So Natalie Okri gets a hard time from Simon Cowell and we’re all feeling sorry for her?
Natalie “bursts into tears” when she’s beaten by the dance group Diversity.
Stop for a second and watch the tape again.
Natalie doesn’t burst into tears on hearing Diversity are going through to the final. Her first reaction is to perform the most stroppy little brat-face you could imagine. She wasn’t sad, she was brewing up for a tantrum.
She then realises she has to maintain that shruggy-shoulders cutesy girl act and tries to force some tears out. Unsuccessful, she covers her eyes with her arm (still no sign of genuine emotion) and then manages to squeeze out some tears.
Even as she leaves the stage she does so in the kind of way my 2 year old stomps off to bed when I turn the TV off.
Sure, she’s young and all that but why are we blinded by such people? If she was taller and uglier she wouldn’t have got through. If she didn’t keep doing that shruggy grin she wouldn’t have been popular.
Watch it back again and all you’ll see in an averagely talented girl who has been infected with a need for stardom at a ridiculously young age. Even down to the point that she almost burst into a full-blown diva tantrum. Modelling herself on people like Beyonce isn’t healthy for a little girl.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Monday, December 15, 2008
I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (whatever that means) but the latest update from Zone Alarm (version 8.0 I think) was rubbish. I've read they have actually told people NOT to download the latest version because of the bugs it causes. This is the same company who issued an update in the summer which broke everyones Internet connections.
In fact, the problem I experienced was it was blocking Windows Update and my XBox (AGAIN). Annoyingly this was very hard to verify until I eventually uninstalled Zone Alarm and hey presto Windows Update worked again. And of course, after spending hours configuring Zone Alarm to allow my XBox to connect to my PC, this new update completely screwed that up.
I reinstalled what Check Point said was a version 7.xx of the product but it somehow made itself the new version. But now it allows Windows Update which is helpful. I haven't tried the XBox. What are the chances?
I'm seriously reconsidering my use of this product. I've used it for years but they really need to make it simpler to do things like allow your XBox to your computer without the need to spend 4 hours Googling the issue to then spend another 2 hours following complex instructions written by some tech geek. I don't know, and shouldn't need to know what a subnest mask is. Life is too short.
I'm wondering whether the standard Windows Vista Firewall would be OK to revert to?
In fact, the problem I experienced was it was blocking Windows Update and my XBox (AGAIN). Annoyingly this was very hard to verify until I eventually uninstalled Zone Alarm and hey presto Windows Update worked again. And of course, after spending hours configuring Zone Alarm to allow my XBox to connect to my PC, this new update completely screwed that up.
I reinstalled what Check Point said was a version 7.xx of the product but it somehow made itself the new version. But now it allows Windows Update which is helpful. I haven't tried the XBox. What are the chances?
I'm seriously reconsidering my use of this product. I've used it for years but they really need to make it simpler to do things like allow your XBox to your computer without the need to spend 4 hours Googling the issue to then spend another 2 hours following complex instructions written by some tech geek. I don't know, and shouldn't need to know what a subnest mask is. Life is too short.
I'm wondering whether the standard Windows Vista Firewall would be OK to revert to?
Thursday, October 09, 2008
All this talk of the 'credit crunch' across the world is enough to depress you. I must admit, some of the sob stories I hear generate less sympathy than others.
You might think me harsh when I say this but I find it extremely difficult to have sympathy for all of the city traders who have been affected by this. These people earn ridiculous six figure salaries and I'm supposed to feel sorry for them because they won't be getting their £50,000 bonus this year? Sure, they have families to support like lower earners but they also have greater means to save in case of hard times.
I saw a report about a couple who worked for Lehman Brothers who said because they lost their jobs they might have to postpone their wedding. These people were earning a fortune, so my heart bleeds they won't be able to dress their crab with quite so much caviar now. I don't begrudge people high earning jobs but please, don't expect sympathy when the bubble bursts. These are finanical people, have they been living exactly to their means? Don't they save? Ironic?
And talking of saving, I saw another piece about a chap who had been saving for his retirement by buying shares in one instutution (forgive me, I forget which). Last year it was worth something like £175,000 and he's seen something like £50,000 wiped off the value. Again, I feel no real sympathy. To be saving that amount of money I'm thinking he's had a reasonable income but clearly lacks intelligence (or a financial advisor) to tell him not to put all of his eggs in one basket. Apparently, the value of shares can go down as well as up. What sort of person rests their entire retirement on the performance of one institution? A mad one.
You might think me harsh when I say this but I find it extremely difficult to have sympathy for all of the city traders who have been affected by this. These people earn ridiculous six figure salaries and I'm supposed to feel sorry for them because they won't be getting their £50,000 bonus this year? Sure, they have families to support like lower earners but they also have greater means to save in case of hard times.
I saw a report about a couple who worked for Lehman Brothers who said because they lost their jobs they might have to postpone their wedding. These people were earning a fortune, so my heart bleeds they won't be able to dress their crab with quite so much caviar now. I don't begrudge people high earning jobs but please, don't expect sympathy when the bubble bursts. These are finanical people, have they been living exactly to their means? Don't they save? Ironic?
And talking of saving, I saw another piece about a chap who had been saving for his retirement by buying shares in one instutution (forgive me, I forget which). Last year it was worth something like £175,000 and he's seen something like £50,000 wiped off the value. Again, I feel no real sympathy. To be saving that amount of money I'm thinking he's had a reasonable income but clearly lacks intelligence (or a financial advisor) to tell him not to put all of his eggs in one basket. Apparently, the value of shares can go down as well as up. What sort of person rests their entire retirement on the performance of one institution? A mad one.
Monday, June 02, 2008
I'm not normally one to comment on news stories but one which ran over the weekend just made me. The new Mayor of London, the bumbling Boris Johnson, has banned drinking on the London Underground. This is a good thing. Grown ups, unless alcoholics, don't need to have a can of cider in their hand as they travel between pubs. It's just not necessary. In a civilised society, we don't need people making Tube carriages stink with their alcohol just because they are so desperate to carry on drinking. I'm not some old fart, I just think seeing fewer people drinking on the streets and public transport has to be good for rebuilding a more civilised society. Jesus, I sound like a politician.
So, as with any new law, this caused uproar amongst some sections of society. Namely those who feel passionately about drinking alcohol on public transport (hey, why not get passionate about something that matters?). These people decided to protest against the new anti-drinking law by having a Tube party to celebrate the end of drinking in public. (yes, these were grown men and women). The result? To quote The Times:
"There were 17 arrests after four Tube drivers, three other members of staff and two police officers were assaulted. Around 50 staff were said to have been verbally abused or spat at."
So, in order to make the point that drinking on the Tube shouldn't be banned, these 'party goers' decided to act in the very way which prompted the ban in the first place. If anything, their party demonstrated the very reasons to ban public drinking, not encourage it. It showed that people with minuscule minds and equally microscopic abilities to hold their drink will get rowdy abusive and violent given enough booze. Well done idiots, you proved a point although not the one you intended.
The people I saw interviewed on TV seemed remarkably like students so we can forgive their behaviour to a certain extent but not much. Get down the pub, it's your life age not mental age which determines whether you'll get served so you should be ok.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
A wet Bank Holiday weekend means only one thing. Shopping.
I'm not going to be a typical grumpy man and say I hate shopping and that it's only pleasurable for women. It has some plusses, namely I get a nice lunch. I think the real issue for me is the way women approach shopping. Call me sexist if you dare but before you do (ladies), please read on, and then, and only then, call me names if you can deny the allegations.
When I see something I like I look at one thing. The price. If it isn't more expensive than the total cost of everything I wore to go shopping then I might consider buying it. I might try it on but probably won't. I'll take it to the till and buy it.
Now a woman will do things rather differently. They will first caress the product with their fingers. In fact, woman commence the purchasing process as if blind, walking up and down the isles, rubbing, holding and lifting until the braille on one item screams "pick me up". Then next thing will be the size. An amateur may think they're looking for the price but that would be a schoolboy error. They never look at the price. Once a size too small for her is selected. It will be held up against her maybe a dozen times. Consideration will continue until I suggest she tries it on. This suggestion is met with the same sort of reaction as if I had suggested stuffing it up her jumper and running out of the shop. After 10 minutes of rubbing, lifting, and replacing, we're nowhere near the trying it on stage.
Time passes and whole shop is navigated twice, circling the prey that is the black top which is now slightly shiny due to the excessive rubbing. A change of direction and we're back in a flash because a curly haired twenty something started to sniff the same kill and there was worry that the target may be taken by a competitor. As Curly Hair goes to give it the first rub, it is whipped away like a tablecloth and held against her chest like a lost child now found. This expedites the matter and consideration, after 26 minutes, is now given to trying the bloody thing on.
Waiting at the changing rooms is an uncomfortable business when you're a bloke. Particularly a tall one. Changing rooms used to be a box with a curtain at the front. Now, they are often a box with a saloon style door at the front. When you're tall, this means that if you're anywhere near the changing rooms you cannot avoid seeing right in there. You're not looking, but, as Jerry Seinfeld said about looking at womens cleavages, your just get a sense of what's there. Spun into utter paranoia despite holding my young son and being with my other half, when you meet eyes with a 19 year old who is halfway through trying to pull up a pair of idiotically tight jeans revaling a thong the width of dental floss, you don't need to be Matt Parkman to hear her screaming in her head "you bloody pervert".
The Other Half doesn't understand this, so she calls for me to walk down and give my assessment of the item being auditioned for purchase. As I walk down the aisle all I can see out of the corner of my eyes are inappropriate portions of white flesh I shouldn't be seeing. As I get to the end I give my utterly pointless opinion on the top. I've seen those 'mind readers' on the TV who pick up on clues given by the overly willing idiots who belive in psychic abilities and have learnt a lot from them.
If she starts with "this looks alright, what do you think" then it's correct to say "that's nice".
If she starts with a more negative introduction to the showing such as "I'm not sure about this, what do you think" then be very careful. It's a classic trap whereby if you agree and say you don't like it and then she, after lots of twirling and bum rubbing, changes her mind, then she won't buy it because "you don't like it". And you won't hear the end of it either. There are only 2 instances when you say you don't like it. Firstly, if it reveals too much flesh. You have to draw the line here so be brave. You don't want blokes letching over her so tell her it makes her look fat. Secondly, if you're managed to catch a look at the price and it is going to end up costing you more than that week you've just booked at Center Parcs then tell her it makes her look fat. It's the only way.
Then, just when you think you're there. You've seen the price and it's affordable. You've seen it on her and she doesn't look like she's single, she says she'll have a look around and come back. It has taken 43 minutes in an over-lit under air-conditioned shop for her to decide it's only worth thinking about. Naturally, after what feels like 11 weeks cirumnavigating the shopping centre you end up back there and as night falls and owls are cooing in the suspended ceiling, and she goes to buy it.
The whole process is made so much worse because of the environment you are forced in. Modern women's fashion shops are now more akin to a teenage disco than a shop. Hideous fluffy pop music is blasted from giant speakers which smacks you in the face as you walk in. Then you have to squint as the lights are so bright it's as if you're going in for an operation. You spend the next drawn out 30 minutes of your life leaning on clothes rails and being asked to move by spotty teenagers wearing far less than they should or middle ages divorcees wearing far, far less than they should.
No more Bank Holidays until August thank god.
I'm not going to be a typical grumpy man and say I hate shopping and that it's only pleasurable for women. It has some plusses, namely I get a nice lunch. I think the real issue for me is the way women approach shopping. Call me sexist if you dare but before you do (ladies), please read on, and then, and only then, call me names if you can deny the allegations.
When I see something I like I look at one thing. The price. If it isn't more expensive than the total cost of everything I wore to go shopping then I might consider buying it. I might try it on but probably won't. I'll take it to the till and buy it.
Now a woman will do things rather differently. They will first caress the product with their fingers. In fact, woman commence the purchasing process as if blind, walking up and down the isles, rubbing, holding and lifting until the braille on one item screams "pick me up". Then next thing will be the size. An amateur may think they're looking for the price but that would be a schoolboy error. They never look at the price. Once a size too small for her is selected. It will be held up against her maybe a dozen times. Consideration will continue until I suggest she tries it on. This suggestion is met with the same sort of reaction as if I had suggested stuffing it up her jumper and running out of the shop. After 10 minutes of rubbing, lifting, and replacing, we're nowhere near the trying it on stage.
Time passes and whole shop is navigated twice, circling the prey that is the black top which is now slightly shiny due to the excessive rubbing. A change of direction and we're back in a flash because a curly haired twenty something started to sniff the same kill and there was worry that the target may be taken by a competitor. As Curly Hair goes to give it the first rub, it is whipped away like a tablecloth and held against her chest like a lost child now found. This expedites the matter and consideration, after 26 minutes, is now given to trying the bloody thing on.
Waiting at the changing rooms is an uncomfortable business when you're a bloke. Particularly a tall one. Changing rooms used to be a box with a curtain at the front. Now, they are often a box with a saloon style door at the front. When you're tall, this means that if you're anywhere near the changing rooms you cannot avoid seeing right in there. You're not looking, but, as Jerry Seinfeld said about looking at womens cleavages, your just get a sense of what's there. Spun into utter paranoia despite holding my young son and being with my other half, when you meet eyes with a 19 year old who is halfway through trying to pull up a pair of idiotically tight jeans revaling a thong the width of dental floss, you don't need to be Matt Parkman to hear her screaming in her head "you bloody pervert".
The Other Half doesn't understand this, so she calls for me to walk down and give my assessment of the item being auditioned for purchase. As I walk down the aisle all I can see out of the corner of my eyes are inappropriate portions of white flesh I shouldn't be seeing. As I get to the end I give my utterly pointless opinion on the top. I've seen those 'mind readers' on the TV who pick up on clues given by the overly willing idiots who belive in psychic abilities and have learnt a lot from them.
If she starts with "this looks alright, what do you think" then it's correct to say "that's nice".
If she starts with a more negative introduction to the showing such as "I'm not sure about this, what do you think" then be very careful. It's a classic trap whereby if you agree and say you don't like it and then she, after lots of twirling and bum rubbing, changes her mind, then she won't buy it because "you don't like it". And you won't hear the end of it either. There are only 2 instances when you say you don't like it. Firstly, if it reveals too much flesh. You have to draw the line here so be brave. You don't want blokes letching over her so tell her it makes her look fat. Secondly, if you're managed to catch a look at the price and it is going to end up costing you more than that week you've just booked at Center Parcs then tell her it makes her look fat. It's the only way.
Then, just when you think you're there. You've seen the price and it's affordable. You've seen it on her and she doesn't look like she's single, she says she'll have a look around and come back. It has taken 43 minutes in an over-lit under air-conditioned shop for her to decide it's only worth thinking about. Naturally, after what feels like 11 weeks cirumnavigating the shopping centre you end up back there and as night falls and owls are cooing in the suspended ceiling, and she goes to buy it.
The whole process is made so much worse because of the environment you are forced in. Modern women's fashion shops are now more akin to a teenage disco than a shop. Hideous fluffy pop music is blasted from giant speakers which smacks you in the face as you walk in. Then you have to squint as the lights are so bright it's as if you're going in for an operation. You spend the next drawn out 30 minutes of your life leaning on clothes rails and being asked to move by spotty teenagers wearing far less than they should or middle ages divorcees wearing far, far less than they should.
No more Bank Holidays until August thank god.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The joys of working in an office are sometimes so well hidden, you may feel that there were none.
In the days of open plan working, many people, including me until I reach Chief Executive status and I get myself a giant room all to myself, have to endure other people in close proximity. I don't know if it is particular people I struggle to endure but sometimes I just want to get under my desk and cry for a little bit.
When I eat my lunch at my desk I'm quite confident I manage to do so with minimal fuss. In fact, I'd go so far as to say, people wouldn't even know I was eating. So why do some of my closest colleagues eat like pigs returning from a hunger protest? Why must I see out of the corner of my eye a colleague's chin almost touching his desk owing to the fact he is trying to shovel as much tuna pasta salad into his gob as it possible in the shortest space of time? Why do my colleagues have to drink their bottled water as if they have just crossed the Sahara, sucking the bottle until it inverts, then breathing out as if they have just beaten David Blaine's holding-your-breath-under-water record.
Maybe I'm intolerant. Well yes, I am. I'm intolerant of people eating and drinking like animals.
I think next time I'll pick up their pasta box and drop it on the floor for them suggesting they get down and eat it like a dog. Although I think that might put my ambitions for Chief Executive back a couple of years.
(I managed to find a photo of some people eating at thier desks who look even more annoying than those I work with. Amazing)
In the days of open plan working, many people, including me until I reach Chief Executive status and I get myself a giant room all to myself, have to endure other people in close proximity. I don't know if it is particular people I struggle to endure but sometimes I just want to get under my desk and cry for a little bit.
When I eat my lunch at my desk I'm quite confident I manage to do so with minimal fuss. In fact, I'd go so far as to say, people wouldn't even know I was eating. So why do some of my closest colleagues eat like pigs returning from a hunger protest? Why must I see out of the corner of my eye a colleague's chin almost touching his desk owing to the fact he is trying to shovel as much tuna pasta salad into his gob as it possible in the shortest space of time? Why do my colleagues have to drink their bottled water as if they have just crossed the Sahara, sucking the bottle until it inverts, then breathing out as if they have just beaten David Blaine's holding-your-breath-under-water record.
Maybe I'm intolerant. Well yes, I am. I'm intolerant of people eating and drinking like animals.
I think next time I'll pick up their pasta box and drop it on the floor for them suggesting they get down and eat it like a dog. Although I think that might put my ambitions for Chief Executive back a couple of years.
(I managed to find a photo of some people eating at thier desks who look even more annoying than those I work with. Amazing)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
In the whirlwind life I live, I had the exciting joy of receiving new Tesco Clubcards last week. Overwhelmed with the sheer bliss this delivery brought me, I stopped to consider why I had received them.
Our existing Clubcards weren't broken, they looked in good condition and worked fine. So why, Tesco, have you sent us new cards? I have grumbled before about companies using 'green' issues solely for their own benefit and this is a prime example of them going completely against their commitment to the environment when it suits them. To send me my new Clubcards meant using plastic to make them, energy to create them, petrol to transport them, paper to print the letters and envelopes, and waste created by me throwing away my perfectly good existing card. I can see why credit card companies occasionally send out new cards for security reasons but there is absolutely no point sending out new loyalty cards. They simply want their latest branding in our wallets.
To make matter worse, they only sent me one new card rather than one for me and one for my other half. I emailed them to ask why they had only replaced mine and they said they couldn't just send one for her, she would have to go into a store, pick up a new card and ring them to get the new card attached to the existing account. I replied to say I had no intention of doing this when they had every piece of information they needed to simply just issue a new card. I asked them if I could just carry on using the old cards as there was nothing wrong with them. I think they've had enough of me because they haven't replied.
So today it's Tesco. Greedy, hypocritical Tesco. I went off them ages ago when they used that utterly annoying bloody woman Jane Horrocks in their advertisements. She puts on that silly bloody voice you know. Jamie Oliver might not be everyone's cup of tea but at least in Sainsbury's the staff don't have their ears peppered with gold and their mouths constantly churning chewing gum. And while I'm being utterly offensive, at least in Sainsbury's I don't stand out as being the only person in the building not wearing a tracksuit.
Our existing Clubcards weren't broken, they looked in good condition and worked fine. So why, Tesco, have you sent us new cards? I have grumbled before about companies using 'green' issues solely for their own benefit and this is a prime example of them going completely against their commitment to the environment when it suits them. To send me my new Clubcards meant using plastic to make them, energy to create them, petrol to transport them, paper to print the letters and envelopes, and waste created by me throwing away my perfectly good existing card. I can see why credit card companies occasionally send out new cards for security reasons but there is absolutely no point sending out new loyalty cards. They simply want their latest branding in our wallets.
To make matter worse, they only sent me one new card rather than one for me and one for my other half. I emailed them to ask why they had only replaced mine and they said they couldn't just send one for her, she would have to go into a store, pick up a new card and ring them to get the new card attached to the existing account. I replied to say I had no intention of doing this when they had every piece of information they needed to simply just issue a new card. I asked them if I could just carry on using the old cards as there was nothing wrong with them. I think they've had enough of me because they haven't replied.
So today it's Tesco. Greedy, hypocritical Tesco. I went off them ages ago when they used that utterly annoying bloody woman Jane Horrocks in their advertisements. She puts on that silly bloody voice you know. Jamie Oliver might not be everyone's cup of tea but at least in Sainsbury's the staff don't have their ears peppered with gold and their mouths constantly churning chewing gum. And while I'm being utterly offensive, at least in Sainsbury's I don't stand out as being the only person in the building not wearing a tracksuit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
