I heart NASA

On July 8, NASA's Atlantis zoomed up into outer space for the last mission in the cash hungry space program, creating an atomic-sized plume of rocketship pollution and producing a deafening racket through highly technical noise generating equipment that blew the crap out of anything resembling an eardrum that happened to be within a few miles radius of the launchpad.  In a nutshell, rockets are cool. 

Barack Obama decided to axe the 40-year-old space program because it was gnawing away at funds that he preferred to spend on useless government programs that did nothing but create more bureaucracy, more socialism and more welfare dependent citizens.  The U.S. spends about US$2.2 trillion on health care every year, with about US$1 trillion of that being squandered through wasteful practices in urgent need of reform. 

The U.S. space program has devoured US$196 billion over the years (around US$450 million per mission), but it is, without a doubt, one of the best things to come out of the United States.  You could almost forgive the U.S. for giving the world Paris Hilton, the Kardashians and other rampant trashbags, because they had cool space shuttles.  Well not anymore they don't. 

Apparently the 9,000 or so folk who work at NASA are out of a job tomorrow, so they'll be packing up their kevlar reinforced deskspaces and taking their plastic rocket booster stress balls and heading off to the local employment agency that specialises in genius rocket scientists, astronauts and world class aeronautical engineers.  Something tells me they'll be okay.  The Russian space program is about to skyrocket (boom boom).

Since they blasted the Atlantis out into the great whoop whoop earlier this month, NASA have been running a real-time stream from their Mission Control Centre in Houston, the nerve centre of all things NASA, where one can watch those crazy command centre kids racing about with toy rocket ships above their head, surfing Google and Facebook, and spending hours upon hours chatting to their fellow aeroengineering geek colleagues about all things rockety. 

Oh wait, that's my workplace; except without the rocket scientists and toy space shuttles and talk of sonic booms.  All you see on the NASA live stream is a bunch of very serious looking middle-age men doing actual WORK; or at least it looks like work because they have many serious looking screens with lots of serious looking graphs and mapping data on them.  Maybe, like any true public servant, they know how to look busy.

On this occasion, Atlantis' mission was simple; deliver a years worth of supplies to the International Space Station.  So basically they were just the delivery boys (and girl) of several tonnes of food and vodka that will tide the Battlestar Gallactica crew over until the Russians come for them.  

I don't know what the big woop is with astronauts.  Just minutes before she landed, the Atlantis was travelling ten times the speed of sound, which is actually slower than the speed most people do down Canberra’s Tuggeranong Parkway during the morning peakhour. 

All of NASAs shuttles (except the two that blew up) will be placed on eBay under reusable space vehicles, if you are in the market for one.  Which you might be.  I'm not judging, I just think perhaps you should try and fit it into your garage before you buy.  Because there are no refunds.  Barack Obama doesn't do refunds. 

Another version of the truth that is actually true is that the shuttles are heading to a museum to become oversized dustcatchers.  Very sad state of affairs.  It's high time we got a Republican back in the White House, before this idiot dismantles anything else that has inspired generations.

Downton

If you haven't caught an episode of Downton Abbey in the past few months, then you'll have to wait until next season, because the final installment of series one aired last night. Or more to the point, where have you been?! Downton Abbey is a pretty fab show; evidenced in the fact the show garnered 11 Emmy nominations from its first series, and will likely pocket a bunch of gongs come awards night. 


Highclere Castle, which plays the title role in Downton Abbey

So what's it all about then?  Well, go look on wikipedia you lazy sod.  In a nutshell; the British television period drama series is set in the fictional Downton Abbey, stately home of the Earl and Countess of Grantham. It follows the lives of the aristocratic, and often racy and saucy, Crawley family and their servants early in the reign of King George V. The series began with a reference to the sinking of the Titanic, an event that sets the story in motion. The rather spectacular Highclere Castle in Berkshire is used to represent Downton Abbey, with some of the other scenes shot in London and my beloved Oxfordshire.

Apparently series one cost a whopping £1 million per episode to shoot, which included gilded polystyrene cups and a state-of-the-art pie van.  The owners of the castle live there all year around and are probably grateful for the producers for propping up their oversized piggy bank.  I have heard a story that Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber got wind that they were a bit strapped for a cashflow to carry out essential repairs so he made an unsolicited offer to buy the pile for his art collection.  Hearing this story makes me think that we are forking out far too much to go see Mary Poppins and the like. 

Downton has been a huge ratings winner in Australia and Great Britain, and also in the United States, which is understandable, given the televisual crap coming out of that country at the moment.  I find it fascinating that period dramas are so popular, given that we have strived for decades to rid ourselves of all the bothersome things about the early twentieth century, including a lack of heating, electricity, fluorescent lighting, telephones, aeroplanes and Gloria Jeans Coffee, among other things I suppose.  But I think I covered the important stuff.

In fact, there was really nothing to do back then than idle around inventing scandal about everyone you know while taking tea, darn, write boring letters in longhand, read the classics, talk to your family, argue with your family, yell at your family, entertain annoying but good-looking Argentinian businessmen who rudely and abruptly decide to cark it in one of your 83 spare rooms, etc.  Come to think of it, it is nice to watch a television program that doesn’t involve some idiot texting another idiot when they really should be ACTING.

Apparently the Duke and Duchy of Cambridge, aka our Wills and Kate, are big fans of Downton Abbey.  I guess they want to get an idea of what it feels like to live in a huge mansion with a plethora of staff at your beck and call.  Oh wait... I don't know if this is true, but it probably isn't, given that my source is Britain's Daily Express newspaper. 

And you can only believe so much in a newspaper that considers a constructive health story to be an analysis of famous people with Psoriatic Arthritis, and feels the need to update British people with daily front page misadventures of British girl band member Cheryl Cole and her douche bag footballing husband, whose most latest conquest is an air hostess. Why is there always an air hostess involved? So clichéd. Don't air hostesses have some sort of Code of Conduct that they should abide by.  I imagine this is why you can never find one when you spill your drink or need an extra blanket.

Search for a Super Umbrella

I’ve been on a Search for a Super Umbrella for a while now, and today, I found a very practical and efficient forest green one. Not a great cause for euphoria or interest on the part of anyone, but it does mean that I can go out in the rain without holding my head in shame or creating great scandal, which often occurred due to the appalling structural damage to my previous brolly, which has now gone to umbrella heaven or some such, with its crippled spine and numerous broken legs. At the end of her life, she was less suited to protect me from the rain than a cheese grater.

My new umbrella is called “Shelta” – in recognition of her brand name, “Shelta”. Which is all very original and memorable, if you were in the market for an umbrella name; which I was.  I am aware that this post is a bit of an abuse of the licence to freedom of speech.  So I should tell you now; I don’t think it’s going to venture into ‘interesting’ territory anytime soon.

My new umbrella is a Mini Maxi, which sounds like a contradiction to me.  But no matter.  It was designed for ‘elegant protection from the sun’, but I very much doubt that it can live up to that lofty goal with me as its owner.

I do own another umbrella or five, but my main understudy brolly is more for show than for walking through a harrowing rainstorm.  You see, I got it last Christmas after I loudly proclaimed my love for it on various occasions to anyone who would listen.  It is transparent with a white rim and folds right over like a graceful egg shell; or like a dangerous, semi-see-through deathtrap.   

On our first outing on a stormy day, I watched as people (well, women and the odd magpie) admired my pretty clear brolly.  But by the time I reached my workplace I was saturated, due to the fact that the genius design forces the water to come crashing down onto my thighs.  I also discovered that the transparentness is not ideal when one is trying to cross a busy road in peak hour unless one has windscreen wipers on one's brolly. 

And guess what?  One DOESN'T have that feature, so one was almost killed by an idiot in a lemon Getz who thought he was an F1 driver without talent, money or Red Bull.  Anyway, it just goes to show that supermodel umbrellas looks good, but are actually completely impractical when it counts / rains.

Did you know, that in the nineteenth century, umbrellas were often made of leather, and horsemen would carry them in their hands when they rode. Bunch of wimps. The man from Snowy River would never do that. But he would often be seen in his Snuggie, because it is darn chilly in that snowy river. And in the Aztec world, army generals used umbrellas made from feathers and gold, with distinctive markings, akin to a modern flag.  But still rather wimpy.

Things that annoy the shit...

Who are these people who walk around on their lunch break playing with their mobile phones? If you can't go for a walk without getting bored then you have a PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM. If you are trying to look busy and important and relevant - let me assure you that truly busy and important and relevant people have no time for mobile phones and will have their staff answer their phone messages and update all their social media accounts. Just look to the Queen for proof.

Plus everyone knows that public servants are anything but busy, important and relevant. The Obama Messiah apparently updates his own Twitter page, but that's just so he can pretend to be one of the people, while fully maintaining his distance from the people. I think we should have a National Walk like a Person Attached to their Mobile Phone Day, just so these douche bags can experience how truly annoying it is to encounter them in a shopping centre.

Nanny State

Labor Governments have always been sensitive to those in society who are more foolish than the rest of the community.  I have noticed this week that the Feds have their nanny state fingers in many palliative pies at the moment and feel it necessary to point out the small print (see: bleeding obvious) to these mindless citizens.

Listening to the radio the other morning, I heard that there is a new sunscreen SPF rating - factor 50+.  Why the hell do we need a factor 50+?!  Who goes out in the sun anymore?  I guess those who choose to sit outside for hours and hours tanning their skins into a leather three-seater sofa in the Australian summer sun might care about that piece of information. 

And then a spokesperson of a cancer charity came on and said that it's not so great, because some people will get a false sense of security that their skin is protected and sit outside for longer.  Um, yes, idiots may have that problem.  I'm pretty sure kids should learn the dangers of skin cancer when they are two days old in this country.  Oh, that's right, it's the government's responsibility to tell them...

And then there are the warnings that will be voluntarily printed on alcohol labels; warnings that the Australian Medical Association say will be useless unless the labels specifically offer the range and severity of possible health problems associated with getting sloshed.  I don't know; I'm pretty sure they will be useless regardless. 

I'm not sure too many pissed, randy teenagers will care, let alone scan the fine detail of the terms and conditions in their drunken stupour or at any other time.  Teenagers should already know that alcohol is bad for them.  If they don't, then it's not the government's role to tell them.  Oh, that's right, it IS apparently the government's responsibility to advise them...

And then there's the Federal Government's Tobacco Plain Packaging Bill, which will make it an offence to sell, supply, purchase, package, or manufacture tobacco products for retail sale in Australia in anything other than the plain packaging requirements set out in the Bill and regulations.  Oh noes, the glamour's gone for smokers. 

I'm pretty sure those grown adults who venture outdoors in the freezing cold to light up, and the kids who hang outside shopping malls on a Friday night, won't give a rats about the packaging.  Shouldn't parents be telling their kids that cigarettes will kill you?  Oh, that's right, they think that's the job of the government...

As annoyed as I get with governments behaving like nanny states, I suspect it is a necessary function of the state for a lot of douche bags in the community. 

If people don't want bureaucrats sticking their noses into their fake designer handbags, drunkard social habits, bedroom antics, calorie-laden fridges, parenting skills etc, then they should occasionally do the right thing by themselves / their kids. 

A lot of people like to think they can look after themselves, but, in reality, it seems about 20% of the population require a sort of pre-palliative care just to get through the day. You know the ones; you probably see at least one every day. They don't really care for speed limits, they walk across a road without looking, and this is just the stuff that happens on the road.

Not stopping at stop signs is one that always has me vexed.  Yes, I know there are no cars around, but the sign says STOP. Which means you should friggin' stop moving.  All that is required of you as a responsible and reasonable citizen is to stop your car for a couple of seconds. That's it. 

Is it really that complicated to get your head around?   Maybe they need some small print placed on the sign that reads, "not stopping at the stop sign may kill you".  Oh wait, we DO have those signs.

Grounded tigers, axed newspapers, rocket ships for sale

Please put up your hand if you have any actual certified training to fly an aeroplane. Games arcades do not count as credible training programs. Neither does any previous experience working for Tiger Airways.

Poor Tiger was clipped over the wings last week by the Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA), the body that oversees all things that fly in a civil fashion in Australian skies (except birds obviously), when CASA demanded DEMANDED! that Tiger ground all their planes.

CASA were a little miffed when they discovered that Tiger pilots do not really know how to fly planes properly. Which is actually kind of funny. Honestly, how can any airline possibly live up to CASAs safety standards?  That Flight Centre pilot is probably shaking in his boots because I don't think he even has a cardboard licence.

I wonder if the pilot of that French airliner that spun the other midget plane at JFK airport in New York earlier this year has ever worked for Tiger. Actually, it is just so typical of the French to barge through oncoming traffic and smack right into another plane that just happens to be sitting in their way. Didn’t even stop to exchange insurance information, which the pilot would have probably just pulled out of a ham and cheese baguette in lieu of a cereal packet.

Speaking of people who cannot do their jobs in a manner that is not, you know, legal in the eyes of the law...

The staff left standing at the News of the World who were not involved in the phone hacks of the world scandal are complaining that their employer's key headline-chasing workplace guideline, that being tampering and sticking one's nose into the personal phone records of people in the news, has made them lose all credibility.

Well, I’m not sure they BEGAN with any credibility; such was their choice to work for a newspaper that contains page three girls, and thinks important breaking news is covering the sex romps of English footballers. Perhaps these journalists (italicised for the purposes of sarcasm) could have fixed their credibility issue by working for a CREDIBLE newspaper.  Actually, probably not.  Maybe if they left the media industry altogether things would perk up for them.

Speaking of things being grounded and axed, NASAs Atlantis shuttle took off this week for the U.S. space program's final flight, after the Obama Messiah thought it a good idea to wrap-up one of the few good things to have come out of the United States.

All those young kids (who aren’t stoned) who stare at the night sky for hours, with dreams of being an astronaut, will just have to get a boring government job like the rest of us. Alternatively, they could get a gig at Tiger Airways.

Watching the take-off yesterday, it occurred to me that I didn’t know how space shuttles come back down to earth.  Well I imagined they didn't just hit the brakes at that speed because they’d likely burn up into oblivion on re-entry. So I ventured out into the great outer space of Wikipedia to suss it out:

The vehicle re-enters the atmosphere by firing the Orbital maneuvering system engines, while flying upside down, backside first, in the opposite direction to orbital motion for approximately three minutes, which reduces the shuttle's velocity by about 200 mph (322 km/h)... the shuttle then flips over, by pushing its nose down (which is actually "up" relative to the Earth, because it is flying upside down).

The vehicle then performs a series of four steep S-shaped banking turns, each lasting several minutes... in this way it dissipates speed sideways rather than upwards. This occurs during the 'hottest' phase of re-entry, when the heat-shield glows red and the G-forces are at their highest. By the end of the last turn, the transition to aircraft is almost complete. The vehicle levels its wings, lowers its nose into a shallow dive and begins its approach to the landing site.

That is friggin’ mad!  But I bet they can't parallel park.