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.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Monday, 18 July 2011
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.
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.
 |
| Highclere Castle, which plays the title role in Downton Abbey |
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.
Sunday, 17 July 2011
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.
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.
Friday, 15 July 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, 14 July 2011
Nanny State
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.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, 25 June 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, 23 June 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, 5 June 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, 2 June 2011
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.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Personal Responsibility. Take some
So, I hear it's National Cyber Security Awareness Week, where the Federal Government pretends to have a clue about cybersecurity risk and who the hell they are trying to target as predators. I'm sure the eCriminals are shaking in their boots.
The Government are offering terrific tips too, like stop sending your banking passwords or personal information to strangers. Seriously, those people probably deserve to have their identity stolen and sold for a cheap pack of cigarettes in Eastern Europe.
Speaking of upseting the iApplecart, the new iPhone technology sure is crim friendly. Gone are the days when burglars or stalkers had to go to extremes to seek out their target; rifling through their garbage, peeping through their curtains in the middle of the night, and following them around a Coles supermarket before creating a chance meeting with their prey in the frozen food aisle and coincidently having identical items in their basket. Oh-my-god, we are soul mates!
I imagine this is how the pre-iPhone stalker worked. One has to admire the devotion that stalkers put into their art back in the day, assuming a commitment and dedication to their subject that lifecoaches and personal trainers could only dream of.
I think I'm far too apathetic about life in general to get that interested in anything. Last year it took me a couple of months to get excited about planning an overseas holiday, like it was some sort of university essay I just didn't want to begin.
I've started to notice on my Facebook news feed that people are advising me where they are and who they're with, generally from they time the awake until ... well, it doesn't stop really. This relatively new stalker-burglar friendly application is courtesy of Apple technologies. Thanks a bunch, Apple.
When it comes to technology, I think I reside somewhere in the 1990s. I still use a Video Cassette Recorder on occasions, and will continue to do so until it decides to stop working. So with this track record, I will probably purchase an iPhone or its equivalent sometime in August 2020. But I sure as shit won't be telling anyone where I am and what time I'm there.
It all seems fairly harmless I suppose, but where does it sit legally when the technology is inevitably abused? As it already has been. You can probably put my reluctance to engage with these types of applications down to paranoia, but how many of your Facebook friends meet the following description? Attractive, above average IQ, generally well liked, performed well in school, bullied as a child, fairly shy, often socially awkward, had their heart broken, signs of depression?
Yeah, well that pretty much sums up Ted Bundy too; a sadistic sociopath, as it turns out, who murdered more than 30 young women in the United States in the 1970s. Now it's highly unlikely there is a serial killer on your friends list, given they are extremely rare and there are only about 100 active ones working in the United States at the moment. Wait a minute; 100 is quite a lot, right? So my question is this - why do people make it so easy for people who wish to do them harm?
We all have to take a bit of bloody responsibility for our own safety and welfare, but some people think that's just too much trouble on their part. Take the dubiously named Slutwalk in Toronto, Canada, which took place this weekend. As far as I can tell, the march involves women dressing up in slutty clothes to march in protest against a statement that was given by a Toronto Police representative in January this year, saying “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized”.
Sounds like a timely message from the authorities to me. So why are these women trying to make a big statement to the rest of society that they should be able to wear anything they want and still stay safe on the streets?
Well, this is just one of those issues that feminists like to hijack, by labelling any call for them to engage in a bit of common sense as victimisation. The protesters seem to be angry at the police and the court system and society in general, but we really shouldn't be the target market for their protest - they are preaching to the converted.
Yes, we all agree, women should be able to walk down the street in a bikini without being harassed, but that's not friggin' realistic, is it? Rapists don't care for human rights or sexual harassment claims or feminism or your feelings. I imagine they wouldn't be raping women if they did.
Rape is a problem in society, but it's not society's fault, in that it's not caused by class or marginalisation. Despite their issues or background, all rapists have a choice about their own behaviour and they choose to rape. And if you're wearing a short skirt, they will likely choose you over someone who is not in a short skirt. Yes it's wrong that they target you, but it's REALITY. Good luck trying to make them more sensitive to your rights as a woman.
The argument that we all should take some responsiblity for our actions, and use a bit of common sense, is not saying we're asking for it if we neglect to take personal responsiblity. Far from it. But considering what law enforcement agencies, the legal system and forensic psychiatrists know about rapists, the Slutwalk approach seems nonsensical, irresponsible and downright dangerous.
The whole idea pushed by feminists that police are appealing to women for any reason other than their welfare is so ridiculous, but I would expect nothing less from feminists, who seem to care more about progressing the feminist movement than womens safety.
Taking a bit of responsibility by not wearing a slutty short skirt down a dark alley in a dodgy area of town is a smart, necessary message, and should not be used as an avenue for feminists to get on their soapbox and bang-on about women's right.
Rapists don't care about women's rights, so giving young girls the message that they should be able to dress like this and shirk all personal responsibility defies logic. Common sense is the key; dressing up as a hooker to make a point is counterproductive and just bizarre.
The Government are offering terrific tips too, like stop sending your banking passwords or personal information to strangers. Seriously, those people probably deserve to have their identity stolen and sold for a cheap pack of cigarettes in Eastern Europe.
Speaking of upseting the iApplecart, the new iPhone technology sure is crim friendly. Gone are the days when burglars or stalkers had to go to extremes to seek out their target; rifling through their garbage, peeping through their curtains in the middle of the night, and following them around a Coles supermarket before creating a chance meeting with their prey in the frozen food aisle and coincidently having identical items in their basket. Oh-my-god, we are soul mates!
I imagine this is how the pre-iPhone stalker worked. One has to admire the devotion that stalkers put into their art back in the day, assuming a commitment and dedication to their subject that lifecoaches and personal trainers could only dream of.
I think I'm far too apathetic about life in general to get that interested in anything. Last year it took me a couple of months to get excited about planning an overseas holiday, like it was some sort of university essay I just didn't want to begin.
I've started to notice on my Facebook news feed that people are advising me where they are and who they're with, generally from they time the awake until ... well, it doesn't stop really. This relatively new stalker-burglar friendly application is courtesy of Apple technologies. Thanks a bunch, Apple.
When it comes to technology, I think I reside somewhere in the 1990s. I still use a Video Cassette Recorder on occasions, and will continue to do so until it decides to stop working. So with this track record, I will probably purchase an iPhone or its equivalent sometime in August 2020. But I sure as shit won't be telling anyone where I am and what time I'm there.
It all seems fairly harmless I suppose, but where does it sit legally when the technology is inevitably abused? As it already has been. You can probably put my reluctance to engage with these types of applications down to paranoia, but how many of your Facebook friends meet the following description? Attractive, above average IQ, generally well liked, performed well in school, bullied as a child, fairly shy, often socially awkward, had their heart broken, signs of depression?
Yeah, well that pretty much sums up Ted Bundy too; a sadistic sociopath, as it turns out, who murdered more than 30 young women in the United States in the 1970s. Now it's highly unlikely there is a serial killer on your friends list, given they are extremely rare and there are only about 100 active ones working in the United States at the moment. Wait a minute; 100 is quite a lot, right? So my question is this - why do people make it so easy for people who wish to do them harm?
We all have to take a bit of bloody responsibility for our own safety and welfare, but some people think that's just too much trouble on their part. Take the dubiously named Slutwalk in Toronto, Canada, which took place this weekend. As far as I can tell, the march involves women dressing up in slutty clothes to march in protest against a statement that was given by a Toronto Police representative in January this year, saying “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized”.
Sounds like a timely message from the authorities to me. So why are these women trying to make a big statement to the rest of society that they should be able to wear anything they want and still stay safe on the streets?
Well, this is just one of those issues that feminists like to hijack, by labelling any call for them to engage in a bit of common sense as victimisation. The protesters seem to be angry at the police and the court system and society in general, but we really shouldn't be the target market for their protest - they are preaching to the converted.
Yes, we all agree, women should be able to walk down the street in a bikini without being harassed, but that's not friggin' realistic, is it? Rapists don't care for human rights or sexual harassment claims or feminism or your feelings. I imagine they wouldn't be raping women if they did.
Rape is a problem in society, but it's not society's fault, in that it's not caused by class or marginalisation. Despite their issues or background, all rapists have a choice about their own behaviour and they choose to rape. And if you're wearing a short skirt, they will likely choose you over someone who is not in a short skirt. Yes it's wrong that they target you, but it's REALITY. Good luck trying to make them more sensitive to your rights as a woman.
The argument that we all should take some responsiblity for our actions, and use a bit of common sense, is not saying we're asking for it if we neglect to take personal responsiblity. Far from it. But considering what law enforcement agencies, the legal system and forensic psychiatrists know about rapists, the Slutwalk approach seems nonsensical, irresponsible and downright dangerous.
The whole idea pushed by feminists that police are appealing to women for any reason other than their welfare is so ridiculous, but I would expect nothing less from feminists, who seem to care more about progressing the feminist movement than womens safety.
Taking a bit of responsibility by not wearing a slutty short skirt down a dark alley in a dodgy area of town is a smart, necessary message, and should not be used as an avenue for feminists to get on their soapbox and bang-on about women's right.
Rapists don't care about women's rights, so giving young girls the message that they should be able to dress like this and shirk all personal responsibility defies logic. Common sense is the key; dressing up as a hooker to make a point is counterproductive and just bizarre.
Friday, 27 May 2011
Coffee Uprising
I like to call this post - STUFF I DON'T UNDERSTAND. Coffee futures. Huh? Stock charts make my head literally explode. But I do know the cost of coffee is going up, so I have a consulted a masked blogger to find out why. Well, that's not entirely true. I received this email in a random Caffeine Induced Rage from masked blogger, and thought I should share what happens when people who understand stock charts are not able to purchase their cup of liquid stress at a reasonable price. ...And it looks like a bloody good reason for why the price of coffee is going up.
-------------------------------
Check it:
http://stockcharts.com/h-sc/ui?s=%24djakc
Top left corner. It's COFFEE. Or more accurately, coffee futures. If you change it to a weekly chart from a daily chart and hit update, it will show you that the price of coffee has doubled in a year. Why is that, you ask? The answer is POMO.
POMO ---------> http://www.zerohedge.com/article/wonder-why-market-just-surged-one-word-pomo
The US Fed is printing money, delivering it to day traders in the big US banks, who are speculating on the stock market and driving up the cost of commodities. Coffee is a commodity. As a result, the coffee makers like Gloria Jeans have to buy POMO inflated coffee, and they pass that on to you each morning, in a more expensive cup of coffee.
OMG YOU YELL WHY IS THE FED DOING THIS TO ME????
a) To help get Obama re-elected in 2012 by rigging the markets.
b) To stop the world from collapsing into an apocalyptic dystopian hell as a result of a global market crash, by rigging the markets.
c) To help all their banker mates get rich by rigging the markets.
d) They think ordinary people are too stupid to notice the market is rigged and will put all their money in shares [see reasons a) b) and c) above]
e) They hate coffee.
f) They like Las Vegas. Wall Street should be more like Las Vegas Y/N?
g) All of the above.
All I know is that my coffee went up from $2.90 today to $3.20 and I'M NOT HAPPY JAN.
-------------------------------
Check it:
http://stockcharts.com/h-sc/ui?s=%24djakc
Top left corner. It's COFFEE. Or more accurately, coffee futures. If you change it to a weekly chart from a daily chart and hit update, it will show you that the price of coffee has doubled in a year. Why is that, you ask? The answer is POMO.
POMO ---------> http://www.zerohedge.com/article/wonder-why-market-just-surged-one-word-pomo
The US Fed is printing money, delivering it to day traders in the big US banks, who are speculating on the stock market and driving up the cost of commodities. Coffee is a commodity. As a result, the coffee makers like Gloria Jeans have to buy POMO inflated coffee, and they pass that on to you each morning, in a more expensive cup of coffee.
OMG YOU YELL WHY IS THE FED DOING THIS TO ME????
a) To help get Obama re-elected in 2012 by rigging the markets.
b) To stop the world from collapsing into an apocalyptic dystopian hell as a result of a global market crash, by rigging the markets.
c) To help all their banker mates get rich by rigging the markets.
d) They think ordinary people are too stupid to notice the market is rigged and will put all their money in shares [see reasons a) b) and c) above]
e) They hate coffee.
f) They like Las Vegas. Wall Street should be more like Las Vegas Y/N?
g) All of the above.
All I know is that my coffee went up from $2.90 today to $3.20 and I'M NOT HAPPY JAN.
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
A Good Bus Service
I hear alot of stories about Canberra’s finest bus service. Most of these stories come from people who have been so damaged and oppressed by our public transport system that the only mindset bearable to them is to look for a silver lining to bus catching; or a gust of diesel smoke, as it were.
That’s why their response to any enquiry regarding the clearly endless merits of riding Action buses is to smile gingerly and tell you, “well, I have a bus pass that swipes”. Oh, splendid. A bus pass that swipes. It’s no wonder the ACT Government gets away with this brilliantly inefficient service.
I will be housesitting in the far North Tuggeranong suburb of Narrabundah in June, which is about ten minutes from my workplace. So I thought I might check out the Action bus system, in a futile attempt to become like one of those bicycle riders, who think they’re making some kind of big statement about the environment simply by riding one. This may hold appeal if I were young, impressionable and hopelessly naïve enough to think that I was going to be the one to change the world. But, alas, I'm not.
How crap can the public system be? Well, let's see, the outlay is about $2.50 less a day that what I currently pay for parking. But the nearest bus stop is a few streets away, and who the hell wants to walk that far in the middle of friggin' winter? And the times are completely inconvenient. So it's expensive, completely inconvenient and not easily accessible. Wow, I’m surprised that more people aren’t getting on ‘dem buses.
It’s like the ACT Government decided to plop everything that is wrong with the city of Canberra in one convenient location, by combining a shelter for the criminally insane, a garbage dump, a slum and a needle disposal facility, and putting the whole experience on wheels, giving it the flashy name of Action.
In fact, Feargal Sharkey, the 80's Irish singer, even penned a little number about Canberra's public transport system in his 1985 smash hit. Here's proof:
A Good Bus Service by Feargal Sharkey
I hear a lot of stories, I spose they could be true
All about Action and how it will probably screw you
High is the risk of missing the bus, the risk of being late for work
And still I have so much to learn
Well I know cause I think about it all the time
I know that good service is hard to find
And a good bus service is hard to find
Strict timetable, the lasting kind
A good Action bus is hard to find
Offers to sit near me; they will be declined
My expectations may be low, I blame it on the truth
Soon enough I’ll learn you’re painfully uncouth
I’ll face it like a fighter then boast how I’ve grown
I’m sure getting to work will be like getting blood out of a stone
And a good bus service is hard to find
Strict timetable, the lasting kind
A good Action bus is hard to find
If you sit near me; I’ll kick your behind
As I reflect on all the Action horror stories
My ideals of public transport were as foolish as they seemed
If I don’t start heading to the bus stop now I’ll be left behind
A good bus service in Canberra; it’s hard to find
That’s why their response to any enquiry regarding the clearly endless merits of riding Action buses is to smile gingerly and tell you, “well, I have a bus pass that swipes”. Oh, splendid. A bus pass that swipes. It’s no wonder the ACT Government gets away with this brilliantly inefficient service.
I will be housesitting in the far North Tuggeranong suburb of Narrabundah in June, which is about ten minutes from my workplace. So I thought I might check out the Action bus system, in a futile attempt to become like one of those bicycle riders, who think they’re making some kind of big statement about the environment simply by riding one. This may hold appeal if I were young, impressionable and hopelessly naïve enough to think that I was going to be the one to change the world. But, alas, I'm not.
How crap can the public system be? Well, let's see, the outlay is about $2.50 less a day that what I currently pay for parking. But the nearest bus stop is a few streets away, and who the hell wants to walk that far in the middle of friggin' winter? And the times are completely inconvenient. So it's expensive, completely inconvenient and not easily accessible. Wow, I’m surprised that more people aren’t getting on ‘dem buses.
It’s like the ACT Government decided to plop everything that is wrong with the city of Canberra in one convenient location, by combining a shelter for the criminally insane, a garbage dump, a slum and a needle disposal facility, and putting the whole experience on wheels, giving it the flashy name of Action.
In fact, Feargal Sharkey, the 80's Irish singer, even penned a little number about Canberra's public transport system in his 1985 smash hit. Here's proof:
A Good Bus Service by Feargal Sharkey
I hear a lot of stories, I spose they could be true
All about Action and how it will probably screw you
High is the risk of missing the bus, the risk of being late for work
And still I have so much to learn
Well I know cause I think about it all the time
I know that good service is hard to find
And a good bus service is hard to find
Strict timetable, the lasting kind
A good Action bus is hard to find
Offers to sit near me; they will be declined
My expectations may be low, I blame it on the truth
Soon enough I’ll learn you’re painfully uncouth
I’ll face it like a fighter then boast how I’ve grown
I’m sure getting to work will be like getting blood out of a stone
And a good bus service is hard to find
Strict timetable, the lasting kind
A good Action bus is hard to find
If you sit near me; I’ll kick your behind
As I reflect on all the Action horror stories
My ideals of public transport were as foolish as they seemed
If I don’t start heading to the bus stop now I’ll be left behind
A good bus service in Canberra; it’s hard to find
Monday, 23 May 2011
Cyber Browsing
I've been trying to get interested in the whole internet shopping thing, and it's not going terribly well. I find shopping in the real world to be a bit of a slow death, let alone in the cyber world. A waste of one or two perfectly good hours looking at stuff while shuffling along at an infuriatingly slow pace through a retail outlet the size of the Pentagon. Shopping is tediously boring at the best of times, and it seems that the cyber version isn't terribly interesting to me either.
Although, at least in the cyber world you don't have to put up with apathetic retail assistants. Things have changed alot since the glory days of retailing, when specialised salespeople would inform customers about the merits of a given product with an air of servitude and grace. These days you have to deal with shop biatches who avoid eye contact in fear of having to actually assist you, or worse, are so perky and lively you just want to give them a smack in the back of the head.
And then they try to sell you clothing items of high quality, which means they are designed to wear out in eight months instead of six. And shopping online also means you don't have to put up with trying to negotiate your way through a sea of baby strollers, which are pushed fervently through the mall, and are apparently designed to ensure your child can survive a sudden and unexpected encounter with a herd of charging wildebeest.
So women all around me have been banging on about their online shopping purchases; wearing faux fur coats from New York and red boots from Swaziland, or somewhere similar to that but probably a place that has a functioning economy, thus the ability to ship clothes to women all over the globe.
Anyway, I do believe I have just failed at online shopping. This evening I spent a good eighteen minutes or so browsing the websites Google decided met my exacting search criteria; that being online shopping. I looked through about thirty identical looking t-shirts on one site before I decided that I would prefer to stick a hot poker in my eye rather than look at any more. How does one find anything they are looking for?
Scrolling down the sidebar under Styles, I was offered timeless, contemporary, bohemian rhapsody, modern romance, disco fever, and casual. Casual! Yes, I know what casual is. Let's go there. I found the Style: What's this? tab to be particularly unhelpful. Under casual tops, I could choose from knits and tees, blouses and button-down shirts (what's the difference?), tanks and camis (difference?), polos, sweaters, fashion hoodies, blazers or rompers in ruffles, silk, cotton, loose boatneck, assymetrical, rayon, blah, blah, blah.
Most of these websites are user friendly. When I say user friendly, I mean completely infuriating. And the FAQ section is always special. Neither questions nor frequently asked, this is the section of the web site that compiles all the spin the company wants to snowball you with in one convenient location. Question: What is the preferred customer discount plan? Answer: Duh, an opportunity for us to assist you in hemorrhaging money.
Who the hell has the time to follow fashion anyway? Probably about six people in the world. Which might explain why runway models are always wearing some of the weirdest crap, none of which ever makes it to your local retail outlets.
Although, at least in the cyber world you don't have to put up with apathetic retail assistants. Things have changed alot since the glory days of retailing, when specialised salespeople would inform customers about the merits of a given product with an air of servitude and grace. These days you have to deal with shop biatches who avoid eye contact in fear of having to actually assist you, or worse, are so perky and lively you just want to give them a smack in the back of the head.
And then they try to sell you clothing items of high quality, which means they are designed to wear out in eight months instead of six. And shopping online also means you don't have to put up with trying to negotiate your way through a sea of baby strollers, which are pushed fervently through the mall, and are apparently designed to ensure your child can survive a sudden and unexpected encounter with a herd of charging wildebeest.
So women all around me have been banging on about their online shopping purchases; wearing faux fur coats from New York and red boots from Swaziland, or somewhere similar to that but probably a place that has a functioning economy, thus the ability to ship clothes to women all over the globe.
Anyway, I do believe I have just failed at online shopping. This evening I spent a good eighteen minutes or so browsing the websites Google decided met my exacting search criteria; that being online shopping. I looked through about thirty identical looking t-shirts on one site before I decided that I would prefer to stick a hot poker in my eye rather than look at any more. How does one find anything they are looking for?
Scrolling down the sidebar under Styles, I was offered timeless, contemporary, bohemian rhapsody, modern romance, disco fever, and casual. Casual! Yes, I know what casual is. Let's go there. I found the Style: What's this? tab to be particularly unhelpful. Under casual tops, I could choose from knits and tees, blouses and button-down shirts (what's the difference?), tanks and camis (difference?), polos, sweaters, fashion hoodies, blazers or rompers in ruffles, silk, cotton, loose boatneck, assymetrical, rayon, blah, blah, blah.
Most of these websites are user friendly. When I say user friendly, I mean completely infuriating. And the FAQ section is always special. Neither questions nor frequently asked, this is the section of the web site that compiles all the spin the company wants to snowball you with in one convenient location. Question: What is the preferred customer discount plan? Answer: Duh, an opportunity for us to assist you in hemorrhaging money.
Who the hell has the time to follow fashion anyway? Probably about six people in the world. Which might explain why runway models are always wearing some of the weirdest crap, none of which ever makes it to your local retail outlets.
Saturday, 21 May 2011
Best Before: May 21, 2011
Apocalypse now, anyone? I bet y’all have forgotten that the world as we know it is supposed to end today. In my haste to spend time in reality, I completely forgot that the world’s selectively perceptive people (see: village idiots) had deemed today to be the world’s use-by-date. Best before May 21. I hope I have a bit of time for one more blogpost before the armageddon hits the fan.
Despite all their constructive version of the facts (see: lies) and alternative wisdom (see: ignorance) that the world is nudging its Judgment Day, no-one in the mainstream (see: sane people) will take these folk seriously. Why is no-one taking them SERIOUSLY? They have a very SERIOUS message! They are screaming out to us: please have me commited. On a more serious note, I truly adore the more challenging, socially misaligned members (see: psychotic lunatics) of society.
Days like this give us a very clear indication of who among us is one of these excpetionally special folk, and it should be a time of rounding them up and introducing them to some type of correctional facility. Apparently the Rapture was predicted to occur in June 1994 as well, but when that didn’t pan out to anything remotely apocalyptic, they re-jigged the world’s use-by-date in a show of responsible citizenry and cooperative lunacy.
When it turns out that they are differently logical (see: wrong) this time, I guess we’ll just call it a learning experience (see: mistake). The next time anyone gets word that the world is going to end, can you please keep it to yourself, because I am far too busy for such a crisis.
Despite all their constructive version of the facts (see: lies) and alternative wisdom (see: ignorance) that the world is nudging its Judgment Day, no-one in the mainstream (see: sane people) will take these folk seriously. Why is no-one taking them SERIOUSLY? They have a very SERIOUS message! They are screaming out to us: please have me commited. On a more serious note, I truly adore the more challenging, socially misaligned members (see: psychotic lunatics) of society.
Days like this give us a very clear indication of who among us is one of these excpetionally special folk, and it should be a time of rounding them up and introducing them to some type of correctional facility. Apparently the Rapture was predicted to occur in June 1994 as well, but when that didn’t pan out to anything remotely apocalyptic, they re-jigged the world’s use-by-date in a show of responsible citizenry and cooperative lunacy.
When it turns out that they are differently logical (see: wrong) this time, I guess we’ll just call it a learning experience (see: mistake). The next time anyone gets word that the world is going to end, can you please keep it to yourself, because I am far too busy for such a crisis.
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