I thought you might appreciate this handy new tool I developed just this morning. We've all heard of Intelligence Quotients (IQ) and Emotional Quotients (EQ). Well, now there is the Beauty Quotient (BQ).
***
The Beauty Quotient provides a means for men, (and women with appropriate substitutions), of assessing the average beauty of a city's inhabitants, vital when trying to determine whether it's worth visiting in order to go on the pull. It is an absolute scale, allowing different cities to be compared quickly and easily.
Scoring:
This is based on the system of keeping count in Black Jack and has no sensitivity beyond the basics. Only count people of a do-able age. Score as follows:
Pretty girls +1
If you have to think about it
(or you would need 3 or 4 pints
before she were pretty) 0
Ugly girls
(or if you would need more than 4 pints) -1
Bonus Points:
As an option, use Bonus Points: +2 for someone so hot you'd do her right there, in the shopping centre, maybe in the photo booth; -2 for someone so repellant she could legally be shot for sport and the good of humanity.
Tally:
Keep a running tally of the score. If the BQ is positive, enjoy the city. If negative, leave.
***
Currently, I'm on -3 for Peterborough, but have only been at it since this morning and have spent most of the day in the office. Cambridge would be positive (probably around +3, from memory).
(Buenos Aires scores +8. No jokes. I was walking down the street there one day and there was a five storey poster of Mila Jovovich advertising makeup and I thought to myself, "she looks kind of plain." NJL 6/10/6)
Saturday, June 21, 2003
Thursday, June 19, 2003
UK 3. Ely. A History Lesson
Well I never thought I'd say this about a tour of a dead person's house, but Oliver Cromwell's house in Ely is great.
Not only does it have animatronics (and you know how I love those. No furry animals, though), but it has informative commentary and good displays that you can touch, smell and even try on. (There was a load of period hats and other clothes in one room.) There was even a recipe card for ye boringe olde Englishe foode so you, too, can live a malnourished life like the Lord Protector of England. (He died a natural death, but was exhumed, hanged and beheaded, just to make triply sure that he was no longer a going concern.)
The only thing I'd have liked more of was history of the Revolution and republic, not knowing much about it, but they assume visitors will already know it all. The video presentation, for example, just talked about Oli the bloke. They made this as authentic as possible, though, narrating it in the character of a servant with a fierce and incomprehensible regional accent. This really helped the viewer understand how Mr C must have felt when he asked his servant something and was none the wiser afterwards. Of course, it may be that Cromwell had a similar accent and so understood everything his servant said. It's unlikely anyone understood *him* in this case. This would mean the entire civil war thing was probably just due to a communication breakdown.
This tour was capped off by one of Ely Cathedral, a real beauty and dating to the 11th Century. Unfortunately, Henry VIII, when he wanted to "dump his slapper", as they said in those days, caused the split with the RC church. He then ordered the dissolution of the monasteries and the removal of all the colourful paints that once covered the interiors of cathedrals to be scraped off. I hadn't realised before that these places weren't just big, barren stone places, but were actually kitted out to be friendly and welcoming. Some traces of colour are still left, but after several hundred years it's a tiny bit faded.
The Victorians came through and revitalised the place some time later (it had apparently gone to the dogs) but there is a lot of original Norman left in the structure. The Normans, though, weren't the best in this department. The place has hollow walls filled with rubble, which is causing them to bulge. Also, various bits fell down several times. Mainly roof structures, but also the northwest transept in 14something. They never rebuilt this bit (current replacement cost £54m), and this is a little surprising considering the medieval love for rebuilding. Take the bridge at Avignon (Pont St Bénézet) for example:
This guy (a shepherd called Bénézet) says the Virgin Mary tells him in a vision to whack up a bridge across the river at such-and-such a spot. He does this, but it collapses. No worries, I'll bung up another and she'll be apples (he says to himself, in the idiom of the time). Not long after, that also crashes into the Rhône. (He became a saint for this. Whether it's because he had a vision or if he's the patron saint of unstable bridges, I don't know. If it's the latter, the designer of the bridge at Tacoma Narrows must be vying for his patron saint job! But if you just need to have visions, then my mate Mark in Brisbane must be the holiest guy in town.) This goes on for around 500 years until someone finally has the brainwave: Maybe this spot isn't too flash. Let's leave the half-a-bridge up and charge people a fiver to get to the middle of the river only.
Hope you enjoyed the history lesson. (A tad longer than I'd planned, but that's what happens when you procrastinate.) Let me know if you didn't and you'll never hear from me again. Ha ha!
Not only does it have animatronics (and you know how I love those. No furry animals, though), but it has informative commentary and good displays that you can touch, smell and even try on. (There was a load of period hats and other clothes in one room.) There was even a recipe card for ye boringe olde Englishe foode so you, too, can live a malnourished life like the Lord Protector of England. (He died a natural death, but was exhumed, hanged and beheaded, just to make triply sure that he was no longer a going concern.)The only thing I'd have liked more of was history of the Revolution and republic, not knowing much about it, but they assume visitors will already know it all. The video presentation, for example, just talked about Oli the bloke. They made this as authentic as possible, though, narrating it in the character of a servant with a fierce and incomprehensible regional accent. This really helped the viewer understand how Mr C must have felt when he asked his servant something and was none the wiser afterwards. Of course, it may be that Cromwell had a similar accent and so understood everything his servant said. It's unlikely anyone understood *him* in this case. This would mean the entire civil war thing was probably just due to a communication breakdown.
This tour was capped off by one of Ely Cathedral, a real beauty and dating to the 11th Century. Unfortunately, Henry VIII, when he wanted to "dump his slapper", as they said in those days, caused the split with the RC church. He then ordered the dissolution of the monasteries and the removal of all the colourful paints that once covered the interiors of cathedrals to be scraped off. I hadn't realised before that these places weren't just big, barren stone places, but were actually kitted out to be friendly and welcoming. Some traces of colour are still left, but after several hundred years it's a tiny bit faded.The Victorians came through and revitalised the place some time later (it had apparently gone to the dogs) but there is a lot of original Norman left in the structure. The Normans, though, weren't the best in this department. The place has hollow walls filled with rubble, which is causing them to bulge. Also, various bits fell down several times. Mainly roof structures, but also the northwest transept in 14something. They never rebuilt this bit (current replacement cost £54m), and this is a little surprising considering the medieval love for rebuilding. Take the bridge at Avignon (Pont St Bénézet) for example:
This guy (a shepherd called Bénézet) says the Virgin Mary tells him in a vision to whack up a bridge across the river at such-and-such a spot. He does this, but it collapses. No worries, I'll bung up another and she'll be apples (he says to himself, in the idiom of the time). Not long after, that also crashes into the Rhône. (He became a saint for this. Whether it's because he had a vision or if he's the patron saint of unstable bridges, I don't know. If it's the latter, the designer of the bridge at Tacoma Narrows must be vying for his patron saint job! But if you just need to have visions, then my mate Mark in Brisbane must be the holiest guy in town.) This goes on for around 500 years until someone finally has the brainwave: Maybe this spot isn't too flash. Let's leave the half-a-bridge up and charge people a fiver to get to the middle of the river only.
Hope you enjoyed the history lesson. (A tad longer than I'd planned, but that's what happens when you procrastinate.) Let me know if you didn't and you'll never hear from me again. Ha ha!
Monday, June 09, 2003
UK 2. Peterborough and Cambridge
DATELINE: Peterborough and Cambridge 8/6/3With a population of 65m people you'd think the English could avoid inbreeding. (I mean, the rules are fairly simple - if her parents were yours too, don't shag her.) But no. If looks are anything to go by, brotherly love, or "frucking", is alive and well in this part of England.
(Disclaimer: Not ALL of England. And I'm not saying all English people fell out of the Ugly Tree. Far from it. All my English friends are great looking people. Just that this city seems to have a few people who didn't just fall out of the aforementioned tree, but hit every branch on the way down. It's not like Marseilles where a bloke might get whiplash walking down the street. Anyway, it's a friggin joke so stop taking everything so damned seriously!)
What I've also learnt in the last few days is that Viz, like Dilbert, is a documentary. See the attached photo VIZ fat slag.jpg. Nuff said (if you've ever read Viz).
Actually, I exaggerate (No! Surely not, Nick. Next you'll be saying you use gross generalisations): England does have some very beautiful people. A lot of them are clearly of foreign extraction (eg the Indian stunner on the train) and as for the good-looking Whities, I suppose they choose to congregate where the opportunities are. Such as anywhere other than Peterborough. Cambridge for example.
Cambridge is crawling with talent, and not just the Isaac Newton kind. His statue is actually in the chapel at Trinity College, alongside Tennyson, Bacon and others. (How was that for a smooth segue?)Naturally I did what anyone with my interest in science would do: I admired the statue of Newton, then went for lunch and a beer at the Great Eagle - Watson & Cricks' favourite pub. This was almost as great as the old Melbourne Uni routine: skip lectures and have lunch and a beer at the Prince Alfred - Dave's favourite pub.
(Of course no historical outing is complete without a loud American and the Great Eagle had one of those. What is it with them? Can they not control the volume or is it a function of their accent? Or are they somehow convinced that not only can the person they're talking to not hear them, but that someone out the back can't either?)
There was also time for a bit of a stroll along the Cam, looking at people in silly hats playing dodgem-punts while trying desperately to look relaxed and not at all scared of falling in, and past the lawns at The Backs (ie, the back of the colleges. Good name. I guess Tennyson came up with that one) where students were busy practicing their accents, ("Bee Emm Dubble You... Imm Dubble Ewe..."). The punting business must be pretty lucrative, though. You buy a punt and a pole and rent them out at £8/h and the best bit is, you don't even need to do the pushing! You get the clientele to do its own. Which often they can't, resulting in dodgem-punts and pained expressions.
Later, I went to Evensong at King's College Chapel. Crossley tipped me off about this with his DVD of the place. The organ was great and the choir sounded wonderful. The music really resonates in the chapel. Maybe they could cut down a little on the audience participation and readings, though. The spoken word does not fare as well acoustically as the music, as evidenced by the totally incomprehensible lesson, which went something along the lines of:
'...and the lord baketh huntoo sheen blatherwren dawg leeglebroth finsley common: "breaketh thee two eggs in bowlingstowmarket elmswell thurston bury st edmonds mixing until smooth warblemeister throat gobbler add raisins, hellfire & bramstroke dullingham harwich needham market into a hot oven for thirty minutes. Amen.'
In all, Cambridge is a top place. Lots of history, nice buildings. It would be a great place to go to uni. And the weather on the day was superb, which really made it. My rating: 4/5
Here's a riddle to end on. There are two 3D maps of the old part of town on the main drag so you can identify various old buildings. The names of the buildings are embossed on the side on these bronze maps, in English and Braille. I mean, what's the point? Think about it.
Thursday, June 05, 2003
UK 1. Moving to the UK - the flight
DATELINE: Airport Lounge, Bangkok. 4/6/3
9 1/2 hours down and I've become familiar with films I never expected to, largely because I let them slide by at the cinema and wouldn't normally hire them on video. Those of you that saw my Matrix Reloaded review might be keen to see what kind of treatment I give to "How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days"; "The Tuxedo" and "I Spy". Well, bad luck. (Oh, alright. Briefly: HTLAGITD: light, few laughs, delivered on expectations - adequate; TT: light, few laughs, fights weren't up to Jacky Chan's normal standard; IS: Dumb, few laughs, several unexplained jumps in the plot, no wonder it bombed. Saving grace was Famke Janssen, and Phil knows why.)
Bet no-one expected anything yet. But I have another couple of hours to go and there's not a lot to do.
DATELINE: Somewhere over Euorope, 5/6/3
There's a special kind of sleep that you can only get on a plane. It's the kind when you dream that you're in traction. (or the Spanish Inquisition if you're in Economy).
So I board the leg to London & manoeuvre my way into the empty front row of the top deck. Now, these Thai planes (or this one, at least) don't have in-seat personal entertainment systems (that's bad) but the armrest b/w the seats is removable (that's good). So by around 5am Melbourne time I'm laid out like a pretzel, punching out the Zs. That's 8pm London time, so that should give me about 8hrs of kip.
Cut to 01:30 (London time) and my neck's stiff and my back's sore and if I stay awake now I'll be operating on shift worker hours & won't last the day. Back to sleep.
By 03:30 I've stopped dreaming of traction & am now dreaming of something much worse - work! (and my back feels broken. Something to do with fitting 193cm of Nick into 110cm of seat.)
At 04:30 the sun is up, I've just woken from that dream where I'm back at uni with just days to go but haven't even started on my major project, breakfast is on the way and I figure I'm now on skier's hours and can go the distance.
It's now 05:30, I'm fed and watered, have had about 8 hours sleep and have missed most of Shanghai Noon. Lamb is on the MD player & Jackie Chan & Owen Wilson are having a naked pillow fight. I need a shower and a change of clothes but am reduced to wiping my face w/ a moistened towellette. Is this what it's like to be English?
(Actually, YES! I'm staying in a place with a bath, substandard plumbing and a handheld showerhead. GAAA!)
9 1/2 hours down and I've become familiar with films I never expected to, largely because I let them slide by at the cinema and wouldn't normally hire them on video. Those of you that saw my Matrix Reloaded review might be keen to see what kind of treatment I give to "How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days"; "The Tuxedo" and "I Spy". Well, bad luck. (Oh, alright. Briefly: HTLAGITD: light, few laughs, delivered on expectations - adequate; TT: light, few laughs, fights weren't up to Jacky Chan's normal standard; IS: Dumb, few laughs, several unexplained jumps in the plot, no wonder it bombed. Saving grace was Famke Janssen, and Phil knows why.)
Bet no-one expected anything yet. But I have another couple of hours to go and there's not a lot to do.
DATELINE: Somewhere over Euorope, 5/6/3
There's a special kind of sleep that you can only get on a plane. It's the kind when you dream that you're in traction. (or the Spanish Inquisition if you're in Economy).
So I board the leg to London & manoeuvre my way into the empty front row of the top deck. Now, these Thai planes (or this one, at least) don't have in-seat personal entertainment systems (that's bad) but the armrest b/w the seats is removable (that's good). So by around 5am Melbourne time I'm laid out like a pretzel, punching out the Zs. That's 8pm London time, so that should give me about 8hrs of kip.
Cut to 01:30 (London time) and my neck's stiff and my back's sore and if I stay awake now I'll be operating on shift worker hours & won't last the day. Back to sleep.
By 03:30 I've stopped dreaming of traction & am now dreaming of something much worse - work! (and my back feels broken. Something to do with fitting 193cm of Nick into 110cm of seat.)
At 04:30 the sun is up, I've just woken from that dream where I'm back at uni with just days to go but haven't even started on my major project, breakfast is on the way and I figure I'm now on skier's hours and can go the distance.
It's now 05:30, I'm fed and watered, have had about 8 hours sleep and have missed most of Shanghai Noon. Lamb is on the MD player & Jackie Chan & Owen Wilson are having a naked pillow fight. I need a shower and a change of clothes but am reduced to wiping my face w/ a moistened towellette. Is this what it's like to be English?
(Actually, YES! I'm staying in a place with a bath, substandard plumbing and a handheld showerhead. GAAA!)
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