So You Think You Can Do Everything

Standing in the queue at Spotlight recently, I overheard a fascinatingly uninteresting conversation between two teenage girls that went something like this:

Girl 1: I want to learn how to knit.
Girl 2: What do you want to knit?
Girl 1: I just want to knit shit.
Girl 2: hahahaha. Awesome!*
Girl 1: Can you knit?
Girl 2: Yeah, but I can’t start it. My mum tried to teach me but I got bored.
Girl 1: OMG! Same! Let’s YouTube it. Something will be on there about starting a jumper.
Girl 2: Awesome!*

I take issue with every part of this teen conversation.  It seems the internet is Gen Y’s answer to everything. I suppose if you can steer yourself away from the irritating animated cartoons featuring wisecracking anthropomorphised animals, you may find what you are looking for on YouTube. But it’s just a bit too simple. I guess I can’t expect anything more from a generation that apparently cannot live without devices that must be checked every fifteen damn seconds.

Aren’t your teen years supposed to be about learning how to figure out the world all by yourself? And aren’t you supposed to endure feelings of angst in the process? Teens these days are full of angst, but rather than trying to find their feet, their angst comes from being cocky, young, impressionable and hopelessly naïve enough to think that they are going to be the one to change the world.

Like activists, they will care about the fate of the world until they reach approximately 23 years of age, when they will go work for the public service or a big business organisation that is dedicated to grinding one’s dreams into the dirt. Once there, they will spend their days with other supremely uninteresting people whose sole purpose is to gather together and make sure that nothing of note is ever accomplished. Someone should put that on YouTube.

* I am not at all weary of the misuse of the word awesome. Nope, not at ALL. A word most properly used to denote something truly breathtaking or unbelievably magnificent; it is now used to describe everything from a half-decent meal to a show of support for someone who just landed an entry-level job at McDonalds.

Volcanic Fog Blog

So the latest maps from the fabulously named Volcanic Ash Advisory Centre (VAAC) forecast a new giant plume of ash from the Chilean volcano heading towards Australia.  The ash has already travelled twice around the globe since its initial blowout on June 4, after a decade of volcanic hibernation.

Based on guidance from the International Civil Aviation Organisation (ICAO), Qantas' policy is to not fly into areas where the concentration of volcanic ash is unclear.  They wisely believe that it is simply not worth taking the risk, which is why they put safety before schedule.

Safety before schedule is Qantas' motto, which sounds like an awfully appealing credo for life. Sorry boss, I will be in late tomorrow because there might be a peakhour accident somewhere that I would very much like to avoid, and I'm all about safety before schedule...

I am most intrigued* by the cranky folk at airports who whinge and whine to a news crew when their plane is delayed because, for reasons they cannot fathom, the captain doesn't want to fly through big mobs of volcanic ash.  The plume, known as 'vog' (volcanic fog) in the vulcanologist industry, is something in which YOU DO NOT WANT TO FLY A PLANE. Renown vulcanologist Mr Spock and Qantas say so, so it must be true.

When I was at the Kilauea National Park in Hawaii last year, our tour guide told us all about the virtues of  vog, among other stimlulating volcano-esque titbits and rampant trivia. From his ramblings, I gathered that vog is BAD, and you're best to avoid it at all costs unless you want to DIE.

I am rather surprised that our fearless leader Julia hasn't formulated one of her ridiculous 'tax the air we breathe' policies to expunge that damn cloud - because that'll stop it. We could get New Zealand on board to send it back to where it came from. Or to Malaysia. Why won't Malaysia take the vog Australia rejects? Obviously we haven't offered them an appealing enough deal.  They're not much of an ally.  Actually, it's probably because Rob Oakshott says no to illegal sootlegging because it doesn't benefit his constituents in any way whatsoever so that's the end of the matter. 

* A civilised way to describe my reaction when morons do stupid things.

Unmark Everything

The marketing departments of cigarette companies like to espouse the virtues of smoking their addictive little sticks through stupid messages and graphic designs placed on their packaging and labelling in an attempt to encourage potential buyers to purchase their product.  Of course the evil little catch in the rather conspicuous small print is that this leads the buyer's health down the well-worn path of lung diseases, cancer, diabetes, stroke, hypertension, blood clots, emphysema, heart attacks, addiction, ashtray breathe, general stinkiness etc etc etc etc.

I think having unmarked cigarette packets is a rather excellent idea.  I don't think it'll stop people from smoking, or stop impressionable young things from taking up the behaviour, but I stand behind the idea of pissing off cigarette manufacturers and leaving their sellers out of pocket.  Why should the sellers be punished?  Um, because they are selling packeted poison that should be made illegal.  Screw the stupid sellers.

I actually think we should put plain labels on everything that's for sale on the market.  Because the real thing never looks like the cover on the box anyway.  Nearly all the models we see in magazines are air brushed, meaning they look nothing like the actual model in person. 

The same goes for food that, once prepared, usually looks nothing like it's model on the packet, which has undergone hours of food styling and hair and makeup teams armed with tongs and forks, and has benefited from the art of airbrushing and savvy lighting techniques.  Furthermore, lasagnes that drip tantalisingly with actual cheese on the box will often contain no actual cheese, just some sort of processed white sauce concoction.

But why not take it one step further and have no packaging whatsoever?  Just force smokers to rock up to their local Woolies with a plastic bag or cardboard box, and the seller can toss in a bunch of cigarettes while simultaneously judging them, correctly, as one of the world's least bright folk.  Considering that millions of people around the world die of smoking-related ilnesses every year, I think this is a valid appraisal of their intelligence. 

But I guess smokers are content to venture out into the freezing cold night and start puffing away, so a small inconvenience like a lack of packaging will probably be of little concern to them.  But perhaps by the time the smoker has carted their cancer stick-laden cardboard box home, they would likely be so damaged by water vapour, dust, and crushed to the point that they will be rendered useless. 

Alternatively, we could use one of those companies that wraps all their product in titanium-based plastic, the kind that you simply cannot remove, and get them to wrap all cigarette packets.  By the time the smokers get the darn stuff off, they would have gotten through all the nastier symptoms of nicotine addiction.

I don't know, I'm just trying to help.  I'm a helper.

Canberra jail is a great escape

I’ve always had this loopy idea that the Alexander Maconachie Centre (AMC), Canberra's favourite holiday destination for the seasoned criminal fraternity was, you know, more or less secure. More secure than less would be the ideal amount of secure, I am fairly certain.

Alas, last week the computer mainframes that control security infrastructure at Canberra's premier and only ClubMed correctional resort crashed, causing surveillance cameras, door locks, retina scanning devices and ankle and neck tags to fail. Epic electrological failure. Prison guards were forced to do perimeter checks and manually lock and unlock doors the old fashion way, like getting up off their arses to check perimeters and lock and unlock doors. 

Pretty flowers and white picket fences - domestic-style bliss.

 

The whole idea that prisons are controlled by computers makes me a little nervous.  Is it just me, or did anyone else think that prisoners were locked in cells behind big, dirty, iron doors with prison slats? When did this type of dainty prison infrastructure go out of favour? For AMC, which prides itself on being a 'human rights compliant prison', it's because they don't want prisoner's feelings getting hurt being surrounded by iron bars all the time which makes them feel like... criminals.  

I don't know. I kinda feel that people in jail are supposed to feel like they've monumentally screwed up, so it makes sense that they should suffer some sort of indignity, like occasionally being tossed delicately  into a stinking jail cell without a smart TV.  That's how being a criminal works I'm pretty sure. What better disincentive to not break the law than having no Foxtel?  I can't think of any. 

Let's see what the AMC has in the way of deterrents.  Well about half of the accommodation is in five bedroom domestic-style cottages designed around a central Town Square.  So it 's basically like living in the Cotswolds with staff dressed like Mr Plod.  These cottages are apparently designed to facilitate normalisation; to enable prisoners to develop and practice living skills. 

Well, given the nature of their circumstance, it seems the last time these cons practiced living skills they failed miserably; and I do believe their idea of normal may greatly conflict with mine. But normalisation is the key, so it's a good thing they have a friggin' TOWN SQUARE, because one never knows when one may feel inclined to start a civic riot, pee on a commemorative monument or pilfer from the local delicatessen. Or put another way, put their normal living skills into practice.

The designers also thoughtfully installed Environmentally Sustainable Development initiatives, due to criminals renowned concern over water storage, grey water recycling and solar hot water systems.  Going to prison used to suck; these days it's just a sabbatical in a holiday resort.