leecetheartist: A lime green dragon head, with twin horns, and red trim. Very gentle looking, with a couple spirals of smoke from nose. (Default)
[personal profile] leecetheartist
Are you hungry like the wolf? Or do you have to install microwave ovens or walk like an Egyptian despite your baggy trousers?

It's come to my attention that 80's Inc are playing at the Carine on Saturday 21st - that's this Saturday.  Earl of the golden voice and Louise of the magic flute and sax gave Swancon attendees an energetic show this year, now come and see the whole of this impressive 6 piece band strut their Best of British 80's stuff.

My mum was so impressed she's coming with us!

We've seen them play several times and they're terrific.

The 'best of the 80s
– UK' show will feature songs made famous by the likes of Simple Minds,
Queen, Dire Straits, Duran Duran, Rick Astley, the Eurythmics, Depeche
Mode, Bananarama, Madness, The Clash, Wham , Tears For Fears and David
Bowie. Many other well known artists will be covered.

You can buy a ticky ticket here https://tickets.oztix.com.au/Default.aspx?eventId=77080

Band's website here  - https://earlcolemusic.com/80s_inc/

https://plus.google.com/u/0/communities/107887485468519838860/stream/d69cdeb4-cb1a-4572-b58c-9a9e22fe664c and scroll down for my reviews of 80's Inc shows from the past performances.




(no subject)

Oct. 13th, 2017 10:07 pm
captlychee: (Default)
[personal profile] captlychee
I got this off of [personal profile] satyapriya, and thought I might answer some stuff, because I'm just bored enough to do it.

So, how am I travelling through life?
Health: HBA1C at 8.1, now on Janumet to try to bring it back under 8. Cholesterol still good (for my age), eyes still crap .
Finances: stable - ove the high cost of US living, anyway
Mental health: now back to where boreom is my worst enemy
Writing: More editing tha new stuff, waiting for NaNo/WriMo
Family: One parent insane, one in Hawaii, my darling Kelvatari is okay, plants healthy
Friendships: None new, but old ones still strong. Havne't pissed anyone off in ages, which is good
Reading: 10 books ahead of schedule on Goodreads, but I hardly rememver what I rea nowadays.
Addictions: less so than this time last year—well off the sauce.
Witchie stuff: about what you'd expect. I still can't spell 'magic' with a 'k'.
Yoga: no change
House: slacked off a bit today due to crookness, but will vacuum and mop tomorrow.
Garden: pricey to maintain, and I'm actually improving it, but it keeps the agent off my back

The OCR Mystery

Oct. 12th, 2017 09:07 am
captlychee: (Default)
[personal profile] captlychee

Back in the day, BYE magazine had an d. It was a picture of a pair of verylovley green eyes, with the caption 'the only character recognition system that beats ours'.

Apropos of that, I have been going through the old files and correcting the OCR errors in a scanned story I wrote in 1977. This has proven fun in the 'decrypting' stage where I try to make sense of what is on the screen, and cringeworthy when I actual read what I wrote. /But I fondly remember the time sitting in a hot bedroom typing out stuff, and occasionally taking a break to dictate to Michael Kennett, who typed much more slowly than I did, as we worked on stuff that he would think up and I would write.

So, I pulled out another of these OCR'ed files and tried the same thing. I discovered immediately that it was going to be a lot harder with the second story. What can you make from this?

bout çhrt t ‘in’ briept ye” h’ ‘ ‘n ie ve°nn’t-e - inn” njn betntn rn ri “he ‘vlver’e ‘ovkln ar U ‘n o -‘r be” ‘n’i -rnn’ntnd m” s’dvsnai ‘ien4’ to g jntn rraptl’qe, ir ‘t datjp of the prier a? en,’oorine npoductinn laid ‘inun my most— 1” ‘ner.cs’ful lifent”rle. “hc’re ‘c so ‘iuch cdre’wlin t1ot ‘hrfl%,nh r’ bln’dntaep, t felt “e if’ I aoulR eve Ii n”t” feet in the ci-’.

Copyright © D J Rout 1977, 2017

Doubtless, [personal profile] mount_oregano has experienced worse writing in her medieval manuscripts, but that is IRIS software's attempt at deciphering my typing.

The only differences between the typescripts of the stories is that the first one is written with my old Imperial on cream-coloured paper that was, forty yeas ago when I wrote it, white and that the sample above was written on blue paper using an Olivetti Lettera 32. I can't even attempt to decipher what's up there, and that's a relatively good bit, with real letters and not just symbols and commas. I stll have the originals somewhere so I could rescan them with better OCR now than in 2004, but that will take some time. I have the original TIFFs to read, but that's proven difficult enough for the first story. I don't know how best to view TIFFs in Windows 10, but if I found a way I could put the TIFF alongside the Word document and transcribe that way. It would be like re-writing the thing and, because of its cringeworthiness, not much fun at all.

We shall (blurrily) see.

captlychee: (Disdain)
[personal profile] captlychee

So yesterday afernoon I got a little bit out of our much-vaunted but apparently immigration-sustained medical system and got the form to have a blood test. Apparently the pathology place won't give me the results of this blood test, and the doctor will contact me if there's a problem, so I have to go in some other time and plug up the appointment list just to get a copy of the results. This piece of info-hostaging, or whagever, is still around and really needs to be stamped out by changing the regs. I appreciate medical oncifentility confidentiality, but it should not be between doctor and patient, or between third party service provider and patient. Who's forking out the moolah for this crap, anyway?

Okay, the point is that I had to go in this morning to get the ol' sanguine humour siphoned from the system so they could do HBA1C, cholesterol, prostate, thyroid and some other crap which with any luck I'll be telling you avbout some time next week. I did my fastng, not having anything to eat or drink after midnight (in reality, after 4:30PM just for the hell of it) and trotted up the doctor's by 9:00AM. I waited around for a bit and then the nice lady with a somewhat Eastern European accent took my details and then some blood in a manner so astute and professional I didn't realise when she changed vials.

From there I went across Sturt St and had a traditional McDonald's breakfast—three hash browns, two sausage McMuffins® and a large white full cream coffee (God, I hate how you have to specify all this crap with coffee, but the alternative at McDonalds would be tea and I just don't want to think about what they could do to a cup of tea). Then home.

As I was walking up the garden path to the front door, the phone dinged with an SMS. It turned out to be a missed call from Rob Hambrook, famed in song and story as…Rob Hambrook, who was in Ballarat and needed my address to complete his visit. In a matter of minutes he had driven around to my side of Lake Wendouree (ie, south) and came to the door. We exchanged a few anecdotes and had a couple of coffees, then I suggsted that since he had a car I could go up to Fantastic Furniture in Wendouree to get some (cheap) furniture, and then we could go down to Eastwood Plaza so he could pick up a new computer case.

"Would you like to put matching shoes on before we go?" he asked.
"What?" I said, looking down. "What the fuck?"

For, yes, Constant Reader, I had done all the walking around earlier on wearing a grey runer on the right foot and a black runer on the left foot.

This hasn't happened to me since 2001, when I was stressd out from work, Mum was running around like an idiot constatly interrupting with crap while I was trying to explain something to Kerryn and Mick and we went off to Pizza Hut or somewhere. Fortunately, then, I realised that I had mismatched shoes on before we went out and saw members of the general public. This time I was seen by the receptionist at the doctor's, the blood test lady, people at McDonalds…fucking everyone in Ballarat.

Now, there's that quote from Shawshank Redemption that says "How often do you really look at a man's shoes?" but fucking hell, somebody probably noticed. I'm already gearing up to a reputation of being some doddering recovering alcoholic or something whose eyesight has been rined by, I don't know, glue sniffing or someting, and now this! This!!

Thank God for Rob noticing, but why the fuck didn't He (ie, God) notify me in the first place that I had done this fuckwit thing? I seriously feel like not bothering to iron a shirt tomorrow. I mean, what is the point of being neat when the simplest attire duty completely eludes me? What the hell, mismatch everyithing! God knows what I'll look like on any surveillance footage I may one day appear on.

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