In the Chair
Tomorrow I'm off to the Dentist. Lucky me. For the first time ever I'm actually dreading going to the dentist. Usually I go all confident doing the recommended 'Brushing Twice A Day' (teeth, that is) and get shot down from my egotistical high horse when they say my teeth look like spaghetti junction (and in some cases, the spaghetti still being in there, which is nice). Anyhow, I know now my teeth are messed up. The dentist is probably going to lay the smack down on my pearly whites, which will not be very nice.
On the upside, I am getting a filling, which will sort out that hurting in my tooth. Which will be bliss.
More playing with my webcam at the moment: I found out the following things about it:-
You can speak to people over the net with it. Okay, pretty standard stuff I admit (it's a webcam, it does exactly what it says on the tin). Nevertheless, it was fun for about 5 seconds the problem comes whereby whether you actually want your movements recorded 24 hours a day. Okay, my time with a camera on me is when I'm on chat, on the internet and with the camera switched on (and when I'm sitting in front of this machine, of course). But really, are people interested in watching me all day? I mean, even when I fart? Or scratch my armpit? Or stick my finger in my ear? Or dance around the room. Actually, that'd be pretty funny.
Big brother, recorded 24/7. We all know how dull it is*.
- It can record video. Now, whether it's my large knowledge of the internet or just that I read FHM a bit too much, but webam + video = amateur porn. Of course, I'm not going to try this theory out yet (for one I don't have a bird). Even if tomorrow I walked out the door, saw a fit bird who said "Welsh bloggers turn me on.", and offered to make a video there and then, you really think you'd be able to see it? I can see that the Pammy + Tommy Lee one would probably be ever so little more popular.
Anyway, never fear, I probably wouldn't that. I'm a crap actor.
Tomorrow I've also got work, and I'm actually looking forward to it. Okay, not working. But I'm broke at the moment (yeah, I know the stupidity of buying a webcam while broke, sue me**), and any amount of money (as it's a short shift tomorrow, I'll probably earn somewhere in the region of £16) is very, very nice.
I've started a photo blog. It's underneath the cam pic on the left. I've called it The Gospel According To Rhys. Why? Because I wanted to.
Evanescence are number one! As unofficial head of the Evanescence fan club: Colwyn Bay branch, I couldn't be happier. This is the first decent song that's gone to number one (in my opinion) since The Hindu Times by Oasis. Coldplay should of, Avril should of, Foo Fighters should of, Red Hot Chilli Peppers should of, Evanescence are.
Of course now they are numero uno my brother - possibly the only self confessed "Sk8er***" in the world ever to own a Ministry of Sound album - hates them. He says "They are too commercialised now." and goes back to his Limp Bizkit album.
There's no pleasing some people.
Keep the Faith
* Expecting a female backlash with that comment
** Actually don't. I have no money
*** Speaking of Sk8er. Did anybody see Avril Lavigne in The Sun? As Ollie in Byker Grove once said - "Aye, she's as fit as a butcher's dog"
I say, that hedgehog looksa pretty nice I say a pretty nice...
Yep, after an astronomical win on the nags over the weekend, I've decided to splash out and purchase a webcam from these lovely people. I had been planning to for yonks, so the win on Saturday was just an excuse.
Anyway, I'm not quite upto regular cam whore status yet, as I'm still figuring out how to use it. Also, no screams of "Muuuum!! Rhys is taking a picture of his arse!!" has been heard yet (and, whilst I'm sober, probably never will), and the picture above looks a little white for someone who spent about 50% of his waking weekend outdoors (40% on here, 5% napping, and 5% watching the Derby). Anyway I'm still getting used to it, so I'll post a regular cam pic table thingy if (and indeed when) I get used to the cheeky photographic blighter.
Keep the faith
FIrst Past The Post
Today was Derby Day. For those of you who don't know what the Derby is, it's a less jumpier, shorter but more hilly version of the Grand National. Basically a horse race. Anyway, as I hadn't had a flutter for a while (for me anyway: about 2 weeks), so as it were the Derby, I put the Refuse To Bend £1 e/w, Alamshar £1 e/w and Kris Kin £1 e/w. I was watching the whole Derby meeting with my dad, forsaking the radient orange glow of the star formally known as the sun to watch a bit of telly.
"You didn't gamble did you Rhys?"Bugger.
Whilst not being possessed by a 24 hour Midas Touch - today I also dropped about £15 out of the fruit machine in Billy Hills - I also went shopping in Llandudno for some summer clothes. All my clothes are dark or bright. I need some paler ones for summer so I can look like a cool kid just all year round. I have a pair of "Natural" (ie. your screwed if you spill brown sauce down them) coloured shorts, but no T-shirts. Thankfully this changed with a very snazzy Hong Kong Phooey t-shirt.
I was going to say something else interesting, but I forgot it.
Keep the faith
Out on the Razz
Last night was my last night in Liverpool for a few months. And I needed to go out with a bang. I'd say I went out more with more of a pop, or that "psssssssh"ing sound you get when you have a slow puncture. But not a wimper.
Blue Angel: Not only does it sound dodgy, but it also looks dodgy. And it smelt a bit.
The answer is, well, no. I did try to pull some bird who I actually liked for a bit, which makes a change from the usual "Pulse and nice breath" requirements from yours truly. And, was fairly sure that she kinda liked me back. Anyway, she flat out rejected me. The bitch. I bloody hate rejection. I've never been rejected from anything in my life. You could probably rip a liver out of an elephant, open me up, attach it, and it would work a treat*. My body doesn't do rejection, and am unsure how to deal with it. Last night, I dealt it with the way I know how: get pissed. Real pissed.
So, was the night a goodun? Hell yeah! Despite failing at my last chance until September to get laid, I did have a good night with F Block.
Ah yes, F Block. I know some of you read this, so I guess I should adress it (it's only fair). Those of you expecting a sob story about how I'll miss you lot so much will be dissappointed, as there will not be one. The reasons being:-
Anyway, I guess I should say thanks for taking me in, and accepting me as one of your own. After the general loudy crappiness of M Block, I thought uni was a boring sham. Anyway, now I know otherwise.
Bloody hell that was far too girly. Guess I should end this before talking about moisturiser or summit.
Keep the faith
* And it's on this fact that, if I keep drinking as much as I do, I'm hoping for in a few years.
And here it is
Well, Blogger's decided to sort itself out, so I can post now.
|Rhysie Boy's Official Test Scores 2002/2003 (2nd Semester)||Subject||Score|
|Data Structures + Information Systems||84%|
This means that I'm going through the second year. Which is nice.
The only thing I want to mention: How in the name of sweet holy buggery did I manage to bullshit my way to 84% in Data Structures? Regular readers will know that Data Structures isn't exactly a subject I do backflips over. Nevertheless, you take the rough with the smooth. As they say.
Today is my last day in university. Tomorrow will be a comprehensive look at my uni first year.
Anyway, I'm out on the piss tonight, wish me luck.
Keep the faith
They're Not Gonna Get Us
Last night was the last kareoke night of the year in our bar, boo or cheer if you will. Due to an England friendly, where they struggled against Wales' next European Championship contenders - Serbia + Montenegro, it was also considerably shorter than normal. What made it more interesting was that there were a few of us, and we were all up for it (singing, that is. After The Smithdown 10 none of us could drink even if we wanted to. Nevertheless, we graced the stage with a rendition of The Calling that made Jemini look like Jimi Hendrix.
Of course, I couldn't stop at just one. Oh no, there is beer on the line, and whilst I couldn't drink it now, I'm sure that in a later date I'll be more than willing to down a couple of cans. Nevertheless, I took to the stage and sang what I thought was a pretty good rendition of Ash's "A Life Less Ordinary". Unfortunately, I was the only person who seemingly heard of the song before. Nevertheless, the best was soon to follow.
tATu. This is not enough, apparently.
We should of won the beer with that performance, instead it went to someone else. A national day of mourning was therefore called.
Anyway, I guess you just had to be there.
Now it is* beginning of a fantastic story! Let's make a journey to the cave of monsters! Who ever thought that a crap sentimental could spawn some fantastic gaming action?
If you haven't played it yet, go get yourself a copy of MAME, and experience one of the greatest games ever. None of your fancy 10 minute FMV sequences, just pure quality gaming of the highest degree, and officially one of the most catchy tunes in a video game.
And while you're getting that, you might as well get Rainbow Islands as well. As the tune in that is quite catchy as well (what can only be described as a happy version of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow"). Oh, and the game is pretty decent as well.
Keep the faith
*Notice the poor japanese translation there? Admittedly, not as bad as "All Your Base..", but still pretty sloppy. Admittedly, knowing what my grammar is like, it's a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. But what are you gonna do.
20 quid, 10 pubs, 7 actually open, 4 hours, no chance of soberness Apart from that, not been upto much today. My mum + dad came over to Liverpool to clear out all but the bare essentials from my room. My room is now as barren as Barnesley. I also read the not-really-communal-but-as-good-as FHM a good few times. And that's about it really. Off to watch England now. Keep the faith Rhys
Last night was the infamous Smithdown 10. Ten pubs along Smithdown Road in Liverpool, and you have to have a drink in each. Unfortunately, due to two pubs being inexplicably shut, and because we didn't start till about 7pm, we missed last orders at the last stop: Our student bar. Nevertheless, I myself drunk quite a bit (7 drinks in all), and as I finished with double JD's and Coke, I was pretty wasted, not massively out on floor showing off my belly to everybody, but enough to slur my words, speak crap, and dash off the little boy's room every 20 minutes. However, despite the obvious hangover that awoke me at 7am, I had a bloody good night. It however was a blur most of the night, the following facts I do remember:-
Apart from that, not been upto much today. My mum + dad came over to Liverpool to clear out all but the bare essentials from my room. My room is now as barren as Barnesley. I also read the not-really-communal-but-as-good-as FHM a good few times. And that's about it really.
Off to watch England now.
Keep the faith
MotoGP: In all it's XBox bastardized glory.
Or so I thought.
You see, it had to be registered on the phone, and the phone decided that "Ooh, I'm not letting the company that sponsors Arsenal's XBox go to some lowly Man Utd. fan, I'll screw him out of it", and all my times were wiped from the phone. This meant, dispite swearing on the holy bible that I got 1:27.5, I wasn't the winner.
What happened? Well, I'm not sure, if I knew then I wouldn't be complaining. Anyway, after arguing my case to a non-complient judge, I decided to do the manly thing, and bitch about it on my blog. God I love these things.
They did compensate me with a T-shirt (that doesn't fit) and a hat (again, that doesn't fit), and the knowledge that deep down inside that, not only am I a winner, I would of preferred a Gamecube. Nevertheless, the fact still remains: The bastards screwed me out of a XBox.
In other News
I've managed to blag myself another couple of days in Liverpool! This case, instead of going home tomorrow, forsaking the Smithdown 10, then coming back on Thursday anyway, I just go home on Friday. Makes sense, really.
Finally, I've managed to upload my pictures onto T-Shirts. The store is available here. Unfortunately, due to it being located in America (through no fault of it's own), we have to pay extortionate custom prices here in the UK. Oh well, c'est la vie. Though I'm sure all you Yankenites will no doubt be snapping up my 'tees' faster than when that Pamela Anderson video came out on the net a few years back.
Keep the faith
Barnet: Not really got too much to say about it.
"Ah ha!" I hear you say, "Surely Mr. Stud would forget his problems with his gammy leg and go out to hopefully recreate the events of Thursday night, as, by god, the kid's in the best form of his life!". The sad thing is that, no, I didn't go out.
Why I do not know. Maybe I'm sort of going on a bit of detox after spending the past two nights pissed to my eyeballs. So I forsaked the last time this year that I could in theory get laid (due to on Double Vision on Monday being both daylight robbery and the fact that my mum will be knocking on my door at midday on Tuesday, so that if the unthinkable does happen, it could lead to an awkward situation) to do something else. What was the something else? T-Shirt design.
Yes, I'm trying to get back to my geeky roots, and sorta semi inspired by Imperial Doughnut's intrepid tale of wealth, fame and fortune by designing T-Shirts, I want to start. I've made two already, but haven't uploaded them due to the uploader being run on shockwave, which is probably the only internet program the Uni's computer network hasn't got. This, to say the least, is a bit of a bugger.
Reason #29: Chun Li is a baddie in the movie, despite being a goodie in the computer games.
Why am I doing this? Well, as they said on Mortal Kombat: The geek shall inherit the Earth.
Keep the faith
* See what I've done there?
Note to self: Never, ever under any circumstances talk about my arse in a blog ever again. It works for Jenifer Lopez, because her arse is nice. It works for Rikishi because his arse...well..isn't. Mine's sorta in the middle, and therefore not good topic for conversation. Unless you really want to, and in that case, I'd advise you to see help.
Oh, and in my lucky 15's, I won a grand total of...er...£1.78. This time next year Rodney, we'll be millionaires!
I've actually spent most of my day in sorta rehab. After spending nearly enough all of yesterday on my back, and my leg being a bit stiff still, I've been trying to walk a bit more, as when I woke up this morning, my legs were a bit unsure of themselves, kinda like that bit in Bambi, where the fawn tries and stands up. I was Bambi this morning, albeit a fatter, two legged slightly hungover version. Anyway, I'm now much more sure of my footing now, and I can still feel my hamstring. Nevertheless, I'm taking the next few days a bit slow.
Finally, the sun's gone in here, but it's still pretty hot, so I bought a Magnum (ice cream...not a gun). Utter bliss on a stick.
Keep the faith
Oh What A Night
As hinted in the last post, yesterday I was very, very delicate. On Thursday night, I went out and got absolutely waylaid. I cannot remember just how much I drank that night. It was too much, anyway.
Actually, I can remember what happened. For the first time in too long, I pulled. She was short, fake ginner and dressed like a policewoman. However, more luck was in this individual that night, as, like buses, I'd waited ages to pull, and now two came along at once. Yes, I pulled another bird. She was taller than me, brown hair with blonde streaks, but the most disturbing thing was that she was orange. It was like pulling a bottle of tango. Admittedly, both were not the sort of women who I'd consider having a lasting relationship with (I didn't even get their names, I arrived, worked my Welsh charm, pulled, then rode off into the sunset, I'm such a stud*), and they weren't particularly attractive. But beggars can't be choosers, can they?
I can see e-mails coming through in a few days from people who know me personally (I'm thinking the Colwyn Bay Crew, more than Uni mates, as they've already grilled me about it) who would say something like "You? Pulled twice? You couldn't even pull your hamstring!". Well, funny you should say that...
Jennifer Lopez: God forbid the day she gets piles.
"Hey Rhys, how was your night?"Most of yesterday afternoon was spent retracing my steps. I mean, why is my arse so sore? Did anything untoward happen on Thursday night? I managed to retrace my steps to about 1:40am, and I don't think that any dodgy violation happened. I've also ruled out hemorrhoids, thank god. The only explination I could possibly give was that, as well as pulling two birds, I also pulled my hamstring. This was confirmed, as I put some deep heat on it, and the pain went away for a bit.
"Oh, brilliant. The only problem is now."
"Well. My head's throbbing, my mouth tastes like vomit, and for some strange reason, my arse is really, really sore."
However, I haven't really been 100% fit (until this morning, where I've been okay), and spent most of yesterday numbing my arse by sitting on a past sell by date bag of frozen peas, that seems to remain in our fridge for that very purpose.
The weather today: SCORCHIO!
Keep the faith
* yeah right
And you tell yourself, what you want to hear, cos you have to believe, this'll be my year
30th May 2002. The world was hyped over one event: the start of the first FIFA World Cup in Asia. In Colwyn Bay, another huge event was happening. The last day of the "Class of 02" in Eirias High School. For many of them, it was the last day ever in education. Not however for some, who go onto various universities. One pupil, a fat yet strangely attractive Welshman by the name of Rhys Wynne, had got a bit bored of programming, and wanted a new challenge. After reading an article in Computer Active about keeping an online diary, he decided that he'd take his shot glass worth of creative writing (from the days that he was the technology editor of the School Newspaper), and start a blog..
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Today my blog is one year old. It's hard to believe that the unfunny, boring writer of just one year ago was actually me. Nevertheless, beside two weeks in the middle of July where, really, I couldn't be arsed, I have blogged for a whole year. Not quite daily yet, because some days I'm not really up to it, mainly when I've been in work and all my creative juices have been drained, but at least once every two days.
The thing is, this is actually my second blog. The first one was linked to a few months back, and I cannot be arsed finding it again. Look through the archives, there are some gems of posts in there. Nevertheless, I feel that I've established myself in the blogsphere as not only a not actually half bad for an engineering student writer, but a genuinely interesting person (at least I hope).
This is coming from someone who lives by the motto "I cannot be arsed". Okay, 9 times out of 10 I cannot be arsed continuing an online persuit for more than 2 weeks. However, I dunno what it is about blogging. Maybe I feel I owe it to someone out there, maybe I do it for myself. Nevertheless, baby, I'm a blogging freaking dynamo.
Which is a problem. I had to blog today, dispite the fact that last night ended up with me being a bit tender. Boy, these things drive a hard bargain. Oh well, it's the price you pay for an ounce of fame.
So, what will the next year hold? Well, my guess is 12 months and 365.25 days.
Thanks to everybody who finds this web service waster actually witty, informative, or bloddy good. And I guess I should thank everybody who makes this blog work (besides me. Basically, all the birds I pull, friends, and just sometimes the sheer stupidity of some people).
Right, where's the cake?
Keep the faith
Or not, you see, my life at the moment hasn't been exciting. Okay, we watched Wolverhampton Wanderers (AKA Alroit skip! 'Ows it 'ahngin captin pustic!) re-enter the Premiership, bringing the total of midlands teams in the Prem to er....3. Same as last season.
I don't want the traine to go to Slough, I wannit to go fast!
Last night was the jubilous return to the scenes of Kareoke. As a staunch fan to the greatest team in the world ever, I sang "We are The Champions" to the largely Indifferent Arsenal fans. I also sung "Wherever You Will Go" by The Calling. Again, relatively indifferent crowd.
My moment to shine was in pool last night, where I pulled off a trick shot that would make old John Virgo cry and admit defeat. I'd love to explain it in every single intricate detail. However, they do say "Pictures speak 1000 Words":-
Get In! (for bigger version, click here)
I'd love to say that I carried on to win the agame, and was carried out on people's shoulders....but I can't. I ended up losing the game quite spectacularly. Nevertheless, losers will always be remembered. Isn't that right Jemini?
The fabled Smithdown Ten is in doubt today, due to the fact that we, well, can't be arsed really.
New Strong Bad E-mail, second funnist thing I've seen this week.
Song of the Moment - Jason Mraz: The Remedy (No, that isn't a typo on his second name. Nice song, shame about the surname).
Sorry this post is a bit bitty, but my life is pretty boring at the moment. Haven't been upto much, sort of half thinking about starting a new blog ("The Gospel According To Rhys", or something like that). Tomorrow night I am going out, and Friday is actually my first year since I started blogging. Get in! This weekend will have some pretty good posts (if I'm not hungover, which is a distinct possibility).
Keep the faith
No seriously, I have. Read on.
It's been one of those days that everybody has adopted the teachings from the "Rhys Wynne's Cannot Be Arsed" School of Living. Except me. You see, my untypical soberity of a Sunday morning meant that, dispite being woken at about 2:30am when all those who decided to miss Eurovision History In The Making and go and get pissed returned from The Time Tunnel, I was wide awake at 11am this morning. A time, on a Sunday, I barely knew existed. After an hour half long breakfast, I was left for 5 hours where I had sod all to do.
This, is where the boning of models comes in.
Milkshape. Will improve your boning no end.
After tea (a lovely steak and chips. Why, since everybody has left, has the food been actually not half bad? Okay, not Egon Ronay standards just yet, but certainly edible.), and a massive session on Championship Manager, I decided to go on a stroll. On this stroll, nonetheless at the bottom of my stairs, was a very posh bag advertising a festival of some sorts in London. Curious, I looked in the bag, and on top was a pamph..pamf...brochure about the festival. I found out that the festival was actually a porno festival, and beneth the brochure was a pile of pornography that'd make your average pimps' eyes water. It is that bad. Now, students of a certain Ms. Shagwell would testify, porn is a bugger to get rid off, and seeing as it was there, bottom of my stairs, it was a bad thing. This was made worse when you consider that my mother, in under two weeks, would be ascending that stairway, and may just glimmer into the swanky red and white bag. I know I had to get rid of it.
Well, I said "I had to get rid of it", it seems like, 3 hours later than the bag has appeared, it has gone.
Who's got it? Well, seeing as I cannot resist a good flutter, I'm already taking bets. Unfortunately, I've emerged as the favourite, despite the fact I swore repeatedly on my new computer's life that I have nothing to do with it. That wouldn't satisfy some people. Nevertheless, the great porn mystery is put on hold, and I'm hoping, forever.
Uh huh, those are scallops. There is a difference.
I must admit - last night I wimped out on my friends. After 24, they wanted to watch every single episode of Das Boot, which was being showed on Channel 4. However, I'd never seen an episode before, and all I know about it was that line in Phoenix Nights "I wanted't Matrix Fruit Machine, and all ye send me with was t'Das bloody Boot one! Bung it in the Paradise Suite.". Anyway, at about midnight, listening to local late night chat programs on the wireless, I just couldn't keep awake for a second longer, and fell asleep. Das Boot would of finished at 5am, and I don't think I would of lasted.
I've been tired a lot recently, I'm yawning right now as I write this (although I think is due to my room being incredibly humid more than me actually being tired). Probably because I refuse to drink coffee. I bloody hate the stuff. Now, all I need to do is watch the weight, and cut down on the alcohol, and I'd be a picture of perfect youth.
But really, give up burgers and beer? Yeah right.
Keep the Faith
Le Royame-Uni, nul points
Last night, as I couldn't be arsed going out, I watched The Eurovision Song Contest with a few friends. It's the first time I watched it for a good few years, as Saturday usually meant for me going out and getting pissed. However, as I woke up really early and didn't get much sleep the night before, getting pissed seemed like such a chore, as I was so knackered.
For those of you who don't know: The Eurovision Song Contest is all about various countries coming together and singing a song, then voting for what's the best. Sounds like a good idea in theory? Yes, it makes entertainment. However, one massive problem is most of the European countries are as bent as a boomerang, voting for countries who they are friends with, and not for those that are enemies. As we've gone against Europe a couple of times, guess how we did?
Bloody bent judges...
What made it worse was that I was tempted to put a bet on the Turks (who won it) at 18-1! I mean, I know it's easy to say that now, but I read somewhere that they had a good shot. To me that's like a nap in the Post. So I'm slightly gutted about that.
Anyway, I've decided to emmigrate to somewhere once I finish my exams, as, I think, the old Brits have a raw deal when it come to women. Come on guys, when have you ever seen a minging Swede (bar Urika Johnson, and Freddie Ljungberg, and the blokes from ABBA)? Also, the women from the balkan states aren't without there charm, and the women from the other side from the Iron Curtain have potential. Boys, I reckon we got the short end of the stick, with women who seemingly do sod all except go "Out on't razz!", emmigrate in droves (including the diamonds in the rough, as there are some nice Brit birds, (eg. all Brit Blogging Birds, and generally all the women I hang around with), and leave the common as muck scally birds behind, as well as some of the ugly scally blokes, and create a Utopia in somewhere like Denmark. I'm sure they'd appreciate us there.
Okay, rant over. Bet you can see why I haven't pulled in a while and never had a girlfriend now!
Nothing really else to say. Eurovision - shit, watched half a film last night (think it were called "Queen of the Damned") - shit. However, I did have a good night, as I spent the night speaking to all my mates and stuff like that. So that were pretty cool.
Lifehouse: Rock/Pop on!
But now, the rest of Europe has confirmed this for us.
Keep the Faith
As stated last week sometime (I cannot be arsed to find the permalink for it, so just take my word for it), I have a new computer back home. A very swanky AMD AthlonXP 2 Gig, 256MB RAM, and a few other bits and pieces. One of these bits is Windows XP, which I have been a little apprehensive in using. I mean, I was still on WIndows 95 this time two days ago, and 95 is thought was where I'd stay.
My Current Desktop - For a biggie, Cliciau Yma
One problem regarding Media Player, which maybe Ms. Microsoft could pass on to her peers a little later on: It automatically searches for album covers for songs, which is nice. And I've nearly got a full set. However, one album cover, Babylon Zoo - The Boy With The X-Ray Eyes (don't knock it!) is alluding me. Sort it out!
There is only one major niggle with the PC: It sounds like I'm in a freaking wind tunnel. Admittedly, we did fit more fans and heatsinks than you could shake a stick at, as with the last computer, the processor burnt out 3 times in 3 years, and the motherboard burnt out twice. So, whilst inside is as cold as the average summer on the North Wales coast, it does make as much noise as some of the resident slaggy women, that are indeed a commonplace in the clubs on the North Wales coast*.
Today, I got a text message on my "almost as sexy as me" mobile off a friend of mine saying that, for some reason, Panacea's website is now no longer our Panacea, but some other band called Panacea. To be honest, I'm still to know what happened, but I'm slowly getting to the bottom of the great website hijack. To still see the current page, go to http://members.tripod.com/rhyswynne/. Cheers.
Finally, Big Brother 4 starts tonight. I'll be, like every sane man, woman and child in the nation, and leaving the lonely obsessives of the family (and there are at least two of them) vegetating in front of the telly, and buggering off down the pub.
Keep the faith
The French Language is the best. To curse in French is divine, like
wiping your arse with silk
Now Roland, I know you've seen the movie, so if that isn't in your quoty box within the week, then I'm coming around your house and beating you with a stick, as that is by far the greatest quote in any movie. Ever.
Ooof in the face!
I do believe in my heart it's up there with the first. The first 20 minutes is nothing that you haven't already seen before, and it is a bit week. However, bear with it, as soon as our old pal Neo picks up a pole (that's as in a metal rod, not that he went to a bar and pulled a bird from Eastern Europe), let the "Oooh, y'know, I'm so much harder this time around." commence.
Yep, the pole scene is the old fight scenes taken to the extreme, but the car scene is by far the greatest car chase ever in cinema. Without a shadow of doubt. There are some confusing bits, there are some bits you wish weren't there (do we really need to see Keanu Reeve's arse?), there are bits that are a little slow (first 20 minutes), and there are some bits that even the untrained eye (I was watching it with Alex - An Archeological buddy of mine, hardly ever sits in front of a computer) could see were computer generated. However, it is a good film. Don't expect the world, don't expect The Matrix, and you'll be a fan.
Couple of things about the film:-
Both were originally part of the system (Agent
Smith was in the Mainframe, Sephiroth was a member of Shin-Ra) but both
left in auspicious (and inexplained) circumstances. They both don't care
about either side (the way Agent Smith kills Agents and form his own, Sephiroth kills Aeris and
but want to cement their legacy by simply destroying
everything (Agent Smith will probably battle Neo right at the end of the next film, after the
Matrix has been destroyed*, whilst Sephiroth faces a solitary Cloud at the end, in the Northern
Keep the faith
One of many Matricies
*I don't know this for certain, I'm throwing ideas on the table.
Okay, compare these two nights out, and try to guess which one I preferred best, in a feature we call...err..."Compare Rhys' last two nights out, and try to guess which one I preferred best."
Monday: Went out to Double Vision, got hounded by..ahem.."the bad sort of easy women", felt uncomfortable all night.
Didn't get pissed.
T'is maz'in what you can do with computer 'n access t'internet
Went to local student pub. Drank a fair bit, played pool, went on a few machines, Greenday was on the jukebox, watched the
greatest program in ages - Phoenix Nights and generally just had a great time.
Yeah, last night was just hanging in a pub with a few mates, and just had a really great time. No I didn't pull, or do
anything out of the ordinary, but it was such a good night, I really didn't care.
Last night, due to the amount of alcohol that was in my system, meant I did lie in bed for ages before going to sleep. However, whilst asleep, I was thinking about a game I'm making at the moment (Provisional Title: Atlantris) and a problem I had with it. Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration, and woke up, exclaiming "THE BOY'S A FUCKING GENIUS!". Ten minutes later, I had completed my Blitz Basic problem, and ready to return to the land of nod.
Or, rather not.
Einstein: The boy's a fucking genius!
Mel: "So you live next door then?"Note to Self: When realising programming feats, keep them to yourself.
Mel: "You get woken by that siren?"
Rhys: "Nah I was kinda awake anyway."
Mel: "You alone?"
Rhys: [bit shocked] "Yeah...why do you ask?"
Mel: "Oh, no reason, I heard you shout ''The boy's a fucking genius!'' about 20 minutes ago, and I thought you were with someone. Y'know, a guy. You're not gay, right?"
Finally, after re-registering for next year today, I'm going to see The Matrix Reloaded this evening. I can hardly wait.
UPDATE: Couple of links:- Firstly, curtosy of Fun Junkie: The Pull-o-meter! Yep, you can find out just how likely you are to get laid the next time you go out. I scored 75%, with the following written about me:-
Right - what have got here, It appears as if you need to relax a bit more. Enjoy yourself, indulge a little - just be yourself. You play it straight which is often the best way, but to really catch the eye you might need to push the boat out and add a little pzazz to your style!That is so scarily true it's unbelievable. Anyway, check out the rest of the site, gives loads of info about, y'know, the usual. The best thing was a survey which says 'Virginity is the new black.'. I've only got one thing to say about that - GET IN!
And, quite frankly this is officially the coolest t-shirt in the world. Ever.
Keep the faith
Out of My Depth
First and foremost:-
Ian Thorpe: Will be beaten at the next Olympic games thanks to your's truly...
Nevertheless, I haven't actually lost any of my shot glass worth of natural athletic ability, as I wasn't dire. So I thought I'd try that step machine. Bloody hell, that's knackering. I could only manage about 10 minutes on there.
Oh, and I went swimming as well. Our pool is 40 metres long. One time, I swam 10 metres breaststroke, 10 metres backstroke, 10 metres butterfly and finally 10 metres crawl. As this was the last time I went along the pool, I got out, exposing my tight trunks to the world. "Wow", a couple of lovely ladies said, who watched feats in the swimming pool, "that's a very impressive length.".
In all seriousness, I did actually go swimming today, and swam a few lengths at least, in order to combat my self induced mental angina.
In other News
Last night I also went out, what a fucking barrel of laughs that was. One of my mates decided to start on everybody, almost getting himself laid out a few times as well. That's all I really want to say about that. The good thing to come out of last night was that I've actually got one more week at university than I originally thought. I thought I was leaving a week today, I'm actually going a fortnight today. Which is nice.
Have you seen my wife? The Luv-ly Debbie McGee!
New Strong Bad E-Mail. Go CGNU!
I got my first search for The Fabled Smithdown 10. Lovely!
Oh, and a bloke named A.J. wrote some kind words about this site and linked to yours truly. So I guess it's only fair to return the favour. Eventually.
More random crap if (and when) I think about it.
Keep the Faith
Yesterday was "Ladies Night": Although none compared to any of these, who were at Aintree for the Grand National.
So, now comes the bit that my Mum is itching to read, so she can give me a lecture down the phone later today: did I make any money? Well, I came out down for the day. Well, when I mean down, I mean I began the day with £50 on me, after train, entry, three pints, a KFC, a Kebab and a Kit Kat Chunky, not to mention over £10 worth of bets, I ended up with £40. All in all, I won money in 5 out of the 6 races, nailing me and "Team RAB" (as we were known. As minimum bets were oft £5, this were two much for some of us, so we formed "Team RAB" - Rhys, Alex and [Graham] Bruce. We each put £10 in and split the winnings at the end) each about £12.20. Personally as well, I put £8 worth of bets on, and won back about £17. This meant, that I was up about £11.20.
But wait, it doesn't stop there. Earlier in the bookies, I put on, what I dubbed, "Insurance Bets". Basically, all the bets that I liked, but didn't think my other team members would. There was £7 worth there, but I've won £8 back. So, that means, overall, I'm up £12.20. So, I only paid £10 for an evenings entertainment, and the Atomic Kittens.
Atomic Kitten (again): Pants.
[Incredibly sickly scouse accent]
One of them, presumably 'Tasha':"Ta-ra 'poole, see ya soon...."[The is the most accurate description ever, as there must be only one person cheering]
Another one of them: "Wait Tash-er, I think someone wants anuva one!"
Tasha: "Okay, one more, for the fans."[Again, sole-cheering, but this has been drowned out with 'GET YER TITS OUT!'] The third one of them: "Okay, how about we do this one." [They start singing 'Whole Again', the only Atomic Kitten song anybody actually knows that is not a cover.]
Then buggered off. Probably twenty grand better off.
Actually, I'm only going on the fact that they were Atomic Kitten. They were so far away from our point that they could of been anybody. My theory that they weren't goes something like this:-
My Theory that Atomic Kitten weren't Atomic KittenAnyway, that's just my thoughts on the matter. An opportunity missed to a male strong crowd. Oh yes.
By Rhys Wynne
You see, as if I was to win Rear of the Year (again), then I'd love to show my arse off. All of them were wearing clothes so baggy that they make the clothes I wear seem like a tight fit.
Actually they were Atomic Kitten (who incidentally, whilst annoying, on a purely pletonic point of view, are actually very attractive), this said mate was right at the front, with another one of my mates. I asked the Non-Atomic-Kitten-Fan- Who-Was-At-The-Front mate of mine what he thought of it, and were they actually the Kitten (or, as they were known for not going out in the rain "The Pussies").
"Yeah, it was the Pussies alright. Performance was a zero, but, they made it up in Artistic Impression"
Keep the Faith
* Incidentally, visit Max's site to vote on the player of the season. If you don't want to vote for Ruud Van Nistlerooy (you're mad), vote for Jay Jay Okatcha. For, as they say on Soccer AM: "Jay Jay Okatcha, so good, they named him twice!"
Something to Talk About
Or, in my case, not. You see, nothing interesting has happened within the last 12 hours (mostly because I've been asleep) that merits talking about on this blog. So I'll tell you what I'm doing today in a feature we call...err...."What I'm Doing Today":-
Atomic Kitten: You can mate my hole again, or whatever they sing....
Back to horses. I am actually quite scared that I'll lose a packet. I'm not a hardened gambler, y'see, and putting on more than £1 on a horse is very, very rare for me, and certainly no more than £3. However, I've heard stories that there'll be a minimum bet of £5 at the course. Oh deary deary me. The only thing to think of is for two of us to put on £2.50 bets each, and split the winnings. That's probably the best idea. There is a horse that is 1/7 on to win, so that's probably worth putting on about £7 on. Doubt I will though.
Aside from that, there's pretty much sod all going on this weekend. Probably go to Time Tunnel on Saturday, as that is very cheap. But apart from that, nothing really to special to shout about.
Back home, they've have got a new computer as well. A 2Gig, XP, technological monster. As the only individual with even an ounce of technical knowledge, I usually get first go on all machines, be it to "set everything up", or to "test" my brother's Christmas presents. However, as I'm nigh on 50 miles away in Liverpool, my brother gets that dubious opportunity. As many of you XP-phillies may know, you have to set an administrator who, basically, controls all the others with an iron fist like quality. As (arguebly) both the most democratic and most technically superior individual in the family, I usually get this honour. However, as I wasn't present at the computer inoguration, someone else gets that honour. I am praying that it's not Richard, as, when he's in charge, there'll be less surveillance on Osama Bin Laden than on the rest of us. At least with Mum, I can bullshit my way to admin priviledges.
I'm also having a bad hair day. Admittedly, 90% of the time I just have bad hair. But today it's really bad. Oh well, as D-Ream once sang "things can only get better."
Keep the faith
I freely admit, I'm bloody awful when it comes to money. It's quite amazing, whilst my Dad has a reputation of being a Scrooge (in the nicest possible way), I am quite frivelous. Not stupid into stuffing £10 notes into a cheap nasty birds G-String, but £5 anyway. Normally any money I have goes on my stomach, into my liver, in my head as "did you really need a fondue set Rhys?" consious thoughts, or onto a three legged horse that even I could outpace over 50 meters.
Y'know, as I write this I actually want a beer. NOW!
You see, the one problem with carry about no physical money is that, well, you don't carry about no physical money. Should your card get stuck in the hole in the wall, then you are in deep shit.
Guess what happened to me today?
Yep, in the middle of the city centre, on one of those ATM machines (which didn't charge), it got stuck in. I had no money on me to hop on a bus back to halls, get one of my mates to bail me out, and get a train ticket home. I was screwed right in the centre of Liverpool.
Or so I thought. You see, those ATM machines seemingly take a life of their own. My card spurted out about twenty seconds later, no questions asked. Maybe it's was a precautionary measure, like those Pop-a-ball arcade games, when instead of landing in the gaping holes, you actually land on one of the uprights. Should any other card get stuck in there, then the machine throws it out with, really, as much force as a small child.
I wish there was some dramatic ending involving some sexy female security guard, and we waited 24 hours inside the centre, sharing life stories. Then, at midnight, the machine took a life of it's own, and kidnapped the security guard. Then I rescued it with the help of Rogue from the X- Men flick. She then realised that I resisted her powers, and fell hopelessly in love with me, as did the security guard (just for good measure). The End. It's a mini adventure.
Keep the Faith
Have A Nice Day!
About a week ago I watched "Braveheart". To the best of my knowledge, there was a bit where William Wallace (Mel Gibson with a suprisingly good Scotsman accent) is talking to Robert The Bruce - who, in the film, is portrayed as a coward, which to a mate of mine (who's second name is actually 'Bruce', no wonder he stood up for him) said is complete bullshit - about Robert's plan to sell out to the English, rather than fight them. Wallace replies with the following:-
Mel Gibson in Braveheart: Famous for his massive sword.
"Sure, you may have freedom. But what's freedom with
nobody else to enjoy it"
Now movie buffs will come back saying "you lie Rhys, he never said
that", but it's something like that. Anyway, the point is, freedom, for
the time, isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Sure, I'm happy having sod all to do, but as our course was the first to finish (besides the Law department), then nobody wants to do anything. I literally see the majority of people in a half hour stint at breakfast, hour stint for lunch, hour stint for 6 O Clock BBC2 viewing*, then maybe 2 hour stint for a football game in the evening. Out of the average 16 hours awake, I spend about 11 and a half hours on my todd, trying to keep myself amused. Friday will be the day, when Business Studies + Subsidaries - what most of my mates do - will be over.
So, how do I fill the time? Actually, the one thing I don't do, which suprises even me, is that I don't spend time in front of the computer. Sure, I have it on, but only because of the music. I probably spend at most 2 hours actually doing something on a computer and most the time, it's not the one I'm currently writing this.
Yep, although some of you may have already worked out, I'm a bit of a fraud when it comes to blogging. Usually I just type things the night before, sleep on it, and return to it in the morning when I've sobered up, and correct all the errors + the things I can be sued for. That last sentance took 10 hours, just to prove a point. I very rarely post things of the top of me noggin. So sue me.
Mick Foley as "Mankind". You try explaining to those who've never seen wrestling what that sock's all about.
Oh, and I also bought some shampoo as well, as I'm getting a bit of dandruff as well. Which is quite scary. So, I'll nip it in the bud before I turn into a human snow scene
Keep the Faith
*This refers to the telly between the hours 6 and 7. Usually filled with The Simpsons, Buffy, Fresh Prince of Bell Air, Farscape, Top Of The Pops 2 or Robot Wars. And makes good viewing. Especially Buffy last week, as there was a lesbian kiss between that ginner one from American Pie and some random blond bird. It truly was a thing of beauty.
I'm free, to do whatever I, whatever I like if it's wrong or right it's all right
From today onwards, as many of you already know, I've got no work until September. Well, none that I give a damn about. Yesterday was the Dull Data Structures & Intolerable Information Systems exam, and I should of been alright.
You see, I had already got 15% in the coursework, and I recieved an email about a week back saying that there is an online test, and it's "advised" you take it. I took it this morning. Boy, am I glad I did! All the questions on that test came up, complete and unbridged. This totalled about 25% of the exam, so 40% overall. A pass. Couple that with the law of averages that I should of got at least 12% more percent in the rest (it were multiple choice, thank god), bringing the total to about 52%. Of course, if they take a mark you down for getting a wrong answer, then I'm fucked. However, they can't do that. Can they?
AC Milan are through to the final of the Champions League **cough** undeservedly **cough**
One thing I did learn that, waiting for me at home, is a brand spanking new PC. Athlon XP 2 GHtz, 256k RAM, Geforce 2 Graphics Card, 40 GB HD (which is something else, as I'm never used to more than 4 GB. 40 GB is like all the porn on the internet, ever), Windows XP and a few other bits and pieces to further advance the multimedia revolution. I may have to take a few weeks just to get aquainted to my new piece of kit.
I am not alone. There is at least one other blogger in this university. How do I know? Well, I saw them blogging in the computer room in my halls. I'm not sure if it's a he or a she (as the person had long hair, mullet-esque), but she was blogging on what us have been trained to call the enemy. Anyway, I don't know quite what to make of it, I mean I'm 95% sure that whoever this bloke/bird is, it's a hell of a lot better than this one (even if some people disagree) . Anyway, more info on this person (who will, for the time being, be named "Blogging Betty", just for the hell of it.
Coldplay, would play at Blogstock. I hope
Question: Who would you most like to meet in the flesh (and when I mean flesh, I mean in person, not in the buff)? I know who I'd least like to meet: Katie. Not because she'd be like mean or bitchy or moody (as she isn't). Just that I can see us having a massive arguement about who's wittier:-
Welsh Bloke Formally Known As Rhys: You're wittier!I can see it now on Jerry Springer: "Stop calling my literary work brilliant! Oh, and I slept with your ex's dog as well!"
American Bird Formally Known As Katie: No. YOU'RE wittier!
Now if that isn't a ratings winner, then by god, I don't know what is.
Keep the Faith
The white flag is out. This, is the final lap
In approximately 7 hours from now, I will have finished my first year of University. It's bloody scary. Standing between here and two weeks of sex, drugs, beer and gambling nirvana is Data Structures, quite possibly the most boring thing ever in the history of the world. I probably have revised enough to pass, but not enough to get stunning marks. I need about 25%, after two great pieces of coursework, to pass and never have to look over Multiplicity constraints again.
Mark Williams. Now, you think his bird goes for his looks? Or his £250,000 prize money per tourney?
I 7 Balled someone.
For those of you who think this is some kind of orgy with 4 blokes, with one being monotesticular, let me explain. 7 Balling someone is the term given for when you pot all 7 of your balls + the black with the opponant not potting one of theirs. Usually you'll have to do it in one break, as it gets harder once there are less of your balls on the table. I did it last night in one said sitting, resulting in the comment "They'll be dancing on the streets of Merthyr Tydfill tonight!". The Kid from Colwyn Bay did good, emulating Mark Williams a few weeks ago.
Unfortunately, we ended up losing 7-4.
Lords of Midnight: Those were the days. None of your fancy crap those days.
Keep the faith
Because I'm Worth It
As Tammy Wynette sang in Stand By Your Man - "Sometimes, it's hard to be a woman". That's debatable really. Whilst I'm not like belittling childbirth (as I haven't had any experience of the the sort, nor I ever will) or PMT (the amount you go on about it, it's as good as us getting it), there are some pitfalls for us blokes. One of which is self pride.
Ooh, that'sch a nische bit. Nische and schalty.
This is where the problem lies, usually I ask my mother to get me some, and she does. As I haven't got a girlfriend for me to nick her moisturiser, I had to pluck up the courage, go to a reputable pharmacutical outlet, and buy some men's moisturiser.
Or so I thought.
You see, major men's toiletaries have the market cornered on moisturiser. Sure, there's plenty about, but realising that blokes won't go for the cheaper womens option, they hike up the price by about £20 per thimblefull. It plays on you machoism, and how manly you are. Buy a shot glass worth of manly moisturiser for 4-grand, or a pint glass of chick mosituriser, that does exactly the same thing for £3. Make your mind up.
As a student, already ravaged by debt, my mind was already made up for me.
|Ooh, secret message type situation|
|Blokes: buy a bottle coloured this colour and your blokiness will suffer!|
It came to about £3, which is fairly reasonable. The bottle has been covered with black blokey masking tape* (all except the lid), and "BLOKEY STUFF" written on the front in tippex. It works like a charm. I may look like a poof in boots, but by god, it's a hell of a lot cheaper than most things.
It's funny. Last night, Dave the Cat (A hallmate of mine who complains to me morning, noon and night that he never gets a mention on this blog. Well, there you go!) commented that "In university you're supposed to find your feminine side".
Well, today, I probably came close. Will I swap my football for facepacks? I sincerely hope not.
Keep the faith
*I actually don't know why I've got masking tape in my room....oh well
Which Enemy of the Christian Church Are You?
Take More of Robert & Tim's Quizzes
Watch Robert & Tim's Cartoons
Incidentally, this time tomorrow, I will have finished my last exam. I cannot wait...
Keep the faith
And now, the end is here, and we face, the final curtain.
It's a sad day for us all. It's the day that millions of men the length and breadth of the country turn to each other and say "Well. What the hell do we do now?". Yep, today was the last day of the football season.
Lots of things were decided today. Who was relegated from the Premiership? That honour went to West Ham, after results didn't go their way. Could Manchester United win convincingly? Oh yes. But the question on everybody's lips was "Who will enter the Champions League?".
Y'know what, I actually feel sorry for Liverpool. Not for Gerrard mind....
Cheyrou eh? What a fucking player he is. He has only one fan on these shores, and that's a mate of mine ("I luv 'im. I luv Shay-roo."), and it's obvious to see why. I can play better. Well, maybe not, but you get my drift.
Anyway, I watched the game in a pub in suburbrial Liverpool. My god, you could cut the tension with...er...some sort of tension cutting knife thingy. It was that tense. There were a handful of Chelsea fans, and they sat with "Evertonian's and associates" end of the pub. We decided to sit there (we fancied their chances if it all kicked off), and watch the game in relative silence, watching the Liverpudlians going through more emotions than drama school.
In other news
I'm back in University after a weekend at home. The only noticable event of the weekend was that, rather unspectacularly, my computer died about Sunday teatime. This has meant I've lived 24 hours without access to a computer, and I'm actually quite suprised how much I rely on these things. It's quite wierd, not being able to check my e- mails, or read blogs, or check the naps, or speak to mates or such. Oh well, as I always say "I can live without a TV, but not without the internet.". Yeah, I'm a geek, big whoop.
Anyway, I think the power supply has gone on it, the reason being that it was on one minute, then off the next. Okay, it may seem obvious, but if it was something like the processor or the motherboard, the PC would still switch on. Now, it doesn't. (I've had processor failure, they're quite scary actually).
Off my PC at home, I've taken my microphone to university. Now, once when my exams are finished, I will, as you all wanted, do a audiopost pissed. I'm doing the "Smithdown Ten" (ten pubs along a road called Smithdown Road, a few drinks in each) in a few weeks. If I am not plastered after that, then I'm joining The X Men as 'Soberor', the man who cannot get drunk. Quite what purpose I'd serve I have no idea, but I'm sure someone will think of something.
Keep the faith