quickly loses interest in seeking (very much a case of "Where are you?... Oooh, shiny!"), and does a terrible job of staying hidden (preferring generally to leap out and reveal herself at the first sound of footsteps nearby).
One odd thing that struck me during one of the most recent rounds of Hide-and-Seek was another similarity between my father and me. When the niece decided that he and I were doing the seeking, our countdown harmonised almost perfectly. I don't just mean that our tones complemented each other, I mean that the we counted at virtually the same pace, and in virtually the same voice. It's a shame I didn't get a recording of it, because it occurred to me as we were counting down that it must have sounded quite weird. My father and I don't talk in a particularly similar way - I'm probably a bit quicker, so it was strange to hear our speech become almost identical in such an artificial situation, and without any effort made to count in the same way. I guess that's a strange example of a learned behaviour - counting for children must be done just so.
More recently, work has been progressing nicely... I'm still flummoxed by the definition of 'busy' - either I'm missing something, or people there are only ever rushed off their feet because they've chosen to leave something (or many things) till the last minute. It's nice to be able to get creative regularly, but it's generally a case of giving people what they want, then going through several rounds of changes to then make it look halfway decent. On the plus side, one of the templates I set up for them last year has proven so popular, they're reusing it this year.
Just this weekend, I experienced Imperial College's very own Sci-Fi and Fantasy convention, Picocon. While it's natural to draw comparisons between events, it would be rather unfair to compare something organised and operated by students to the likes of Memorabilia, or even the normally sub-par London Expo... yet, while I'm working at a company that organises events, I can't help but notice the things that are missing, most notably event schedules outside the rooms in which those events take place, and a large format (not to mention more detailed) floorplan for the locations. There was also something off about one or two of the scheduled events - for example, one of the first 'panel' events was supposed to be about 'Post Humanity in Science Fiction', and yet it seemed to be more about immortality of various kinds. Perhaps I misunderstood the meaning of 'post humanity', but I'd taken it to be - for example - the creation of task-specific 'human 2.0' by means of genetic engineering... and that came up, briefly, in a different talk.
In terms of interesting events, it was possibly better stocked than many of the 'professional' genre events I've attended and, coincidentally, one of the guests was the author of one of the books I've recently read. They didn't necessarily keep to the schedule very well, but nor did they stray from it in the way the London Expo did when Christopher Lee's turn in a death metal band ran overtime. There was very little in the way of retail, but what was there was interesting: I picked up the entire 'Skylark' series by EE 'Doc' Smith for a whole £4 and an illustrator's calendar made in honour of Doctor Who's 50th Anniversary (a limited edition of 50, too). It was a decent way to spend my weekend (then again, almost anything away from the internet could be considered 'a decent way to spend my weekend' lately), but two things stuck out on the minus side:
- When I first arrived, as a registered, pre-paid attendee, booked for both the Saturday and the Sunday, I announced myself by name and was met with a blank look... then asked if I had booked for the weekend, or just the one day... then asked if I'd pre-paid (the icing on the cake was being told that they tend to trust people who say they've pre-paid!). Seriously, if you're encouraging people to pre-register (let alone pre-pay) make that count for something: Have named and numbered 'welcome packs' at the ready, and tick people off your register as they arrive. It's easy to do, and makes it look as though you actually care about your attendees. (Seriously, if AutoAssembly can do that, pretty well anyone can.)
- The compère for the talks and panels didn't always turn up and, when he did, he didn't speak clearly. I don't just mean that English was not his first language (which it wasn't, though I don't want to be snobby about it), I mean he mumbled and stammered. If you're going to have a compère at all, make sure he turns up to everything, and introduces the event/guest clearly. Since the talks took place in lecture theatres equipped with microphones, it was puzzling that they were so rarely used.
And, hey, maybe I'll offer to deal with their signage...
Saturday 2 February 2013
Waspish
Just lately, there have been quite a lot of weird noises around my flat. One of the first things I noticed when I moved in was that the advertisement hoarding on the end of the building was audible in the night - sounding very much like breathing as it rolls to one ad, then the other. When the tarpaulin was installed over my roof to protect against rain leaking through (which is still working successfully!), any amount of wind would set it rippling and rumbling (which tends to suggest there's next to no insulation between my ceiling and the roof!), frequently sounding like a person or large animal walking about up there.
...Just last night, I was catching up on some of the television I'd missed during the week (having a Freeview box that records is precisely as cool and as annoying as I'd predicted) when I started to hear a peculiar buzzing sound. Naturally, my first instinct was somewhere along the lines of "OMG, MY COMPUTER IS SPARKING AND IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!"... yet when, in a fine display of common sense, I moved closer to the computer, I realised that the buzzing wasn't even in my lounge.
Moving out to the hall, there was nothing but silence... But something clicked in my head about the nature of the noise. It sounded very much like a fly butting itself against a lightbulb. I've had moths before, and plenty of those little flies that always occupy the centre of the room, darting back and forth, and the occasional bluebottle, so I was quite prepared to remove this new interloper... I just needed to find it.
And then, I saw it... a bloody great wasp. And I mean a really big one. I'm not exaggerating when I say it's about 2cm long. It was resting on the lampshade near the front door, then flying out and battering itself against the lightbulb for a few minutes. Panic started to set in... Flies and moths I'm prepared for, but a wasp? A large, potentially aggressive, multiple-stinging insect?
Surprisingly, I was able to use my usual trick - wait till it's standing still, coax it into a jar, then close the jar - and the matter was very much dealt with. The only question that remains is how the hell such a large and noisy insect got into my flat undetected in the first place.
And, naturally, such powerful imagery as a massive wasp in my hall managed to penetrate into my dreams... I was staying (or living) in a large, probably single-floored house. Everything was very nice and bright, the sun was shining outside... and there was a large section of collapsed ceiling in my bedroom, right above my bed. It actually looked suspiciously like the hole in my real-life bathroom ceiling, but on a much larger scale, and with light pouring through from a mysteriously lit loft containing all kinds of mysterious things.
Including a wasps' nest.
I don't remember much of the dream beyond leaving the room (and closing the door behind me) to report to someone "Aaaaand there's a wasps' nest in my room".
Very shortly going out to my folks' place, since my sister and niece are visiting... I'm told that their appointment at the hospital yesterday went so well, she won't need another check-up for six months... Potentially right in time for my birthday.
...Just last night, I was catching up on some of the television I'd missed during the week (having a Freeview box that records is precisely as cool and as annoying as I'd predicted) when I started to hear a peculiar buzzing sound. Naturally, my first instinct was somewhere along the lines of "OMG, MY COMPUTER IS SPARKING AND IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!"... yet when, in a fine display of common sense, I moved closer to the computer, I realised that the buzzing wasn't even in my lounge.
Moving out to the hall, there was nothing but silence... But something clicked in my head about the nature of the noise. It sounded very much like a fly butting itself against a lightbulb. I've had moths before, and plenty of those little flies that always occupy the centre of the room, darting back and forth, and the occasional bluebottle, so I was quite prepared to remove this new interloper... I just needed to find it.
And then, I saw it... a bloody great wasp. And I mean a really big one. I'm not exaggerating when I say it's about 2cm long. It was resting on the lampshade near the front door, then flying out and battering itself against the lightbulb for a few minutes. Panic started to set in... Flies and moths I'm prepared for, but a wasp? A large, potentially aggressive, multiple-stinging insect?
Surprisingly, I was able to use my usual trick - wait till it's standing still, coax it into a jar, then close the jar - and the matter was very much dealt with. The only question that remains is how the hell such a large and noisy insect got into my flat undetected in the first place.
And, naturally, such powerful imagery as a massive wasp in my hall managed to penetrate into my dreams... I was staying (or living) in a large, probably single-floored house. Everything was very nice and bright, the sun was shining outside... and there was a large section of collapsed ceiling in my bedroom, right above my bed. It actually looked suspiciously like the hole in my real-life bathroom ceiling, but on a much larger scale, and with light pouring through from a mysteriously lit loft containing all kinds of mysterious things.
Including a wasps' nest.
I don't remember much of the dream beyond leaving the room (and closing the door behind me) to report to someone "Aaaaand there's a wasps' nest in my room".
Very shortly going out to my folks' place, since my sister and niece are visiting... I'm told that their appointment at the hospital yesterday went so well, she won't need another check-up for six months... Potentially right in time for my birthday.
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