Sinister: On the screen I saw the Holy Ghost, I swear!

[ian nicolson]

I think I'm going blind.  

Or at least my once perfect eyesight is deteriorating
somewhat.  And it's all your fault!  Yes, you!  Cause
I hardly used computers much at all until I joined
Sinister (which may be why I got such crappy marks at
university, but that's another story etc.) but this
past year or so I've spent more and more time staring
at shiny screens and I don't think it's doing my eyes
much good at all.  Or it could be all that wanking...
But lately I've been having too many of those
incidents when you're walking towards someone in the
street, who looks a bit like someone you know, but
you're quite, although not entirely, sure it isn't
them, but you have to keep looking at them just to
make sure as it would be dead rude just to walk past
if you did know them and by the time you've got close
enough to be sure, the person, who it turns out isn't
the person that you thought it might be, has noticed
you staring at them and thinks that you're a mad
person so starts chasing you down the street with a
stick.  (That was a terrifically long sentence wasn't
it?  If my old English teacher could read that she'd
tear me arms off.)

I'd imagine that a few of you are as bored as wombats
with the Olympics already, but I'm going to write
about them anyway.  Always leave them wanting less, as
would appear to be Tom Jones' motto.  Wouldn't it be
fun to have a motto?

Carsmile spluttered:
"Opening ceremonies are GRATE"
I especially like some of the mad things that the
commentators, more used to talking about groin strains
and shin-pads, have to describe, such as how the giant
blue man on stilts represents the great god Pan
vanquishing the forces of evil, played by an army of
Albanian dwarves.  Painted orange.  My all-time fave
opening ceremony was the 1994 football (or soccer, for
our overseas chums) World Cup in America, when Diana
Ross missed an open goal from three yards out. 
Apparently Hibs tried to sign her in a swop deal for
Joe Tortolano, but Motown were having none of it. 
(About 5% of you *might* get that reference.  Sorry.)

The rest of the Olympics is never quite as exciting,
although I feel compelled to keep watching anyway,
just in case the BBC plays 'The Stars of Track and
Field' at any time.  My bets are on a slow-motion
montage after the closing ceremony.  Chorus only,
mind.  They're bound to use it sometime.  If they
don't I'll damned well eat me pants.  Or send them to
David Coleman at least.  Not for the first time,
either.  But he never sends me his in return, no
matter how many kisses I put on my letters.

Britain will be rubbish as always, one would imagine. 
I think they should introduce more sports traditional
to these isles, to give us a better chance.  Like
custard pie eating, or knobbly knees contests.  Or
jousting, even.  It might have died a death in the
middle ages, but I'm sure it'd still be popular, if
the lances were sharp enough.

Chris Lampinen has been regaling us with tales of just
how demmed sexy he is.  I thought about it doing
something similar, but then some of you have met me. 
I can still delude myself though, now that I can't see
anymore...

Lots of lurve
Ian N.










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