Fist Full’a Blog
That will never get old, right up until the minute it gets old.
One thing I’ve learned is that British shops are very domesticly minded when it comes to sausage. They have various brands of breakfast sausages and
-1lb ground pork
-good splash of water (they also suggest wine)
-1-2 cloves garlic, pressed or minced
-1 tbsp parsley
-1 tbsp cumin (They ask for fennel seed, which I couldn’t find. Apparently it’s in the same family as cumin.)
-1/2 tsp salt
-1/2 tsp ground pepper
-dash of crushed red pepper
It fried up dry, as raw meat is supposed to have a 3:1 meat-to-fat ratio for sausage, but for a first try I say not bad. The flatmates liked it
We got introduced to http://www.bloc-online.com/ today, the website we pro writing students are going to run this year. I’d be comfortably excited about this since it means I’ll have to pick up web design basics now and it’s something I can link to, but there’s a catch. The site was nominated for a Guardian Media Award, which means the nation will be looking at it. This means we can’t fuck up too badly. PRESSURE!
I beat Halo on
There’s a blogging phenomenon I’ve known about for a while, but that doesn’t help me when I experience first hand. Blogs like this are supposed to be personal stories. They’re what you think at the time you write them. It’s online, though, so people ARE going to read it. A line forms: on one side is the safety of banal reports on what you did today, nothing that could possibly offend anyone reading it. On the other side of the line are the sordid, gritty bits that involve the people you see, talk, and work with on a daily basis. Will they be offended if you talk about them in your blog, or will they be offended if you don’t? Can you write something in your blog your real life friends don’t know about? What about work? We’ve all heard stories about people that’ve written about their jobs and were subsequently fired, where’s the line there? I’m finding my own answers to these kinds of questions as I move along, and it feels a lot like walking a tightrope. Only thing I can guess is that one has to have a really firm idea what they want their blog to do and stick to it.
To test this, I’m going to try something.
Tomorrow I have to read an essay I wrote on why higher education should only be for the rich. I’ll be taking a very long hot shower tomorrow evening.
posted by Ryan Walsh @ 7:28 PM
5 comments
5 Comments:
I don't mind. Write what you want.
And it was largely your fault....
Please tell all! (as the boy says - he doesn't mind)...
P.s. Were you fashioning sausage-shaped sausages... or just frying up sausage ingredients?
I think you have to feel free to express yourself on your blog. I try to protect the guilty on my blog by using nicknames for people instead of their real names. Most people who know me can easily figure out who i'm talking about, and if you ask who a person is, i happily divulge. But the person's real name isn't slandered on the internet.
I also try to include a good bit of self-deprecating humor so that my friends don't think i'm picking on just them. i know some people who keep separate blogs, one for people to read, and one that is out there somewhere in cyber space, but no one knows how to find it. you'll also notice that blogger allows you to save a post as a draft, therefore you retain the information you write about, but it's never posted publicly.
Anyhoo... TELL THE DAMN STORY MAN!!!!!
If the ladies insist...
Saturday night, a night of intrigue. Me and Duncan are coming home from a night of hanging with our coursemates at Toast, a little bar that's a bit pricey and pompous for my tastes, but their alcohol works. On the way up the hill, we note that we're both very tired and that Duncan is very hungry.
We get home and decide that we'll go out for some takeaway chips real fast and call it a night. It's about 1:30, but there's this fish and chips shop down the road that should be open. We walk down and it isn't. On the way back there's this pedestrian street that's always been a little curious to me but is currently darker than a deep well. And Duncan tells me the words that shall ever be the most forboding statement ever.
"Oh, hey, that's a really dark path, let's see where it goes."
Now I haven't seen my share of scary movies, it would seem, or maybe the beers were drunking my brain, but I went with him. He was certain we were on our way to a beach and we'd have a very relaxing view for a few minutes. I learned a few things that night. One, Duncan has no sense of direction. Two, uphill is a good direction to go when you're lost. Three, you can go a complete circle around the upscale residence area of Falmouth in just under two hours.
I could complain about lacks of judgment on Duncan's part or how he repeatedly got us more and more lost trying to get the same strategy to work ("This dark path HAS to be the way to the beach!"), but really he's the big victim of that night. When we finally got back home my legs were sore, my eyes burned, and I could only communicate in grunts. Duncan had all that going on top of not eating that day.
Oh, and I just crumbled the sausage from the weekend, I never made links out of it.
Ha ha - it's a family trait... Watch out for it in future. To be fair to us, there wasn't much chance of our inheriting any directional skill from our parents - Mum in particular is about as bad as it can get.
I remember a trip to Newcastle with her on my way to a gig I was doing (me driving). She only had to direct me to the car park once we were IN Newcastle. I nearly chucked her out of the car after she directed me up a no entry carpark ramp following 4/5 trips through Gateshead.
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