andygates: (Default)
I start things and very rarely finish them.

I have finished repainting my front door, a project started when I moved in two-and-a-bit years ago.

That is all.
andygates: (Default)
Good gods, the shower is finally fitted. After eighteen months of grumbling, wrecking, framing, flooring, plumbing, nogging, tiling and mosty prevaricating, slacking and stalling it's in. There's hot wet coming out of the hot wet end and going down the gurgly end, and tiles anna curtain and everything.

Lordy, he's going off on one... )
andygates: (Default)
Dilemma: The bathroom is actually coming along, with the tiling done.  Soon I shall be invincible able to shower!  Which means I need to get a shower curtain.  The design of the room tends toward a nice spartan curtain: clear with a frosted band, maybe, or good old plain white.  But my inner mad scientist wants the periodic table!
andygates: (Default)
Has anyone got any wisdom to offer with regard to installing a small domestic greywater system?

With the walls off my bathroom, I can see almost all the pipework.  There's plenty of space back there.  I'd quite like to intercept the sink waste and use it for toilet flushing.  The pump and overflows I can probably manage.  How about treatment? 
andygates: (Default)
The Great Bathroom Project continues and lo, I have pulled off the main wallboards with a Hulk smash!  The good news for the project is that there is definitely room for a pumped waste behind the boards.  The interesting news is that there's about a foot of space behind one wall and almost a foot and a half behind another.  Plenty of room to hide a body.

So are recessed cupboards and backlit alcove goodies and embedded ant farms the absolute bomb, or are they hopeless feature creep?

Rock Band?

Nov. 4th, 2007 06:12 pm
andygates: (Default)
The arch grand duke of rhythm games has broken its waters and is crowning, but is it awesome or is it cringe?  Rhythm games are fun; party games are fun; you look at the people playing or blogging about Rock Band and it looks like the best of fun.  It ought to be: it's karaoke and air guitar with a next-gen console sound-and-light show.  And it's easy to have fun (an important aspect to party games: they should be easy to pick up so everyone has fun). 

Every time I pick up a real instrument, I twiddle, then I suck, then I sell it on ebay.  This is not the rockstar dream.  This is why in virtual bands, I'm the roadie.  Y'see, I'm so unmusical that I can't even pretend to be musical but I'll pick up a hairbrush (or hammer) and bellow into it, and I'll drum on my steering wheel, and I'll pick out a bassline on the cat. 

She doesn't like it.  Especially a funky Jamiroquai slap bass.  She really hates that.

Seems to be Rock Band is a weekend game-party rental classic.  What do you real musicians feel about it? 

(Half of me wants to play it lots; the other half wants to buy a secondhand bass and a practice amp and is shouting lalala I'm not listening at anyone who points to my track record - if my sampling of the zeitgeist is correct, the Rock Band backlash will be a wave of DIY low production values filthy garage noise)
andygates: (Default)
Coming in from a run, walking into the finished bathroom (with max-cost-and-hassle flush wetroom floor), bracing in the corner and hitting the shower button.  Absolutely delicious jet of hot steamy water all over my back and shoulders.  That decides my plumbing choices.  Time to cost up a pumped waste...

Travelling to Harare under a tourist visa.  Stopping time.  Assassinating Mugabe effortlessly.  Restarting time and having coffee (hotel roadside tables, cafetiere, scorched beans, raw sugar) while jeeps loaded with troops race toward the presidential palace.

Okay, the second one was clearly because I watched the Heroes catch-up last night, but if Big Bad Bob is dead this weekend, er, yeah.  It wasn't not me...
andygates: (Default)
I've discovered a whole world of black mould.  It's under my bathroom floorboards, in the interstices between my tanked cement floor, the polystyrene insulation, and the rotten boards proper.  I was expecting to find a sump of poo juice, so in a way this is a blessing; I may only have to re-floor the wet side of the room.  But I'm gonna have to do something about this colony of mould.  Bleach and dehydration, death from above.  Is that genocide?  Are all those little filamentous fellows going to yell "holy frack! it's ---aarhg!"?  Are millions of voices going to cry out in terror and be suddenly silenced?  Why am I even thinking junk like this - have they got their mycelial filaments into my brain? 

This is going to get very Lovecraft.  Only one answer: the Providence solution.


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