Commas on the Path

Obi-Wan never gave spoilers.

2011-11-29T21:30:00.001+11:00

In addition to reading Winter The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, I've also just started playing the Lego Star Wars computer game with her. Life goal #36: complete.

And my, she loves it. When we sit down to play, she never wants to stop. The first thing she says to me each morning is, "Daddy, we play Lego Star Wars?" And if that's not proof enough of her devotion, the other night at bedtime she prayed, "And thank you Jesus for Lego Star Wars." Oh my.

Almost had a disaster this morning, though. I'd just woken up and Winter had come in to ask questions about Lego Star Wars.

Winter: Did you unlock any new characters last night, Dad?"
Me: Yep, Jango Fett.
Winter: Who's Jango Fett?
Me: Boba Fett's dad.
Winter: [pause] I didn't know people in Star Wars had dads!

Now, in hindsight, this should maybe have set off some kind of an alarm, but, for whatever reason, it didn't.

Me: Yeah, of course.
Winter: Who else has a dad?

Ok, this definitely should have triggered an alarm, but Winter's favourite character is Queen Amidala, who I'd earlier identified as Princess Leia's mum, so the groundwork for Princess Leia having a dad had already been laid and I carried right on…

Me: Well, Princess Leia has a dad. He's married to Princess Leia's mum.
Winter: Really? Who's Princess Leia's dad?

Ok, let's keep in mind that I had just woken up and my brain was not yet functioning properly, because that's the only way I can think of to explain:

Me: Darth Vader.

AWOOGA AWOOGA. At LAST an alarm went off and I abandoned ship!

Winter: Really?
Me: [pause] Um, well, sort of... but you don't know who that is, do you? Darth Vader?
Winter: The black one. With the helmet.
Me: Oh. [pause] [looooong pause] So anyway. Breakfast?

Look, it could have been worse. She doesn't know the connection between Princess Leia and … some other character who also has a father. And she won't find out that connection until after the… other connection is revealed, so we're all good. As long as I can keep my mouth shut until she's old enough to watch the movies.

UPDATE
Well, Christmas is coming, and I've been looking everywhere to try and find Winter a present that could encourage her interest in Star Waaaaaait a second, what the heck is this?

Princess Vader, you say? Perfect! Ticks all the boxes I can think of. Hmm, only thing is it's a custom job, so if I want something similar I better get to work.

The Child, the Book and the Checklist.

2011-11-09T14:21:00.002+11:00

Just finished reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to Winter. Life goal #22: complete.

Next up: Prince Caspian, because the books should be read in published order not chronological order. In my extraordinarily humble opinion.

UPDATE
Haha. Glamma informs me that the reading order for the Narnia series is actually a highly contentious issue that has been debated on the Internet at great length. I shouldn't be surprised—I've been on the Internet long enough to know that almost every issue has been debated at great length thereon—but still, I am. I mean, I can't see how anyone could argue in favour of reading them chronologically—at least, no one who'd actually read the books. To start with the Magican's Nephew is to totally undermine, ruin even, the whole story of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and to diffuse it of its magic. Maybe you could argue for some other non-publishing order, but never chronological.

Steve Jobs – 1955-2011

2011-10-05T15:25:00.000+11:00

As a child I never stopped dreaming about the future and what it would be like. My iPhone was the first thing to make it feel like the future had arrived. Thanks Steve. Rest in peace.

Happy Star Wars™ Day™.

2011-05-04T12:55:00.000+10:00

I wasn't going to do a post for Star Wars™ Day™ this year. It's getting pretty tough coming up with new reasons to be excited (and new illnesses), and I didn't want my annual posts to become little more than a whinge about how much better things were back when I were a boy. Wa, wa, wa.

But then a friend sent me an article, I was a Star Wars fan – I'm still recovering, that so perfectly captured my own experience (someone else played Tapper?!), that I thought, "What the hell, one more whinge for old times' sake."

It's been a rough dozen years for us Star Wars fans. The release of The Phantom Menace split the community in half, the gushers (people who loved it) and the bashers (people who didn't). If you can't tell from my equating fandom with alcoholism, I am a basher. Each of the next two movies, Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith, was worse than the last, and it became increasingly hard to identify as a fan. After all, the whole franchise was based on six feature films, and I hated half of them (and only sort of liked Return of the Jedi).

Do click through. It's a great piece.

I've got to say, the deeper I get buried in disappointment, the more I warm to the idea of rebooting the franchise. My. I never thought I'd say that. I'm generally opposed to rebooting, just on principle. The current craze for it—Battlestar Galactica, V, The Hulk, Spiderman, Star Trek, Conan, etc, etc—reeks of profiteering; less, if at all, about telling better stories than simply exploiting nostalgia to maximise ticket sales.

But with Star Wars I'm prepared to make an exception. Because let's just admit it: the Star Wars saga is broken. Broken beyond repair. The warning signs were there in 1997 with the Special Editions, but it wasn't until the Prequels that the rot really set in. And as the years rolled by, the infection has spread so far that the only thing to do is burn the bugger to the ground and start again.

It's a drastic solution, for sure, but as I see it, rebooting would offer a chance to fix three of the Prequels' biggest flaws.

1. Far too special effects
George Lucas once said:

"Special effects are just a tool: a means of telling a story. People have a tendency to confuse them as an ends unto themselves."

And George should know, because it's a tendency he's fallen into himself. He continues:

"A special effect without a story is a pretty boring thing."

Well, quite, but did you really need to make three multi-million dollar films to prove it? Point made! Give it a rest. What story there was in the Prequels was there only to support a special effects showcase. If Lucas had put the effort into crafting his narrative that he put into conjuring his effects, the Prequels might even have been good.

2. Joining the dots
One big problem with the Prequels is that faced by any prequel: we already know how it's going to end. Maybe not the details, but certainly the framework, and Lucas didn't try to subvert or challenge this at all. Like, we all knew Sidious was Palpatine, right? The hints were as subtle as a Force push to the face. Well, imagine it had turned out he wasn't! Imagine if Lucas—knowing what we thought we knew—had appeared to confirm it, only to pull the walking carpet out from under our feet when the great reveal finally occurred! But no. He joined the dots from A to V and woke us all up when we got there.

Rebooting would let us re-establish the characters we love, then enjoy their continuing adventures into the unknown. Han could live again! Sure, no one can replace Harrison, but everyone else is up for grabs, right? It's not like Mark Hamill, bless him, won any Oscars for his performance. Actually, thinking about it, maybe Harrison can be replaced? I'd love to see Sam Rockwell's Han Solo. Or Ed Norton, Christian Bale, Josh Brolin or even Brad Pitt! And what about Rupert Grint trying out for Luke? Seriously. And Emily Browning for Leia? Anyway.

3. Forward to the past
It's always bugged me how the universe of the Prequels is so obviously more technologically advanced than the Classic trilogy. And saying the galaxy withered and went backwards after the fall of the Old Republic doesn't explain how a slave boy's podracer can be more sophisticated than the Imperial military's frontline fighters. Anachronisms like that yank me out of the universe and remind me I'm watching a film made 20 years after the first. But a rebooted universe would let us start from the start (crazy!), and advances in the world of filmmaking could walk hand-in-hand with the worlds of the film. Everything can match, continuity can be achieved, and balance can be restored!

'Course, none of this could ever happen before—God forbid—Uncle George shuffles off to a galaxy far, far away... but we can dream, can't we? Dream of a re-imagined Classic trilogy—essentially unchanged (the Ewok storyline needs tweaking)—but made with today's filmmaking technology, followed up by an adaptation of Timothy Zahn's Thrawn trilogy, and concluded with a third trilogy based around the Yuuzhan Vong series. Or even better, get Zahn and the equally great Michael A Stackpole to craft something new altogether! And Peter Jackson can direct the lot! Or Christopher Nolan! I'm not picky. They can take it in turns if they want. Sure, it'd have to be done right—and there's oh-so-so much potential for it to go horribly wrong—but hey, I'm an optimist, so I believe.

Right, I'm off to watch Empire again. Happy Star Wars™ Day™. May the fourth be with you.

UPDATE
Now this could be interesting. Joe Johnston, Hollywood director and the man credited with designing Boba Fett's armour, wants to spin off a Boba Fett film. Not quite what I was thinking off, but it could be great—if it brushed with small strokes, limiting itself to a standalone story and avoiding any reference to Boba's growing back story. Young Boba in the Clone Wars animated series wasn't as bad as in the Prequels, but he wasn't much good either as he had to carry all of Lucas' baggage from the Prequels. I guess we'll see.

UPDATE 2
You're really not doing yourself any favours, you know, George? Sigh. The Blu-rays are out, and Lucas' urge to tinker is as irresistible as ever. The Ewoks now blink—at last—and arguably the worst moment in the Prequel trilogy now finds a reflection in the Classic. Nooooooooooo! Does anyone—even Rick "That's fantastic, George" McCallum—think these changes are good? Do any of them enhance the story at all? When will it end? Embarrassing.

UPDATE 3
George Lucas Strikes Back. With a little help from some old friends. Very good.

Choc lotto.

2011-05-01T14:55:00.006+10:00

Made the mistake of buying a Cadbury Boost bar the other day. Mistake because I enjoyed it so much I bought another one the next day. And a third the day after that. Third time unlucky though, because halfway through the chocolate bar I discovered not so much a Golden Ticket, but more a small flap of blue plastic.

Eurgh. Gave it a tug, but it was stuck fast. First reaction was disappointment I wasn't going to be able to finish my chocolate bar. Called the number on the wrapper and got through to a very friendly woman who took down the details. After confirming the plastic was soft, she expressed relief that no one had been hurt. "It shouldn't have been there at all, of course," she said, "but it's great to hear it's unlikely to have hurt anyone."

A Reply Paid envelope would be dispatched, she said, so I could return the sample, and after a couple more questions she wished me all the best and we were done. I have to say, I was impressed by the exchange. The woman was friendly, helpful and seemed genuinely concerned about getting the issue resolved. I don't know what I was expecting. An automated set of recordings or the bored teenager working through a script that I usually seem to encounter when dealing with corporations over the phone, I guess.

Anyway, mail arrived today.

Not quite the Lifetime Supply of Boost Bars I'd been hoping for, but still, nice. "We appreciate you bringing this incident to our attention," the enclosed letter read, "and trust the complimentary parcel you received helped to restore your faith in our products." Well, let's not get too ahead of ourselves. I'll need to verify there are no further contaminants in these products before my faith can be properly restored.

Now, which one to verify first…

Summer lovin'.

2011-04-01T16:00:00.004+11:00

Well, never thought I'd find myself saying this but, thanks summer, you've been awesome!

As a red-haired, pale-eyed, pasty sort of a fellow with an aversion to sweat, I'm not very fond of summer. By the end of February I'll normally yell, "Good riddance and don't let the falling leaves of autumn hit you on the way out."

But this year, things were a little different:

Only three days above 35 degrees, hours per day of direct sunlight well short of the average, and the wettest Victorian summer on record... well, I'm going to go on record myself and say this has been the greatest summer of my life!

I honestly feel blessed to have lived through the "summer that wasn't" of 2010-11. Summer of '69, you say? Remind me what that was all about? Buying a guitar and playing in a band that didn't get anywhere? Err, ok. Was that it? Well, each to their own, I guess, but if we're ranking summers, then one with over 300 millimetres of rain sounds hard to beat to me. :)

It's like the universe finally sat up and paid attention to all my years of moaning. "Come here, squeaky wheel," it said. "How does 14 more days of rain than normal sound?" Sounds pretty great, summer. Thanks! Got to say, I like the new you. Keep this behaviour up and you'll be welcome back in my hemisphere any time.

UPDATE
Pool old Gerry Harvey's doing it tough. First the Internet came along sticking the boots into his business, and now nature's conspiring against him too!

"The executive chairman of retailer Harvey Norman, Gerry Harvey, said Victorian sales of airconditioners were 30 per cent down on last year and fans and evaporative coolers had also sold poorly. "It was a very bad season for airconditioners,'' said Mr Harvey. "It would go down as one of the very bad years."

UPDATE 2
Winter said to me tonight, "Dad, I don't like summer. It's as hot as lava." Proud.

The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss 2010.

2011-03-31T20:13:00.006+11:00

Slurpee tossing. Doesn't sound like much. Sounds like the sort of thing a bunch of pissed blokes came up with while laying around with too much time on their hands. But for those who each year step foot on that sacred strip of Templestowe asphalt, Slurpee tossing is far more than an idle pursuit. For to toss Slurpees is to engage in that timeless struggle known as competition, and in competition the stakes are high: victory or defeat, glory or humiliation, life in abundance or death.

Sounds like serious business to me.

But serious though it is, Slurpee tossing has so far failed to achieve the wide acceptance of more traditional sports, such as football and cricket. Despite the best efforts of its fans and boosters, Slurpee tossing remains a grass-roots affair.

But the grass has begun to grow.

For in 2010, no less than the municipal council of the cities of Doncaster and Templestowe showed their support for the sport by organising a community barbecue to run in conjunction with the annual Slurpee Toss. "What better way to celebrate the festive season," the mayor possibly said, "than with sausages and Slurpees?" How indeed? And the people agreed, packing the kids and a picnic basket into the car and turning up at the appointed hour in droves. It was exciting stuff.

But when the tossers turned up and saw the crowd waiting to watch them, they weren't excited. If anything, they could only be described as, well… embarrassed! A readiness to toss turned into a stream of excuses: "Ooh, not the best conditions for tossing today, ooh, my back's a bit sore, ooh, I think I left the iron on at home…"

I know, I know. Unbelievable. At last these tossers had the audience they deserved, and yet one by one they all found an excuse to pass. All?

All but one.

While those around him wilted in the glare of a hundred eyes, only Post stayed firm. "I came here to toss," he declared, "and that's exactly what I'm going to do. Will no one join me out here on the pitch?" Disappointingly for those gathered, it looked like no one would, but then from out of the crowd stepped Dashi and Tweak.

Though they'd never tossed a Slurpee before, these two girls were ready to make a competition of this thing. Sure, aged four and two as they were, it wasn't much competition, but unlike the cowering veterans on the sidelines these two were ready to give it a shot, and the Toss was on!

Post elected to go first. Hurling himself down the pitch, he hit the line and sent his cup scorching into space like a fireball. Crashing down on the far side of the court, it was a mark the two 'small cup' competitors would find hard to beat. But what they lacked in size, they made up in heart, as each stepped forward to give it all she had.

Moving easily down the pitch, it was hard to believe Dashi hadn't done this before. With a smooth motion, she sent her cup skyward, but it came to rest only a few metres in front of her. It wouldn't land her the title, but Dashi was rightly proud of her effort nonetheless.

Tweak followed quickly and, employing the same unconventional under-arm style as used by her mother, she launched her cup right into the cameraman crouching just in front of her. A wide grin and a cheeky laugh suggested this might not have been entirely unintentional. Keep your eye on this one.

The title? The title was Post's.

Bart wandered over to shake the King's hand, and was heard to say he was reminded of the 1984 Olympics when America won all the gold because Russia didn't turn up. Perhaps fearing his comments might be seen as sour grapes, he was quick to add, "Although, you know, it was still Olympic gold." Exactly right. All a competitor can do is challenge those willing to compete on the day, and that on this day the victor could have thrown his competition as far as they were able to throw their cups... well, that's not the King's fault. It's still Olympic gold.

The Final Results (official).
1. Post (Toss King); 2. Dashi (The Jack); 3. Tweak.

All considered, it was an impressive debut by the two rookies. They might not have defeated Post, but had they been competing in 2008 they would have bested long-time campaigner Davet, and that's no small thing. The torch — or rather, the icy cup — has definitely been handed to the next generation.

All eyes now turn towards the Birdbath Cup. As Master of Demolitions and now Toss King, can Post reclaim the title of Keeper of the FNOath and realise his dream to hold all three Templetitles at once? Only time, and this blog, will tell.

See you at the Birdbath!

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

The Annual Christmas Stolp 2010.

2011-03-30T21:46:00.002+11:00

My word. It's the end of March and I still haven't posted this. Sigh. It's customary to write a few words to mark the occasion, but at this rate if I start now I probably still won't be done by the time the 2011 Stolp comes around. Suffice to say, it's always a pleasure stolping with the old crew, and 2010 was no exception. See you again soon.

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

Happy approximate birthday Jesus, A.D. 2010.

2010-12-26T09:39:00.004+11:00

Merry Christmas everyone. Happy birthday Jesus old mate. How many candles this year? Even with a margin for error, must be at least 2000, right? Oh, that's right: an immortal deity never reveals his age! Forgive me for asking. Awkward.

Anyway, Christmas at my house this year was a glittertastic celebration of pink barbie fairy princess butterfly ballerinas! Looking around after presents time, it was like a rainbow had exploded in the front room. Which was expected, of course. Especially after reading Winter's letter to Father Christmas:

Dear Father Christmas,

Can I please have a Princess Barbie doll, and a fairy doll with beautiful wings, please, and a pink flowery skirt with purple flowers, and a butterfly toy with rainbow wings, and fairy and flower stickers, and, last one, I would like a fairy dolls house. Thank you very much. PS: Also, a Daisy doll like Harper. And I want a new belt for Mum. Harper would like a birdie toy. And a Star Wars movie for Dad. And a ballerina's dress (white skirt with spots and pink top). Also some pink glitter.

Lots of love,
from Winter

Yikes. Don't forget the pink glitter, Father Christmas. One of Winter's gifts was actually a princess Barbie with a special skirt that magically transforms into a pair of fairy wings when you lift a lever on her back. Fairy Princess Barbie! What more does any girl need? There's a crossover for everyone these days.

It's not often I wish I had a son (in addition to my two wonderful girls), but I must admit Christmas is definitely one of those times. Thankfully Kate had mercy and got me the Boba Fett Mr Potato Head: Spuda Fett. He was outnumbered 50:1 by a legion of Barbies, ponies and fairies, but when he emerged from his packaging Winter grabbed a (previously purchased) Spudtrooper and began waving it around making laser noises! Don't know who she picked that up from but, mystery (I assume) boy, whoever and wherever you are, THANK YOU. :)

I must say I was impressed Winter thought to make requests for others in her letter; although I'm not sure what Star Wars movie she was thinking about: there ain't none that I want. Still, thought that counts. :)

Merry Christmas.

UPDATE
An alarming development: Winter just pointed a miniature, brightly coloured Polly Pocket coat rack at me and shouted, "Bang, bang, I shoot you dead!" My! Who has she been hanging out with?

i'd rather stab myself in the face and then unsuscribe.

2010-10-29T18:12:00.006+11:00

Just came across this YouTube Comment Generator. Hard to believe they're randomly generated. I'm sure I've read a couple of them before.

Is there anything in the world more worthless than YouTube comments? Any activity more a waste of time? Not that there aren't videos worth commenting on – this one, for example – but what's the point? It's impossible to have any sort of a conversation, and whatever you might say would be drowned out by the half billion monkeys frantically hammering away at their keyboards.

If only YouTube had the calibre of commenters here on the Path. :)

Harper time.

2010-10-21T15:44:00.006+11:00

After dropping Winter at playgroup and Kate at the hairdresser, Harper and I spent an hour or so wandering around the beautiful Fitzroy Gardens.

We lay on the grass and felt the warm sun and cool breeze on our skin. We collected pine cones and made a tower, which Harper promptly kicked over. "Do again, Dad? Do again? Knocky over?" We headed off the main path and up a narrow track that wound through the trees. And stumbled onto a teenage couple like fully makin' out on one of the secluded benches. With no apparent desire to stop. Oh. Um. Harper, look there's a duck back there behind us, shall we go and look at it? Yes? Good.

We watched the duck preen its feathers and then we threw twigs and leaves into the pond. Or rather, Harper threw twigs and leaves into a pond; I tried to restrain her enthusiasm and keep her from falling in. "Harper, waaaaait!" (She didn't fall in.) We chased the myna birds and told them to shoo. Nasty birds. We picked up sticks and whacked the metal bands around the trunks of many of the trees. We picked flowers for mum and took turns taking photos of whatever caught our eye. Harper by me.

Me by Harper.

Clearly she shares my fondness for photos with the heads cropped out.

And before I knew it, all too soon, it was time to go. Back into the car and back to collect Kate and Winter. Then some lunch.

As mornings go, it was another of my finest.

Sie Rebellenabschaum!

2010-10-18T21:42:00.009+11:00

Re-imagining classic Star Wars characters as figures from World War II might seem like an exercise in redundancy, but when the results are this great, who cares?

Star Wars Transformers are good, but Star Wars 1942 is better. (Follow the link for the complete set by Sillof & Glorbes.) They look great, and the little touches—Han's jacket, Chewie's bowcaster, the power cord on Luke's lightsabre (ha)—really make the difference. Bonus points for Sillof too who "always has to have a Boba Fett in my Star Wars lines." Of course! :)

One more thing to add to my list of brown-paper-package crossovers.

UPDATE
Oh, and check out Sillof's Samurai Wars and Steam Wars collections as well. So good.

An Old Hope.

2010-08-24T13:35:00.032+10:00

Nearly caved in and bought Star Wars on DVD today. Came to my senses as I stood there holding the discs in my hand, about to head for the checkout. I've waited a long time; I can wait a little longer. I've bought the Trilogy twice over already, and won't be doing it again until I can get the version I really want. I might be waiting a looooong time, but that's ok. I know how to wait.

I first bought the Star Wars trilogy in 1995, when remastered versions of the original films were released on the format of the day, VHS. Two years later, the Special Editions were released with suitable fanfare, and I bought the three films again.

Though initially a fan of the SEs, as I rewatched them over the years I grew to dislike them. A lot. Almost without exception, the changes were pointless...

...ridiculous...

...or brainless.

That is the same frame up there, if you can believe it. Can you find where Wally the stormtrooper is? He's behind the dinosaur. Can you see the dinosaur? Yep, just to the lef... that's it! I still haven't found Wizard Whitebeard or the scroll, but they've got to be there somewhere.

Worse, a number of actual issues that could have benefited from revision were overlooked – the monochrome, wireframe graphic displays in the TIE fighters and X-wings, for example.

How is it that the podracer of a slave boy on a planet furthest from the bright centre of the universe has a more sophisticated display...

...than the frontline fighters of the Imperial military? Unbelievable.

The worst change of all though was Greedo shooting first.

This bewildering revision completely undermined the integrity of arguably the saga's greatest character, Han Solo. How Lucas could believe Han getting the drop on an unsuspecting Greedo was somehow contrary to Solo's character… I just don't get. And how we're meant to believe Greedo could miss from that range after minutes sitting there pointing a blaster right at his target, I get even less.

No, the SEs are no good. The remastering had improved the sound and made the colours rich and even, but the changes to the story and the characters had compromised the overall package. The earlier remastered editions didn't have that problem, but the quality of VHS still left a lot to be desired. Ideally, what I wanted, if it wasn't too much to ask, were the original cinematic versions, remastered, and on a high-definition format. Like DVD! How about it, George?

Sadly, no. When the DVDs were announced in 2004, the SEs were the only option, as Lucas said they fulfilled his original vision. But like the future, always in motion is the original vision, apparently, as the Special Editions that made their way onto DVD were different to those already released on VHS. To be fair though, this time the changes weren't just indulgent tinkering, but an attempt to make connections between the classic trilogy and the new prequel trilogy which was busy crashing down around us. But once again, what started out sounding like a good idea resulted in confusion and disaster.

Anakin Skywalker's ghost, for example, which appears at the end of Return of the Jedi, was changed from Sebastian Shaw's time-of-death visage to the youthful, Prequel-era Hayden Christensen.

What?! What's the significance of that? How come Yoda and Obi-Wan's ghosts didn't get to visit the Force fountain of eternal youth? Is Hayden somehow meant to represent a redeemed Darth Vader, perhaps? This is the same Hayden who slaughtered all those adorable little Jedi kiddies, right? Sigh.

The Specialer Editions were also another opportunity for George Lucas to ruin Boba Fett. His demolition began in Attack of the Clones with the introduction of Boba's father, Jango Fett; a character who shared more with his son than just a family name. In a failure of imagination not seen since the second Death Star, Boba and Jango wear the same armour, fly the same ship, work the same trade, and even share the same reputation. I know Boba's supposed to be a clone of his father, but isn't that taking things a little too far?

Not far enough for Lucas, apparently, who, after taking away most of what made Boba unique, took away the one thing he had left: his voice. Gravelly and menacing, Boba's voice suited the character perfectly. But with the revelation that Boba was a clone of his father, Lucas decided to re-record Boba's handful of lines from The Empire Strikes Back using the voice of Temuera Morrison, the actor who plays Jango. Once a mysterious figure of power and menace, Boba Fett is now little more than a photocopy of his father. I'm sure Lucas intended it to be some sort of tribute to a fan favourite, but in making Boba the template for the entire clone army he's completely missed the point of what made the character great.

Even if you accept the whole clone thing, this change makes no sense to me. If anything, the different voices just add to the mystery of the character. Yeah, why doesn't he have the same voice as the other clones? Maybe it's as simple as his helmet having a voice-modulator to conceal his true voice? Like Darth Vader. Sebastian Shaw's unmasked Darth Vader sounded nothing like James Earl Jones. Or maybe it's a long and complicated story that Kevin J Anderson will eventually ruin by writing a book about it.

Anyway.

Then, after most people had gone out and bought the only DVD option it looked like we'd be getting, it was announced in 2006 that the Classic Trilogy would be released again, this time in a six-disc collection containing the three SEs and their original cinematic versions as well! Hurrah!

But there was a catch.

Hurooh. The cinematic versions were a straight rip from the laserdiscs which had never been remastered. Finally the best of both worlds – original and remastered – existed in high-definition, but on different discs. That those discs came bundled in the same box only heightened the frustration. So close, yet so far, far away. Sigh.

I still cling to my old hope that Lucas will eventually get bored or whatever, and remaster the original versions just for the hell of it, but I'm not holding my breath. Lucky no one's pumping dioxis into the room. Dioxis. Sigh. "Hey idiots. Have you ever heard of carbon monoxide?"

UPDATE
Well, as was prophesied long ago, the Blu-ray version of the Star Wars saga has just been announced. To, by now, no one's surprise, the Special Editions are the only versions to make the cut. The surprise came from Lucas' explanation for not restoring the original versions, which was that it would "cost too much"! Seriously, George? Bit skint just now, are you? Has the merchandising machine broken down and you've had to stop printing money for five minutes? And remind me how much it was you spent making the Prequels? Actually, don't. Forget it.

Anyway, I don't mean to sound bitter. Really I'm not too disappointed because I'd already decided to skip Blu-ray as a format, anyway. Physical media is soooo last century. Thanks to services such as the iTunes Media Store, I expect Blu-ray will become obsolete faster than DVD did. Why spend all that money on an expensive Blu-ray player and overpriced discs when there's an option like the latest Apple TV? No need to trek down to your local retailer/renter for movies or TV shows; you can get what you want without getting off the couch. Just a few clicks of the remote, and you're away. And as my friend Glamma said in response to the news: "Nope, I genuinely don't care. It's hard to get too excited over seeing movies made in the early 80s transferred to Blu-ray." Quite so. As a Collector of Things, I don't find a digital collection as satisfying as a physical one, but the sheer convenience is undeniable. Blu-ray schmu-ray.

No, you can't always get what you want, but that's ok. There's something right about watching Star Wars on crappy old lo-fi VHS. Seems appropriate. Do you think Luke's got a Blu-ray holo-player there in his little man-shed? I don't think so; he'd have a VCR for sure. One that needed a new power converter. And its heads cleaned.

UPDATE 2
This post is already too long, but no whining about the SEs would be complete without mentioning Jabba the Hutt. That scene blows.

UPDATE 3
I know I said this post is already too long, but the hits they keep on comin'. Hot on the heels of Lucasfilm's Blu-ray announcement comes the news that the Star Wars saga is to be rereleased in 3D. In 3D. Sigh. So, remastering the originals is "too expensive", but converting them into freakin' 3D – a process that can take up to a year – isn't? You know, George, you're really not doing much to counter the widely-held belief that you're cynically exploiting the devotion of your fans for commercial gain.

What a waste of time. I'm not a fan of 3D films at all. It's the Emperor's New Film Studio. 3D is a gimmick that adds nothing to a film, but $10 to the price of admission. I don't mind films that've been conceived as and shot in 3D, like Avatar, but two-dimensional films converted to 3D in post-production are a con; no more than a marketing ploy to generate hype and drive ticket sales. 3D is just one more thing to distract filmmakers from the most important part of a film: the story! Forget 3D. A 2D film with a three-dimensional story will beat the reverse every time.

UPDATE 4
Simon Pegg on Twitter: "Watching TPM [The Phantom Menace] in 3D would be like the car actually crashing into your face as opposed to just unfolding before your eyes."

Gold.

UPDATE 5
One more. Just read this interview with Jeremy Bulloch by Vanity Fair. I like Bulloch. Not just because he was the original and best Boba Fett, but because he seems genuinely enthused about his role in Star Wars. He's not too cool for it, or resentful of the attention it's brought him; he seems to have greatly enjoyed his time working on the films and is grateful for the experience.

Of particular note, I was pleased to see him say he didn't think they should have changed Boba's original and "far more menacing" voice. And that's not him being precious or protective, as Boba's voice wasn't his anyway; his on-set dialogue was overdubbed by American actor, Jason Wingreen. And the bit here where Bulloch does his impression of Wingreen's voice reminded me of when I met him at a signing years ago. As I handed him my Boba headshot I asked if he could write "Survive" on it as well as his name, and he laughed as he intoned, "What if he doesn't survive…" in his best gravelly Boba impression.

Hearing Bulloch favours Boba's original voice also reminds me of when I met Timothy Zahn, the author who coined the name Coruscant for the Imperial capital. When reading the books I'd always pronounced the name as corus•cant, with a hard c. But in the films the actors all pronounced it corus•sant, with a soft c. So, as the creator, I asked Zahn how he pronounced it. "With the soft c," he told me, but he wasn't too upset as he was grateful Lucas had decided to use his name at all and not come up with one of his own. That's fair enough, but I felt validated none the less. :)

UPDATE 6
Another interesting Boba Fact: the Star Wars Holiday Special, broadcast in November 1978, has long been considered the first appearance of Boba Fett. But thanks to the Lucasfilm archives, it's been revealed his first appearance was actually two months earlier at a public parade in San Anselmo, California. Let the record show! Phew. The less we need to mention that Holiday Special, the better.

Batman for Batman.

2010-07-30T20:27:00.002+10:00

Given how important Batman is to the people of Melbourne, I'm surprised it's taken the politicians so long to come out in his support. The Dark Knight is the hero and defender of the common man, and the politicians, well, they might not like how he gets things done, but they know how to sniff a breeze.

This is no time to be cynical, though. No, this is the time to support those who are prepared to support Batman. People like Federal Member of Parliament, Martin Ferguson AM, who is leading the charge by making Batman the focus of his election campaign.

Batman has lived in the shadows for so long, rejected and often persecuted by those he seeks to serve. A better future for Batman? Martin Ferguson, you've got my vote.

UPDATE
Hang on a second! This is a turn up. Seems Martin Ferguson isn't just supporting Batman; he's out and out working for Batman!

Forget Batman and Robin. It's Batman and Martin! I've got to say, it's great to see a politician stick their neck out like this; a politician prepared to speak with actions, not just words. Keep watching the skies, Mr Ferguson, and when the people of Melbourne need you, they will call.

Joy story.

2010-07-10T15:03:00.011+10:00

Took Winter to see Toy Story 3 today; her first ever trip to the cinema. I'm not sure who was more excited. I just love Pixar and everything they make, and Winter couldn't believe she was going to see "a TV bigger than our TV bigger than our house even!"

When I first asked her if she'd like to see Toy Story 3, I was surprised she already knew it was out. "How have you heard about Toy Story 3?" "It's on vanilla, Dad." "What?" "Toy Story 3. It's on vanilla yoghurt." A victory for the marketers there, I think.

I was also surprised when she told me we should get popcorn at the movie! She's never been to a movie and she knows you're supposed to get popcorn? As we stood munching away while waiting in the queue to get in, she surprised me yet again when she said, "I think that's enough popcorn for now, Dad." "Oh! You think we should save some for later?" "No, I think you've had enough." Next time she can buy her own.

Going in I was quite nervous. I was very much looking forward to this film, and really didn't want to be fielding "Who's that? What's that person doing?" questions all the way through. Or worse, "Dad, I'm bored. Can we go home?" Anyway, I needn't have worried. Winter was perfect, and so was the film. As Jim Gaffigan said, "Brilliant. Is there anyway Pixar can be in charge of all entertainment?"

Yep, once again Pixar have exceeded my expectations. Predicting the usual disappointing follow-up, I groaned when Toy Story 2 was announced, but it was great! So great in fact that I couldn't decide which of the two I liked more. And it's the same with 3. While building on what's gone before, Pixar have once again crafted something entirely new. All three stories are filled with adventure, humour and genuine emotion, but they each have something unique that gives them a character of their own. Unlike a certain other trilogy, Pixar haven't remade the same film or just doubled the size of the villain. They've made the effort to craft new characters and develop a story that, while working with familiar themes, places our heroes in a whole new world. And each time they pull it off. Magnificently.

I can't think of another trilogy/series in which I'm unable to pick a favourite, or rank the films based on order of preference. Star Wars? Empire, New Hope, Jedi. Indy? Raiders, Crusade, Temple, and the other one. Toy Story? Um, well… it's a three-way tie! Lord of the Rings is about as close as I can get, but even those I could rank if you pushed me.

The three Toy Story movies sit together so well it's like they were always intended to do so. They're three acts that blend seamlessly into one. And Pixar make it seem so easy. When you're watching 3 you wonder how else it could have been done, how could the story be anything but what it is here? But reading about an alternate plot that was developed when Pixar lost the sequel rights, I realised how easily it could have been so different and, imho, worse. The "recall" plot doesn't sound convincing to me, and thankfully it was recalled itself, and Pixar were put back in charge.

For them, making movies really doesn't seem to be about the money, it's about the story, and so I can't imagine we'll ever see Toy Story 4. The story's been told, told well, and now we're done. And that's not a bad thing. I could happily watch these three for the rest of my days. They're just so good. Thanks Pixar for all the joy.

Star and the Wars.

2010-06-08T22:18:00.001+10:00

Just read one of the best reviews of Star Wars I've ever read, and it's not even about Star Wars. It's about Sex and the City 2. And the guy hasn't even seen it. Gold.

UPDATE
And the Star Wars good stuff just keeps coming today. Got a few good giggles out of this one: General Dodonna launches the iPad.

UPDATE 2
Michael J Nelson tweets: "Had to review Sex and the City 2. As a result I now hate sex, cities, conjunctions, articles and numerals."

Happy Star Wars (tm) Day 2010.

2010-05-04T21:42:00.016+10:00

Happy Star Wars (tm) Day everyone. May the Fourth be with you.

How was your Star Wars year? Much been happening? Personal Star Wars highlight of the year for me came from 30 Rock, to which I was recently introduced. The main character, Liz Lemon, is, among other things, a Star Wars dork, but to my surprise her love is portrayed sympathetically. We laugh with the character, rather than at her. Instead of the usual jokes about sociopathic man-child Star Wars fans with poor personal hygiene living in their parents’ basement, we get something fresh and inventive. The “Uncanny valley” exchange between Tracy and Frank from the season 2 episode, ’Succession’, was a particular standout.

Personal lowlight of the year was watching a 70-minute video review of The Phantom Menace by one Mr. Harry Plinkett from RedLetterMedia. Lowlight not because it was bad – it was brilliant – but because it drove home with the force of a pick-axe how truly terrible The Phantom Menace is and how different things could have been if someone other than George had been in charge. To compound the misery, Plinkett has just released a follow-up review of Attack of the Clones. Sigh.

But let’s not finish on a low. Let’s peek ahead to a possible highlight of the upcoming year: Star Wars Uncut. Someone has chopped A New Hope into 15-second clips, bunged it on the web and enabled anyone – anyone – to upload their own 15-second remakes! Brilliant. Video, illustration, stop-motion, whatever… it’s a tapestry of almost unlimited variety and colour. I've already lost a day browsing through the many clips. It is a mixed bag, but there's plenty of goodness there. Once complete, the best clips will be spliced together to create the ultimate fan homage to the film we know and love.

Hopefully Han will shoot first.

UPDATE
And in honour of The Empire Strikes Back's 30th anniversary, do please enjoy this review by Dan Moren of the best Star Wars film of all. :) Perfect.

Savour.

2010-04-20T21:06:00.005+10:00

I've just discovered a rival service to Twitter. It's called Savour.

It's a service that lets you make the most of all the great things that happen to you throughout the day.

It's free, and you don't need to sign up or anything, but the best thing about it is you can access the service from anywhere. Don't have 3G reception? Don't need it. Don't have an iPhone? Don't need one. It's that simple.

So if you're out having a great time with friends, or you're at the park playing with your kids, or you're sitting somewhere just watching the world go by… don't tweet it, savour it.

I'm hoping to use it a lot.

Highly Recommended.

2010-04-18T15:54:00.004+10:00

Given the obvious retort, the longevity of this image in bus shelters across Melbourne continues to surprise me.

Well, if it was that uncrowded, I'd prefer public transport, too.

You'd think in the current climate of seething commuter frustration over chronic overcrowding, Metlink would take an ad like this down out of embarrassment. But no, they leave it up and, like an armpit in peak hour, they rub our faces in it. They even put up a billboard to make sure we got the message.

I mean, how can anyone take this ad seriously? How could those who approved the image have seen it and not thought, "Wow, we're kind of leaving ourselves wide open with this one, hey? Um, what else have you got?"

Something a little more reflective of reality may not excite the Metlink marketing department, but at least it gives potential commuters a better idea of what to expect, wouldn't you say?

And their next attempt on the theme wasn't much better. "How can we make public transport more appealing?"

"Well, we could tell people it's like travelling beneath a giant shark!" What?

And then along came a whimsical little campaign where some folksy fellow (who bore a striking resemblance to the delightful Frank Woodley), highly recommends I get on the bus.

Just weird.

First of all, who is this man and why should I listen to his opinion on buses? What does he know about them that I don't? More importantly, what does he know about me and my particular transport needs? Nothing! The arrogance of him to suggest I need to do anything.

Secondly, why is he highly recommending the bus but not other forms of public transport? Are buses now fully fitted out with Human Touch massage chairs perhaps? Because I'd go out of my way to catch a bus with Human Touch massage chairs on board. Is that what he means? Who knows. He doesn't expand. He just waves and tells me again to get on the bus.

But most importantly, what's with the wording? I highly recommend you get on the bus? Is it just me, or does that sound like a threat? Thinly veiled and menacing, delivered through gritted teeth, like you wouldn't want to find out what'll happen if you don't get on the bus. Don't make the man with the acoustic guitar mad. You wouldn't like him if he was mad. "Nice little car you've got here. Be a shame if something… happened to it, you know? If it had a little… accident, you know? I highly recommend you get on the bus." Shudder.

And would it be unkind of me to ask if you're highly recommending the bus to people with myki cards? Yes, it would be unkind. I know your campaign pre-dates the "launch" of myki. That was a cheap shot. I apologise.

Then a few months later it was revealed the man didn't just look like Frank Woodley, it was Frank Woodley!

Well, ok; now I know who you are, but I'm still not sure why you're qualified to offer an opinion on the merits of travelling by bus. In fact, if your regular job is telling jokes, how do I know I'm now supposed to be taking you seriously and not waiting for a punchline? How do I know you've even ever travelled on a bus and aren't just being paid to smile and play a quaint little jingle for us?

Because I'll tell you what I do know: when I used to catch the bus, I found them to be highly unreliable. I spent more time than you'd believe standing at a stop, staring off to the horizon, waiting for a bus that never turned up. It happened so often that eventually a friend highly recommended I get a bike. Which I did, and my journey to and from work has been the better for it ever since.

I don't know. Public transport just doesn't seem like it should be so hard to advertise. We lurch from one lame campaign to another, and even when they get it right, they still manage to get it wrong. Not even bringing Harry Connick, Jr. on board worked. In fact that campaign was arguably the greatest train wreck of the lot. Shudder.

Here, I've got a recommendation of my own. You know what I love about public transport? I love getting to read my book. Or watch TV on my iPhone. I love getting to stare out the window and daydream – or close my eyes and doze – without the fear of crashing into anything. I love not having to buy petrol or pay for parking. I love not having to worry about what speed I'm doing or whether I can make that orange light before it turns red. I mean, there's your campaign right there, Metlink. Focussing on the benefits rather than trying to be too clever is highly recommend, and I think you'll find your customers will prefer it.

UPDATE
I've since learned that the shark pictured above is a whale shark; a breed often used by shark aficionados to counter the popular misconception that all sharks are ferocious man-eaters. Don't think you're safe in you're plankton though, because the whale shark murders them by the boatload. So, it's not the deadly killing-machine I'd been counting on to support my argument, but I still say using any shark to sell PT is an odd choice. In advertising instinctive responses are important, and my first response was SHAAAAAARK! I only learned it was a loveable whale shark by asking friends, and then of its preference for plankton over warm human flesh only by extended reading on the Internet. By contrast, 0.125 seconds after seeing the poster I'd decided that if that's what public transport is like, I'll see you tomorrow from behind the wheel of my car. Shark.

UPDATE 2
Incidentally, did you note the freelance editorial update to the Metlink billboard above? Some activist has clambered up there with a spray can and crossed out 'public transport' so the message reads, 'Nature prefers a nuclear free future. Habitit.' How odd. I mean, if you're going to vandalise a billboard advertising public transport, shouldn't it be to make some kind of comment on public transport? Has Metlink started using nuclear powered trains? No? Well why are you attacking their environmental message to promote your own? A little selfish, isn't it? It's great that you care about the environment, but so does Metlink. They're on your side, friend. Or were, until you climbed up and ruined their ad.

UPDATE 3
Got off at Flinders St Station today noticed this little poster.

Good point, Metro! You've convinced me. That wasn't so hard now, was it? Not sure why you're putting it up at a train station though? Preaching to the converted, aren't you? I mean, everyone reading your good sense is already going on, taking the train, right? Surely you'd be better off getting your message out somewhere like, oh, I don't know, somewhere there are people in cars reading road maps? Just a thought.

Batmania.

2010-03-15T20:32:00.007+11:00

There are many things I love about my hometown, Melbourne; not least of which is the number of statues, plaques and monuments dotted around the area dedicated to Batman. (Something I'm not sure even Gotham itself can claim.) Sure, sure, they may not be in honour of the Dark Knight, but rather the farmer, businessman and early settler in the region, John Batman, but knowing that doesn't lessen the pleasure in seeing a plaque marking Batman's Hill.

Cool! Whoever may have been the inspiration, the first time I saw the above plaque I read the name as bat•man, not bat•mun. But then, I have tendency to refer to the historical figure as bat•man as well; if only to even out the effect of my Dad, who persists in pronouncing the superhero as bat•mun, though I've corrected him many times.

And imagine getting to start your commute each morning from Batman Station! For a lucky group of commuters in North Coburg, that's exactly what they do.

Cool! Sure, the station itself is no Grand Central Station, but as long as a train can roll through it it doesn't need to be. And the gangs of suspicious youths loitering around only add to the mystique. You actually half expect Batman to swoop down at any moment to sort them all out and demand to know where the Joker's lair is located. I'll tell you where it definitely won't be: Batman Park, Northcote, that's where.

Cool! Although maybe the Joker should set himself up there. It's the one place the cops would never think to look!

And just imagine one of the proposed names for Melbourne, Batmania, (à la Tasmania), had actually made the final cut! Should have. I mean, what's Lord Melbourne really done for the world? Batman on the other hand, well, how many times does a man need to save the world to get a city named after him? Keep up the good fight, Bats. If there's any justice in the world, you'll get the recognition you deserve one day. Until then, hopefully having an avenue named in your honour will do. :)

The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss 2009.

2010-02-17T13:42:00.008+11:00

November 9, 2009 marked the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Around the world, people paused to reflect not only on the evil of which man is capable, but how hope and freedom will always conquer tyranny in the end.

But in Templestowe, an outer north-eastern suburb of Melbourne famed for its "latte lifestyle", the anniversary on the minds of most people was a far more recent one: the fall of Bart. Though almost a full year had passed since Ahab brought the perennial champion crashing to the ground, the shockwaves could still be felt by the locals as they sat drinking their lattes in one of the suburb's innumerable cafes.

Bart had ruled as king for so long that few could imagine the title belonging to anyone else. Since the very first Toss he'd sat securely upon his throne as wave after wave of challengers hurled themselves against his fortress walls. The one interruption to his rule came in 2004 when Benn usurped the throne while the King was away touring other lands. Upon his return Bart swiftly reclaimed the title, of course, and there in his iron fist it seemed destined to remain. If madness is repeating the same task expecting a different outcome, then surely all those who turned up year after year to stand against Bart were mad dog bent up sideways barking fruitcake scented mad?

Well, possibly, but they could also have been students of history; for history has shown us that even the most formidable wall cannot stand forever.

And so it was with Bart.

Invincible though he seemed, the years finally took their toll and a crack appeared in his defences. A crack may be small, but a crack can grow. And as it grows, a crack can become a way in. And in 2008, it was Ahab who found a way in, bursting through to victory as the great wall collapsed around him. The impossible became possible and History was written.

But as Ahab's Slurpee cup came crashing to the ground the question everyone was asking was could he do it again? Had he won, or had Bart simply lost? It was a good question – if a little mean-spirited – but one that today remains unanswered. For on the eve of the 2009 Toss, citing personal reasons that required his attention, Bart pulled out of the competition.

Disappointed yet understanding, Bart's fellow competitors wished him a speedy resolution and the hope of seeing him back on the pitch next year. And not to question the sincerity of the response, but you'd have to think a few of the tossers were quietly pleased. For many Bart's absence was without doubt their best chance to claim a title of their own. Sure, a victory won without contesting Bart might not have the glorious refulgence of one that did, but a title is a title – a testament that all who rose against you were defeated – and for most, that's enough.

As the great day dawned there was another late withdrawal from the competition. After checking his symptoms with Dr Wikipedia, Cobbies diagnosed himself with a 'cluster headache' and went back to bed. A rare but debilitating neurological condition, cluster headaches commonly afflict those working long hours in stressful jobs while maintaining a diet rich in tobacco and alcohol. An important health message for us all there, I think. However close to death Cobbies may have been, he would have wanted the tossers to go on, and so go on they did.

Kicking things off for 2009 was Post. His dream to hold all three Templetitles at once remained unfilled, and Toss King had proved most elusive of all. But at one time or another he'd beaten all in this field besides the two rookies, and he knew his time was now.

Brow furrowed, he pounded down the pitch and sent his cup arcing into the air with a snarl. While not his strongest toss, it still travelled a good distance, coming to rest a couple of metres short of the far side of the court. Would it be enough? Only time would tell.

In recognition of the increasing lady contingent competing at the Toss, a women's league was established and a new title, Toss Queen, joined Toss King and The Jack in the Tossing monarchy. The first lady up to stake her claim was Kate (with cheer squad in tow).

When she appeared to hesitate, Davet offered some advice from the stands. "Don't think, Kate," he called out, "just do." It sounded good in theory, but when Kate stepped down the pitch she larked her cup straight up in to the air! It crashed down onto the brick path several metres away, setting a very beatable mark for those to come. I guess that's what happens when you listen to advice from the only competitor to ever toss backwards.

Speaking of which, to better his effort of 2008, Davet needed only to stand at the tossing line and drop his cup at his feet. As he stepped onto the pitch, Kate offered some advice of her own. "Davet, you know how normally you don't think, you do? Maybe this time try thinking?"

And try he did, as Davet sent his cup sailing not only in the right direction but a good distance as well, thumping down a metre or two behind Post and putting Davet in contention for The Jack. Davet thought back to last year and breathed a sigh of relief.

Next to the line – to the surprise of all – was Kirst. Though she'd grown up around Slurpees and knew her way around a cup, she'd never competed in the Annual Toss. But this year, perhaps at the urging of her fiancée Nick, she pulled on the icy gloves and showed us what we'd been missing.

Employing the lateral sweep first used by Bart back in 2007, the southpaw sent her cup flying fast and low over the court, crashing down just short of the centre circle. It would have been an impressive toss for a veteran, but such a result on debut marks Kirst as a force to watch.

Though never a strong performer at the Toss, Glamma's fans were hoping he could find some of the form he's had on display at the Birdbath Cup over the last two years.

And things looked good as he sent his cup hurtling skyward with a perfectly executed dash and toss. Flying straight as a die, the only thing his cup lacked was the power to travel in to the lead and it hit the ground a metre or so behind Davet. Perhaps a solid pre-season next year will see his standing improve?

At her last appearance at the Slurpee Toss, Bambi had set a personal best with a thumping toss. This year she hoped to go one better, but she'd need to beat Kirst's mark to do so and that didn't look an easy task.

Storming down the pitch in her customary bare feet, she roosted her cup into the air, and sent it crashing down just short of Kirst! So close, yet so far away.

All are welcome at the Toss, but particularly so when they come with the enthusiasm of Nick. Though having never tossed a cup in competition, he was obviously a keen student of the game and full of theories on how best to approach his maiden toss.

And his theories converted well to practice, as with a smooth swing he sent his cup flying over the court and thumping down a foot or so behind Davet. No plasticware for Nick, but a very promising debut nonetheless.

The penultimate toss of 2009 belonged to maiden tosser Pip. Recently introduced to the sport by Davet, it appeared he'd given her some instruction as well. For just like his effort last year, Pip bounded down the pitch and swung into action but forgot to let go!

Her cup flew from her hand and into the ground, where it spun off a good distance to her left. Well, she at least avoided the ignominy of sending it backwards, I guess? And though Pip may have walked away with nothing but the Plastic Straw, her enthusiasm was commendable and we hope to see her back next year for another try.

And finally, the moment all had been waiting for. Up stepped the Toss King and Holder of the Soggy Biscuit, Ahab. Poised and confident he eased down the pitch and launched a textbook toss into the air.

Gliding straight and steady in a graceful arc, his cup came to rest just short of the gutter on the far side of the court, landing Ahab in first place. It also landed him in the record books again, this time as the only person other than Bart to successfully defend his title. And though his cup may not have travelled down into Bart's domain on the lower court, it really was a magnificent toss. In fact, let's see that in Instant Replay:

That's how you do it, kids. The now two-time King and current Keeper of the FNOath really should be pushing to resurrect the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition because, I'll tell you, on current form the triple Templetitle would be his.

Below left: Ahab leaving a spangled trail of glory. Below right: Ahab, 2009 Slurpee Toss King.

We'll see you (and hopefully Bart, ready to go head to head against Ahab) back here next year!

The Final Results (official).
MENS: 1. Ahab (Toss King); 2. Post (The Jack); 3. Nick; 4. Davet; 5. Glamma.
WOMENS: 1. Kirst (Toss Queen); 2. Bambi; 3. Kate; 4. Pip (Plastic Straw).

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

The Annual Christmas Stolp 2009.

2010-01-26T21:53:00.006+11:00

Aaah, Christmas. Snow on the ground, a roaring fire in the hearth, a glow on our faces and in our hearts as we gather around the piano, drinking eggnog and singing Yuletide carols.

Except for us in the southern hemisphere, of course. [Insert screech of needle being dragged across record.] Down here the traditional images of Christmas are suffocated in the stifling heat and burnt to a crisp 'neath the blazing Australian sun. The icy contents of a Slurpee cup and the frosty glances exchanged by the competitors in the Annual Slurpee Toss is about as cold as it gets.

And so it was with surprise that as the stolpers gathered outside the Templestowe Fish Balloon they looked up to see brooding grey clouds scudding their way across the late morning sky. Surprise, and some relief. After all, if you can step out and stretch your legs without the fear of melting in a pool of sweat or combusting in a ball of flame, then all the better.

This year saw a triple debut with Nick, Pip and Harper swelling the ranks and joining in the traditional Christmas fun with a smile and a laugh. Bart and Cobbies, two of the five pillars of stolping, were absent and sorely missed, but we're sure to see them back next year.

So stick around now for the Slurpee Toss and we'll see you in '10!

Incidentally, on that, is it just me saying 'oh-ten' for the shortened form of 2010, or are others doing it as well? I've become so used to the leading 'o' throughout the aughts that I'm finding it hard to leave behind. Tacking 09 or whatever onto the end of something quite clearly said 'year', Kevin07, for example, but 10 just seems confusing. Kevin10. What? Anyway, I wonder if my great aunt had this problem back in the early 1900s? Probably not as she was only nine at the time, but she may have heard her parents talking about it? If only I'd thought to ask when she was still with us. Continue resting in peace, Dotta. We still miss you and your endless games of chess with cups of tea and sponge finger biscuits.

UPDATE
Oddly enough, I posted this and switched to the Twitter, where I noticed a friend type 2010 as '010. Hardly seems worth it, really. It's still four key presses. Not like you're saving any time, or really any space. I guess he's just having trouble letting go as well.

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

offki.

2010-01-20T14:18:00.015+11:00

Myki, Melbourne's trouble-plaugued new ticketing system, is like a newborn elephant right now. A clumsy hulking mass, lumbering around, crashing into things and desperately trying to stay up on its weak and shaky legs. And everyone's standing around pointing and laughing at the flailing beast, which is fair enough, as Kamco or the state government or whoever has brought this on themselves. What a circus. But it's so large and easy a target that I found myself wanting to be generous and give them a break.

That was until I headed out this morning with my shiny new myki and tried to use the freakin' thing.

I was one of the lucky many who got mailed a concession card, even though I hadn't asked for one. On to the phone and I was assured by a recorded message that everything was fine with the card; it actually was full-fare and there'd been a computer error when printing the letters. Computers. Ha. When will we learn?

So, I left home early this morning to make sure I had plenty of time to add credit to my card before using it. There's only one top-up machine at my station and it's on the outbound platform 2, so I pedalled over and checked my watch. Plenty of time. I placed my myki where instructed, worked my way through all the options and was told to insert my debit card, done, and remove it, done. Remove the card, please. I have. Remove the card, please. I HAVE? Hello? Re-insert/withdraw. No change. Cancel. Try again. Same result. Cancel. Try again with different card. Same result. Toooooooot! What? Argh, my train! Cancel, cancel, cancel, back on my bike, over the tracks for a Metcard, please use a smaller denomination note, what? argh! come on! remember to validate your ticket before you travel, I know, I know! give me the ticket!! beep, beep, beep and I'm away. Phew. Enough time is never enough time.

Got to Southern Cross and saw a myki blueshirt standing around the upper concourse exit, handing out brochures. I went over and asked where the nearest top-up machine was. He looked around and ummed, before going over to ask his supervisor. She told me there wasn't a top-up machine up here and that I had to go to the "myki discovery centre" on the other side on the station. Surprised (and not surprised), I headed off and discovered one on the other side of the newsagent booth she was standing next to. Sigh. Possibly she meant, "There are no working machines up here," because this one didn't work either. Same problem. So I kept walking down to the discovery centre, only to discover it doesn't open until 9am. Which was 40 minutes away. Sigh.

At lunch time I made my way back to myki central and explained my problem to the two ladies at the counter. Because nothing could ever be wrong with the machine, they concluded the problem was with me. "You can't put myki into the debit card slot," one of them told me with a smile. "That won't work." I assured them I had placed myki where I was instructed to and anyway could they put credit onto my card now? They couldn't, of course, because the myki discovery centre doesn't have a top-up machine in it. I mean, why would it? What do they have in there? Well, there are some card readers so they can demonstrate how to touch on and off with your card; they just can't get your card working in the first place.

Although it turns out, they can! "Would you escort the gentlemen," said the elder woman to the younger, "up to the machine and assist him with his card?" Why certainly. Out she came from behind her desk and off we trekked, back to the upper level where I was led by an expert hand through all the same steps… for the same result. "Oh," the woman said in surprise. "Um, the EFTPOS connection between the machines and the bank must be down. Everywhere. Maybe try again later?" Sigh.

I did try again later, the next day, and the machine stubbornly persisted in requesting I remove my debit card after I'd already removed it, so I gave up and bought a new Monthly Metcard. I'm hoping, John Rees-style, that by the time it expires this myki mess will be sorted out. I guess we'll see.

Myki. It's your key. To something. We're just not sure what. Try your house, maybe? And let us know how you go. Thanks.

UPDATE
Walked past the lone myki top-up machine at Melbourne's busiest station today, and guess what I saw?

I'm sure there wasn't anything wrong with the machine. Just a routine maintenance call to, I don't know, empty the coin bin or something? Although the man was still at it an hour later when I walked past again, so who knows? Probably some idiot got their myki stuck in the credit card slot or something? I hear that happens a lot. Sigh. The man wasn't there at the end of the day, so I guess the machine's all back to normal. So, you know. Yeah.

Random Lyric from The Song I Was Listening To.

2010-01-02T19:45:00.013+11:00

Around eight years ago I woke up one morning and decided the waiting had gone on long enough. It was time to enquire of Kate as to whether she'd be good enough to take my hand in marriage. Naturally, such an enquiry couldn't be made by just, you know, asking her. No, it had to be unnecessarily complicated, and so I sat down and carefully devised a complicated plan.

The first step was to post her an anonymous invitation to participate in what would be known as The Journey. Should she accept, via an email address included with the invitation, she would then be required to unravel a series of clues that led to various locations around Melbourne where instructions would be found on how to locate one of five Waymarkers. When collected, the five markers would need to be arranged in a particular way to reveal the proposal of marriage.

What sort of a woman, you might ask, would do anything other than throw a creepy anonymous invitation directly into the bin? And wouldn't Kate just assume it had come from me anyway? Well, besides the fact that I'm inherently not creepy and surely she'd never think such a thing, I had one big factor working in my favour. A friend of ours had recently concluded a wide-ranging, clue-based scavenger hunt that she'd set in motion with anonymous invitations. I thought it likely that if Kate would assume it was anyone, she'd assume it was our friend and not me.

And so I had my plan. It was bold, it was ambitious, it was doomed.

In all my careful planning, I'd failed to count on the cleverness of my quarry. Though she accepted the invitation, she never accepted my desire to pull strings from the shadows, and before long she successfully hacked into the email account I'd set up and discovered who I was. In a nice touch, before logging out she left a little present in my Inbox: an email from "myself" saying only, "I know who you are."

The next time I logged in, I discovered the game was up. Furious that my plan had come undone, I put the proposal on hold indefinitely. Partly to give myself time to come up with a new scheme, but mostly just to punish her for spoiling my surprise. So perhaps she wasn't so smart after all?

Anyway, all of this was brought to mind recently when my "old mate" Guy Shield proposed to his girlfriend in a similar piece-the-parts-together way. Where mine had been primarily word-based though, he used illustration. Which of course he would, given how exceptionally talented an illustrator he is. Pop on over to his post for the story.

Although, it's quite possible you've heard the story already. Because the Internet went a little nuts with this one. First, the illustration weblog Drawn, got onto it, and soon the Twitterverse followed, as thousands of people retweeted each other into oblivion. Scores of other links followed, including prominent Adobe identity, John Nack, and just when things seem to have settled down, someone called Joanna Goddard sent Guy's Google Analytics graph spiking into the stratosphere all over again. All thoroughly deserved, of course, as it really was a brilliant proposal. And not even the reminder of my own failed scheme can spoil the pleasure of his tale.

Congratulations to you and Liz, Guy. Enjoy your 15 minutes of fame, and your lifetime of wedded bliss as well.

UPDATE
Guy's been "practising his hand-created type" again...

UPDATE 2
What's the point in being an internet phenomenon if you can't get FREE STUFF out of it? And now, thanks to some wedding website called 'The Knot', Guy's got the chance to win a FREE trip to Hawaii! If you enjoyed his story, pop on over to The Knot's 'Best Proposal Competition' and throw him a vote. If he wins, he's promised to pick up a lei for everyone who does.

UPDATE 3
He hasn't actually promised to pick up a lei for everyone who votes for him. I just made that up. Good idea, though. Completely impractical, but then that's the way it goes with love, hey?

Happy approximate birthday Jesus, A.D. 2009.

2009-12-25T10:51:00.009+11:00

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.

Winter time, Part 2.

2009-12-23T13:51:00.001+11:00

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 afternoons go, it was one of my finest.

Attention Platform 1: Connex has been cancelled.

2009-11-30T19:58:00.020+11:00

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.

They Are Risen, Indeed.

2009-10-17T13:36:00.001+11:00

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.

Happy Easter.

2009 Fish Balloon Birdbath Cup.

2009-09-12T16:58:00.000+10:00

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 two years 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.

Below: Ahab, Keeper of the FNOath.

FURTHER READING
The 2008 Birdbath Olympic Cup
The 2007 Birdbath World Cup
A Concise History of All Things FNO

Enjoying every minute.

2009-08-04T13:04:00.006+10:00

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.

Entertain Us.

2009-08-02T20:21:00.000+10:00

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.

The International Game of Slurpee Demolition.

2009-07-01T12:49:00.025+10:00

Wills, Hammersley, Thompson, Smith.

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.

Molly on Ice.

2009-06-02T13:16:00.010+10:00

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 2009.

2009-05-04T16:59:00.015+10:00

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.

The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss 2008.

2009-04-30T13:14:00.020+10:00

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!!

CHANGE. Change was here!

Above left: Ahab, 2008 Slurpee Toss King. Above right: Bart's non-threatening congratulatory handshake.

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.

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

The Annual Christmas Stolp 2008.

2009-04-29T13:02:00.005+10:00

(Better late than never.)

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.

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

I say briefly: Best! Useful information. Good job guys.

2009-04-22T15:56:00.008+10:00

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...

62,626
Total number of words

313
Average number of words per post

1928
Greatest number of words for one post

13
Least number of words for one post

1307
Total number of comments (of which 539 were made by me)

7
Average comments per post

54
Greatest number of comments for one post

340
Days taken to write first 100 posts

937
Days taken to write second 100 posts

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:

– My peak productivity was in the lead-up to the birth of my first child. This makes sense as I had plenty to say and, relatively speaking, plenty of time in which to say it. But the urge to write does not cry louder than a newborn child, and pretty soon the numbers started to fall.
– As noted in the figures above, my second hundred posts took almost three times as long to write as the first. In the graph you can see how early the 100th post arrived, and how soon after my output fell to the lower levels it's hovered around ever since.
– I had the pleasure of being made redundant twice in six months during 2007, first in May, then again in November. The perils of working for small studios during difficult economic times. My output rose marginally after the first redundancy, but crashed to absolute nothing for two straight months after the second. Not even during the Long Dark of ADSL churning had I failed to post anything at all! Kate's unhelpful conclusion was that I must have been doing all my writing at work.
– My output picked up once again in the lead up to the birth of my second child. Not to the same extent as the first time round as, although there was again plenty to say, the parenting cliché is true and there was no longer any time to say it. :)
– That said, time didn't seem to be a problem prior to the arrival of my third child — iPhone 3G — as my output rose to its highest level in almost two years! Didn't last long though, as I soon discovered the iPhone's suitability for watching TV, and what little spare time I had for writing was drowned beneath a torrent of television. Glory, I've watched a lot of TV in the past year. Lucky I don't have a graph charting that, because it would be frightening. But like a box of Krispy Kremes all to yourself, the euphoria of untold bounty can quickly turn to regret as the consequences of excess begin to take effect. And so, slowly, one day at a time, I've managed to get things under control, and the humble pages of a book or a notepad have now rejoined me as companions during my daily commute. Phew.

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!

Still Can't Write Copy.

2009-03-28T21:18:00.005+11:00

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.

Literacy Under Siege.

2009-03-12T19:20:00.009+11:00

[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!

When I Get All Steamed Up.

2009-02-12T21:54:00.009+11:00

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.

Personal Annual Envy.

2009-02-08T20:45:00.003+11:00

People cry out in surprise and alarm when they hear I keep lists of every movie I see and every book I read. So I can only imagine the sort of reaction Nicholas Felton gets when people learn the extent of his particular data collecting habits. Far more than just the odd entry into a text file, the New York-based designer records so much personal data it's a wonder he doesn't feel like he's invading his own privacy.

Distances travelled, food and drink consumed, music purchased and played, photos taken, hours worked, emails sent, even sightings of Michael J Fox... all are meticulously recorded and filed away. I envy and admire his discipline, but more than that I admire that at year's end he takes this data and crafts it into a beautifully designed personal annual report, replete with statistics, charts, graphs and maps.

This year's edition can be found here. Earlier editions, and various other side projects, are equally amazing, and can be found here.

iPhone tough.

2009-01-26T19:04:00.012+11:00

So, I finally got around to ordering a screen protector for my iPhone. Went with the "military-grade" Invisible Shield in the end, because once I knew military-grade was an option, I simply couldn't choose anything else. It arrived the other day and, let me tell you, it surpassed my already high expectations. I mean, look at the packaging for this thin sliver of invisible protection (seen at front)...

Bulky as a Hummer and featuring machine gun barrel-style ventilation on top of the outer sleeve, it's also emblazoned with Apache motifs! Apaches! (Actual Apache motifs unable to be seen in this photo, which I probably should have considered when composing it. Annoying. Oh well, can't be bothered retaking the photo now, so you'll just have to believe me.)

Haven't got around to applying the Invisible Shield yet, because I need to watch the instructional video first. Although, since it arrived, I've been given reason to wonder whether I actually need it at all. For you see, it seems my tough-as-nuts little iPhone is quite able to look after itself.

Allow me to illustrate.

Winter loves her bath. So much so that getting her out can be quite a challenge. Any suggestion that bath time is about to conclude is met with a resolute, "No. Stay in bath little bit longer." A little bit longer later however, and she's no more ready to get out, simply restating her intent to "Stay in bath little bit longer." Trying to problem-solve creatively, I decided to use a countdown timer in the hope that this might help her to understand something as abstract as a limited block of time.

I made the mistake, however, of using a two-buck plastic timer with an alarm like a wailing poltergeist jangling its chains in a drawer full of cutlery. So alarmed was Winter on hearing it that she burst into tears. A new approach was needed. I remembered that the iPhone had a large countdown timer and a pleasing selection of sound effects that could alert without raising the dead. I went with a novelty "boing" type alarm, which I played to Winter so she knew what to listen for, and then I set the timer counting down from five minutes.

Boiiiiing.

I held the iPhone up and as planned (as hoped), up rose Winter as well. Yes! As I stood to lift her out, however, I suddenly realised a problem: I had nowhere to put my phone. Normally during bathtimes I take off my watch and place it on the floor next to me, so as not to get it wet. But on this day, as my iPhone was not in my right pocket where it usually lives, I'd gone and put my watch in there instead. Protective as I am of my iPhone's pristine condition, I couldn't now put my phone in there as well, without risking its glass face against the metal edges of the watch. I couldn't put it in my left pocket for the same reason, as that's where I keep my keys. I couldn't put it on the floor, as the chance of Winter splashing water all over it as she got out was too high. And so, wanting to act before she sensed my hesitation and sat down again, I made a snap decision and slipped it into my shirt pocket. Then, remaining carefully upright, I lifted Winter from the bath and carried her from the room. Done.

Returning to the bathroom some time later, I noticed that the water was still in bath. "Better take care of that," I thought. As I lent over to pull out the plug, I felt a weight shift in my shirt pocket and, as realisation struck, time ground to a crawl and I watched in horror as my precious hydrophobic device plunged into the water. Faster than an Alien's inner jaw my hand shot after it and in one swift motion before it even came to rest, I gripped the iPhone and hoisted it back into the air.

Fighting a rising panic, I cleared the iPhone's airways and checked for signs of life. And the signs appeared to be... good! It went in and out of Airplane Mode (which is common after a watery dip, apparently), but otherwise it seemed to be just fine! I called Nee Hancock to test it, but he advised me to power it down at once and put it out to dry.

The Internet was, as ever, both incredibly helpful and entirely useless, as each remedial suggestion was subsequently denounced by others as likely to bring on not only massive system failure but arguably the End Times as well. I tried to find a sensible middle ground that avoided ovens, hairdryers or sacrificing a virgin goat, and ended up laying the dormant device on a bed of rice in an air-tight container. (Rice absorbs ambient moisture, you see.) I then placed the container in a warm, dry spot on a shelf, safe from curious little hands, and settled down to play the waiting game.

The waiting game sucked, but finally the day to roll away the stone arrived. I lifted the phone from its tomb and nervously powered it on.

All good!

Everything seemed to be working as it should, with no noticeable effects. Incredible! Scarcely able to believe my luck, I thanked the makers at Apple, ran through a series of diagnostic tests, and then got on getting on with life. Now, a number of months later, I've all but forgotten my iPhone's little splash with death, and as you would expect now the bugger's insured, the gravest threat it's faced has been the scourge of fingerprints! And long may it be so. "Long" here meaning however long it is until the iPhone 3G's successor is released, of course, at which time any unfortunate accidents that shuffle the old model off to silicon heaven will be welcomed with songs of thanksgiving and praise.

UPDATE
So, it seems the fears that led to all this were unfounded. Nee Hancock informs me that iPhone has highly scratch-resistant tempered glass on its face, as was demonstrated to him by an Apple Genius who went to work on the face of a faulty model with a set of keys; all to no effect! Oh well, fortune favours the cautious, or something. As an aside, I can't stand that title, Apple Genius. It's so wildly disproportionate to the service they actually provide it's laughable. It's like calling them the Apple Awesomes. Ridiculous.

UPDATE 2
Alriiiight, here's your Apache logo photo. Two instances of many. No digital life is safe without Apaches!

UPDATE 3
Well, two years down, I'm out of contract, have upgraded to iPhone 4, and my little aqua-lovin' 3G is still going strong. I've handed it down to my two girls, four and two, as their own little gaming machine, so let's see if it can survive that. :)

Those Wonderful Toys.

2008-12-16T13:36:00.010+11:00

I was playing Duplo with Winter this morning when, completely unprompted, she asked me to make a "Batman car"! I have, to my knowledge, had no direct conversations with her about Batman, so this request came as quite a surprise. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. And double-plus bonus points, Winter, for requesting a Batman car, and not a freakin' Batmobile.

The final result looked something like this...

...until Kate knocked it from the table to the floor and smashed it back into its constituent parts. Trying to reassemble from memory was a tricky job, but I got close enough (and may even have improved my original design), and Batman car Mark II, as seen above, was photographed the second it was completed.

I'm not saying the Production Design team for The Dark Knight should have given me a call, but for having only a handful of large plastic blocks (and not one of them in black), I think I did a pretty good job. Winter, at any rate, was suitably impressed. :)

UPDATE
Guy, in comments, has suggested a certain similarity exists between my humble creation and a vehicle that was used as part of the pre-game entertainment at the 1991 AFL Grand Final.

He’s even sent through an image he’s mocked up to support his case.

I hate him for it, but I must admit, he does have a point. A twisted, vicious, nasty point, but a point nonetheless. The complete horrifying spectacle can be seen on YouTube, of course.

Watch it if you must, but be warned that Angry’s vocal stylings are not only stomach-turning, but also highly contagious. Playing the clip in at work resulted in continued boisterous outbreaks of ‘Bound for Glory’ around the office throughout the afternoon. And even after several hours plugged into my iPod attempting to deprogram my brain, I still caught myself humming the tune aloud as I travelled home on the train that night…

The only positive I can find in this sorry mess is that, besides a brief slog up the bloody Kokoda track a number of years ago, it would appear that ultimately Angry was bound for nothing but obscurity. Phew.

Oh, and this follow-up from Carlton Draught is pretty good, as well.

UPDATE 2
CK just emailed me, asking: "As Bat-Man was created in May of 1939, I wonder if this might have been his first Bat Mobile.."

"Just imagine him hunched over the wheel in hurry to the latest crime, as the car pottered along.. honk honk.. he he.."

I was thinking he could well have been right, but then Guy sent me a link to The History of the Batmobile, a fascinating site that details every incarnation of the vehicle over its long and varied history. Sadly CK's suggestion was not to be found, and the earliest model they list looks more like the sort of car Tintin would be getting around in than Batman...

The closest I could find to CK's suggestion was this ridiculous clown-car...

...that I hope to never see again ever. There are over 170 different models recorded on the site (including even the model from the LEGO Batman video game), and my favourite would have to be the Anton Furst-designed Batmobile from Tim Burton's 1989 film.

That really is just an exceptional design. Sleek and menacing, and completely free from the tacky Elvira-style adornments that mar so many of the other designs. My word, there have been some fruity designs over the years, of which this design from 1974 is arguably the worst...

Not in the least surprised to see Robin behind the wheel of that one. Although it's at least not as disturbing as this ghastly design...

...which keeps bringing Se7en to mind for some reason I'd rather not dwell on. Better to dwell on the positives, like the Tumbler model from 2005's Batman Begins.

It's completely over the top, sure, but it's anything but silly. It radiates power and menace, like a crouching tiger, poised and ready to strike. It doesn't have the grace of the Furst model, but when you're tearing across rooftops and smashing through walls, who needs it? :)

Take a wander through the site if you get the chance. It's well worth it.

Taking It Lion Down.

2008-11-30T20:32:00.011+11:00

The 1950s were a time of great fear and uncertainty, as the Cold War played out across the globe and the ever-present threat of a nuclear apocalypse struck fear into the hearts of all.

Not Charles Hipp, though. He wasn't worried. Life for him was certain to the point of boredom. Sure, he got a little buzz from speeding around town in his Cadillac without a seatbelt on, or gargling mouthfuls of DDT with the kids on weekends, but it simply wasn't enough. And so, desperate for excitement, he one day decided to bring home a lion...

A stuffed one, yeah? That's a dead, stuffed lion he's hoisted his baby granddaughter onto, isn't it? Aah no, sadly Blondie (as the lion was named), was as real as Charles himself.

Look, see? Here's Charles endangering a small child again, parading a neighbour's offspring around on the Queen of the Jungle like a pony at the Fair. And when the child eventually tired of the novelty, Blondie was bundled into the family chariot and driven off to her next ordeal.

It's good that the kids listened when she called shotgun, hey? Not that you'd argue, I guess? I mean, Charles would; but then he's going to be up front anyway, so there wasn't any point. Anyway, after several hours in the car, they'd finally arrive at their destination.

The lake. How about that serenity? Looks like she's having a ball, yeah? Blondie just loves the water. Which is fortunate, because once she gets home...

...it's bathtime! A big day out and about can get a lion really dirty, and the ever fastidious Charles would leave no spot of this proud beast unscrubbed. How ever did lions out in the wild manage to stay clean without Charles around?

Blondie, bless her, finally tired of the humiliation and fought back.

Not that Charles minded, though. Getting mauled by a lion was fat city, ya dig? What a blast! I mean, what's the point of taunting a lion if they're just going to take it all in fun? A good old-fashioned "fang-in-the-fanny hold" was exactly what Charles had been chasing, and he was now finally livin' the dream.

But Blondie just couldn't maintain the rage, and eventually retreated inside herself, broken and defeated. Even when Charles went to work on her with his cattle-prod, she just lay there and took it, barely able to raise even a whimper. Increasingly disappointed with this ungrateful beast he'd saved from the wild, Charles finally lost patience, and led Blondie behind the backyard shed, where he bludgeoned her to death with an axe. He rolled the body up in a tarpaulin, and on the next family visit to the lake, he bundled the noble lion over the side to a watery grave.

It really is a jungle out there.

(Follow the links above to the full set, if you want more. Yes, there are more. Sigh.)

UPDATE
What was it about the mid-Twentieth century and cruelty to animals and small children? I say, here's fun? Let's give little baby Mikey a big ol' bag o' lemons, and watch what happens...

Yep, nothing good. And if it wasn't bad enough already, you then discover it was some sort of amateur science experiment where Mikey was initially offered the choice between a delicious ice cream cone and an open, weeping lemon. The good Lord himself is likely unsure as to why, and indeed, what these loving parents learned as a result. Good grief.

LIFE everlasting.

2008-11-20T22:08:00.012+11:00

Google have knocked me onto the floor again. I'd barely picked myself up after the wonders of Google Street View, and now they've gone and hosted the entirety of LIFE magazine's photo archive online.

The collection can be accessed directly from Google by adding "source:life" to an image search. And you'll find almost anything you can think of to look for: from unforgettable world events to humble scenes of domestic life, the variety is fascinating and the depth astounding, as Related image leads to Related image leads to...

Glory, my workplace productivity hasn't taken this big a hit since the big black pit of Facebook opened up.

And I've only just dipped my toe in, but favourites so far include:

The irrepressible George S. Patton.

The Melbourne Cricket Ground and surrounding area at the time of the 1956 Olympic Games.

And a team at work on some neon Olympic signage at the same time.

A cinematic, and somewhat unsettling, image of a truck driver pulling out of a petrol station.

An open stretch of highway on Route 66 before Pixar made it popular again.

And a beautiful, iconic shot of Manhattan shrouded in fog. Or smog. Maybe it's smog? Still beautiful, either way. Love the foreground-midground-background gradations.

So much, so much, so much there. Jump in, and let me know which images appeal to you.

Eulogy.

2008-11-09T20:43:00.010+11:00

O, classic Chuck Taylors in cherry red leather,
I thought we'd be together forever.
But one million miles down and you started to weather,
Now your sole's all adrift and your stitching's atether.
I should have bought two pair, I should have been clever,
I fear I'll find your kind again never.

Rest in peace, you precious cherry-coloured beauties. Your arch-support may have been somewhat less than existent, and your insole cushioning somewhat south of bountiful, but still, there never has and nor will there ever be a finer pair of shoes than you.

You'd think that in this world of unlimited consumer choice, a man would be able to get a pair of cherry red leather Chucks. Especially when Converse even offer a Design Your Own service on their website that supposedly empowers you to "Create your own definition of the perfect pair." But no; fickle fashion has decreed my preference to be so last whenever, and here I am, a vicim of my own contentment. If it's leather I'm insisting on, then my "Perfect Pair" can be any colour, so long as it's black, white, cactus, chocolate or sable.

The closest I've been able to get is the above Red Ochre pair in suede, but it just ain't the same thing. (And even then they don't offer the option of a red racing stripe; just black, white, parchment or, um... athletic navy (hello?), so, thanks for playing.)

UPDATE
Not content with simply moaning into the wind, I decided to email Converse directly and demand to know why cherry red wasn't on their list of colours. This was the unsatisfying pro forma reply.

Hello,

Thank you for your email. We unfortunately do not have any other options for colors or styles at this time. We do change these options every few months however so please come back and see us in the next few weeks to see if the style of shoes or the color option that you want becomes available.

Thank you for shopping with us!

Thank you,
Meagan
www.converse.com

Thaaaat's it, that's the way; string me along to eternity with hopes and dreams of that one day yet to come. And as my enquiry only concerned unavailable colours, could you please edit out references to styles from your cut 'n' paste response to at least give the impression that you've read what I've written? Sigh.

Oh well, everything old is always new again, so I guess I'll just bide my time, and then buy up big when that cherry red-letter day finally arrives.

UPDATE 2
I suppose I could always buy a white pair and paint my own...

UPDATE 3
Well, ask and you shall (sort of) receive faster than Chuck Taylor drivin' through the paint. I decided to take my new friend Meagan from Converse at her word, and headed back to their website to see if any additional colours were available yet.

Turns out, there are! In addition to the previous five colour options for leather, there are now pink, gold, royal purple, royal blue, athletic navy, green and yes... red!

Not cherry red, sadly, but balls-out firetruck red instead, which, while a little garish for my particular tastes, is still a step in the right direction.

But wait, there's sort of more! Suede's been given a bunch of new colour options as well. Again, still no cherry red but, at least, you now have the option to colour the racing stripe red.

Which, yeah, is great, but, without wanting to sound like a whiner you just can't please, I kind of like the colour of the stripe to match that of the shoe... so a firetruckin' stripe would be great if the shoe was firetruckin' as well, but on a red ochre shoe my "definition of the perfect pair" would have a stripe of red ochre too.

So, I don't know, the parts are nearly all there; I just can't assemble them into the arrangement I'd like. But thanks for trying to meet me half-way, Converse. I guess I'll be back to check again soon.

UPDATE 4
Poladroid is a nifty little application for converting your digital photos into Polaroids, complete with textured paper frame. You just drag and drop, and then wait for the image to "develop". Here's one I made of my Cons. Love that magenta saturation.

Books, Wonderfully Sorted Books.

2008-10-26T13:09:00.004+11:00

There's a scene in High Fidelity where John Cusack embarks on an ambitious, post-break-up project to arrange his massive record collection... autobiographically! Brilliant! I wish I could break the comfortable confines of such boring and traditional techniques as alphabetical and chronological, but I'm just not that bold.

Maybe, by way of working up to that noble goal, I could experiment with following:

Arranged by colour...

...and arranged by narrative.

Top shelf. There are a stack more 'narrative' images in the Sorted Books project, so click the link above for more.

UPDATE
Sadly, of limited use to us non-bootcamping Mac users, but readatwork.com is worth a look (if you can withstand the Powerpoint layout horrors).

UPDATE 2
To illustrate a pleasing digression that's come up in the Comments, here's the centre of the White Stripes' CD, White Blood Cells. As you can see, the disc is completely white with no manufacturer's markings to be seen, and so it's 12 o'clock time, on time, all the time!

Tea Tree The Key.

2008-10-20T13:24:00.010+11:00

Introducing Tea Tree Oil, the all-in-one, all natural, no holds barred, miracle multipurpose solution that achieves outstanding results you simply won't believe.

Just listen to this unpaid, non-solicited, testimonial.

"When I sat down at my desk and discovered my two-year-old had taken to the keyboard of my precious iMac with a permanent marker, I thought I might go into coronary arrest. I tried all the so-called remedies I read about on the internet – toothpaste, magic erasers, motor oil – but nothing seemed to work. Then, at the point of despair, my wife suggested trying Tea Tree Oil, and let me tell you, I was amazed at the results!

With nought but a dab of solution and a light application of elbow-grease, the "permanent" marker proved to be nothing of the kind. In no time at all my keyboard was restored to its former glory, saving not only this vital peripheral, but my relationship with my firstborn as well!!

Thanks and blessings marvellous Tea Tree Oil. "Oil" be using you again soon!!!"

Relieved, Reservoir

So get down to your nearest retailer of miracle goods today, and see what Tea Tree Oil can do for you!

Coming Up: Olympics.

2008-10-10T12:41:00.002+11:00

Just in time for the London 2012 Olympic Games comes a few random reflections on those held way back when in Beijing. Better late than never, I guess? They were topical when I started writing them, so I thought I may as well finish and post the buggers. For posterity. Or whatever.

Coming Up: Inaction Replays
If I die having never seen another super-slow motion montage, I will die a happy man. Even if it means never again seeing the parched runner and his miracle butterfly. In fact, especially if it means never seeing the parched runner and his miracle butterfly. That clip creeps me out. Once the novelty, like the butterfly, flitted away, all you were left with was the faintly erotic scene of a man languidly raising his water bottle to his mouth and gushing its contents all over his face. Um, can we move onto something else, please? Oh great, here's some swimmer's arm moving in super slow-mo. Not an actual swimmer; just an arm. Brilliant.

You know , I thought they might have tired of this toy by the end of the Athens Olympics, but no, here we are, four years later, still watching the same excruciating, poorly-framed shots that cram five minutes of highlights into nearly an hour. I switched to SBS, hoping for some relief, only to discover they were playing the exact same montage. Interestingly though, where Channel 7 felt high-intensity, British alt-rockers Muse to be the perfect aural accompaniment, SBS went with... yep, Andrea Bocelli. A more apt illustration of the difference between the two networks would, I think, be hard to find.

Coming Up: Breakfast
And speaking of soundtracks, to my abject horror Coles latched onto Sia Furler's beautiful song, Breathe Me, for their mawkish tribute to the "unsung heroes" of every Olympics since time began: the mums and their magnificent food preparation skills. Unless the mums bought their food from Safeway, sorry, Woolworths, in which case they're just losers. Like their loser kids who come eighth, or whatever. Losers. Anyway, Breathe Me was put to much better use in the final climactic scene of the brilliant Six Feet Under, a scene so moving and wonderful that every viewing leaves me a teary trembling mess. And then along stomps Coles, muscling into my subconscious and squeezing out my precious associations with early mornings, crunchy apples and Camberwell mums living vicariously. Realising my desperate situation, I got out my Six Feet DVDs and put myself through a rigorous reassociation regime, until once again those first few notes brought nothing to mind but Claire driving away and people keeling over.

Coming Up: Landmarks
Since TV networks began to brand their programming with digital watermarks, they've gradually mutated them from a quiet kid in the corner to an attention-seeking extrovert. Larger, more elaborate, often coloured and at times even animated, watermarks are now mostly so only in name. And then into the ring swaggers Channel 7 with their bold as a dog's bollocks offering for the Olympics. Not only larger than any I've ever seen before, it was also completely opaque. Nothing like Exclusive Rights to bring out the brazenness in a Television Network.

Also brazen was Channel 7's refusal to be constrained by anything as helpful as a timeslot for their televised events. Everything was always "Coming Up..." but you could never be sure when. And to make things even more difficult, the network seemed to have put a bored teenager with a remote control in charge of programming. Ten minutes of water polo, five minutes of rhythmic gymnastics, a little bit of track and field, two shots of men's basketball, aaaand back to the water polo. Liberally spiced with ads, of course. The water polo game clock said there were 10 minutes of boredom to go, so I went and made a cup of tea and checked my email, only to discover upon my return that there were still 10 minutes of boredom to go! Either time had just stood still, or they'd spliced in a chunk of some other event to keep things... I don't know, interesting? No idea what the event was, but as time ground on I eventually realised it must have been the one I'd been waiting for, as suddenly its time was no longer "Coming Up," it was just up.

Coming Up: 1980
The closing ceremony was a real letdown. Course, after the sprightly Joanna Griggs reported the Chinese as saying the spectacle would surpass that of the Opening Ceremony, it never really stood a chance. Doubly so, when the eventual production turned out to be only slightly more spectacular than a high school Rock Eisteddfod. More maniacally grinning, frantically waving people riding bikes? Nooo! Quite why the Chinese went blasting our expectations up into the stratosphere like that, I'll never know. True to form, Channel 7 refused to be locked in to a starting time, and so, after Joanna's 15th assurance that the Closing Ceremony was "coming up," I set the VCR running and went to bed. Thank the Maker and his oil baths that I did, because when I sat down to watch it the next day, there was still a half hour of ads interrupted by the occasional programme break to go. As I tore through the interminable lead-up like a Jamaican down the home straight, I once again gave thanks to my VCR and its blessed day of manufacture.

Coming Up: The Bill
While I marvel at our nation of just over 20 million people placing sixth on the Medal Tally against the whole entire world, when I read that each medal cost us around $17 million in federal grants, I had to wonder if it was worth it? I know you can't put a price on inspiring the next generation of Aussie kids to swim really, really, really, really fast, but still, $782 million is an extraordinary sum. I guess, at least, when we're told (repeatedly) that the athletes are doing it for us, it's actually true?

Coming Up: Smitty!
• And finally (to finish on a positive note amidst all this whining)... Go Smitty! (Surprisingly, the Wikipedia link to Smitty's Hockey Australia profile doesn't work, and I don't know how to fix it (Phil?), so if you want the lowdown on Smitty, go (Smitty) here! Yay!

The 2008 Birdbath Olympic Cup.

2008-09-15T21:06:00.009+10:00

When Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd visited China in March 2008, he took the opportunity to converse openly with Chinese President Hu Jintao on a range of topics, none more important than the inclusion of FNOccer in the upcoming Beijing Olympic Games. Mr Rudd, a longtime fan of competitive bottle kicking, put his case forward with passion, and in fluent Mandarian, no less. "Surely FNOccer deserved full event status," he argued, "after receiving widespread acclaim at Athens 2004 in a stunningly successful demonstration." President Hu reacted sharply at Mr Rudd's use of the word 'demonstration' (he mistakenly used yóu xíng 游行 meaning 'protest' instead of the correct cāo yǎn 操演 meaning 'a practical exhibition'), but a quick whisper to an interpreter cleared up the confusion at once. "And if the equine events are to be held off-shore in Hong Kong," continued Mr Rudd, "why not other events as well?"

President Hu, though clearly convinced, responded with regret, explaining that with the People's United Workforce already struggling to meet their construction deadlines, it would not be possible to construct another Glorious People's Venue in which the athletes could compete. Smiling, Mr Rudd turned to the assembled media and said (this time in English), "President Hu, on behalf of the Australian government and the Australian people, I make available to you and the citizens of the world, Australia's oldest, most hallowed brick surface and the home itself of the nation's second-favourite homegrown game, the Birdbath!! President Hu again turned to his interpreter, and Mr Rudd, sensing the confusion, rushed to clarify. "Or rather, I should say, the Templestowe FNOccer Ground, which is known affectionately to us Australians as the Birdbath! There was once a birdbath there, you see? But it was vandalised. By vandals. It's not there anymore. Let me show you a picture..."

Anyway, Mr Wu, eventually overcome by this genuine expression of the Olympic spirit, enthusiastically shook Mr Rudd's hand in acceptance, and an accord was reached. Back in Australia the news was received by the FNOccer community with great joy, but little surprise. After all, if freakin' beach volley ball can get in, there's no reason kickin' around a plastic bottle can't as well.

Roll on a few months to like the luckiest date in the history of forever, 08.08.08, and the big day finally arrived. Templestowe stood ready for the arrival of an army of athletes — drawn from a thousand countries, cultures, colours and creeds, united by nothing but the Olympic spirit and a pure love for FNOccer — but, mysteriously, the army somehow failed to arrive! Where could they be? What could have happened? Had they all somehow got the date wrong? Forgotten to set the alarm on their clock/radios? Travelled by mistake to Austria? Chosen to fly Qantas and were currently stranded in a transit lounge in Malaysia? No one could say for sure, and as FNOccer waits for no man, the officials eventually decided, international field or not, the bottle had to drop.

In the interests of keeping the global focus so essential for an Olympic event, the now all-Australian competitors pledged to each select a different nation to represent out on the bricks. (Any medals won would still be awarded to Australia, though. Of course. Don't get carried away.) As reigning World Champion and Keeper of the FNOath, Steve was offered first dibs on representing Australia, but with a pathological aversion to green and gold (especially in combination) he passed, and chose a country with a proper set of national colours, New Zealand. Seeing in Usain Bolt a hubris matched only by his own, CK elected to represent Jamaica. Enamoured of all things Scandinavian since his days at Ericsson many winters ago, Davet chose Sweden. Large, arrogant and with a fondness for invading impoverished nations and stealing their oil, JJ chose the USA. (Cheap shot, I know, but with a price that low I'd be mad going anywhere else!) Inspired by famous Olympic boxer, Naseem Hamed, who, despite boxing for Great Britain, insisted on being announced as "representing his heritage land of Yemen," Bart also chose Yemen.

Once allegiances were declared, the athletes gathered to enjoy the deep-fried Opening Ceremony, brought to you by Olympic Partner, the Templestowe Fish Balloon. Jaws dropped at a stunning display of synchronised burger-eating, and hearts were won as a troupe of performers imagined a world (using nothing but half-full bottles of Pepsi Max), where children were free to kick around a plastic bottle without fear of global warming swelling the oceans and flooding their low-lying, coastal bricked surfaces. It was amazing. When the Opening Ceremony concluded, the athletes made their way to the Templestowe FNOccer Ground, to await Bart (the bad boy of the FNOccer circuit), who was en route after sitting a motorcycle test that morning.

While they waited, the draw was done. Round 1 pit CK against JJ Glamma in a Qualification match, while Bart and Davet clashed in a Semi-final, the winner of which would travel directly to the Grand Final. Round 2 was the Second Semi-final, which would see the winner of the Qualifier come up against the Defending Champion, Steve, whose reigning status earned him a first round rest. Round 3 would be the Gold Medal match between the two Semi-final winners. As a concession to CK, who'd somehow made it to the Olympics without ever actually playing FNOccer, it was agreed that in Round 1 the Semi-final would be played before the Qualifier, so he'd at least get to watch a game being played before being called upon to play one himself.

Once the draw was done, (and Bart had finally arrived), the bottle was dropped and the Game was on!

ROUND 1
Semi-final: Davet (Sweden) v Bart (Yemen)
A stiff draw for Davet saw him run into heavyweight Bart in his first game, but if he could knock the prancing Yemeni down, he'd earn himself a trip direct to the golden Grand Final. Refusing to be intimidated by Bart's physicality out on the bricks, Davet managed to hold his own. And citing lessons learned last year from JJ the Great One-Pointer, he capitalised on a number of penalty shots by playing safe from the 1-point line, building his score slowly but surely.

But then, with the scores locked at four all, the two competitors clashed at the centre line. In a tangle of feet, Davet managed to kick free, but Bart, somehow, volleyed with his primary kick and sent the bottle scuttling under the bench for two, perching himself on the very lips of victory. Could Davet score the next four straight points to claim the game? Well, as the Swede stepped to the serving line to find out, Bart – seemingly stung by a sudden attack of conscience – threw up a red flag, saying that he might possibly have stepped over the line when kicking his last goal...

The match officials went straight to the tapes, and confirmed that, yes, he had indeed faulted, and the scores were levelled again at 4 apiece. The crowd, inspired by this display of sportsmanship, applauded Bart loudly. Good lesson there for the kids coming up through the junior leagues: it's not about winning; it's about winning right. However noble the act may have been, though, it seemed to rob Bart of his fire, and Davet, with three thumping goals in quick succession, knocked the scores to 7-4 and Bart back onto the steps.

In the post-match interview, a deflated Bart expressed regret for once again failing to achieve his personal goals for the Cup, and depriving his fans of the razzle dazzle they so love to see when he's out on the bricks. Davet, by contrast, was pleased with his performance, though unsurprised at the result, suggesting that a victory over Bart no longer meant what it once did! A slapdown we can only hope reignites Bart's fireworks next year.

Qualification: JJ Glamma (USA) v CK (Jamaica)
In the lead-up to the Cup, first time competitor CK was all over the Anderson St Press talking up his prospects, declaring that once he was out on the bricks, the Birdbath would become the bloodbath. Come game-day however, the only blood being shed was CK's as JJ Glamma came out like a Superpower, slamming home five rapid goals and leaving the rookie struggling for answers.

Realising that his dreams of gold were about to be washed in white, the Jamaican dug deep, and with legs pumping like pistons he blasted home a pair of goals, including a 2-pointer from off the bricks. But JJ, keen to recapture the glory of his dream run last year, refused to be rattled, and slotted home another two goals to finish CK off, 7 to 3.

ROUND 2
Semi-final: JJ Glamma (USA) v Steve (New Zealand)
(Bronze Medal match)
Glamma's win over CK came with a cost though, as the Round 1 reshuffle meant he advanced straight into a Semi-final against the well-rested Keeper of the FNOath, Steve. And the cost was clear as Steve blitzed the heavy-footed JJ, dragging the scoreline out to 6-1 whether it wanted to go there or not. And when Glamma faulted in the following rally and sent Steve to the penalty line, the Golden Ticket looked to have the Champ's name all over it.

But a shocked gasp erupted from the steps as Steve strode past the 1-point penalty line, and headed for the 2. "What are you doing?" Davet exclaimed. "You only need one point to win!" "Nope," the Champ replied, "You can't win with a 1-point penalty." As Davet started to respond the Champ cut him short with an emphatic clarification, "I can't win with a 1-point penalty!" There it was again. The need to win right: some call it cocky; others the mark of a true champion. Steve's shot went wide, however, and the game was back on.

Glamma staged an impressive fightback, scoring the next three goals to take his tally to four, but his dreams of gold disappeared under a bench as the Keeper finally slid another goal through, finishing his opponent off, 7 to 4.

ROUND 3
Grand Final: Steve (New Zealand) v Davet (Sweden)
(Gold Medal match)
No rest for the magnificent as now it was Steve's turn for back-to-back clashes, heading straight into the Grand Final against the Norsca-fresh Davet. "It's only fair," Steve was overheard saying as he adjusted his shoelaces before stepping onto the bricks. "I wouldn't ask anything of my fellow competitors that I wasn't prepared to do myself." Anything except lose, of course. The champ seems quite prepared to leave that one to just his opponents.

And, indeed, now it was Davet's turn as Steve smashed the Swede into the ground, 7 to 1, in a demolition that recalled his equally impressive takedown of Bart at the 2007 Birdbath World Cup. But the one-sided scoreline doesn't tell quite the whole story as, despite Davet's only score coming from one of his now habitual 1-point penalties, he nevertheless fought a tough defensive game that pushed the champ to his limits.

In the end though, with a seismic 3-point primary kick from deep off the bricks, and a salvo of singles sent scorching under the bench with devastating precision, the man they call The Postman got his message through.

Below: Gold Medallist and Two-time Keeper of the FNOath, Steve

Below: The Medal Ceremony. Gold: Steve (New Zealand), Silver: Davet (Sweden), Bronze: JJ Glamma (USA).

FURTHER READING:
The 2007 Birdbath World Cup
A Concise History of All Things FNO

Best Olympic Broadcast Ever!

2008-09-03T12:20:00.007+10:00

The hacks at Channel 7 could have learnt something from KTVH, an NBC affiliate in Helena, Montana, who enhanced their Olympic broadcast by superimposing the famous and much-loved silhouette of Mystery Science Theater 3000! Gold!

It was apparently accidental, and only stayed up there for four hours, but that would've been the best four hours of Olympic programming I've ever seen. Although if it had actually been live and not just a static overlay, that would have been even better. Those lucky sods at KTVH. Oh, to have a button I could push to do likewise. Come on, digital TV revolution! Forget your Full HD Extreme rubbish; just give me a button on my remote to do this. So good.

Push the button, Frank.

(Thanks to 6.5 for the heads-up.)

Telling Whoppers.

2008-08-30T21:40:00.007+10:00

I WAS DRIVING ... PAST HUNGRY JACK'S.

I FELT MY HUNGER ... BURN WITHIN.

I PULLED INTO ... THE DRIVE-THROUGH,

AND ORDERED ARGUABLY THE MOST RIDICULOUS MOVIE TIE-IN PRODUCT ...

EVER!

THE ...

DARK WHOPPER!

The burgers might be better, but the advertising's rubbish! Glory, what were they thinking? When it played before The Dark Knight most of the cinema burst out laughing. That can't be a good sign.

But I guess they're laughing now, aren't they? Because I bought one. I guess I just couldn't help myself. I just had to know. Was the burger made from human flesh, perhaps? Or worse, lamb's fry? Was it somehow, slightly, even remotely, in any way, even conceptually, dark?

No.

Course not! Stupid. It was just a bog-standard hamburger with no discernible difference to any other I've eaten before! I had to go and look up what the differences were and discovered, get this, that it had barbeque sauce instead of ketchup, and no ... PICKLES! Oh, the humanity! Oh, the dark depths of my wicked, inky soul! NO PICKLES! Personally I love pickles, but I understand I'm in a micro-minority. Wouldn't it have been more iniquitous to have packed it with nothing but pickles?! Or is that TOO DARK?! Step back from the abyss, young one. Man was not meant to travel that far!

Dark Whopper.

Hmpprrppp.

Underwhelming Achievement in the Field of Excel.

2008-08-22T17:32:00.003+10:00

Please Excel. It is the 21st Century. I have 6GB of RAM. I'm pretty confident I can handle 120 cells worth of data.

Please stop asking me this question. I have many more files to copy and paste from before the dawn comes, and your constant questioning is slowing me right down. Set me free, won't you Excel, to brave the wild rapids of memory management myself. Or at least give me the option to turn this question off.

UPDATE
50. It's 50 cells. Try to copy 'n' paste 51 cells of data out of Excel and it waves the big old flag of caution at you! Proceed with your 51 cells of leadlined data at your own risk! The last table of data I updated was around the 200 cell mark! I've been operating at over four times Excel's recommended limit and I didn't know it! I COULD HAVE DIED!!

So, remember: Fifty cells, you're safe. Fifty-one cells, you're on your own, you maniac!

Bath Time.

2008-08-21T13:07:00.002+10:00

Olympic action at the Bird's Nest?

Forget that.

All the real Olympic action is going down at the Birdbath!

Stay tuned. Full report on the 2008 Birdbath Olympic Cup coming soon.

Another funny thing happened...

2008-08-16T21:52:00.003+10:00

I asked back here if you've ever read a joke and laughed because it’s funny, but at the same time it’s an uncomfortable laugh because you recognise far too much of yourself in the punchline?

Happened again.

I particularly like the rollover sting. Done that before, too. Aah, I do so enjoy Wondermark.

More Awe.

2008-08-14T20:08:00.005+10:00

There are few things that I would truly call awesome – the birth of a child, the wonders of nature, God, lasagne – but over the past week I've come across two more I think could make it onto the list.

I'd only just picked myself up off the floor after witnessing Shazam (the iPhone app that identifies almost any song just by "listening" to it), when along stomps Google Maps Street View in its size 12s to bundle me down again.

Street View is astounding, and absolutely unbelievable. Of course there's the usual handful of desperately cool killjoys scoffing and pretending they're unimpressed, but just ignore them because their hearts are cold and shriveled. And, look, let's deal with any murky privacy concerns another day. For now, let's simply marvel with a sense of childlike wonder at the magic being performed before our very eyes.

UPDATE
A legion mechanical eyes head out, up, down and over, recording, charting, cataloguing the streets and byways of this world, so that a million human eyes can scan through the results to find... funny stuff. And then more funny stuff. Well, what else could you possibly use this new technology for? Oh, what we humans are capable of. And oh, what we humans are capable of. :)

UPDATE 2
Um, in fairness I should probably warn you about "Ryan Germick, web specialist at Google," who features in the Street View introduction I've linked to above. Um, proceed with caution.

A Cure For Connex, Part 2.

2008-08-07T21:50:00.004+10:00

Honestly, I'm only trying to...

When I saw that Connex were still doggedly coming out in support of cancer, all logic to the contrary, I thought I'd send them a message and ask why? At the very least I thought they'd appreciate getting an email that wasn't a thundering tirade over late and overcrowded trains on their rail network.

Hello. I was wondering if you could explain the reasoning behind the use of 'for' in 'Connex For Cancer Day'? If you take 'for' in its most common sense as meaning "in favour or in support of" then surely you can only read this as a statement in support of cancer?! Even if it's 'Cancer Day' you're in support of, it still sounds a little creepy. Yay for cancer!

I understand the importance of avoiding negative language in a positioning statement, (as with the former Anti-Cancer Council repositioning themselves by lowering the 'anti'), but wouldn't 'Connex Against Cancer Day' make more sense? Or if you had to use a positive preposition, then 'Connex For A Cure Day'?

I'm not meaning to be negative myself as, whatever it might be called, it's an undeniably worthy initiative, but the choice of words did make me pause.

Many thanks for any response you'd care to make.

Regards,
/etc, etc

Anyway, to my great surprise, a week later I received the following thoughtful reply:

We refer to your inquiry of 13 July 2008, regarding the wording of our “Connex for Cancer Day” campaign.

The intention of the campaign slogan is to indicate our support for Cancer Day, a day we have initiated with the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre to raise funds to contribute to the search for a cure for cancers of all kinds.

There is a subtle distinction between “Connex for Cancer” and “Connex for Cancer Day”, but an important one.

This year’s “Connex for Cancer Day” campaign will be our fourth, and so far, with the help of our customers, we have raised more than $160,000 for the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre, a premier Australian resource for cancer patients in the provision of integrated treatment, research and education.

While Cancer Day might be perceived to have negative connotations, we believe that having a day to highlight the disease and the people who have suffered from it, their families and those sufferers who have survived, is an empowering initiative. We’ve worked closely with the Peter Mac Communications and Marketing team to ensure we minimise any offence the community may feel.

The “Connex for Cancer Day” campaign name is not intended to offend, however we are aware that for some people cancer still carries a strong stigma, and talk about the disease can be upsetting for sufferers, survivors or those who know a sufferer or survivor or have lost someone to the disease. We believe the positive aims of our campaign outweigh any negative associations people might have with the wording, and the support of our customers on this day would certainly seem to reinforce that.

We appreciate your feedback, and thank you for the opportunity to clarify our intentions when creating the “Connex for Cancer Day” campaign.

Yours sincerely
Sarah Hart
Connex Melbourne

I understand that there's more to dealing with cancer than merely fighting it; it's also about supporting those who suffer under its terrible burden, so fair enough, Connex, you're right. I'm on board. And I'll txt all my friends right away to let them know!

iPromise no more iPuns.

2008-08-04T21:47:00.005+10:00

They're really getting tedious, aren't they? Not as bad as FCUK (you're so naughty, French Connection!), which lost its appeal after one or one viewings, but they're still getting annoying. Especially when they're nothing clever; they're just a boring old headline with an 'i' bunged out the front.

So, yeah, no new puns, but I've got an iPhone!

Glory, that took some doing. I won't bore you with the details of my miraculous escape from a web of incompetence, weaselly buck-passing and half a lifetime on hold, suffice to say that I'm not planning to purchase my next phone from Telechoice. And then just when I thought I was out, it called me up and dragged me back in. The day I went to pick up the replacement unit I made doubly sure it was activated and able to make a call, but I didn't try accessing the web over the 3G network. I should have. After a day of thinking I was just unlucky enough to always be in areas of poor reception, I suddenly realised after comparing my phone to a friend's that, no, it actually wasn't working at all. (And yes, 3G was turned on, I checked. Many times).

Another half hour on the phone touring the many and varied departments of an Optus Call Centre led me to a tech who was eventually able to fix the problem by, quote, "manually installing some missing components in our rear-end," unquote! By this stage I was ready to manually install some components in someone's rear-end too, but a 3G icon blinking into life next to five bars of 3G reception soothed the savage beast within and all was good with the world. I harnessed the good energy, blocked out the bad, iPhone packed his bags, got to the airport, and now he's home.

The only negative now is that since losing my old mobile I've been off the grid for so long that people have stopped calling me. I'm back, people. Feel free to call me again.

UPDATE: Just been googlin' around for iPhone screen protectectors. How good is this one? I'll tell you: among its list of Features it's described as being "Military Grade". Awesome.

Rock 'n' Roll Stars.

2008-08-02T09:59:00.002+10:00

So, is Noel Gallagher going to follow Radiohead's lead and make the new Oasis album, Dig Out Your Soul, available for free?

"I didn't spend a year in the most expensive studio in England, with the most expensive producer in America, and the most expensive graphic designer in London to then give [the album] away. Fook that." (Manc phonetic adjustment mine)

Aah, so that'd be a no then, Noel?

That's what I love about the Gallaghers. There's no pretense. They speak their minds, they speak their minds clearly, and they're utterly unconcerned with what others might think. They're just exactly who they are, and exactly who they want to be. They're possibly the most authentic and sincere people on the planet. :)

Here's hoping they'll dig out another cracker.

The Dark Knight.

2008-07-27T13:35:00.014+10:00

Amazing. Pretty much everything I'd hoped for. Better than Burton's? Um, you tell me:

Nothing else to be said, really. I couldn't summarise the differences in approach any clearer than that. Unfortunately I couldn't find an image of the new Two-Face to demonstrate the similar horrific contrast between the visions of Nolan and Schumacher, but, really, I don't think I need to:

Tommy Two-Face condemns himself. Jacobim Mugatu's keyboard-tie would be embarrassed to be seen tied around his neck. No matter what Nolan put together it couldn't have been any worse than that.

So, yeah, brilliant. Christian Bale wasn't perfect (his throaty Bat-whisper got a bit much at times), but he's the best Batman yet, and Heath was absolutely magnificent. I could have watched an hour more of him, at least. The Joker's always been my least favourite Batman villain, but not anymore. And Gary Oldman, bless him, managed to turn in another brilliantly understated performance as Lieutenant Gordon. Judged on past performances, Oldman would've been right at home in Schumacher's Gotham, but thankfully he dialled himself down and played Gordon to perfection.

What I loved most about Dark Knight was how real it all felt. And how straight the actors played their roles. No ham at all. It was, well, besides that sonar mobile phone Google Maps deus ex machina, it was all so believable. And daaaaaaark. Batman as it should be.

Anyway, mostly in response to the comment thread on my earlier Dark Knight post, I wanted to put up the collection of campaign posters that I've put together. You can't post images into the Blogger's comments, so I thought I'd use that as an excuse for a new post (this one) and, if it likes, the poster conversation can continue here.

Huzzah! (Click for high-res version. Obviously.)

I love the collage image, but my absolute favourite is this one:

And not just because the head's been cropped. The power, the menace, the suspense... ooh, it send shivers down my spine. And, unlike certain other posters, it sends shivers for the right reason. :)

UPDATE
Collection of promotional posters above updated to include new additions. I'm unsure if some are from different countries, which may explain certain irregularities (such as the four different logo treatments), or even if some might be fan art (the more gruesome Joker ones), but for what it's worth, there they are.

UPDATE 2
I found myself wondering the other day, do I hate Schumacher's Batman films unfairly? Have I created a memory more awful and repugnant than the actual films themselves? If I was to rewatch them now would I actually find that they're really not so bad and just a bit of fun? And then I came across this lowlights reel from Batman and Robin on YouTube, and my wonders fell dead to the ground. I couldn't make it past six minutes. How indescribably odious.

Mind the Gap.

2008-07-22T12:23:00.006+10:00

Never let it be said I don't give praise when praise is due. I have, from time to time, been known to bring the gavel of condemnation down on Connex, but if there's ever good behaviour on display, I'll txt the jury straight away.

Good behaviour such as that which occurred this morning at the station formerly known (but still known to JJ) as Spencer Street.

As I went to insert my Metcard into the exit barrier's validator slot, I somehow managed to get the angle wrong and my ticket hit the angled lip beneath the slot. In the blink of an eye and in one swift motion as I continued to push, it slid down and into an open hairline seam at the base of the plastic bracket, disappearing into the metal barrier's guts.

It happened so quickly that I was left there standing with no ticket in my hand and a stunned expression on my face. An expression that turned to dread as I looked up to see a gang of Authorised Customer Service Enforcers standing there with arms folded across their chests and surly expressions fixed to their faces.

As if they were going to believe this.

Fortunately, they didn't have to. I walked over to one of the regular staff and explained that my ticket had just slipped into the barrier. He nodded and waved over a superior. I explained myself again and, instead of being thrown to the dogs, he also nodded and told me to go over to the ticket window where the attendant would assist me. The friendly woman took down my contact number and said she'd call me as soon as a technician had come by to open the barrier. And that was it. No doubt, no accusations, no demands for justification; just pure customer service, and with a smile.

A few hours later I got the call, and over I went to collect my ticket. Thanks Connex.

Heesa like dat second helping!

2008-07-20T14:57:00.002+10:00

Is it just me, or is George Lucas starting to look more and more like one of his digital creations?

I'm just asking.

iPhone, Therefore I Am.

2008-07-18T21:00:00.008+10:00

Alright, so maybe that's taking it a little too far, but when it comes to iPhone, hyperbole is the order of the day. And my day is today. Which, given that I was quoted three to four weeks for iPhone Round 2, came as quite the pleasant surprise. My, you'd be hard pressed to top my last 24 hours: The Dark Knight last night, iPhone this afternoon, and then I get home to discover a book that I'd ordered had just arrived from Amazon. Icing.

Imagine my disappointment then when I plugged the damn iPhone into my iMac and got the message: "No SIM card installed. Insert an unlocked and valid SIM to activate iPhone." Padme, nooooo!! The Optus guy hadn't been able to activate it in store, but assured me it'd be activated when I plugged it in at home. Well, apparently not. Straight onto the old-style, last century, landline-type phone (at least it worked, I guess), and the best he could suggest was that I bring the iPhone and SIM back into the store tomorrow so he can test it out there. No other option really.

So, bring on tomorrow, and in the meantime I'll just enjoy this sublime packaging in which the iPhone image on the top is embossed, except for the area under the Home button which sits recessed, as it does on the iPhone itself. It's not something you notice until you run your fingers across the box's surface. Just magnificent attention to detail.

UPDATE
Gutted. Took the iPhone back into the Optus store in the city this morning, to be told I got the rotten Apple in the barrel! The guy put my SIM into his phone, and it worked, then he put his SIM into the iPhone, and it didn't. Defective handset. What are the chances? They couldn't just swap it over for me, even if they'd had the stock (see hilarious official sign below) as defective units need to go back to Apple to be replaced by them. Or something. Anyway, he estimated a turnaround of one week which, given the actual over the estimate last time, I'm hoping means two days. I guess we'll see.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy watching this video of the upcoming game Star Wars: The Force Unleashed running on an iPhone!

Phone Line.

2008-07-11T21:40:00.005+10:00

Well, sadly, the wait goes on. With a launch day short on stock and long on queues, I'll be waiting a little longer to take my iPhone home.

My initial plan was to head out early to Optus World in Epping, as I figured surely out in Epping demand would be low? Unfortunately, Optus had thought of that too and so only shipped 19 units out to the store, of which less than half were 16GB, less than half of those were black and of that tiny handful all were already accounted for by pre-order deposits. "Should I turn up tomorrow morning?" I asked the lady on the phone. "Don't bother," was the reply.

Plan B then was to catch the early train to Preston, pop over to Optus World to see what the situation was, and hope for the best. Maybe if I managed to hit the front of the queue I'd still be in with a chance? It was on the way to work anyway, so no harm done if things didn't work out. Got to Reservoir station in time for the 6:18 and, you won't believe it, it was cancelled. Thanks Connex. Next train? 6:38. And it was late. By the time I got to Preston, the line was already over 20 deep.

So I joined the end and ended up having a good chat to some fellow queuees as we waited to see how quickly the line would move. After half an hour of it moving nowhere, I conceded it wasn't going to be my lucky day and headed off to work on my regular train. On getting there I was relieved to find that of the many planning to get iPhones only two had been able to do so, and only by signing up with Vodafone whose plans are terrible. I just wasn't that desperate. Popped out at lunch and signed up for Round 2 with Optus, so now the waiting game begins. Anyone fancy some Hungry Hungry Hippos?

UPDATE
To sell its first million first-generation iPhones it took Apple 74 days. With iPhone 3G, nicely enough, it's taken them just three.

Dark Knight of the Soul.

2008-07-08T21:30:00.013+10:00

In preparation for The Dark Knight I just rewatched Batman Begins, and I'm pleased to say it held up very well to a repeat viewing. I actually even enjoyed it more the second time around. Possibly because I wasn't as nervous; nervous that the long dark night of silly, rubbish Batman films was set to go onnnnnn. Thankfully though, Batman Begins delivered the Batman I've been so longing to see on screen: serious, complex, and dark; dark as light can be. And with ninjas, too! Ooh, of course, update, update!

And in my relief I'm not alone. Khoi Vinh reflects here on the critical reception of each Batman film to date and, on the off chance Dark Knight fails to meet our expectations, recommends enjoying a world in which the last Batman film didn't suck while we still can.

I've always considered myself a fan of the two Burton films, but, my, Christopher Nolan's efforts so far show just how far they fell from being what they could have been. Please, Mr Nolan, no giant, waddling, rocket-launching penguins or songs by Prince in this one. Have mercy.

UPDATE
Michael Bay's rejected script for Michael Bay's The Dark Knight by Michael Bay, featuring dialogue scripted by Michael Bay. Hilarious.

UPDATE 2
Nice little group shot here of the promotional posters created for The Dark Knight. The thumbnails really don't do them justice as, contrary to what the guy says in his post, the full-size prints I've seen have looked amazing. They are quite diverse in style, but I feel the thematic link is strong enough to hold them together as a set.

Actually, this trend towards multiple, character-based posters instead of one key image seems to be on the increase. Particularly with blockbusters. I guess a blockbuster budget helps. And it's good; keeps you keeping an eye out as you drive past bus shelters or whatever, looking to complete the set or just to spot your favourite character who you've yet to see. Attack of the Clones (2002) had me on the lookout for Jango (pre-disillusionment) and Matrix Reloaded (2003) caught my interest as I like cropping heads in the photos I take, too. (Shame the posters ended up being the best thing about the film). I wonder which film used this technique first? The Phantom Menace did it in 1999, but surely there are earlier examples than that? Class?

UPDATE 3
Collecting different editions of Catch-22 over the last decade or so has led me on a treasure hunt through a trail of secondhand dealers too numerous to count. But then eBay rolled into town and all of a sudden I could search a world of riches from the extraordinary comfort of my Aeron chair. My collection grew from a handful to a shelfful in no time at all, and the need to commit precious time to an increasingly futile search was gone. But so too, I came to realise, was part of the fun; the journey, though long, was often rewarding in and of itself.

All of which is a long way of saying that any discussions we might have had long into the night over which film used the multiple character-based style first has been obviated by Kate's discovery of the brilliant Internet Movie Poster Awards. It may not be exhaustive, but it's certainly thorough, and based upon its content we can award third place to 1991's Silence of the Lambs, second place to 1990's Dick Tracy, and first place to (drumroll) the ever innovating U2 with their 1988 film, Rattle and Hum. Clap, clap, clap. So there you go.

A Few More of my Favourite Things.

2008-06-16T21:04:00.008+10:00

Like Star Wars-themed Transformers...

...Mystery Science Theater shout-outs in The Simpsons...

...or an ocean of meat, cheese and barbeque sauce colliding in the blessed form of Barbeque Meat-Lovers Stuffed Crust goodness, I love it when my varied interests intersect.

Sure, the sum may not always be greater than the individual parts, See: Alien vs Predator, but like pizza and sex (as the saying goes), when it's good, it's really good, and when when it's bad, it's still pretty good.

And now I've come across this clip from an episode of Mystery Science Theater I've not seen before, and I have another satisfying convergence for my list: MST and Macs!

Hehehe. I always knew there was a reason Tom Servo was my favourite. Amiga?! Bah!

UPDATE
Of course! How did I forget the top-shelf combo of BATMAN AND NINJAS from Batman Begins?! Gold.

Here it comes...

2008-06-09T22:48:00.008+10:00

WWDC kicks off in four hours, and with it cometh iPhone 2, baby! And I just lost my old mobile last night! Well, misplaced most likely, but a little positive thinking never hurt anyone! Lost will do as I drift off to sleep tonight...

UPDATE: I apologise for saying "baby" up there in the original post. I don't normally talk that way. But that's iPhone fever for you, baby!

UPDATE 2: Avast! Thar she blows!

iPhone 3G! A phone so cool it skipped an entire generation and went straight to 3! And it's coming to Australia! All my childhood dreams of the future have been fulfilled. Well, not all fulfilled; I'm still waiting on personal jetpacks. And flying cars. And teleporting. But it's a big step forward nonetheless. What an incredible device.

If you haven't watched the Stevenote, it's worth checking out; if only to see what the many developers have done with the Software Developers Kit. The music app at 40:11, the Google Maps-style medical app at 45:35 and the game demo at 52:13 are pretty amazing. Especially that game demo. As the guy says, it's hard to believe it's running on a mobile device. And the use of the built-in accelerometer for character control is very cool. The device/browser comparison at 1:29:20 is also pretty convincing.

And watching all this, it surprises me that Apple pushed so hard for the iPhone brand name, as phone calls are pretty much the least of what the iPhone does. It's like calling the iMac the DoorStop. Sure, it can do that — and do it well, you know — but my, it can do so much more. It's a fully featured, micro-sized personal computer! I guess iPhone rolls off the tongue easily, and sits comfortably within Apple's "i" stable, but it does seem like an unnecessarily timid name, especially when you consider the boldness of 'iPod'. MacNano seems like it'd be more appropriate, though equally unimaginative. I guess that's why Apple have been throwing around the quote "The phone that has changed phones forever".

Well, whatever its name might be, I reckon you could call it Apple HotCakes because this baby is going to move.

UPDATE 3: Oh no! I did it again.

My scars run deeper.

2008-05-31T20:47:00.006+10:00

It's the stuff of nightmares. Edward Scissorhands has been twisted into a triumphant theatrical major stage spectacular! And if the mere thought of such a thing isn't enough to make you stab yourself in the throat with a pair of scissors, then this image from the brochure will get you there (click to zoom):

Please, make it stop! Right there, in one terrifying shot, is everything I hate about the theatre. The audience in the back row can't pick up any subtleties in a performance, so a raised eyebrow becomes an extravagant, all-of-body gesture. Look at those histrionic expressions and ridiculously contrived poses. They'd make a clown turn away in embarrassment. My eyes haven't stung this much since they were assaulted by the grotesque visages of the Young Demons. I need to go and drench the poor buggers in Dettol. Back soon.

Right. That's better. Man, if there's any film I never wanted to see turned into a musical, it's all of them. That they've done it to one of my favourites is particularly distressing.

Tim. Burto. Mate. After the all-singing horror of Sweeny Todd I guess I'm not surprised that you've lent your name to this musical monstrosity... but still, I am disappointed.

Young & Old.

2008-05-16T14:12:00.004+10:00

I felt young when I realised I owned the album containing the winner of this year's Triple J Hottest 100.

I felt old when I realised that getting up in the morning on weekends was a disappointment because Jon Faine wasn't on the radio.

I felt old when I realised Triple J's on-air survey question: "Which musician would you most like to pash?" was making me cringe.

I felt young when I realised it was a question I could answer: Meg White!

Hehehehe.

Not like rain on your wedding day.

2008-05-07T21:36:00.002+10:00

Wikipedia continues to surprise. I mean, I love the phrase "Eschew obfuscation", but who the hell takes the time to write up an entry for it?

And Wikipedia continues to amuse. I laughed when I saw this T-shirt earlier today, and then laughed again when I visited the article above just now...

Happy Star Wars (tm) Day 2008.

2008-05-04T12:33:00.003+10:00

Happy Star Wars (tm) Day everyone. May the Fourth be with you, and may your day be filled with many pleasant thoughts of classic trilogies, of expanded universes, and of future screenplays featuring minimal input from Uncle George.

I'm completely out of touch with the latest news on the upcoming TV shows, other than reading somewhere that Rick Fantastic knows they'll be fantastic, and they'll totally blow my mind because George is such a fantastic storyteller blah, blah, blah, but that's it. As with the new Indy, I'm so fearful they'll suck so hard that I'd prefer just not to know. At least then I can still pretend that Boba will be redeemed from the soulless, derivative joke he's become.

But let's not dwell on the dark, let's turn towards the light and enjoy the serendipity of discovering a new range of Star Wars key chain thingos at the local servo as I was paying for my petrol this morning. They even had a Boba...

...and most pleasing of all, no Jango. :)

UPDATE: Nicely timed: John Gruber visits Star Wars: Where Science Meets Imagination and flickrs his photos for us.

Zackers v Messerschmitts.

2008-04-25T21:13:00.003+10:00

Since 2007 I have honoured the ANZAC spirit as defined by the AFL — skill, courage, self-sacrifice, teamwork and fair play — by composing a List of all 16 teams, ordered from Most Virtuous to Most Odious.

And now the tradition continues as the List is tested once again on the Field of Battle. Will it emerge unscathed and unchanged, or beaten into some new and unrecognisable form?

Charge!

Richmond
Melbourne
St Kilda
Geelong
Western Bulldogs
Essendon
North Melbourne
Sydney
Adelaide
Hawthorn
Fremantle
Carlton
Collingwood
Brisbane Lions
West Coast
Port Adelaide

Post-battle wrap-up: Well, the biggest change was Port thumping to the bottom of the list, mostly because they still have teal as a team colour. I hate teal. I'm surprised they ranked so high last year. And also because of Warren Tredrea, although I can't quite put my finger on why? The other big change was the North of Somewhere Kangaroos deciding they were still only North of Melbourne, and so in appreciation they got bumped up above Sydney. Oh, and Adelaide got elevated to above Hawthorn because the city of Adelaide's really not so bad, and I really like crows and seriously Hawthorn, yellow and brown, hello, who thought that was a good idea?

Harlow Be Thy Name.

2008-04-13T13:15:00.005+10:00

My sister emailed me a little while back to ask if I knew that Nicole Richie had named her newly arrived daughter Harlow Winter Kate? Happily the answer was 'no', as I do try to keep myself unencumbered by any awareness of the goings on in the life of Ms Richie. I'm just relieved that my Winter blossomed into being first, as I couldn't stand the possibility of people thinking I plucked the name from the empty head of Nicole.

And, on that note, my sister also wanted to know if as I already have a Kate and a Winter in my family whether I was considering Harlow as the name for Harper? Again, no, but glory, her jest was too near the mark to be funny. Thankfully Nicole took the "-low" road and a crisis was averted.

And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, my sister-in-law tells me that a co-worker of hers asserted confidently on hearing Harper's name that we got it from a new character on Lost! Now, not that Harper was named after Harper Lee (or indeed any Harper), but I despair of a world in which the author of a classic of twentieth century literature is overlooked in favour of some recently arrived, incidental character on a throw-away TV serial.

UPDATE: Also falling in to the category of "Ignorance is Bliss", the Age SuperQuiz today featured the question, "In which year did Ray Martin win his third gold Logie?" Two points there I was quite happy to concede.

UPDATE 2: For those playing at home, it was 1994.

The More Things Stay the Same.

2008-04-12T13:14:00.003+10:00

First day at my new job today. I'm back in the city, and so I caught the morning train in for the first time since late November last year. Train was delayed, of course, and while I received no notification from Connex, they did let me know that the train after mine would be running direct to Flinders St and not through the Loop as normal.

Aah, it's good to be back. Feels as though I haven't missed a day.

UPDATE: Text message #1 from Connex at 5:58am: "Signalling problems at Clifton Hill,ant delays of 40minutes on all services." Text message #2 from Connex at 6:15am: "Signalling problems at Clifton Hill now rectified,ant delays of 40minutes on Epping and Hurstbridge line services.. Connex, Keeping you updated."

Connex's Delay campaign has so stuck in my head that for a second there I thought an "ant delay" was a delay caused by ants. Giant Radioactive Killer Ants most likely! Sadly no.

Happily though, as my morning train pulled into Clifton Hill later that morning I discovered not only the absence of any giant ants, but also of any delays. Well, thanks Connex for "Keeping me updated". Is a resumption of normal services not something worth updating your customers on?

Honestly, that little postscript has irritated me from the day it first appeared about a year into the life of the (extended) delay notification system, and not just because that comma after 'Connex' should be a colon. Mostly it annoys me because it smacks of desperate wallpapering by the marketing department in the hope we won't notice the cracks underneath. Like a salesman who calls himself honest, a service that does keep you informed, shouldn't need to tell you it's keeping you informed. All this slogan does is highlight how the reality falls short of the promise.

UPDATE 2: And on that note, I just read the following quote:

The louder he talks of honour, the faster we count our spoons. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

I think the Connex version would read:

The louder they talk of updates, the faster I run for the early train.

Blood.

2008-04-11T13:00:00.001+10:00

Rambo was a brutal tale of vicious cruelty and unspeakable horror, and yet I left the cinema smiling. Is there something wrong with me, the film, or both?

And in other movie news, [Warning: There Will Be Spoilers] I went to a lunch time session of There Will Be Blood today with Kate and a gaggle of senior citizens. And I've got to say, what it is with old people these days? They gripe and moan about the poor manners of today's youth, but whose mobile phone was that jangling away at the very key climactic moment of the film?! And who was that ANSWERING THE PHONE as a man was BLUDGEONED TO DEATH with a bowling pin? And who was that loudly REPEATING "Hello, hello?" down the line as he struggled to overcome the poor reception within the cinema? It wasn't me, I can tell you. And after several furious glares and a terse, "Seriously?!" finally got the old man to close his phone, I turned back to the screen to get one line of dialogue and the credits were rolling!

There Was Almost Blood.

Well, not really. I'm quite a non-confrontational person, but way to sabotage the emotional climax of the film. I'm always surprised when people answer their phones in cinemas. Especially when it's a member of the older generation who are supposed to be paragons of politeness. I guess for them it's just techno-fear most of the time though – the device controlling them instead of the other way around – and they actually would turn it off... if they could only work out how. Sigh.

Actually, speaking of irritations you'll see Only At The Movies, I've never understood the need for the torch-lit patrols an employee is seemingly required to walk at regular intervals throughout a session. Because it's not at all distracting, is it – someone walking around a darkened room waving a torch all over the place – and sometimes all it takes is one distracted glance away from the screen before you're scratching your head asking, "What was that about Rosebud?"

Are they checking for termites? Fires? Escaped convicts? Terrorists who've snuck to unleash hell on the 9:35 session of Love Actually? Or is it just to let us know that it may be dark, children, but don't even think about putting your feet on the seats or taking out any non-Candy Bar contraband you've smuggled in, because we will catch you and we will be crackin' skulls.

I'm sure it's some form of legal bottom-covering madness, but I can't for the life of me think what?

Actually, another bit of blood-related movieness just occurred to me: if you haven't already heard, Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is a MUSICAL! I had absolutely no idea as I hate musicals and try to be as ill-informed regarding them as possible. All I heard was Tim Burton, Johnny Depp, Alan Rickman, Helena Bonham Carter and that was all I needed to hear. If only I'd probed a little deeper I might have learned that the film was based on a musical, and that right from Scene One the characters would be swanning around singing most of their lines. Argh! Even Alan Rickman the magnificent! No Alan, please, NO! Don't do IT! ARGH! Thankfully Alan maintained his dignity by keeping his musical numbers to a minimum, but still.

It may not have been the horror film Tim Burton expected it to be, but oh yes, a HORROR IT WAS!

Resuming Your Regularish Transmission.

2008-04-10T21:33:00.002+10:00

Jesus might have survived 40 days alone in the wilderness, and Noah 40 days adrift on the ocean, but I'd like to see either of them do 40 days with no Internet. I bet if Satan had turned up offering the kingdoms of the world and their splendor, plus a chance to check his email, Jesus would have folded in a second.

Yep, Internet's back on at home, and not a moment too soon. Blogging old school style with pen and paper was getting tiresome. Especially writing out the hyperlinks. Now, at last, things can get back to normal, and I can start receiving Zombie vs Ninjas/Which Vegetable Are You/Friday Drinks/Your Entourage/My Aquarium/Poke Pro/You're a Hottie/Hot Eligible Singles/Hotness Scale requests on Facebook again...

Hmm, maybe there's been a silver lining after all...

I'll transcribe and post 'em for your continuing edification as I get the chance. The dates won't be right, but then who but JJ checks the dates anyway?

Labour Day labour day.

2008-03-10T06:20:00.002+11:00

We're just popping off to the hospital to pick up a baby. Back soon.

UPDATE: Hup. We're back. Got one.

Please allow me to introduce you: this is Harper.

And unlike Winter who, appropriately enough, turned an extended hot spell cold on the day of her birth, Harper's brought the heat. Nothing but high 30s and even into the 40s since she arrived last Monday. We don't hold it against her, of course, we're just glad that she's here.

The Dark Night of the Soul.

2008-03-03T11:50:00.007+11:00

A quick post from my iPod via the free wi-fi at A Minor Place in Brunswick. (Incidentally, my coffee machine is in the shop for repairs, so internet access and a coffee as black as death makes today almost absolutely like Christmas!)

This ADSL2+ so-called "churn" period is a killer. Five straight days of no Internet access and we're starting to go a little nuts. I've begun unconsciously assuming that things around the house like lamps won't work just because the Internet isn't working, and Kate's taken to reading the Yellow Pages because "It's sort of like the Internet."

Even Winter's showing signs of distress as her favourite game of popping balloons is a web-based game and she just can't understand why Mum and Dad won't let her play her favourite game!

Oh, when will the madness end?!

UPDATE: So this is what no Internet does to you: I've found myself dropping into friends' houses because I was "just in the area" and "Hi, how are you, oh, that's great, do you mind if I just check my email?" Which wouldn't be so bad, except they give me their wireless passwords so I can use my MacBook... and suddenly I find myself taking every opportunity to pass by for another quick check from outside across the street and then fleeing before they look out the window and wonder why I'm not coming in...

UPDATE 2: And the heavens did open and it began to pour! Actually, 'pour' is probably getting a little carried away. 'Drizzle' would be more like it. It is only dial-up, after all.

But yes, that's right, after seven days and seven nights lost in the wilderness, we are back on the Net! Sure, it's not ADSL2 just yet, but when those old familiar screechy tones filled the air and Winter looked up saying, "Music?" we turned and replied, "That's right, Winter; music to our ears. Aah."

Man, I never thought I'd be excited about dial-up ever again and, do you know, after only half an hour of it, I wasn't. Drop-outs, misdials, redials, unknown errors, so-called "unexpected" errors and an almighty struggle to download even email... how did we ever survive like this? I'm starting to think I actually preferred it before when we had nothing. At least then there was no expectation, but now with dial-up there's the hope that things can be as they were before. But then you log on and you sit there for five minutes watching the freaking Google search page trying to load. And then one eighth of the Google logo appears and you cheer and high-five all round, and then someone calls through and your connection drops out and you have to start all over again. Argh!

How far we've come. Which, actually, was another hurdle to overcome. Macs don't ship with dial-up modems anymore, and finding someone who still owns an external one that I could borrow was no easy feat. Davet, of course, was eventually able to find one, but it was so old there are no OS X drivers available for it. In the end I had to dust off a friend's retired PowerBook G4 that has a built-in modem, and I'm sharing its shaky internet connection with my iMac via a firewire cable.

Sigh. Only 10-14 days to go, apparently...

The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss 2007.

2008-02-21T21:09:00.020+11:00

"In this world nothing can be said to be certain,
except death and taxes."

When Benjamin Franklin compiled his little list of life's certainties, there was one glaring omission:

Bart.

Born as Bart was some 186 years after the fact, this is to a large extent understandable, and his inclusion would not only have robbed the proverb of its universality, but likely caused considerable confusion amongst Franklin's contemporaries. "Who is this Bart?" they might have been heard to ask one another over a pint of McTavish down the local tavern, "And what exactly is it about him that's so certain?" Well, let's cut to the chase and confirm what they might not have known but what we certainly did: Bart won again and remains the undefeated Toss King and Holder of the Soggy Biscuit.

Was there ever any doubt? Well, if you can believe a recently uncovered piece of pre-Toss correspondence to fellow tosser Post, Bart would like you to think there was:

"You've definitely been closing the gap in the slurpee toss - and I believe your technique is improving. I certainly have history on my side but you are a growing force in these events...plus you have dad strength. I'd have us as even priced favourites."

But of course you only need scratch the surface of this uncharacteristic magnanimity to discover the ruse that lies beneath. Bart, as adept at games of the mind as games of the muscle, knows that his unexpected flattery will inspire overconfidence and come Toss Time his deluded and ill-prepared opponents will be easily swept aside with a flick of his judgmental arm.

You wonder why he bothers. The only time he failed to win the title was 2004 when he was in another country. And while the prancing champion would no doubt have struggled to overcome a handicap that saw him 15,395kms behind the tossing line, you write Bart off at your peril.

And it's exactly this lack of tension that has in recent years seen the real interest shift to what the Anderson St Press has dubbed The Toss for First Loser, which they describe as "a fiercely fought battle of peers with an outcome as uncertain as the other is sure." And in recognition of this secondary struggle, now, in 2007, a new title has been established and enthroned in the Royal Pantheon of Slurpee Tossing:

The Jack!

Yes, the Jack may not be the King, but it's still Toss Royalty, and for the crumb-grabbers under the King's table, it's the only hope they've got. So let's get Tossing!

An unprecedented nine tossers turned up to hurl frozen sugary ice across one or possibly two netball courts, and the chill in the air was palpable.

First to the line was Ahab who stepped up with a mad gleam in his eyes and tossed a thumper onto the far side of the court, landing just shy of the gutter and setting a high mark for those to follow.

After a promising debut in last year's Toss, Bomber turned up ready to deliver a performance that at the end of the day would be a credit to the boys. And with a sweep of his arm he sailed his plastic cup into the air, but it failed to cross the court and crashed down several metres short of Ahab's.

Decked out in his Auction Day Best, Agent Cobbies brought a touch of class to this year's Toss, but must have left his brute force in his jeans at home because his toss — though smooth and graceful — arced down onto the court a metre or so behind that of Bomber.

Following Cobbies came this year's debutante tosser, JJ Glamma, who turned up to the Pitch with not one but two Slurpee Cups. When questioned by the assembled media he explained that he liked to have his Slurpee and drink it too, and as such he brought a spare for some post-Toss thirst-quenching. Such foresight marks Glamma as a rookie to watch, although, sadly, not this year, as his cup thumped down too far back to have any real impact on the final tally.

Davet turned up to the Toss ready to win, and like a Ruby-crowned Kinglet raising its crown, his red t-shirt was a WARNING sign to his competitors. Eyes ablaze, he thundered down the Pitch and with an arm-wrenching toss he belted his cup up, up and up, over the court and down onto the dirt on the far side, putting him in strong contention for The Jack!

Next to the line was Bambi. Seeking to channel the power of nature, she removed her shoes and connected with the earth spirit that surged beneath her feet. Whirling into action she tossed off a shot that slammed down in the far corner of the goal circle which, although not enough to win, easily surpassed her effort in 2006 and marked a new personal best.

In her second appearance at the Toss, Alethea dared to go where only Ahab had gone before. With a wildly uncontrolled toss, her cup jagged off sideways and landed in the Dead Zone on the wrong side of the top court's fence. Sometimes a pure love for the game just isn't enough to overcome those showtime jitters.

As both 'Master of Demolitions' and 'Keeper of the FNOath', the 2007 Slurpee Toss saw Postman Steve with a chance to hold all three Templetitles at once; a feat as yet unachieved by any man. And for someone like Post who considers being awake as a form of exercise, it would be an achievement all the more extraordinary. Disappointingly though, his plastic cup slammed down just short of the top court's gutter and, like his hopes and dreams, shattered into pieces. Tape measures were rushed to his and Ahab's cups and the officials ruled in favour of Post by the narrowest of margins.

Any pre-Toss questions of newfound humility were answered in the half-man, half-peacock form of Bart, strutting onto the pitch once more to punch his cup up through the stratosphere and down onto the lower court.

The only surprise was his technique. Bart, like most tossers, has traditionally employed the over-arm, grenade-tossing style, but this year he unexpectedly switched to a lateral sweep that delivered his cup to its destination with such efficiency that it had observers drawing favourable comparisons with Jonty Rhodes at his prime. Expect to see this technique adopted more widely next year.

And speaking of next year, see you next year!

The Final Results (official): 1. Bart (Toss King); 2. Davet (The Jack); 3. Post; 4. Ahab; 5. Bomber; 6. Cobbies; 7. Bambi; 8. JJ Glamma; 9. Alethea.

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega

The Annual Christmas Stolp 2007.

2008-02-20T20:53:00.007+11:00

If the Annual Christmas Stolp seems to be getting earlier every year, that's because it is. The event's increasing popularity meant that a time and date that worked for everyone was as hard to find as a Slurpee machine with all four barrels in working order. And so, to ensure that no one was denied their basic stolping rights, 2007 saw the greatest seismic shift since Christmas stolping began:

Night Stolp!

Well, Dusk Stolp, but let's not get technical. When a suitable Sunday slot couldn't be found, a week-based Night Stolp was suggested and (after much soul-searching and entreatment to the gods) approved. And so, on Tuesday 11th December at 7:30pm, thirteen stolpers, including two dogs, Rosie and Kess, rolled up to the Templestowe Fish Balloon to kick the stolp off with a batter-based fry-up feast, before picking up Slurpees and heading to the Primary for a touch of tossing.

See you in 2008!

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

A Very Concise History of the Milk Run.

2008-02-18T20:37:00.010+11:00

Bart boasted to us that he could drink 2L of full-cream milk and run a lap around the Templestowe Primary School oval.

Bart was wrong.

Bart drank close to 2L of full-cream milk and ralphed it all back out in a streaming torrent of white.

Bart never boasted of his milk-drinking abilities again.

The End.

UPDATE: Correspondence entered into:
Apostropher: "Actually, didn't you have some girlfriend there who told us all to stop laughing at you? Ha, ha, ha."
Bart: "yeah sonia - we broke up later that day - it was valentine's day 1995. I drank 2L of milk, spewed and broke up with her - I was a lot cooler back then."

FURTHER READING:
A Concise History of All Things FNO
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Stolp
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss
A Concise History of the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition

A Concise History of the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition.

2008-02-17T16:31:00.012+11:00

Mankind is a restless beast. We hold within us an ever agitating desire to strive, to push further and aim higher, moving ever upwards and beyond. Not content to sit within the boundaries established by those who've gone before, we challenge ourselves to be better... stronger... faster.

And for a small band of boys from Templestowe — an outer north-eastern suburb of Melbourne, famed for its superabundance of hairdressers, tennis courts and dishwashers — this was never more true than when it came to Slurpees.

For them, a Slurpee wasn't merely a many-flavoured ice confection, but rather a gateway to understanding their limitations and uncovering their potential. For while we know that anyone can finish a Slurpee, do we know the fastest time in which it can be done? And if we do, do we know if it's possible to do it even faster...

And lo, the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition was born.

On the first summer scorcher the boys would gather and tread the well-worn path to the Templestowe 7-Eleven. Supersized cups were filled and given time to settle as the group made its way back to the Primary. Once there, straws were drawn across the top of each cup to ensure all were evenly filled, and when all was ready and the competitors stood waiting — steely gaze meeting steely gaze — the word was given, and the Demolition began!

The only rule in a Demolition Competition is to get that bucket of ice down your gullet and into your guts in the shortest time possible. And as such it doesn't take long to hit the first hurdle: sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia, or, in layman's terms, that icy kick to the head known as a Brain Freeze. But as you stand there trembling, eyes squeezed shut, palm of your hand jammed against your forehead, all you can do is grit your brain and push on. For not only is there no other way to the prize, but if you can't withstand a Brain Freeze, you've got no hope of surviving its big brother: the Ice Chest.

Yes, a Brain Freeze is but a mere chilly tickle when compared to the Ice Chest. As sheet upon sheet of ice avalanches through your alimentary canal, you slowly grow aware of frosty fingers running across your ribs, and then the sudden grip of an icy hand constricting your chest, squeezing ever tighter, as your heart goes into spasms desperately trying to keep the blood moving... your body cries out to stop, but like Aussie superhero Kieren Perkins at the 1400m mark, you know you've just got. to. keep. going... onwards and upwards to be all that you can be... [overdub roar of cheering crowd rising to fever pitch / gradual fade to silence / throw in a reverb, maybe?]

The first Super Slurpee Demolition Competition was held in 1993, and saw Bart crowned Master of Demolitions after a narrow win in 6 minutes 35 seconds. The following year Bart won for a second time, shaving 30 seconds of his previous time to win in 6 minutes 5 seconds. A benchmark appeared to have been established, but then in 1995 the world of Slurpee Demolitions was suddenly poured flat when Steve, shovelling ice like a snowplow, demolished his Super Slurpee in a stunning 4 minutes 37 seconds!

It was an extraordinary achievement, but his victory was not without cost. You don't just close the door on an Ice Chest and walk away, and for a full five days afterwards Steve continued to feel the painful effects of his ordeal. I'm no doctor, but that can't be good. And in response, searching questions were asked by all involved: is there knowledge that lies beyond 4:37, and if there is, is it knowledge worth obtaining? Is the possible cost simply too high?

The answer, inevitably, was that it was. And so, like the 'Flying Wedge formation' of American Football — banned from play in 1905 when President Roosevelt intervened after a string of tragic deaths — the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition was abandoned; put up on the shelf and left to stand as a tribute to a more reckless age. Amen.

FURTHER READING:
A Concise History of All Things FNO
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Stolp
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss
A Very Concise History of the Milk Run

Something every day.

2008-02-07T13:03:00.001+11:00

Winter has been able to point out and say 'bird' for a while now, so I thought it was time to move onto advanced bird spotting, and have started using family names, eg, magpie, crow, seagull, etc, instead of just the generic 'bird'. With some degree of success, as well.

But as we were wandering around Fitzroy Gardens the other week I began to notice a very common bird that I couldn't name. "There's a... bird," I pointed out to Winter. "A... brown bird... with bits of white and black. Look at that brown bird with bits of white and black."

My Dad always taught me that every question had an answer, so I contacted Adrian the avian aficionado, a decidedly non-twitching friend of mine who's knowledgeable about such things, and asked him what that bird was.

"Indian myna, most likely" was his reply. "Introduced, and generally considered a noxious pest for their tendency to tip native birds out of their hollows (i.e tipping the babies out and then taking over – imagine if some introduced species came and did that to you!)"

Well, indeed! And so when Winter and I returned to the Gardens this morning we made sure to flick our arms toward any mynas we saw, saying, "Boo mynas! Go away mynas!" and, though we were mostly ignored, I think we got the message home to a few of them, at least. We were careful, of course, not to say "Go away Indians," as we didn't want to be racist. Particularly at the moment given this whole "monkey" tension between Australia and India. The last thing I wanted during a morning stroll in the park was a race riot.

So, there you go: Indian mynas.

Wonderful Spam.

2008-01-21T09:33:00.001+11:00

A friend just received an email with the following subject line:

'Your new schlong will win more prizes!'

More?! I didn't realise his old schlong had won any! I guess there's always more you can learn about your friends.

Enjoy your winnings, SixpointFive.

UPDATE: And the exciting offers just keep rolling in. How could you fail to follow up on "Having a huge lovestick in your pants is easy with this miracles solution?" or "The trophy can now be in your pants..."

Standing on the shoulders of Rumblebuffin.

2008-01-16T13:06:00.001+11:00

I wonder if Philip Pullman, who wrote the His Dark Materials series of books as the direct rebuttal of C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, is enjoying seeing the recent film adaptation advertised everywhere as "IN THE TRADITION OF NARNIA"... :)