What do you get the God who's got everything? And could create whatever it was for himself even if he didn't? Well, I got him a photo of the girls dressed up in a nativity setting. Like any parent, he likes the homemade gifts. Much more personal than just a voucher.
Nice, hey? There's a church in Brunswick that does this each year as an alternative to the shopping centre Santa variety. The Angel Harper wasn't that into it, as you might be able to tell, but Winter could've posed for a portfolio's worth of shots.
Almost as good was this drawing of, Winter told us, an angel, that she drew after we got home.
And then, the other day she came up to me with her little sketchbook, and showed me the two drawings she'd just done.
The first, if you can't tell, is "baby Jesus sleeping which is why his eyes are crosses". Perched as he is on the head of a rearing sheep, I'm impressed that he's able to stay asleep. As distractions go, it's one level up from lowing cattle, you'd think. The second drawing is "baby Jesus sleeping which is why his eyes are crosses under a twinkle twinkle star". Lovely.
So, Merry Christmas, everyone. What with young kids, work, joining a gym (Hell freezing over), and so-called micro-blogging on Twitter scratching the itch to write juuuuust enough, it's been a lean year on the Path. I feel like I've been saying that a lot lately, starting to sound like an excuse. Maybe I'd better change tack and just say I've got no time for blogging because I've got a life and actual real proper important things to do and stuff? Just for a change?
Whatever the case, there are a few posts in the pipe, including another amazing year at the Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss. So stay tuned, and see you in 2010.
I decided to head into the city last week to take Big W up on their crazy offer of $20 iTunes vouchers for $10! Yes, I will have some free money, thank you! Always up for an adventure, especially when a trip on the train is involved, Winter said she'd like to come along too. Fine with me! Let's go.
Once we'd picked up the vouchers, we held hands and wandered the streets and lanes of the city. We moved among the masses of people and wondered where they were all heading. We explored all manner of shops and their colourful wares, from multilevel department stores to hole-in-the-wall boutiques. We travelled up and down the Funny Stairs (escalators) wherever they were found. And we travelled up and down the Funny Stairs. Wherever they were found. And up and down. Up, down, up, down, up, down. Alright, Winter, are you hungry? How about some food? Yes!
We bought some cheese and ham croissants and sat on a bench outside the State Library to eat them. We made up life stories for the statues around us and how they got to be there. We took photos of our shoes, the grass, and the crazy man getting lost in a flurry of pigeons and seagulls as he tried to feed them. We walked down alleyways and looking at the bright and colourful graffiti, trying to decide which design we'd most like to have on our bedroom walls. And then, when Winter's legs began to tire, we headed down to Melbourne Central Station and jumped on a train for home, mum and Harper.
As the doors beeped and closed on Connex's time in Melbourne, it was indeed fitting that the last train they sent out into the night was a bus.
Connex spokesman John Rees earns my admiration for acknowledging the irony, while suggesting – with what sounds like a mixture of defiance and exhaustion – that "for anyone who wants to look at the more positive aspect of it, it shows we are doing a lot of track work at the moment.'' Upbeat to the end, and with no apologies for any inconvenience caused. Good on him.
I really have no idea whether Metro Melbourne will be the transport provider of which we've always dreamed, or just another set of stickers on the same sardine tins we know so well, but I'm going to take a leaf out of John Rees' book and look to the future with positive eyes. Welcome Metro. May our timetables be in alignment, and may our journeys together be ever swift and smooth. Amen.
UPDATE: Well, first day on the job for Metro, and they were cancelling trains before I was barely out of bed. That's fair enough, no surprises there. Can't expect overnight miracles. When I inevitably hear the reuniformed PR spokespeople diplomatically reminding us of the network they inherited, I'll understand completely. What I don't understand is why they've have continued Connex's irritating habit of tacking a marketing slogan onto the end of their travel alert text messages:
"Metro, for everyone, everyday"
Well, everyone, everyday, except the people hoping to catch that train. Best make alternate arrangements, people, maybe a tram or a bus, or you're going to be late for work. I'm on your side, Metro Melbourne! You don't need to throw up smokescreens, or glamour me with some meaningless, weaselly, focus-grouped positioning statement. Just do what you say you're going to do as best you can, and we'll be fine.
So, I was buying some bread from Brumby’s today, and guess what I saw on-shelf?
Stopping the clock a full 167 days out from Good Friday, without doubt the earliest Hot Cross Bun sighting of all time! At the very least, it kicks the buns out of my previous best, which by comparison was a mere 97 days.
I mean, unless there’s been a change in standard store procedure and Hot Cross Buns are now a year-round product? Well, would make sense, wouldn’t it? Who doesn't want tasty spiced fruit bun with a hard bit on top goodness 24/7/365? We can get choccy eggs whenever we want 'em, so why not HCBs? And we can repackage them as Easter Buns at Easter time so they'll still have special seasonal significance, and everyone's happy! Win/win.
In the lead up to the 2009 Birdbath Cup, all talk centred around the likelihood of two-time Keeper of the FNOath, Post, claiming his third title in a row. Any why wouldn't it? The champ's emphatic victories of the previous twoyears left little doubt as to the likely outcome, and in the absence of an obvious challenger, a threepeat®™ (Riles & Co. Used under licence. All rights reserved.) seemed all but certain.
Bart's name had been put forward – by himself – as a clear and present danger, but his form of recent years just didn't back him up. A more realistic threat came in the form of Ahab. He'd always possessed a thundering kick, but a remarkable pre-season that had seen him drop a staggering 44kgs from his frame meant he was lean, mean and keen to get out on the bricks and start booting bottles around. Provided there were no dog shows to attend that weekend, of course.
As the great day finally arrived, the expectation hit fever pitch. As first order of the day, a ceremony was held to bestow perpetual tournament naming rights on long-time FNOccer supporter, the Templestowe Fish Balloon. Once the formalities were complete, the competitors indulged in a generous spread of deep-fried Fish Balloon fare, and none left hungry or disappointed.
The first round of the 2009 draw saw Ahab and Davet set to clash in a Qualification match, before Bart and JJ Glamma would lock horns in the First semi-final, the winner of which would get an express ticket to the Grand Final. Round 2 would see the winner of the Qualifier run into the Defending Champion in the Second semi-final, and Round 3 would cap it all off as the two Semi-final winners met in the Fish Balloon Grand Final. Make sense? Good!
Let the bottle drop!
ROUND 1 Qualification: Ahab v Davet As you would expect when two athletes step into the same space to battle over a bottle, FNOccer matches are often fiery affairs. But when Ahab and Davet lined up for their pre-drop press shot, each threw an arm around the other and grinned away in an expression of good-natured sportsmanship much applauded by the crowd.
When the bottle dropped, however, Davet's smile was promptly turned on its dial as Ahab lived up to his rating as a tournament threat and blasted home five unanswered goals.
Davet steadied though, and dragged himself onto the board with two of his own, but the marauding Ahab shrugged them off and slammed home another pair to finish his opponent off 7-2. A very convincing display.
First semi-final: Bart v Glamma The First semi-final pit brother against brother, or as Bart quipped during the pre-match press conference, "cough v hangover", as each made early excuses for possible form.
Glamma drew first blood once out on the bricks, and then held the lead all the way to match point where, trailing by two, it looked like Bart would be bundled out early once again. Preparing to serve for his life, Bart took a deep breath, focussed his bleary eyes...
...and unleashed a storm! Recalling his golden displays of yesteryear, the prancing veteran slammed home three aces in a row, thumping the score to 7-6 in his favour, and turning the match on its head. Glamma wasn't giving up either though, and the brothers exchanged goal for goal all the way to 9-10, when a reckless over the shoulder hold by Bart sent Glamma to the penalty line. Glamma elected to kick from the one-point line, but he missed and the game was back on. Bart, getting desperate, was blazing away, but like William Wallace on the blood-drenched battlefields of ancient Scotland, Glamma held, held, held...
...and finally, with a deft touch, slid home his record-setting eleventh goal of the match to win by two. Epic!
ROUND 2 Second semi-final: Ahab v Post Ahab's devastating takedown of Davet led several commentators to suggest the Keeper had cause for concern.
But you don't win back-to-back Birdbath Cups by listening to the opinions of others, and right from the drop the champ came out strong, knocking Ahab off balance with a 'don't argue' in the centre circle, and then knocking the first score onto the board.
But it was there his score stayed as Ahab grabbed the game by the throat and slammed home five goals in a row for the second time that day. It takes more than a five-goal onslaught to rattle Post, however, and muttering something about being "no' left-handed" he responded by piling on five straight goals of his own! It felt, to be honest, a little like watching a cat playing with a mouse.
And so, with the champ perched on match point, Ahab needed something big. His next serve went scorching across the bricks, but it was narrowly deflected by Post's foot and went scuttling over to the lamppost, coming to rest just off the bricks. Ahab moved in and pumped the bottle through the air, past the champ's feet and... under the bench for three!
Clearly surprised, Post turned slowly as his brain worked feverishly to process what had just occurred. Ahab... on five... first kick... from off the bricks... scores three... makes eight... which is one past seven and two past me... he's won! Ahab's won!
Dreams crushed, Post sealed the deal with a somewhat reluctant handshake. And who can blame him? In the post-match press conference, the jackals of the free press asked if he was disappointed to fail in his claim for a third straight title? The hardest part, he replied, had been calling his wife after the defeat and hearing his three-year-old daughter in the background asking, "Mum, did Dad lost?" He hadn't let himself down, he explained, he'd let his little girl down. That's special, isn't it? There's always next year, little one.
ROUND 3 Fish Balloon Grand Final: Ahab v JJ Glamma Unlike previous years, the 2009 Fish Balloon Grand Final had no clear favourite. As a grand finalist in 2007, Glamma was comfortable performing on the big stage, and Ahab's blistering form was such that doubts and nerves didn't get a look in.
And initially neither did Glamma, as Ahab dominated out on the bricks once again, driving the score to four goals to none in no time at all.
Glamma eventually dragged himself onto the board with a scorcher he sliced through Ahab's feet and under the bench for two. He followed it up with another quick goal, declaring defiantly to the crowd that he wasn't just going to roll over. But in the end it wasn't up to him, as Ahab volleyed his next serve under the bench to claim the competition, 6-3.
It was a classy end to a magnificent performance from Ahab, and combined with his stunning upset victory at the last Slurpee Toss, this really has been the Year of the Whale. A new superpower has arisen, and with Glamma despairing at being the bridesmaid once again, Post longing to regain his lost crown, and Bart just desperate for plasticware (any sort of plasticware), the annual campaigns to come promise to be compelling indeed.
You know those people who, what's the expression, you could listen to reading the phone book? Shaun Micallef, for example. I could listen to him reading the phone book. I don't know what it would be, but he'd bring something to the act that would make it enjoyable and worthwhile.
Noel Gallagher – despite the pleasing Manc accent – would not be on my list of phone book orators; but I'd be interested in getting his opinion on it. Whatever it was, it'd be worth hearing, as quotable gold seems to tumble out each time Noel opens his Big Mouth. If he's not offering his opinion on album pricing, then he's discussing rock stars who say they don't take drugs:
The guitarist told Italian newspaper Corriere Della Sera: "I look at Chris Martin, who says he has never taken drugs in his life, and I think he is an idiot. Doing drugs is the most beautiful thing about being in a rock band.
"Up until 1998 I must have spent £1 million on drugs - then I stopped, because it is bad for your health, brain, life and for people around you. But while you use them - except for heroin which kills people and which I have never tried - as you lot [Italians] would say, 'Mamma Mia'."
He's a git, and a prat, but he's a thoroughly entertaining one. Click on the link above for the full article, including Noel's thoughts on political messages at rock shows.
I was just exposed to a video that was highly offensive, deeply disturbing, and bag loads of fun to watch! If you're up for something like that, turn the volume up and click on through.
Names etched in the living rock of time as fathers of the modern game of Australian Football. Names revered for their vision and an equal passion to bring that vision to life. Names remembered as one day so too will those of Ahab, Bart, Cobbies, Glamma and Post. Not for any connection to Australian football, but rather for their pioneering contribution to the pursuit of competitive Slurpee consumption.
A Slurpee to most people is little more than a refreshing icy beverage best enjoyed on a hot summer's day. But for five boys from Templestowe – an outer north-eastern suburb of Melbourne, destined to receive notoriety as home to the Black Prince of Lygon St, Alphonse Gangitano – the Slurpee meant so much more.
For them, the Slurpee was a gateway to self-discovery. For them, the clipped conical form of a Super Slurpee held the answer to the question, "How much can you truly know about yourself if you've never dumped a bucket of ice down your throat as fast as you possibly can?"
And so it was that back in the late twentieth century, Ahab, Bart, Cobbies, Glamma and Post set about establishing the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition. Each year they would come together and challenge each other to push onward beyond the boundaries of the everyday, to grasp their potential with both hands and strive boldly into the unknown. And it was in that frozen depth that they discovered themselves; it was atop that icy mountain that they realised there was no limit to what they could achieve.
Sadly, though, the Competition was to run only three years before concerns over the negative health effects on its participants led to its abandonment. But its legacy lives on and has formed the foundation of a recent campaign by the 7-Eleven Corp. to see Slurpee Demolitions recognised as a legitimate sporting endeavour.
Curiously though, despite the obvious debt owed to the band of brothers from Templestowe, no mention is made of their names anywhere throughout the 7-Eleven website or on the marketing paraphernalia produced to support the bid. Also missing is any reference to the other form of Slurpee-based competition they pioneered, Slurpee tossing.
That's okay though, because the boys didn't do it for fame or for the recognition. They're just happy to know that the challenge they set themselves – to be the very best they can be – has gone on to inspire others all around the world. Like this noble guzzler for instance:
Or this competitive chap from Australia (oh, hello iPhone, didn't see you there):
Impressive, no doubt, but their sense of accomplishment seems a little unwarranted. I mean, sure that was quick... for a Large. Let us know when you're done paddling in the kiddie pool and are ready to dump a Super down your gullet. What's that? Didn't think so.
But I guess this sort of setting the bar at ankle-height is to be expected when you consider 7-Eleven's bewildering decision to discard the established name of Slurpee Demolitions in favour of the uninspiring and ultimately meaningless, Sport of Slurping. Slurping? Slurping is involved, sure, but Slurping as a name fails to capture any sense of the effort required to compete. My grandmother, if she were still alive, would be up for 'slurping' a Slurpee, but demolishing one is another thing altogether. Slurping merely requires a mouth, while Slurpee demolition requires an iron will, an iron oesaphagus, and a spirit of recklessness bordering on lunacy. Slurping! Blrrrrrrp.
Oh well, history is a great and slow-moving beast, and I'm sure that in time this issue will be set to rights. In the meantime, let's raise our cups to the crazy ones. Because they push us forward. Because they change things. And because if they keep shovelling that much ice into themselves at that rapid a rate, we may not get another chance.
UPDATE Well, that was quick. I know it's taking me forever to complete my posts these days, but barely had I become aware of this campaign than the bunting at the local Sev was stripped down and replaced with signs promoting discount milk! Give a movement time to establish itself before pouring it down the drain, 7-Eleven. I didn't even get a chance to venture down and get involved or take a few photos of the promotional paraphenalia. Nyarh. The 'Sport of Slurping' failed to capture the public imagination, I guess. Oh well, in schoolyards and on street corners this game was born, and for now, that's where it will stay.
UPDATE 2 Hold on, not so fast! I'd never been able to get the 'Official Sport of Slurping' website to load beyond the introductory video, and I assumed they must have shut it down post-haste after the campaign flopped. I just went there now, however, and it seems the bid is not only alive and well, it's also been a success! The (apparently legit) International Federation of Competitive Eating has just recognised (so-called) Slurping as an official sport, with the likelihood of an international event in 2010! Well, there you go. Corrected I stand.
UPDATE 3 HOLD ON, NOT SO FAST!! I just tried going back to the O.S.O.S website, only to have Google throw up a giant red banner, saying the site is a suspected host of malware that may harm my computer.
Not sure why I wasn't warned the first time I went there? Possibly because I was on my MacBook using Safari 3, whereas now I'm on my iMac with Safari 4? Surely it hasn't only just happened while I was walking between rooms? Firefox 3 flags it as well, but I don't have FF2 still installed, so I can't check if it's an older browser issue. Hmm, well, whatever the case, fortunately I took a screenshot of the site when I was there, so you can still have a look without exposing yourself to the heinous wares of mal. Hey, you're welcome.
Of particular note, see how strongly Australia has lead the lobbying. Not surprising, I guess, as we are the home of competitive Slurpee consumption. Yay Australia. And if a screenshot simply doesn't sate your thirst for Demolition news, head on over to their non-quarantined Facebook page for more.
UPDATE 4 Complain and you shall receive! "Deflector" Shield has just sent through a photo he took with his iPhone of a Slurping poster hanging in the window of a 7-Eleven in the city. My thanks! I'll tell you, the iPhone 3G may not have the greatest camera going round, but the best camera really is the one you've got with you.
UPDATE 5 I hope you've been enjoying, as I have, Talkin' 'Bout Your Generation, the latest vehicle of success for the infallible Shaun Micallef (sorry, Welcher and what?). One of the segments on the show is called What's a Doodle Do, in which the contestants attempt to identify familiar corporate logos as they're revealed bit by bit. In a recent episode, this image came up...
...and I'm proud to say... hmm, maybe proud's not the right word, aah, bugger it, proud to say I called out, "7-Eleven" without a second's hesitation. Pride that escalated when it took the contestants all the way to this...
...before they fiiiiinally got the answer themselves.
Talented designer with an extraordinarily keen eye for detail? Or layabout urchin who spent too much of his youth hanging around a convenience store? You be the judge.
Interesting juxtaposition on the platforms at Southern Cross Station.
State of Origin destroys lives. No, wait, Don't let Molly go to your head. No, hang on, that's not it. Glory, I'm as confused as Molly normally is.
Thanks to "Human" Shield for the photo.
UPDATE Seems like Molly's kicked the ice — good for him — but now he's threatening some of Australia's exceptional women. Raaargh! Come on, Molly; sort yourself out.
Happy Star Wars (tm) Day everyone. May the Fourth be with you.
I guess.
Getting pretty hard to muster up much enthusiasm for Star Wars (tm) Day these days. Especially when Uncle George keeps revealing the swamp is deeper than I ever thought possible:
Sigh. This must be what Luke felt like on Cloud City. Freefalling into oblivion… and just when you think you’re at the bottom, a trapdoor opens up and the descent begins again.
I guess we can always pretend like it’s 1983 and the Classic Trilogy is all there is and all we’ll ever need? Sure, Jedi's got some problems, but nothing on par with the Prequels, right?
Enter Dan Vebber and Dana Gould's essay from The Unauthorized Star Wars Compendium, entitled ‘50 Reasons Why Return of the Jedi Sucks'. Written back in 1997 before the Prequels hulked along, I only came across it the other day, and I've got to say, it knee-capped any kind of defence I might have once been inclined to mount on Jedi’s behalf.
All the 50 reasons are telling, but of particular note is this point from Reason 1:
"But aside from what we see onscreen, the Ewoks are miserable little creatures for a completely different reason: they are the single clearest example of Lucas' willingness to compromise the integrity of his Trilogy in favor of merchandising dollars. How intensely were the Ewoks marketed? Consider this: "Ewok" is a household word, despite the fact that it's never once spoken in the film.
Indeed. Reason 9 [ The Forest Battle on Endor ] brought back some bad memories. Contrary to what they write...
"Happily, audiences have always responded to the stupidity of this imbalance: in screening after screening, the Ewok's groaning demise is typically met with more cheers and applause than the destruction of the Death Star."
…my experience was considerably different. Back in 1997, a group of friends and I attended a screening of the Jedi SE, hosted by the Star Wars Appreciation Society. Thinking we were among friends, we applauded and cheered loudly as an AT-ST barbecued the seemingly lone Ewok victim, but to our great shock we were booed, branded “nasty” and told to keep quiet! What?! We’re Star Wars fans, aren’t we? We hate Ewoks! Apparently not. My membership lapsed soon after.
Oh and, of course, impossible to argue with Reason 20:
[ Boba Fett's Death ]
Although I would have listed it higher. :)
Oh well, we’ll always have Empire.
UPDATE Updated to include co-author credit and original source of essay, as brought to my attention in comments on original link. Interestingly, the archived piece the commenter links to includes 'Ten Reasons Why Jedi Doesn't Totally Suck', which makes for a nice positive little tie-off at the end. I'd agree with the ten points, except for their praise of Ian McDiarmid as the Emperor. I always thought he overacted the role, verging on caricature at times. And it was a thought emphatically confirmed when he reprised the role in the Prequels. Glory, that awful, awful scene where he fried his face with his lightning, I thought I was going to laugh. I hate, hate, hate, that scene. Forget the idea of the dark side working insidiously, eating away from the inside and corrupting over time. Nah, let's just do it in one take! Palpy's makeover from hell... up next! Rubbish.
Oh, I also chopped out a line about the essay being published on the eve of Phantom Menace's release. Because the authors spoke of their hopes for the "new films", I guess I assumed it was pre-Prequels (don't get any ideas, Lucas), and got my dates all muddled up. Thanks to Glamma for pointing out the error.
UPDATE 2 Ok, Take 3. Glamma's come back to me again – I think he's doing this on purpose – and pointed out that I may have been right all along. The essay mentions it's been nearly 14 years since Jedi's release, which suggests that it was written in 1997, and hence pre-Prequel. The 2001 date is presumably when it was first published online. So there you go. Hope that's cleared things up for everyone.
When Senator Barack Obama choose to campaign for President under the banner of CHANGE, he could not have known the extent to which his vision would be fulfilled. Far more than just a slogan, Obama tapped into a current that was sweeping the globe. From the marbled halls of power to the humblest hole in the ground covered by a sheet of tarpaulin, a force was rolling, kickin' down doors and blasting through homes like some kind of cosmic spring-clean.
CHANGE. Change was on the move!
Even in Templestowe, an outer eastern suburb of Melbourne, famed for its blend of city and country lifestyles, people were stopping in the streets, cocking their heads with quizzical expressions, as though catching a scent in the air or hearing a faint voice calling their names. Perhaps not recognising it consciously, but deep down, on some level, these people knew something was coming.
CHANGE. Change was coming!
It seemed a day like any other as seven tossers turned up to the former site of Templestowe Primary School (No. 1395), ready to hurl buckets of ice through the ether and into Glory.
As first among losers in 2007, Davet had earned the right to the penultimate toss, but boldly waving this aside he stepped out onto the pitch and fixed the horizon with a steely glare.
Could he go one better than Jack to claim Bart's crown of King? Or would he instead forget to let go of his cup, over-rotating and slamming it onto the ground where it would spin off several metres behind him? Sadly for Davet it was door #2, which saw him suffer the greatest reversal of fortune in tossing history, falling from Jack one year to Holder of the Plastic Straw the next. Not even Ahab (2004) or Alethea (2007) in their wildest fits of unconess had considered so disastrous a result.
Once the spectators had stopped laughing and settled down, Agent Cobbies got down to business.
Every day is Auction Day for Cobbies, and he was determined to get a result. Dancing down the pitch in his snappy leather loafers, he launched his cup into the air. Angling off to the left but flying true, it thumped down on the far side of the top court, establishing a challenging mark for those to follow.
If Ahab was troubled by his history of misfortune at the Toss, he wasn’t letting it show. Smiling as he walked around pre-toss, he appeared entirely relaxed and confident.
Even when Bart employed his familiar tactic of inspiring overconfidence through unexpected praise, Ahab refused to be rattled and just let him talk to the wind. A slightly stilted run-up led nevertheless to a beautiful toss that drew cries of praise from the assembled crowd. Smacking down just shy of the far gutter, Ahab landed himself clear in front of Cobbies, and in strong contention for the Jack!
After a disappointing debut in 2007, JJ Glamma was back for another toss.
As he lined up for his run, he declared with a wry smile that he'd be happy enough to just beat Davet. Which, as it turns out, was lucky because his toss was so disastrous it failed to reach even the top court’s fence, mere metres away. Critics were quick to find fault with his unconventional "drinking grip," saying it was more suited to lifting a cup to one's mouth than hefting it into the air. But they were also quick to commend Glamma’s willingness to take risks and toss down a path never tossed before. And while his cup may not have travelled far, unlike Davet’s it did at least travel forward and so, true to his word, he retired happy.
Absent from tossing competition for the last two years, former Toss King Benn (2004) was back and keen to make up for lost time.
Striking like a cobra, he flew down the pitch and launched his cup into the air. Despite the uncommon choice of a Medium cup for tossing, his shot thumped down a mere length behind Ahab’s. But Benn knew his choice of cup had cost him, turning away with a shake off his head, saying, “Just no weight…” Important lesson there for young tossers.
Next to the line was perennial toss disappointment, Steve.
As both Keeper of the FNOath and Perpetual Master of Demolitions, Steve had long coveted the title of Toss King and a clean-sweep of all three Templetitles. But each year Bart’s dominance left him frustrated, and the luckless veteran was stuck playing Chick Hicks to Bart's Mr. The King. A new year pours new hope, however, and Steve was hoping this year would be the one. The crowd fell into an expectant hush as he gathered himself, sensing perhaps that something extraordinary was about to happen. And they weren’t wrong. The air crackled as the Postman thundered down the pitch, but as his arm reached the apex of its mighty revolution, his cup slipped from his grip and shot straight up into the air! Slamming down ahead of Glamma’s but still on the wrong side of the fence, disaster had struck for the third time in a year! Involuntary cup release, more commonly known as ‘slip-grip’, is an inherent risk when tossing plastic cups, as condensation can make their smooth sides slippery indeed, offering not even the minimal grip afforded by the waxed-cardboard surface of the traditional cup. Usually considered a trap for young players, Steve's misfortune showed you ignore the basics at your peril.
And so, with everyone spent but Bart, all that remained to be determined was by how much he'd win. Would he land his cup on the lower court again, or would he smash his own book of records and cross that one too?
Counting down from five, Bart blasted forward and launched his cup into space. But a cry went up as mere seconds into flight it started to descend! Ah, Houston, we have a problem! Trailing a stream of ice, Bart's cup came crashing down to Earth all too soon, failing to clear not only the top court, but... Three. Other. Cups. as well!!
Gallant and good-humored in defeat, Bart turned to the stands, spread his arms and acknowledged, "I've been done." Perhaps, like Samson, Bart’s recent hair-cropping had deprived him of his strength when he needed it most? Who could say? And for the time being, who cared? What an extraordinary year! A new, first-time Toss King, Bart defeated for the first time in competition and not just deprived of the title through absence, and three competitors unable to toss their way out of a pot! Just extraordinary.
Ahab refused to be drawn on whether he’d be able to go Back-to-Back, but the 2009 Toss is shaping to be an absolute balls-out BLOCKBUSTER! See you there!
The Final Results (official): 1. Ahab (Toss King); 2. Benn (The Jack); 3. Cobbies; 4. Bart; 5. Steve; 6. JJ Glamma; 7. Davet (Holder of the Plastic Straw).
ADDENDUM In the lead-up to the 2008 Festival of Slurping, Bomber affirmed his commitment to the Stolp and posed an interesting question regarding the Toss.
"I will however drag my sorry arse to the local Sev to truly explore what a Malaysian Slurpee tastes like. Does it have the same texture even? I have found many thing over here appears to be the same as at home, but they are not.
I will then proceed to throw that cup with as much slurpee as i choose not to drink southeast bound which will no doubt land about 10 feet behind 'The Champ's'. The next step is a massive question. As the Stolp field is the stolp field, and the chuck line is the chuck line... Will my throw of approx 6360 km still lose if it falls 10 feet short of the Champ's?”
JJ Glamma stepped in helpfully to reply.
"Something else to keep in mind is that the toss line is a North/South line extending North and South from Templestowe Primary (-37.757755,145.128601).
At the latitude of Kuala Lumpur (3.16177, 101.707993) the line passes through the Pacific Ocean north of New Guinea. At this point it is only 4,820km East of KL.
However.
The contestants in the toss stand on the Eastern side of the line and throw west. So Bomber is not 4,820km behind the line — he is 4,820km in front of it.
Fortunately, the Earth is round, so that by turning around and facing West, he will find himself behind the line once again. 35,193km behind it, to be exact.
However, since lines of longitude get closer together the further away from the equator we get, his best toss strategy will be to throw almost directly North, with just a hint of west.
I am not familiar with the rulings that apply here — is the winner judged by metres west of the line, or degrees of longitude west of the line? It matters little when all tossers are at the same latitude, but could be critical here.
In any event, however that question is answered, the target point for Bomber will be within 100m of the North Pole. Which means he must throw a distance of 9,656km.
Any questions?"
There were none, and as no cup came slamming down from the stratosphere on Toss day, there was no need to question the final result either.
Nine stolpers and two dogs (old-paw Kess and debutant Poppet) stepped out for the 2008 Annual Christmas Stolp.
New stolpers are always welcome, even those of the canine variety, but glory, we need to get a few cats along to even out the numbers. Maybe I need to get Thelma trained on one of those cat lead thingos?
Regardless, the Templestowe Fish Balloon laid on its usual pre-stolp deep-fried fare, before the group wandered down the 7-Eleven to pick up the requisite Slurpees and headed back up the hill to the Tossing Grounds to battle.
International flavour this year was provided by Bomber who went stolping Malyasian-style.
On getting down to his local in Kuala Lumpur however, he was disappointed to find not only no durian-flavoured Slurpee*, but – Maaf, Sedang Diperbaiki! – no working Slurpee machine either!
But his disappointment was quickly assuaged by the presence of beer in the fridge just down the aisle!
Grabbing a Tiger (alas, no Bombers), he raised his can to those international liquor licensing laws, and enjoyed a relaxing stolp home.
Thanks for sharing your steps with us, Bombalomba. Hope to see you back treading the familiar paths of Templestowe next year.
Speaking of next year, see you later this year!
*Note: Actual disappointment greatly overstated. Bomber has not one good word to say about durian which, despite its fetid smell, is highly esteemed by the locals for its flavour.
Well, no one said I'd never do it, but I wish they had, because I've just done it: 200 posts! Two hundred pauses on the path of this wondrous journey we call life to reflect, record and romanticize all the slow news that's fit to ignore. Two hundred pauses to find some space and give form to the jabbering voices in my head.
Yep, two hundred pauses and what would I change? Nothin'... although, actually, as I've noted before I kind of wish I'd used the name Slow News Day, not Commas on the Path. I take pride in enjoying the things that I enjoy, regardless of what others may think, and judging by how often the phrase crops up in response to my posts, it would seem to be a nice little summary of the content found hereon. Commas, by contrast, has no real significance beyond some vague allusion to my love of punctuation, and was really just plucked from the ether as I sat staring blankly at the sign-up screen asking me to name this new blog thing. But Commas it was, and Commas it is.
Another decision I might have made differently was choosing Blogspot over other sites, such as WordPress. Maybe it's just the green grass on the other domain, but WordPress has always seemed to have a more powerful feature set and a more refined aesthetic as well. It's also not called 'blogspot', which is a name I've never liked. 'Blog' is an unappealing word, for a start, and 'blogspot' has a novelty, buzzword feel to it that I've never been comfortable with. It's also the sort of word I can imagine Beavis and Butthead sniggering at. "Dude, you wouldn't know a blogspot from a bunghole. Heh, heh. Heh. You said blogspot." WordPress, by contrast, has a satisfying authenticity to it and sounds more concerned with publishing than being a lifestyle accessory for the now generation. And it also doesn't hurt that WordPress uses the names of jazz giants for their application codenames, starting out with my favourite, the great Charles Mingus; the anniversary of whose birth it is today, incidentally. Mingus (1.2), Duke (2.0), Ella (2.1), Coltrane (2.7)... not since Apple's cats has there been so cool a series of codenames! But back in those ancient days of 2005, Blogger was the big kid in the sandpit — making all the noise and getting all the attention — so Blogspot it was, and Blogspot it is.
I also wish I'd heaped a little less on my plate and started just the one blog instead of three. You can always filter content using tags, and as it's grown increasingly difficult to generate content for even one blog, The Catablog and My Type of Blog have ended up looking a little neglected. Having just the one, however, would have meant I didn't get to use the other two titles, of which I'm quite fond.
But that's enough words, let's look at Commas by the numbers...
And if you're not into numbers, then how about a graph?!
This graph shows my rate of posting, month-to-month, and includes significant events that give context to the results. I started off wanting to include a graph as a joke, but it actually led to some interesting observations, including:
So there you go. Hope that wasn't all too self-indulgent, and if it was, I'd have hoped you'd come to expect that by now. Thanks for walking with me, and I look forward to seeing you on the path again soon. Cheerio. :)
UPDATE Oh, if you're wondering about the significance of the title to this post, it's not some fiendishly clever pun-laden wordplay of the kind I typically write, it's simply my favourite bit of comment spam from the many I've received over the years. I say briefly: Best!
Around eight months ago I pledged to stop using iPuns in my writing as they've become stale and tiresome, and I'm proud to say I've stayed true to my word.
The writers at the mX "newspaper" apparently don't share my view, and indeed — if this train wreck of a headline is anything to go by — the real problem's that they're not being used enough:
I haven't seen them so overburden a headline with puns (or attempts at puns) since this dog's breakfast from early 2006.
"iCan cut and iCan iPaste" is not only awkward and tedious, it also doesn't make any sense. What is iPaste? And if 'paste' gets the i treatment, why not 'cut'? Why not carpet-bomb the whole headline with leading 'i's and quadruple your pun fun cleverness?! It's easy to criticise, I know, but if you absolutely had to break out the iPuns, I think something like 'Finally iCan cut and paste' would have been much more appropriate.
Oh well, to thine own self be true, and let mX do whatever they want to do. iF iDon't LiKe iT, iCan EasiLy iGnore iT, iGuess.
[Warning: Here Be 24 Spoilers. Although, honestly, if you didn't see this one coming, you probably can't read, anyway.]
TV's 24 can be hard to believe at the best of times, but I really couldn't believe it when this news graphic popped up in a recent episode:
"Seige"? Hurgh. First Lost, now 24; what's happening to the standard of literacy on TV these days (grumble, grumble)? And why aren't these things being spotted before they're broadcast? Is it really too much to expect? Let's get Jack onto the trail of those responsible. He'd track 'em down and throw the book at them! Phonebook, probably. (No scars. Clever.)
It's not like siege is a difficult word to spell, either. It even conforms to the old "I before E except after C" mnemonic that people are so quick to call up in their defence when they trip over exceptions such as 'weird'.
I don't know. Maybe I've got it wrong and it's actually the result of extraordinary attention to detail; you know, some form of hyperrealism? A round of authenticity amidst a barrage of absurdity. I mean, come on, the White House is under siege! It's a national emergency! Everyone would be freaking out, scrabbling around under enormous pressure as they rush to get the news to air, and so mistakes are bound to happen! It's a wonder there weren't more!
Hmm, well, I wish I could believe it. Although, if it was true, I'd prefer they put that level of attention into maintaining the integrity of their "real-time" timeline. Time seems so fluid at times, especially during ad breaks, it's no wonder Jack's always running out of it, dammit.
UPDATE Well, that didn't take long. Rarely does when Jack gets on the job. I don't know when he found the time, but after learning that the Cable News Betwork (thanks Lileks) had been infiltrated by a shady cabal of spelling anarchists, Jack hightailed it over to their broadcast centre at once. Turns out the anarchists had also implemented a high-level cross-agency mole-based infiltration that meant Jack had to operate outside the system (AGAIN!) with only the help of Chloe O'Brien. Remotely hacking into the CNB's mainframe with a minimum of fuss, Chloe turned off all their alarms and cameras and whatever, allowing Jack to slip undetected into their server room where he installed a self-populating Character Sequence Verification module which did something or other and what have you, and before you could say your ABCs the spelling problem was fixed!
So there you go. Literacy crisis over. Phew! Jack, we're in debt to you once again!
One of Winter's favourite songs is that old classic, I'm A Little Teapot. She's been singing it all the time of late, and will often stop and point out things that remind her of a teapot. Which is all fine, cute and wonderful when, for example, she's pointing at one of Kate's earrings...
...but not so good when it's at one of my Batman figures.
She even grabbed the Dark Knight and poured him like a teapot. Come on, Winter. A little respect, please. Teapot? Prrrrffbbb.
Although, to be honest, I have always found this pose a little awkward. I'm not saying he does look like a teapot, but he does look somewhat like he's in the middle of a posing routine. Can you believe how much he is in heaven? But heaven or not, he's always seemed like he was missing something, and it wasn't until I moved house recently that I realised what it was. Unpacking all my Batman figures from their moving box, I put this one up on the window sill next to my desk. Then, in a moment of serendipity, I noticed the dangling cord of the window's blind, and suddenly everything swung into place...
Simply couldn't imagine a more perfect spot for him.
Right. I think I fancy a cup of tea.
UPDATE "Heaven" link above updated to actual video on YouTube. You'd think I would have learned to stop linking to static text-based pages of quotes when I did the same thing over two years ago.
Posts
