Monday Melancholy 19/06/2006

Welcome to the rebirth of the Ramble. Or as Miles Davis styled it: the rebirth of cool. Miles was quite a cool guy for someone who liked to blow his trumpet. Fuck. Sorry. That was poor. Maybe I should start that all again.

Sorry for the prolonged absence of your favourite Friday pastime; Knappy broke it and I haven’t had a chance to fix it until now.

The real reason for the sabbatical is two-fold. (1) I got a little bit over it and (2) for reasons of poverty and self-loathing, I unfortunately had to get a job. Hooray! I hear the cries from the peanut gallery. Pipe down Dad. Anyway, the last month or so has been quite manic for me: got back from Mozam, had an interview, wowed with my intellect, charm and god (sorry, typo – good) looks, was plonked behind a computer and told to code like those kids in Hackers. What do I know about coding? Well, I’ve seen Hackers about 40 times. But that’s only for Angelina’s boob shot. The truth is not a damn thing. Like I said, manic times in the life of Jamo. As luck would have it, I have managed to keep a white-fingered grip on things and am slowly managing to claw my way into some semblance of understanding.

Welcome to those I found in Ali G’s monstrous mailing lists. Have no idea who some of you are but you know Ali so you must be fun loving criminals.

As part of my new found computer geekdom, I went to a Microsoft seminar type thing the other day. What a different experience. There was some other kind of sub-culture going on there; Lots of black clothing, ponytails, white socks and pants about an inch too short. The good news is that I’m not in any danger of becoming a computer nerd; I’m just not smart enough. It felt like varsity all over again: chilling in the back row, feeling very confused and passing snide little chirps about the kids in the front row whose understanding of the topic exceeded my current understanding at the age of two. At one point the speaker was describing a method of creating buffer overflows (no idea, but I’m getting down with the jargon, isn’t?) and as he moved towards the crux of his point, the screen full of random characters, he pointed to a section of code ‘41414141’ and he said “and what character is that hexadecimally?” At which point the audience chorused laughingly because it was so obvious “A”. Fuck me. You kids need to see some sunlight.

Hobbo even posted quite an amusing little guy last week. Nice one son.

Unleash the Dogs of War. Best touch team in history.

Featuring:

Bruce “Hair” Henwood dominating with his deceptive pace in the midfield.
Dave “Jen doesn’t call the shots. Seriously. Okes man, come on. Seriously. Shut up. I do what I want. Seriously. Ah fuck off man Jamo. Seriously.” Hobbo and Calves wrecking havoc in defense.
“Dwight” Reginald (Google it) and his explosive pace.
Doug “Herpes isn’t an STD, it’s a rite of passage” Labs and the silky skills he honed on Southbroom beach with the Mighty Ducks.
Neil “I’m fine to drive; check it out, I can still move that toe over there” Harvs covering more ground than Nolene’s ass.
Trent “Muliaina” Mills with his formidable crash-ball technique.
Phila “Lawmaker” Zulu, his most elusive self.

Tom Petty rocks man. I dare you to listen to “Running Down a Dream” and not yearn to be cruising on the open road somewhere.

Sorry, this ramble has been pretty poor. Have a lot of content in my head, just need to find time to put it down on paper. It might even include a little mini-series entitled “how Hobbo slept his way across the prostitutes of Mozambique”. Promise to climb back on the horse properly. And by ‘the horse’ I mean writing the ramble and not as you might be thinking a certain lovable red guy.

Ok bye bye.

Love, kisses and…Munners wait for it…vaginal discharge.