Friday 6 May 2011

I love this, and hate it at the same time. Or maybe I just hate me now.

So having spent my the previous 15hours thinking about prosthetics, biomechanics and biomimcry. I'm going to go to sleep listening to a podcast on which a dr of neurobiology and one of the worlds foremost physicist talk about Eastenders. For values of Eastenders that equal the future of physics.
Seriously, what's it like being a non-STEM student?
I still didn't finish my essay, I wanted sleep too much and figured it's so late it might as well be well presented and later, rather than rushed and just late. Even I think the content is shit though. And the weekend means it'll be three whole days late, probably eliminating any actual mark value. I've just got to proofread it, maybe contract slightly, add pictures and sort out the references. I say just, sorting out the references will probably take 3 hours-ish.
And that will probably all have to happen on Sunday. Because today I have a lecture at 1, then an electronics lab for two hours. Then work for five hours, finish at 9:30, back in at 7 to work 7.5 more hours. Then I'll probably need a nap.
Oh well, on the positive side that is why my bank balance is £6000 and I've earnt £1300 during term time alone so far. If I didn't have a job I would literally have enough time to do a second degree.
Anyways, now to stop wasting valuable sleeping time.

I hate essays

I swear I could've (and if I'd started it early enough would've) researched this essay for weeks and still not have established quite what goes down in this field, curse you limited wider public interest industries with your proprietary technologies and oligopoly markets.
Also, I am tired.
And have a group presentation to write after I finish this. So should've done that first.
And fuck you greenpeace, who sends emails at this time if night, seriously I am on a unsubscribe binge at the moment, don't fucking tempt me.
And to the people in front of me, stop being so gaddamn loud. I appreciate you're shittly organised and are finishing a group project but I am not and I hate you for that.
Ok now you're just tickling the hot engineering girl (yes there is almost only one of them, in a class of 340, I kind wish I was gay-er) you'd get crap loads more done if you all fucked off home and left me in peace. Then you'd be sAfe from my wrath too.

Scuse the spelling errors.
Actually scratch the last, it's 0125, fuck off.

Sunday 1 May 2011

It(was) FRIDAY

Typically, any normal Friday - which would probably mean that Rebecca Black doesn't want to leave the house anymore. Except that this time some people were getting married, and due to a quirk of history one of them is heir to a hereditary position. A hereditary position that is now largely ceremonial and doesn't require any test of competence or wield any power, but that is still the <i>de jure</i> head of a country that once - possibly because of the historical holders of that position - held a significant amount of sway over 75% of the world and was pivotal in the industrial revolution.
Now understandably this means people are interested, although there is probably some fascinating psychology behind why people want to watch someone's wedding, and people being interested obviously means others might want to take advantage of the event to communicate a point.
So basically, there is a risk of terrorist attacks at weddings of heirs to the British throne.
Hence the police presence and whatever else nervous close protection officers there were that no body new about.
But we live in a democratic society, where people should have a right to protest peacefully, and be free from harassment.
So it's great to hear that the Met were raiding squats, kettling people going to alternative street parties, and generally acting like over-zealous, grudge holding, baton wielding pricks.
Preemtipve arrests, preemptive arrests. Repeat that until it makes sense. Apparently we don't need either the additional powers of dubious terrorism act or minority report to be arrested anymore, the police just need to think we might make a fuss.
That's shit.