On planning

I'm not a big fan of changing one's mind. Not to say its a bad thing, but it just belies poor planning. Sure if the situation changes, and new information becomes available, then changing one's mind is necessary, rather than doggedly following the original plan to certain doom.

For example if offered a cup of tea, where the alternative is no hot drink at all, then I'd choose tea. But if subsequently offered tea or coffee or nothing at all, I'd go for coffee. And then as a last minute change, offered tea, coffee or hot chocolate, I'd change my mind a third time and opt for hot chocolate. As everyone knows, hot chocolate is yummy.

Lets arrange these options in order of yumminess:-
1. Hot chocolate
2. Coffee
3. Tea
4. Lying in bed scratching one's arse.

So, as these option became available be changed our mind several times so as to reach the ideal situation.

But then, imagine if you will, the "Well you can make it yourself" nuclear option. To process it, lets re-arrange the four options into how much faffing/washing up is involved:-

1. Lying in bed scratching one's arse - No faffing or washing up
2. Tea - one tea bag to dispose of, spoon and mug to wash up
3. Coffee - ground coffee to dispose of, spoon, mug and cafetiere to wash up
4. Hot chocolate - milk to source and dispose of empty, mug, spoon, and sauce pan with burnt on milk to wash up.

We can clearly see that yumminess and faff/washing up are inversely proportional, and given the initial satisfactory state of lying in bed scratching one's arse, as more and more options become available we change our mind each time, and eventually end up back at the initial state with no hot drink, but rising levels of frustration.

I'm sure this is how politics is, just look at the progress of ID cards in the UK over the last
ten years.

It doesn't have to be like this though. If the initial proposition had the appropriate quality of information, all the options offered and the "Well you can make it yourself" subclause, then no changing of mind would have to happen at all, no rising levels of frustration, just a leisurely scratching of one's arse in bed on a Saturday morning.

So much for driftwood dreams

Days have passed since I posted about my dreams and aspirations, the one about wanting to build my own floating island, somewhere bobbing about in the lost continent of discarded plastic in the North Pacific Gyre.

I'm not alone.

It seems this meme has spread far and wide, well, The Spectator warmly embracing the article in Wired

Friedman and his followers are not the first band of wide-eyed dreamers to want to build floating utopias. For decades, an assortment of romantics and whack jobs have fantasized about fleeing the oppressive strictures of modern government and creating a laissez-faire society on the high seas. Over the decades, they've tried everything from fortified sandbars to mammoth cruise ships. Nearly all have been disasters. But the would-be nation builders assembled here are not intimidated by that record of failure. After all, their plans are inspired by the ethos of the modern tech industry, where grand quixotic visions are as common as BlackBerrys, and they see their task not as a holy mission but as something like a startup. A couple of software engineers came up with an innovative concept, then outsourced it to a community and let the wisdom of the crowd improve on it. They scored financing from a top-tier venture capitalist and assembled a board of directors. They will be transparent, blogging their progress. If they fail—which, let's face it, is the most likely outcome—they will do so quickly, in time-honored Valley fashion. But if they succeed, they have one hell of an exit strategy.

From the looks of things, their plans are a bit more developed than my own, with heli-pads and floating support columns.

I think I'll stick with my plan of building my stead from marine debris and sargassum, I can use ghost nets to bind it all together. Might have to relocate to the North Atlantic Gyre rather than the Pacific, its closer to home.

Hmph, on reading the article and the youtube videos attached. I reckon for the pro's who don't want to make their island out of garbage, they'd be best off buying a handful of really big ships, like the ones clogging up Hong Kong, and lashing them together. Maybe welding them together, but aye, something that's alread built and seaworthy. It'll be good for a few years, but then when one of the middle ships springs a leak and sinks, you'll lose half of your island.

Boing

I just got a video covered on BoingBoing. I'm pretty sure it won't last long, someone's going to realise where the 'thanks Chris' hyperlink leads and then it'll be dropped like a rock.

But right now, right now, I'm right there at the top of the 5th most popular blog on the internet. Me, using my own talents and abilities, and a faint wiff of integrity.

But I can feel it, the ground is starting to tremble, that crushing feeling of anti-climax, of failure, of defeat. Of reaching the top, but still not getting the girl.

Still wandering to HDIF on my own, sitting in a corner surrounded by friends, on my own, drinking until I can drink no more, being prodded out to the dancefloor, doing the same as I've done for the past fifteen years, and then staggering home on my own.

This is why I even bother.

Settling in

Its getting nice and settled now, I have a week's worth of food in the fridge, I know two different ways to get to work, my bed's all nice and made up and comfy.

And now in a futile attempt to fend off the boredom, I'm heading out to see Kat Flint play a gig near Camden, and hopefully take some friends along too. Kind of like I'm letting the side down, Alan went to a gig on Sunday night and has the review up already, and he's off to two gigs tonight, if only I was in Glasgow.

Ma was moaning about not seeing my bed, so here it is.

Sleep

When I came home from work last night I was rather pleased to find my bed had been delivered, and me and landlord / flatmate Dave got to work on assembling it. Its a neat leather bound japanese style double, which really neatly fits into my room.

Now I need to acquire things like a washing basket and clothes horse thing. Yeah I'd left them at my old flat in Glasgow, but new ones should be inexpensive.

Dad was staying at a hotel a few blocks away so we met up for dinner in a local Chinese place, The August Moon, he had his usual clispy duck, and I deep flied shledded beef.

Everything is looking rosy, but alas the rains have started.

There's a Kat Flint gig tomorrow, I'm not sure what she sounds like but somehow I was MySpace chums with er and we corresponded breifly.