McBogans

Ah, Today Tonight. What would we do without you? We’d probably get along just fine, and be a far less litigious society, and have far less cashed-up bogans, and no-one would notice you were gone.   Anyway, TT ran a story tonight on parents who take their children on family shopping adventures. What? So why is that TT-worthy? 

Well, aside from the fact that TT is completely ridiculous at the best of times, this story was about a type of shopping adventure that you engage in without any exchange of cash taking place. No, no credit cards either. Don’t need credit cards. It’s more of a five-fingered discount type of family outing. For arguments sake, let’s call it bogan shopping. Because bogans think shopping the traditional, old-fashioned way of trading cash for goods kinda McSucks.

But who can blame the bogans.  When the parole officer told Tracee-Lee that she should spend more quality time with her offspring, Chardonaay-Jaiymee, she probably meant do something that wasn't illegal.  But how can Tracee-Lee have possibly be expected to know that?  Those parole officers really need to be more SPECIFIC. “Quality time with your family” for convicted criminals means taking your offspring with you when you steal a three-pack of skivvies from Best and Less / hold up an IGA.

And then the journalist (that's italicised for the purpose of sarcasm), spoke to the security manager of one electronics outlet. Surely, if they have footage of a bogan lady walking out with a blue ray DVD player and surround sound system they should have caught her. How do these people get the guts to walk out with a pile of hot goods anyway? That’s confidence.

And what were the security personnel doing when the stock was walking out the door in the hands of bogan trash? Probably eating one of McDonald’s new Pounder burgers.  Rather than securing things, they were probably stuffing their faces with 50,000 calories of fluorescent cheese and a curious meat-looking product on a sesame seed bun-looking product.  Maximum taste, minimum wage. Sheesh, it's like putting Hamburglar in charge of the security department.

I really hate segways on commercial television. Why do they have to announce that they have just made a fabulous segway into the next story? It was stupid even before they decided to point it out.  Anywho, speaking of McDonalds...

TT also reported that McDonalds are denying they have a burger called the Pounder, even though they do in fact have a new burger called the Pounder.  Instead of dealing with the fallout of having a burger on your menu with a calorie count that would feed a third world country, and further bloat the waistlines of people who seem incapable of driving anywhere expect fast food outlets, the McDonald’s PR simply denied its existence.

Despite the fact the TT man (I can’t bring myself to call him a journalist again) had just gone into McDonalds and bought a Pounder.  Genius damage control. I like it. I stand behind it. Bill Clinton also famously got away with it with the skanky McIntern using this little tactic.  Well, got away with it in the sense that most lefties still think the sun shines out of his McArse.

Hollywood's aliens

Quite extraordinary what some actors will do for a paycheck and a little bit of the limelight.  The other night, I watched a bit of a particularly painful movie starring Keanu Reeves as an alien, who looked remarkably like an Oahu local, and Kathy Bates as the US Secretary of State, which is actually quite good casting.  Although, ever since her performance as a psychopath in The Shining, she's crept the hell out me.  But then I suppose the real SoS, Hillary Clinton, does too.

Why do Hollywood's aliens always speak English?  And why do they have American accents?  Are why do they assume a human appearance?  Are why does Hollywood presume that aliens would give a shit about California?  If I was an alien, I would most likely veer towards somewhere on earth that contains intelligent life forms.  So that kinda rules out the U.S. West Coast.  Oh, the movie is a remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still.  That's a classic movie, right?  Well, I suppose there is no accounting for taste.  It's a friggin' stupid movie, and I picked up the remote to get it away from me.

Entropy and my physics-induced migraine

Last week I attended a special meeting of the Canberra Astronomical Society (CAS).  The meeting was called to vote on whether the society would amend their Constitution so family members would be treated as separate entities, rather than as a block membership, or something.

This resolution came about because of the loopy behaviour of one psychotic member, who can’t be thrown out of the society under the current Constitution, because her membership is linked to her equally odd former astronomer boyfriend. They are not family, but they joined the society together, or something. It’s very confusing, but the point is the society is trying to pass a vote that will allow a vote to get rid of this narcissistic, histrionic personality disorder-addled woman.

Angela, as I shall refer to her because that's her name, has been causing problems for a long time. Like sending offensive and abusive email rants, and, lately, physically abusing other members and tossing around personal threats. So this special meeting was called so the society can move on from this episode and get back to doing what they do best; that being astronomising.

My mother, a long-time society member and Secretary, puts me down as a member every year, despite the fact that I have never registered any particular interest in astronomy, stars, planets or galaxies. I’m not disinterested, but I’m also not a hard-core fan of the science. Science, in fact, is something that escapes me for the most part, probably because I’m not smart enough to understand the ins and outs of entropy, for example; the second law of thermodynamics. If I was honest, I think it is quite interesting, but I will leave it to brilliant scientists to get all excited about it.

One of these brilliant scientists, Dr Charley Lineweaver, was the guest speaker for the meeting. Considering I only showed up in anticipation of seeing crazy lady and her crazy antics for the first time, I was a bit wary of having to sit through an hour long science presentation without accidently falling asleep. As it turns out, Dr Lineweaver is not only a ridiculously intelligent astrobiologist; he is also brilliant at working a room.  In the Leonard Hofstadter self-depreciating way, not the Sheldon Cooper irony deficient way.

Physics translator -
Dr Charley Lineweaver

His energy and passion for science made the lecture fascinating and thoroughly entertaining. It was like an hour long episode of The Big Bang Theory. I actually followed about 70% of his talk; the biological references in particular were totally up my alley.  The other 30% I found completely incomprehensible, or replete with confusing scientist jokes, that I pretended to understand and then whole-heartedly laughed along with the crowd.  Hey, don't judge.

And thanks to my stern concentration in trying to get my ahead around the impossible (physics and I are generally not allowed in the same room together), my brain decided it hated me, and I ended up with a 30-hour physics-induced migraine.  So that was tops.  I had reached maximum entropy.  My very own heat death, if you will.  Or something.  So I am now armed with a comprehensive understanding of entropy.  When I say comprehensive, I mean very loose.  

Anyway, the night was a success, and the room passed the vote by 77%, so the Constitution can now be amended. CAS utilised the services of a mediator from the ACT court system to run the poll, so Angela cannot come back with her crazy rants that it is all unfair and rigged, and I believe there were security personnel in the room in case things (crazy lady) got out of control. I promise you I am not making any of this up.  As it turns out, Angela just sat there all psycho-style; acerbic look, eyes glaring, arms crossed.  She's four-foot nothing but quite terrifying.  Hopefully she will now find something new to obsess about.

Graduation shoes

In a couple of weeks I will graduate with a Bachelor of Arts degree. Finally.

I was never terribly good at school when I was a young thing, but my brain isn't crash hot at storing long-term memories, so I really have no idea what I actually did with my time, but I do recall that I didn't open too many textbooks. So, despite a lack of real evidence that it would be a particularly good idea, seven years ago I decided to go to uni after a good, solid ten years out of the education system.

Like many mature-age students, I struggled at first. The reading matter was impossible (not difficult, just too left-wing for my liking - that'll teach me for studying humanities), the workload was demanding, and everyone else that seemed to be in my orbit was about 42 years younger than me. So that was tops. I studied full-time and worked part-time, and then I studied part-time and worked full-time. Nothing worked really well for me, and it all sucked for a good few years, but, looking back, I wouldn't change a thing.

So now I am going to my graduation in March.  Although I refuse to believe they won't make me do an extra unit until I actually get that piece of parchment in my hand. Before I started telling people about my graduation, I was all calm and chill about it. Then people, as they are wont to do, started to warn me about things to do, things not to do, things to avoid, etc etc etc. So now I am quite terrified about the looming graduation.

First, there's the shoes. See, I don't really care about shoes. They are a boring topic of conversation, and there is not much to discuss once you finish yakking about the brand, the style, the cut, the colour. I don't care about stupid shoes. Some people do, and that's cool, but I don't care for conversations about shoes. But now I am quite obsessed about what foot attire I should wear to my graduation, because someone told me to be careful about walking up the stairs to receive my degree because it would be terribly embarassing to trip and fall.  Why the hell did she need to plant that seed of destruction inside my head?
 



Actually, the possibility that I will trip over in public, thus humiliating myself in front of hundreds of people, is something that I would likely have come up with all by myself.   I didn't need her help in feeding my insecurities and lack of confidence in walking up a couple of stairs in front of a bored, therefore judgemental, bunch of people.  And then she just told me not to stress about it and to stop overanalysing. Well, I actually have quite a gift for overanalysing. And, besides, if people could just stop overanalysing all by themselves, I would have just wasted four years of my degree studying psychology.  If people could work out how to get rid of anxiety all by themselves there would be no need for psychologists.     

 

British Royal 'pain in the arse' Mail

The big royal wedding is inching closer, but, alas, I still have not received my invitation. It certainly is no secret that I'm a constitutional monarchist, and the moniker of one of the most mentally stable members of the British Royal Family was bestowed upon me at birth, so it seems perfectly acceptable that I should expect to have received a royal embossed envelope in the mail by now. So, where the bloody hell are ya, my little regal invite? Hmm, I wonder if Lara Bingle knows where it is.

I shouldn't be surprised.  The postal classification of First Class merely ensures your mail will be lost even sooner that if sent at the regular rate.


It would just be so typical of the British Royal Mail to lose my invitation to the Wills and Kate nuptials.  During my backpacking stint in England many moons ago, I worked as a casual mail sorter at the Royal Mail Sorting and Letter Misplacement and Frequent Displacement Centre in Oxford.  During an action-packed five days working for the Queen's mailbag, I learnt much about the efficiency and professionalism of the national mail service. 

For example, one of my learned colleagues told me he sorted the letters by handwriting style, because that made his day just race on by.  Through watching my colleagues, I learnt that it was not necessarily essential to sort every piece of mail by the correct postcode.  Well, I kinda thought it was essential to sort every bit of mail by the correct postcode, so I had a formal conversation with my supervisor to that effect. 

Alas, the captain of the mailroom did not appreciate my insane common sense palaver, and so ended my short, turbulent career in the royal mailroom.  Which was a shame, because it was so mentally stimulating spending eight hours sorting thousands and thousands of white paper squares into numbered piles.  Unless you have undertaken menial work of this nature, you have NO idea how excited one gets when one comes across a red envelope!  I even got a blue one and a yellow one in quick succession one afternoon, and the sheer joy got me through my shift.  But no-one seemed to care if I sorted them correctly.  You know, in a way the average Joe might expect their mail to be sorted in a mail-sorting centre.

So essentially what I am saying is that the British Royal Mail is not really the ideal service to use if you want your Oxfordshire-bound postage items to a) get from A to B, b) get from A to B without going through C, D and E, and c) get to its destination in less than six weeks, if at all.

Australia's stupidest home videos

I don't think idiots need any encouragement to do really stupid things. They are perfectly capable of behaving like morons without any financial incentive or the allure of a national audience to watch them make an arse of themselves. The problem is, idiots will, by their very nature, hurt themselves to get their mug on telly in anticipation of winning an entertainment unit.

I wonder how many people end up in hospital after trying to perfect a stunt for the incredibly stupid Australia's Funniest Home Videos, on Channel Nine.  Maybe there should be a loophole for insurers that states they don't have to cover damages in the event of dickhead behaviour. AAMI: I’m sorry, we do not cover damage caused by floods or Australian larrikinism. You need a brain, not insurance. It's not like these morons can show their insurance company the footage to prove they were hurt by accident, because most of the clips are so stunted that the participants could get a job on Home and Away.

Speaking of acting, the effervescent host, Shelley Craft, does a miraculous job in pretending her show isn’t the most idiotic program on television. When I stare confused at the telly, she laughs hysterically. When I shake my head in amazement at the low IQ antics of some of the show's reality stars, she laughs hysterically. I imagine that’s her coping mechanism to get through the program.

Note to observers who are also caught on camera in spurious home videos: if you are producing a bogus accident, make sure you look surprised when your mate breaks his neck / dislocates his shoulder / or decapitates himself. It sort of looks rigged if you just sit there with a smirk on your face.

Don't get me wrong; I don't give two hoots about these fools. If they want to put their lives at risk, I'm all for nature taking it's course. In fact, I quite like watching the raw Darwinian natural selection process in action. But don't make fun of your children or put animals at risk, you douche bag.

Convicted criminals and budding jailbirds

This week the Commonwealth Bank stuffed up majorly, when “routine maintenance” miraculously caused various ATMs to spew out money to people who had no money in their bank accounts. The media and consumer groups are whinging and whining about how the Commonwealth Bank are trying to deflect attention onto the "decent people" who took the money. These groups believe that people commit crimes because they are angry at the system, and that if we could just convince them that the system is fair by not putting them in prison, no one would ever commit crime again.

Sure, the Commonwealth Bank ATMs were disrupted for some ridiculous reason, allowing idiots to take out random amounts of money that did not belong to them. But another key issue here is that society is so screwed up that people turn into criminals at the first opportunity. And this isn’t society’s fault; this is a problem at the individual level. At the level of people who think what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is negotiable.

If you think this is society’s fault, then you need to wake up and take some responsibility for your own actions, with includes the consequences that come with stealing money. It doesn’t matter who you are stealing from, or the circumstances that surround the act of stealing; you are a criminal and you should be punished within the law.

Speaking of convicts, felons and other assorted criminals, Channel Seven’s new reality show, Conviction Kitchen, pits a bunch of convicted felons against each other in a cooking competition. Or something of that nature. I haven’t watched it and don't plan to.  I don't give a rats if they can cook cordon bleu, I just don't want them to break any more laws and screw up society any more than they already have. The show is just another of the network’s idiotic programming decisions, and claims to give criminals a second chance. But I take their tearful remorsefulness with a giant silo of salt.

Prison. Naturally I think of LiLo


 “Would you give me a chance?”, says one Conviction Kitchen contestant on one of the network's ads. No, I will not give you a chance.  You have had your chance to play by society’s rules and you blew it. When you break the law, you go to jail. That’s how it works.  And you also gave up certain democratic rights and freedoms that are afforded to law-abiding citizens.

For example, you forgo the right to freedom, and you forgo the right to be given a second chance, because I just don’t trust you and don’t think I should have to.  These people convicted of petty crimes are stigmatised because they have broken our trust, and a stupid cooking show isn't going to fix that.  Why are law-abiding citizens always pressured to place their trust in people who have already screwed them (society) over?

Let’s be honest (a virtuous attribute that escaped our kitchen help convict).  She went to prison because she got caught; she didn't turn herself in.  The legal mumbo-jumbo for this is premeditated.  People who turn themselves in - I might consider giving a second chance, depending on the crime. But she got caught, and there’s no point whinging about how remorseful you are when are caught stealing with your hand in your employer's money jar in what the law likes to call fraud.