For those of you not in the know - and if that does apply, then you are in disgrace, go stand in the corner feeling ashamed - Schumacher gained pole position at the Monaco grand prix over the weekend. Hours later, after apparently much deliberation, he was moved to the back of the grid for the start of the race - in any circuit it would be virtually impossible to win from the back, but particularly at Monaco. The fact he ended in fifth place demonstrates both his abilities as a driver, and Ferrari's undisputed skill for producing formdiable cars.
Years ago, when Schumacher was starting out, there were a few dubious moves here and there and his integrity as a driver was called into question. A few sharp raps on the wrist later, however, and he is widely regarded as one of the best - if not the best - drivers of all time. You don't become world champion a record seven times for nothing, and speaking of records he has indeed smashed all of those known in the F1 world. I think it was at the Italian grand prix a few seasons ago that his personality was called into question again, when he raced the day after his mother died (and, by the bye, won). One does wonder what the hell else he was meant to do in the situation. It isn't as if the race could be moved, a replacement on a par with him located. When you consider not only the millions of pounds that would have been involved if he hadn't raced, but moreover what his mother would probably have wanted, you can't really question his motives there.
Last year, Alonso stole the crown from Schumacher. For the first time in years, Schumi actually has a genuine competitor and in all honesty, he's probably delighted. If you consider the dedication he has given to Ferrari, the skill with which every manouvere is calculated, you realise that he does not turn away from challenges.
And you also realise that he has skill enough to win without cheating. I for one am furious about the accusations thrown at his door, and the implications of the punishment that was doled out to him. Courtesy of a few terrible races at the beginning of the season (thanks to Ferrari and Bridgestone's reliability, not driver error) Schumi has some serious ground to make up on Alonso if he's to challenge for the Title again. Throwing him to the back of the grid when there was no evidence - mere speculation - is appalling behaviour by the stewards. It is purely because he is such a brilliant driver that the punishment was carried out; had he been a less experienced driver, he'd have been given the benefit of the doubt. Maybe received the standard 'drop ten places on the grid' penalty. I loathe the manner in which some people just can't stand success in others. All the 'congratulations' and 'good lucks' you receive over the years should come with the amendment: 'but don't do too well...'. Not that I'm putting any of my supposed achievements on a par with Schumacher's, but I have managed to lose multiple friends over the years and it seems the only reason is because I ended up doing things they themselves would never have the guts to do, or indeed the ability. How can you be friends with anyone when there is jealousy involved??
Dammit, this world is screwed up.
And if Schumacher doesn't get that title by a few points at the end of the season, I'm sure Alonso's win wont taste quite so sweet.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Oxford Summer VIIIs
It is when writing this kind of post that I become horribly aware that there are people actually reading this rubbish. It can be incredibly difficult to craft a post that veils the true identity of somebody that I'm describing here - but there is always the consideration that, given most people know what I think of them anyway, should I really bother to take that much care? I have three weeks left in Oxford and no social life for the duration courtesy of dissertation duties and maybe it really doesn't matter any longer...
Which means I can mention various VIIIs experiences with ease. Like the cox who tried to kill our entire crew by smashing us enthusiastically into a wall - think my facial expressions on the following two links sum up what was going through my mind (and, chances are, simultaneously coming out of my mouth).
http://www.jetphotographic.com/showphoto.php?id=104789
and -
http://www.jetphotographic.com/showphoto.php?id=104790
But oh, what a difference a day makes. The highlight (and simultaneously, one of the lower points) of VIIIs week has to have been holding off a men's crew for some considerable time - by the simple means of two highly cunning plans: one, confuse the hell out of the crew behind and make them steer into a bank, and two, row at a frankly unfeasible rating for as long as humanly possible. Proof that we looked something like a crew can be found here:
http://www.bigblade.net/rowing/events/2006/oe06/thursday/displayimage.pl?src=divisions&im=3472&offset=1
There were the almost inevitable personality clashes over the course of the races, mostly smoothed over by the calming presence of the other coach and the odd glass of Pimms. People fell in rivers, boats were smashed, mud was enthusiastically spattered, and the concept of 'technique' became, at times, a thing of the past.
As coach of Linacre women's 2nd VIII, albeit for a brief period of time, I've been asked to give a brief speech this evening - something I'm endeavouring to wheedle myself out of. However, were I to say anything it would be along the following lines...
Bringing together this crew has been pretty tough work. I remember sitting here in the common room with Russell, thinking that all was going to be absolutely fine, the blissful bubble promptly being burst by Helen's announcement that she could possibly be pregnant. And from thereon our beautifully constructed crew line-ups gradually disintegrated into mere shadows of their former selves. Outings came and went, and I issued endless decidedly empty promises that I would find eight women eager to thrust themselves into the rowing world. Much arm-twisting and shameless begging later, we finally had our line-up. Courtesy of some serious glares from me and an inability to be impressed by anything unless shedding skin and blood had been involved, the group finally came to realise what my version of 'firm pressure' meant and gave in. With Helen's mellow and curiously mothering tones working to smooth over my frequent angry outbursts, we formed a monster of a crew - ah, those sweet voices and innocent faces are mere covers for the beasts within, a camera crew on Donnington Bridge capturing some particularly fantastic moments of sheer grr-ness. Particularly given the few outings we had to train as a set Eight, I'm excessively proud of the achievements of my crew. I say 'my crew' carefully, for one does often wonder whether one makes the blindest scrap of difference to anything going on in the boat. Congratulations to Leanne and Colleen in bow, keeping that boat rhythmic and sat - and providing endlessly entertaining contorted facial expressions; to Kim and Monika who have come on in leaps and bounds in a few short weeks to become seriously hard-core beasts; to Catherine and Miranda as our consistently mighty engine-room fighting for every stroke, and to Carrie and Ellie, our careful stern pair who have kept up a cracking rating resulting in some awesome racing. Finally to Helen and our 'lucky number ten', who has endured the hells of morning sickness and the Wrath of Jane, to stay calm and cool and keep our boat together. And thanks to everyone - special mentions to Russell and Bobby - who have listened to my rants with barely suppressed smiles and slightly raised eyebrows, kept me a version of sane, and ensured that all have lived to tell the tale. I have some awesome memories from the last few days, and I believe there are even photographs with me smiling in them to prove it. Good luck to everyone in their rowing futures, and when you're feeling as if you just can't go on: dig deep, and find that Beast Within.
Which means I can mention various VIIIs experiences with ease. Like the cox who tried to kill our entire crew by smashing us enthusiastically into a wall - think my facial expressions on the following two links sum up what was going through my mind (and, chances are, simultaneously coming out of my mouth).
http://www.jetphotographic.com/showphoto.php?id=104789
and -
http://www.jetphotographic.com/showphoto.php?id=104790
But oh, what a difference a day makes. The highlight (and simultaneously, one of the lower points) of VIIIs week has to have been holding off a men's crew for some considerable time - by the simple means of two highly cunning plans: one, confuse the hell out of the crew behind and make them steer into a bank, and two, row at a frankly unfeasible rating for as long as humanly possible. Proof that we looked something like a crew can be found here:
http://www.bigblade.net/rowing/events/2006/oe06/thursday/displayimage.pl?src=divisions&im=3472&offset=1
There were the almost inevitable personality clashes over the course of the races, mostly smoothed over by the calming presence of the other coach and the odd glass of Pimms. People fell in rivers, boats were smashed, mud was enthusiastically spattered, and the concept of 'technique' became, at times, a thing of the past.
As coach of Linacre women's 2nd VIII, albeit for a brief period of time, I've been asked to give a brief speech this evening - something I'm endeavouring to wheedle myself out of. However, were I to say anything it would be along the following lines...
Bringing together this crew has been pretty tough work. I remember sitting here in the common room with Russell, thinking that all was going to be absolutely fine, the blissful bubble promptly being burst by Helen's announcement that she could possibly be pregnant. And from thereon our beautifully constructed crew line-ups gradually disintegrated into mere shadows of their former selves. Outings came and went, and I issued endless decidedly empty promises that I would find eight women eager to thrust themselves into the rowing world. Much arm-twisting and shameless begging later, we finally had our line-up. Courtesy of some serious glares from me and an inability to be impressed by anything unless shedding skin and blood had been involved, the group finally came to realise what my version of 'firm pressure' meant and gave in. With Helen's mellow and curiously mothering tones working to smooth over my frequent angry outbursts, we formed a monster of a crew - ah, those sweet voices and innocent faces are mere covers for the beasts within, a camera crew on Donnington Bridge capturing some particularly fantastic moments of sheer grr-ness. Particularly given the few outings we had to train as a set Eight, I'm excessively proud of the achievements of my crew. I say 'my crew' carefully, for one does often wonder whether one makes the blindest scrap of difference to anything going on in the boat. Congratulations to Leanne and Colleen in bow, keeping that boat rhythmic and sat - and providing endlessly entertaining contorted facial expressions; to Kim and Monika who have come on in leaps and bounds in a few short weeks to become seriously hard-core beasts; to Catherine and Miranda as our consistently mighty engine-room fighting for every stroke, and to Carrie and Ellie, our careful stern pair who have kept up a cracking rating resulting in some awesome racing. Finally to Helen and our 'lucky number ten', who has endured the hells of morning sickness and the Wrath of Jane, to stay calm and cool and keep our boat together. And thanks to everyone - special mentions to Russell and Bobby - who have listened to my rants with barely suppressed smiles and slightly raised eyebrows, kept me a version of sane, and ensured that all have lived to tell the tale. I have some awesome memories from the last few days, and I believe there are even photographs with me smiling in them to prove it. Good luck to everyone in their rowing futures, and when you're feeling as if you just can't go on: dig deep, and find that Beast Within.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
On unveiled cruelty
As is fairly evident from the very existence of this blog, I complain about things. I can't see the point in patching things up, pretending they are wonderful, if they are fundamentally flawed. If something isn't cooked properly, what on earth is the point in eating the entire thing and only saying a few days later well, you know, it wasn't quite warm enough... If I have to queue for half an hour in a supermarket to pay for the sum total of three goods, I feel at liberty to point out the multiple errors that have led to this unnecessary delay. I've ranted about planes being late, people being self-pitying, probably somewhere I'll have mentioned in passing that the weather in this particular part of the globe isn't exactly ideal for, well, anything. Other than the umbrella industry, I suppose.
I feel compelled to make comments about the people around me; as far as I'm concerned, there is nothing wrong with sitting on a bench in a park and quietly berating all about me for a good hour. Remarking on their dress sense, their unnecessary lardiness, the manner in which they walk, the way they laugh, a particularly unfortunate haircut. Two key points: first, they never hear what I say, and second, given that I spend the majority of my existence in the same jeans and jumper, the comments are invariably to some degree describable as 'tongue in cheek'. My generalised statements about an entire group of people are just that - generalised statements, intended either for my personal amusement or to further some ridiculous argument I'll have gotten myself into.
If I've been unfortunate enough to get to know a person - in other words, I'm not making assumptions about them - then I feel justified in making remarks about said person's personality. Probably not directly to them, but rather to someone who has no connection whatsoever with that person so comments wont get back to them. If I dislike someone, I make a concerted effort to avoid them. I hate insipid remarks, fake smiles, false conversations as if I actually give a damn about their annoying life, and am fairly effective at getting the impression across to people that frankly, I just don't want to know them.
What I do NOT do is make a remark about somebody's personality that is for one, unfounded and for two, is regarding somebody I do not know. I'm not so sure why I'm so incensed by the accusation that has been laid at my door this evening - I know it came from somebody who knows the sum total of bugger all about me, and that anybody who DOES know me would never make such a remark. Am fuming.
On a totally different note, heard a completely stupid thing on the radio today: top 21 ways for a guy to make a woman fall in love with him. (On that sentence alone, I could write an entire thesis). One of these which the presenter regarded as particularly romantic was, 'kiss her in the middle of a sentence.' Excuse me? What, ignore what I'm saying and give me a smacker on the lips? Suicidal move, I'd say. 'Give her flowers for no good reason'. Men need to be told this? Still? 'Tell her how much you love her all the time, every day'. Er - no. The concept of 'broken record' springs to mind. I have my 'top 21 ways' summed up in a single remark, that is written on a mug sitting at my desk. My brother gave it to me at Christmas a few years ago, chose a particularly apt quote for me.
“Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.”
I feel compelled to make comments about the people around me; as far as I'm concerned, there is nothing wrong with sitting on a bench in a park and quietly berating all about me for a good hour. Remarking on their dress sense, their unnecessary lardiness, the manner in which they walk, the way they laugh, a particularly unfortunate haircut. Two key points: first, they never hear what I say, and second, given that I spend the majority of my existence in the same jeans and jumper, the comments are invariably to some degree describable as 'tongue in cheek'. My generalised statements about an entire group of people are just that - generalised statements, intended either for my personal amusement or to further some ridiculous argument I'll have gotten myself into.
If I've been unfortunate enough to get to know a person - in other words, I'm not making assumptions about them - then I feel justified in making remarks about said person's personality. Probably not directly to them, but rather to someone who has no connection whatsoever with that person so comments wont get back to them. If I dislike someone, I make a concerted effort to avoid them. I hate insipid remarks, fake smiles, false conversations as if I actually give a damn about their annoying life, and am fairly effective at getting the impression across to people that frankly, I just don't want to know them.
What I do NOT do is make a remark about somebody's personality that is for one, unfounded and for two, is regarding somebody I do not know. I'm not so sure why I'm so incensed by the accusation that has been laid at my door this evening - I know it came from somebody who knows the sum total of bugger all about me, and that anybody who DOES know me would never make such a remark. Am fuming.
On a totally different note, heard a completely stupid thing on the radio today: top 21 ways for a guy to make a woman fall in love with him. (On that sentence alone, I could write an entire thesis). One of these which the presenter regarded as particularly romantic was, 'kiss her in the middle of a sentence.' Excuse me? What, ignore what I'm saying and give me a smacker on the lips? Suicidal move, I'd say. 'Give her flowers for no good reason'. Men need to be told this? Still? 'Tell her how much you love her all the time, every day'. Er - no. The concept of 'broken record' springs to mind. I have my 'top 21 ways' summed up in a single remark, that is written on a mug sitting at my desk. My brother gave it to me at Christmas a few years ago, chose a particularly apt quote for me.
“Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.”
Friday, May 05, 2006
Absence makes the heart grow fonder -
or so somebody once said. My absence from blogging duties has been duly noted by enough people to force me back online. It is half past midnight and I'm alternating between checking the election results - I care that much I didn't quite get around to voting... - and making use of my latest distraction: online sudoku. Possibly the latest convert in the country to this dastardly game, I've sped through the 'easy' and 'medium' levels, am conquering 'hard' and fully intend mastering 'evil' before the weekend is out. I'm sure my tutor will regard this as a worthy pastime, and a valid excuse for distinct absence of essay on Monday morning.
It isn't that there has been a lack of rant-worthy subjects of late - goodness me, no. I just had a few weeks with no internet access, and the space between me and my blog grew... We quarrelled briefly on the subjects of Art, Style and Purpose, but Blog has finally submitted and agreed that it cannot control the contents I hurl toward it. I will therefore go out of my way to make this a particularly disjointed post, before settling back into more Rhythmic Ranting in the next couple of days.
Firstly, a brief query about the purpose of self-service checkouts. I have had the misfortune to use a few of these recently; shops seem to have installed them with the sole idea of aggravating their customers. The CONCEPT is marvellous - no talking to some cretinous dolled up check-out bird (me? stereotype? never) and discussing the weather, clubcards, and my ability to pack bags alone. I can sidle up to a machine that means I can have the fun of swiping barcodes and producing the Beep - but that Beep is all too often followed by an error message. 'Illegal Product In Bag, Please Remove', or similarly dramatic terms for a pint of milk. Buying loose fruit/veg is something of a nightmare, as one has to go through a selection process and in some instances bother to count the number of items. Does this really save time? And heaven forbid you make use of the 'cashback' option: the machine can't quite cope with that, so a human is dragged in from the depths of the Poultry Section or wherever they were, and wearily operates as a cashback machine for you, the heavy sighs implying you forced them away from something Really Interesting because you were Too Lazy to Queue Like Everybody Else.
God, I hate those blasted machines.
Second point. As readers should know, if they have studied each post carefully (I look forwards to the day somebody chooses 'rantingjane' as their specialised subject on MasterMind), I am a member of Linacre College, Oxford. As with all colleges, Linacre has their own library facility, complete with array of suitably slow computers that function as and when they choose with total disregard to deadlines. Connected to one is a scanner, and a couple of weeks ago a friend of mine had reason to use said scanner. Now, scanners are funny things - for some reason, they save the last image that was, well, scanned. I could well make a few snide comments there about the potential to catch a few people out scanning things they shouldn't, but I'm actually rather miffed right now. Someone has used that scanner to presumably copy print-outs of two of my photos that were posted on this blog months ago. Why anyone would print out and then copy said pictures is beyond me, but there you have it. I don't particularly want to imagine what said images are currently being used for... I appreciate that I loaded them onto my blog and therefore they have become available to the world At Large (or at least the part connected to the internet in general, and RantingJane in particular).
I'm working on the assumption that whoever it is responsible for this action is a reader of my blog. In which case: make note of the point that I'm fairly certain that a certain I.T. bod in college would be able to work out who was responsible for the action, were I to ask them. And I could make everything rather embarrassing for that somebody, were they tracked down. Just a thought...
On a considerably more positive note (from my view at least), Conservatives are currently up 50 Councillors, and Labour down 46. Awww... do people not trust Labour any more? None of those honest, upstanding citizens that are the remnants of the Front Bench? Shucks.
It isn't that there has been a lack of rant-worthy subjects of late - goodness me, no. I just had a few weeks with no internet access, and the space between me and my blog grew... We quarrelled briefly on the subjects of Art, Style and Purpose, but Blog has finally submitted and agreed that it cannot control the contents I hurl toward it. I will therefore go out of my way to make this a particularly disjointed post, before settling back into more Rhythmic Ranting in the next couple of days.
Firstly, a brief query about the purpose of self-service checkouts. I have had the misfortune to use a few of these recently; shops seem to have installed them with the sole idea of aggravating their customers. The CONCEPT is marvellous - no talking to some cretinous dolled up check-out bird (me? stereotype? never) and discussing the weather, clubcards, and my ability to pack bags alone. I can sidle up to a machine that means I can have the fun of swiping barcodes and producing the Beep - but that Beep is all too often followed by an error message. 'Illegal Product In Bag, Please Remove', or similarly dramatic terms for a pint of milk. Buying loose fruit/veg is something of a nightmare, as one has to go through a selection process and in some instances bother to count the number of items. Does this really save time? And heaven forbid you make use of the 'cashback' option: the machine can't quite cope with that, so a human is dragged in from the depths of the Poultry Section or wherever they were, and wearily operates as a cashback machine for you, the heavy sighs implying you forced them away from something Really Interesting because you were Too Lazy to Queue Like Everybody Else.
God, I hate those blasted machines.
Second point. As readers should know, if they have studied each post carefully (I look forwards to the day somebody chooses 'rantingjane' as their specialised subject on MasterMind), I am a member of Linacre College, Oxford. As with all colleges, Linacre has their own library facility, complete with array of suitably slow computers that function as and when they choose with total disregard to deadlines. Connected to one is a scanner, and a couple of weeks ago a friend of mine had reason to use said scanner. Now, scanners are funny things - for some reason, they save the last image that was, well, scanned. I could well make a few snide comments there about the potential to catch a few people out scanning things they shouldn't, but I'm actually rather miffed right now. Someone has used that scanner to presumably copy print-outs of two of my photos that were posted on this blog months ago. Why anyone would print out and then copy said pictures is beyond me, but there you have it. I don't particularly want to imagine what said images are currently being used for... I appreciate that I loaded them onto my blog and therefore they have become available to the world At Large (or at least the part connected to the internet in general, and RantingJane in particular).
I'm working on the assumption that whoever it is responsible for this action is a reader of my blog. In which case: make note of the point that I'm fairly certain that a certain I.T. bod in college would be able to work out who was responsible for the action, were I to ask them. And I could make everything rather embarrassing for that somebody, were they tracked down. Just a thought...
On a considerably more positive note (from my view at least), Conservatives are currently up 50 Councillors, and Labour down 46. Awww... do people not trust Labour any more? None of those honest, upstanding citizens that are the remnants of the Front Bench? Shucks.
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