Horses and Bayonets

I find it mind-boggling how many people get their political analysis from CNN without ever actually viewing the footage or reading any of the transcripts on whatever this media outlet’s incomparably inept journalists comment on. I don't take anyone's opinion on politics at face value, especially views that are held by CNN correspondents.

The reporters at CNN might pretend to meticulously scrutinise the presidential debate, and make shrewd, snippy notes of their observations, but then they sit on their glittery soundstage and deliberate for hours and hours and hours about the most inane drivel and discuss, at great length, just how stupendously amazing and sparkly the democratic candidate was, regardless of how that candidate performed.

This is called left wing bias and most of the media are guilty as charged. Spin it until it fits their narrative, which is to keep democrats in power in the White House.  No-one knows why the majority of the mainstream media are left wing.  It's all just a big mystery.

They want Barack Obama to stay in the top job, and they want Mitt Romney to go far, far away, and take his pesky logic, common sense and economic credentials with him. How the hell is a bungling incumbent president supposed to maintain the top gig if there is someone who is actually qualified for the job challenging him?

CNN are always, always, always on the Democrat's side, and they spend the rest of their time demonising Republicans.  This doesn’t change.  Ever.  They don't do balance.  There is no neutrality and there never will be.  If you are neutral at CNN you will be fired by the network by the end of the day.

But who cares, you say.  Well it matters, because there are a lot of people out there who only tune into  this stupid media outlet during election time and don't appreciate how the media influence the public agenda. And let's be clear; CNN tell you what to think. So don't let them hoodwink you; read the transcript and watch the debate for yourself.  Think for yourself.  CNN have an agenda and they want you to buy into it and vote appropriately.

And despite endless harping on about wanting the truth from their presidential candidates, many of the electorate really don't care that much about fact checking, and just take Obama’s side for reasons I cannot fathom.

Exhibit A. During the last Presidential Debate, incumbent Barack Obama mocked his opponent, Mitt Romney:

"You mentioned the Navy, for example, and that we have fewer ships than we did in 1916. Well, Governor, we also have fewer horses and bayonets, because the nature of our military’s changed."

This 'horses and bayonets' exchange generated 105,000 tweets per minute on the debate hashtag. Why do people take Obama's word at face value, but think Mitt Romney lies through his teeth? This drives me crazy, because it's a fallacy. We know that Obama either was either fairly liberal with the truth in regards to this exchange, or, as Commander-in-Chief, he is hopelessly out of touch with the Defence Forces. How do we know this?

It turns out the marines use bayonets quite a bit, and horses are used to get around Afghanistan, as they are one of the easiest forms of transportation. I guess Obama's not as in touch with his military as he likes to proclaim. Although focusing on such a trivial point shows that Obama was a little desperate as he tried to deflect attention from the deaths in Benghazi in the foreign policy debate and any kind of questions whatsoever to do with the economy.

POTUS & the Veep

I’m not sure how to put this, American cyberbot friends, so I’ll just say it as undiplomatically as is necessary – please, please do not screw up your vote in your forthcoming presidential election and vouch for that democrat Barack Obama again. 

Why do I care, when I live in Australia? Well I care a lot, actually, because the result of your election affects the economies of the rest of the world, so there's that.  See the power and influence you wield?  So please spare a thought for the koala bears when you're ticking those boxes on the ballot paper.   

Not that many of you give a rats about your electoral process.  Only 61.6% of Americans turned out to vote in the last presidential election in 2008, which means 98,000 registered voters just couldn't be arsed.  I really don't understand this reticence, but then I do live in a democracy that has a compulsory voting system, which means you will be fined and/or jailed if you don’t put in an appearance on election day, so there's that.

Although, I've recently had my local government election, and out of a town with 300,000 registered voters we had over 7,000 donkey votes, which mean we either have a lot of seriously stupid people who don't understand the extremely simplistic voting form, or there are a lot of fake-voters who think they are making some type of compelling protest by completely disengaging from the process.

I suspect it's a heady combination of both.  As far as I'm concerned, to change things you need to connect yourself by participating and becoming engaged.  And vote correctly.  For Mitt Romney.  Heh.

I know voting is generally a choice between the guy who was able to spend 100 millions on campaign advertising and the other guy who could only afford 99 million, but please try to show up on election day, Americans.  I'm sure there is a polling booth somewhere on the way to your nearest McDonalds.  

The last four years have been one long cupcake moment (I don't know what this is - just made it up - I do that) for incumbent POTUS Barack Obama, but he is not presidential material, and has done nothing more than screw up your declining healthcare system and devastate your economy for the past four years.  The status quo ain't working and the spending ain't sustainable.  

Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney's Veep-in-waiting, Paul Ryan, is the Chair of the vastly uninteresting-sounding House of Reps Budget Committee, and knows his stuff backwards, so give these guys a chance, y'all.

This post probably doesn't deserve a title.

I don't know about you, cyberbot person, but I turn pretty much everything I do into a competition. I can't help it. If someone is walking a few metres ahead of me into work then I must overtake them at some point before we get to the security gates.

Because blazing through first while they piss around trying to find their security pass in their handbag/manbag is sort of cheating, even though in the real world it means I win. But it's not a competition, apparently, so let's move on.

I write of high stakes rivalry because I am currently engaged in such a venture with myself, which is fairly advantageous for me because winner takes all and I win either way.

The competition is to beat my 2011 blog post count in 2012. I’ve got nine to go to smash it. Cool, I guess only eight now. 

Disclaimer: I'm really tired and I think my brain went to bed hours ago.

Intergalactic Toys

Ho hum.  I'm starting to think my brain may shortly explode out of frustration that it is forced to operate inside a humanoid whose existence is so mind-numbingly dull.  Trapped in a life of averageness, it is.  Poor brain.  It has so many dreams and aspirations, and I make it go to the public service every day.  FFS I am so bored with it all.    

I have been feeling this way inclined for some time now, but I blame my latest bout of angst firmly on Felix Baumgartner, that Austrian daredevil, spacetravelling nutjob, who jumped from the egde of outer space to earth.  As one does sometimes.  Flippin' mad, he is.     

The first thing I did on seeing the white-suited man who can jump footage was scold him mercilessly through the televisual set for being so damn irresponsible.  Everyone knows it's just lunacy to have Red Bull before you have your Corn Flakes.  Honestly, I don't know where his head was.  The second thing I noticed was how that crazy gravity thing is still working just ticketyboo.  And they said it wouldn't take off.

And after that I was just utterly pissed off that my life doesn't consist of intergalactic hot air balloon rides or random hurtlement through the atmosphere at 1,000-ish kilometres over the speed limit or the fact that there is never any doubt or vague concern whatsoever about whether my parachute will hold up until I get to the printer in my workplace.  Felix may be flippin' nuts, but at least he's living it and loving it.  Or maybe he was just a bored public servant in a past life.

The only reason 58 billion people watched the "show" anyway was because there was a chance of Felix's brain exploding during The YouTube's live(ish) feed.  Maybe I have more in common with him than I think.

I heart this photo.

Speaking of outer space and things not being where they ought, one of NASA's retired space shuttles rolled through the dodgy streets of one of the newly treeless, gang-ridden, ghetto regions of Los Angeles on its way to a museum to begin its new life as an oversized dust catcher.  

I'm surprised the shuttle made it through the 'burbs without being tagged by young hooligans.  The ultimate graffiti challenge.   I can't look at these shuttles without wondering how all that gaffer tape stays stuck on its nosecone.  There are many reasons I don't work at NASA, and that little thought bubble is presumably one of them.

Excuses and Political Signs

I guess I'll jump right in then and discuss a couple of boring things that happened today.  I realise that's probably not an ideal method to approach a blog post, but this was my ridiculous idea from earlier in the week to encourage myself to write more, and it seemed like a really good idea at the time.

Hm, where to begin?  I believe I'll start with exercise and excuses.  Unlike many of my acquaintances, I like to own my excuses and I call them where I see them.  For example, I don't go running because I hate cardio and I find it mind-numbingly boring.  And I also don't run because I can be quite lazy at times. 

But I hear a bunch of excuses - all day, every day - from many people on why they simply cannot exercise in this lifetime.  For example, I can't exercise in the cold.  I can't exercise because I have children and I don't have time.  I twisted my ankle thirty years ago; it might not be healed yet.  I can't exercise because my life is so busy and important and I just couldn't possibly fit anything else into my action-packed, yet sedentary, lifestyle.

Apart from the sometimes valid children escape clause, none of these are valid excuses.  I know this because I've used them all.  Apart from the kids one.  I think you need to own children before you can use it.

We women are the worst at whinging about having to exercise.  I'm surprised I don't hear more women saying, "well, I was due to go work for NASA as a rocket scientist, but then I fell pregnant".  These women have an excuse for everything.  Everyone has time to exercise, you just have to want to make the time.  And stop using your children as a basis for the web of excuses.

So today I went for a run - walk - run - walk; I think it's called interval training, but I call it interdevil training, because it basically sucks on a massive scale.  But I don't want to be an Excuse Person, so I will continue as best I can.

Speaking of painfully, boring things, next Saturday is the A.C.T. local election, which is of little interest to anyone in the A.C.T, let alone the rest of the world.  I think they have changed the rules around the use of political advertising around this neck of the woods, because there are a lot more signs stuck into the dirt on the side of the road than there used to be.

Today I noted that these signs are predominatly pro-Labor, which means the Labor factions have ripped out the Liberal ones.  I wouldn't vote Labor if my life depended on it, but I think this unsporting behaviour is typical of how that side behaves as a general rule.  They are either ripping out Liberal placards in the middle of the night or claiming sexism as an implausible excuse for political failures.  That's all they do.  Such great role models for the kiddies.

What else happened?  Nothing.  It turns out this latest writing thing is an abject failure.  I think I will have to think up a new tactical plan to get me in the writing mood.

Political Fight and African Flight

There are far too many ism's in the world - sexism, criticism - I get them all so very mixed up. Evidently the Prime Minister of Australia, Julia Ei-leen Gillard, gets these two ism’s confused all the time too, screeching 'sexism!' when valid criticism is thrown at her over her government's poor performance.  

Gillard is currently swimming, although I imagine will soon be sinking, into the mire of her self-created gender war. As far as one can tell, this war on men is motivated by a bitter hatred and resentment of her male competition, and is fed by the preposterous, delusional assumption that women will support her in her desperate attempt to cling to power at the forthcoming federal election.

I personally don’t have a scintilla of interest in anything she says. And I'm not going to call her my Prime Minister because that woman is a horrible embarrassment to me. If you are in any doubt about whether I aided her party’s accession to power, I can advise that I did not. So glad to clear that up.

Speaking of swimming in the mire, I am fairly devoid of any motivation to exercise at present. Why can’t I just be naturally fit? If I lived in the wilds of some arid African desert I wouldn't need to go to the gym because I’d naturally be in tiptop shape. It would be super; I'd spend my days chasing things, and then hastily turning around and having things pursue me.

Wouldn’t we all prefer that? Rather than spending the best part of our day sitting at a desk staring at an electronic box? Hm, I suppose not. Although unfortunately we live in a manufactured environment that gives rise to low health and fitness level by default.

Toasters, Spooks and Neeson

One has a new idea of how to inspire one's jaded fingers to write every day.  I really don't know which part of 'you will write something every day' my digits don’t understand.  So each day for the rest of October (loosely defined as 'when I can be bothered to make an effort') I'm going to pick out three significant things that happened during the day that grabbed my attention and wax lyrical about them for sentences and sentences until I get uber bored.

Sure, it will make for some mind-numbingly dull blog posts, but then I'm most likely definitely not going to read them.   Let's pretend that I started doing this annoying, stupid little activity yesterday.  Yesterday was all about toasters, spooks and Liam Neeson.

I haven't got much to say about the toaster situation, suffice to say that people who operate these semi-heavy machinery things oughta monitor their wholemeal bread more closely and attend court-appointed Toaster Awareness Seminars if they fail to do so.  But, alas, there are brave people out there who fearlessly put out flames of yeast and smoking slabs of over-cooked bread.  Now let's all pause to think about firemen for a moment...

I don't know how to segue effortlessly onto the issue of unearthly bodies, so I won't bother.  It seems spooks are everywhere.  That's ghosts, not spies; but I suppose they amount to the same thing.  Several people I know are currently experiencing seismic paranormal activity in their respective houses, and news of these happenings scares the living daylights out of me.  I don't even want to believe in the paranormal, but there is too much weird, unexplained activity going on.

There's enough scary and dodgy in the natural world to freak me out, let alone things that don't really belong here anymore.  No offence ghosts, but I'm looking at you.  And I would greatly appreciate if you would never come visit me at my home, expecially if I'd never met you when you were alive.

I'm fairly positive I saw a ghost years ago, and I have had a former pet come to me - who had died years before - so I know they are here, but I'm definitely in de river denial over it.  But still, they are here (italics used to denote spookiness).

Speaking of spooky stuff, last night I went to the movies to watch an action flick, and the cinema rudely ran a trailer of the new Paranormal Activity blockbluster - I think they are up to number 28 or something - and I accidently opened my eyes during a particularly terrifying bit.  Admittedly, I am a scaredy cat and find the mere sight of the movie logo terrifying, but anyway. 

Now, onto Liam Neeson, who would no doubt recognise a toaster if one apparated before his eyes in the middle of the night.  And then he'd shoot it.  I'm not trying to name drop or anything, but Liam and I did spend some quality time yesterday.  Sure, he was in a movie, and I was watching the movie in a cinema, but I really don't appreciate society insisting that I make that distinction.

Crankypants Ocean

I currently reside on the South Coast of Australia. When I say reside, I mean I’m here for five days. I came down for the sun, that burning yellow thing in the sky that I like to follow around, because it makes me happy.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I haven’t seen the sun for two days I would have been greedily lapping it up. And today, finally, the sun came out. THE SUN IS OUT!! I am so darn happy to see it I can’t even tell you. If I wanted to live in a dark, damp cave without the sun I would go and live in England or something.

Today is perfect beach weather – particularly if you were from Lapland and didn’t mind a bit of a cool breeze - so I decided to go for an early morning walk (um, 9:00am is my early) along the beach, but it seems the ocean had other ideas.

The first red flag should have been that there were no other people along the whole coastline, as far as the eye could see. The second red flag should have been that there were no red flags to tell people where they could and couldn’t swim.  The third was no surfers. 

The absence of these key features are not ideal near the sea – which can often be a cantankerous pain in the arse - and intelligent people probably would have noted that. I, of course, naively ignored the forewarnings, or lack thereof, and went along my merry way. And what I discovered is if you are not smart enough to realise that the ocean doesn’t want you around then it will soon tell you.

Maybe I had come at a bad time, perhaps the ocean was redecorating, and decluttering; it was certainly throwing out everything it didn’t want. Seaweed, coke bottles, bits of fallen trees, me. It was high tide as well, so I didn’t have much legroom, and at one point she had me pinned in at the seawall and doused me with icy water up to my thighs until I rolled on top of the sandbar.  Yes, I rolled, like Bear Grylls might do.  It was all very exciting.  And cold.  More cold than exciting, really.

I cursed a fair bit, laughed it off, and then came the wind; and when a strong gale and beach combine they produce a perfect machine gun effect that fires stinging sand bullets at your arms and legs. So I went running, sobbing, from the beach, or something like that. There’s nothing like being rejected by the ocean; a living, breathing body of water that doesn’t want you around.  I might try again later; when she’s in a better mood…