The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss 2006.

Few sporting contests can get the cordial flowing in quite the same way as Slurpee Tossing, and with more Tossers than ever before, 2006 was set to be a landmark year. King Tosser Bart’s bluster began early, proclaiming himself the “Tiger Woods of Tossing”, and declaring the “electricity of his performance as more than enough to counter the tedium of yet another certain victory.”

First to the line was Ahab. Dubbed “Captain Spray-hab” by the Anderson St Press after his wild and uncontrolled toss in 2004, and then running last in 2005, Ahab was desperate to deliver. And, giving it his all, he launched his cup over the netball court and onto the dirt on the far side. A very respectable toss.


Next came Cobbies. There’d been much speculation in the media that Cobbies’ all-consuming commitment to his regular Real Estate work had begun to affect his tossing. There was certainly a noticeable increase in the real estate above his belt on Game Day, at any rate. Not that Cobbies appeared to care, proudly displaying his pot belly for all to see, and exhibiting a casual, almost languid, style of tossing that successfully delivered his cup onto the far side of the court, just ahead of Ahab’s.


Next up was Kerry. Though known to many as ‘Bambi’, she showed that beneath her sweet and playful exterior lurks the heart and soul of an animal, as she fired off a soaring shot that was unfortunately more impressive for its height than its length, and landed within the goal circle of the court. Ahab breathed a grateful sigh of relief.


Fourth in line was Bomber ‘Jihad’ Thomas with his maiden appearance at the Toss. More at home on the footy field than the Tossing Pitch of Endeavour, he and his big arms nevertheless brought big expectations to the competition. Despite numerous shoulder-reconstructions he was very relaxed pre-toss (observe the hand in pocket below), and he unleashed a Holy War on his Slurpee cup, landing his shot beyond that of Cobbies and sliding into 1st place.


Next to the line was another maiden Tosser, Alethea, known as The Rookie. Though untested on the Pitch of Endeavour, she exhibited no nerves and her gleeful, hyper-confident smile arguably unhinged a few of her fellow competitors, uncertain of where her supreme self-confidence came from. In a recent newspaper interview, Alethea’s mum revealed her daughter’s enthusiasm came from a simple love for the game she’d so recently been introduced to. Alethea’s toss was a good one, travelling a fair distance across the court and bursting onto the asphalt.


Following Aletha was Steve, who over his years in the game has become a real crowd favourite. Steve believes it’s because he brings a thoughtful, intellectual aspect to the competition, but most commentators believe it’s because he seems to either disqualify or injure himself each year and is always good for a laugh. The only one laughing this year though was Steve himself, who, employing a new Pinch Grip, managed to hurl his cup way over the court and onto the dirt, setting a new PB, and landing for the first time in 1st place! His joy however was to be short-lived.


As King Tosser and Holder of the Soggy Biscuit, Bart held the right to toss last of all. Recently dubbed ‘The Toberua Prancer’ by the Anderson St Press for his “excessive show-boating,” “pungent air of contemptible arrogance,” and “habit of prancing around like a haughty mule,” Bart did his best to prove them right. Putting on a showy display for those assembled, he made his way through an extended warm-up routine that included the removal of a single blade of grass from the line of his run-up. When he eventually got down to business, he unloaded a screamer that tore through the air, cleared the far fence, and thumped down onto the second court, securing the title for one more year.


Below Left: Bart, King Tosser 2006, and Right: self-described as “drinking from the cup of Glory.”


The Final Results (official): 1. Bart; 2. Steve; 3. Bomber Thomas; 4. Cobbies; 5. Ahab; 6. Alethea; 7. Kerry.


Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005

The Annual Christmas Stolp 2006.

Christmas came early to the Annual Christmas Stolp this year. With the stolpers now spread far and wide across the suburbs of Melbourne, it was suggested that stolping the Sunday before Christmas would be more convenient, and make for a less rushed and more enjoyable stolp all round. A Sunday roast and a Sunday stolp are two things you should never rush, and a relaxed pace allows for time to stop and smell the Slurpees; before hurling them across a netball court in fierce competition, of course.


Eleven stolpers turned out to stretch their legs this year, including three debutantes: Bomber, Alethea and Winter. Though Winter had been along for the ride last year, in 2006 she was something new under the sun, and the histories will show she entered her first 7-Eleven at eight months, 15 days and four hours of age! Though treated to a Slurpee sampler via the umbilical cord in 2005, this year she got to try the real, unadulterated thing. And do children love pure sugar? Well, the results are back from the lab. Let's take a look, shall we?


Not yes or no, but for sure! A moment’s uncertainty was quickly overcome, and the mouth sprung open for more. Not too much more; we are somewhat responsible parents, after all.

See you in 2007!

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005

Happy approximate birthday Jesus, A.D. 2006.

Well, Merry Christmas to all of you who pause upon this path. With the mad rush to the end of the year there hasn’t been time for blogging, but fear not, for the ‘Annual Christmas Stolp’ and the ‘Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss’ have taken place and will be posted soon, as will ‘A Concise History of all things FNO’! Yes, it can possibly be so.

So have a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year. And if anyone around you sings, or even hums, that John Lennon song, punch them in the face. A guaranteed path to a cheerful new year if ever I’ve heard one. :)

Nice day for it.

I just received a text message, the like of which I’ve never received before. It reads:

Need some1 4 xxx show in Redfern asap pl call if any1 wants it. Ta

It’s always nice to be needed, but I’m not sure how much help I can be, as my sweet dance moves are unlikely to leave the punters crying out for more. Just crying, more likely. With laughter.

Even if they wanted me on a seat, not the table, and even if that sort of thing was my bag baby, as I live over 1000kms from Redfern, I doubt my ‘ASAP’ would be S enough.

Still, I am flattered to be asked.

This band is boring.

Although I actually quite like Jet, I enjoyed reading this despairing cry from some anonymous critic, written directly onto a poster for Jet’s new album, Shine On.

This band is boring. If their music was an exam paper they’d fail on grounds of plagiarism. doesn’t anyone listen to the Stooges anymore? c’mon people!

I’m quite sure I couldn’t count the times I’ve whined something similar while sitting around watching Rage on a Saturday morning, bemoaning the state of contemporary popular music.

I particularly like the “C’mon people!”; as though he sees our potential and knows we can do better; knows we can find a world of passion, authenticity and originality just beyond this veil of carbon-copy mediocrity, if only we’d stretch out and try.

Well, I haven’t heard Jet’s new album, but if, as rumoured, their sound has been heavily influenced by their recent touring companions, Oasis (and speaking of plagiarism), then things can surely only be looking good! Hehe.

And notice how the first line is in texta, while the rest is in pen? I find that curious. A bold heading with some copy in a regular weight is not the sort of detail you’d expect for some hastily scrawled graffiti. I wonder what it says, if anything, about the person who penned it?

Author, brilliant; publisher, not.

A quote from an article, ‘Author, 14, lands publishing deal’ in The Age on Friday.

Children’s Publisher Lisa Berryman said she had to keep reminding herself that Alexandra had written the book when she was just 13. “Alex’s brilliance literally leapt off the page,” she said.

I've never seen a leaping abstract noun. Must have been quite a sight! My collection continues to grow…

Set up.

What began as part of another story has taken on a life of its own. I can’t believe it’s happened again.

There are few things I love more than a good collection. Gathering, sorting and arranging a related set of objects together is one of life’s great pleasures. Be it general collections, like books and CDs, or more specific ones, like Boba Fett action figures (currently 21), different editions of my favourite novel, Catch-22 (18), or alternate versions of Duke Ellington’s jazz standard, Caravan (40), I find the urge to collect compulsive.

And it isn’t just things of value that I find it satisfying to draw together; any old crap will do: expired Metlink tickets, old bank statements, and even empty toilet roll tubes. Which leads me to wonder if perhaps the collecting is more important than the collection? Because I can think of no other way to explain the appeal of collecting cardboard cylinders. You know when you finish a roll, and instead of throwing it away, you place it on a shelf or on the window sill? First one, then two, and before you know it there’s a teetering tower of toilet rolls blocking out the light. All it takes are two tubes sitting there for me to catch the vision. Two tubes to make me look forward to the end of the next roll so that my tower can grow…

Oh dear. That’s unfortunate. And, I guess, revealing? Who would have known there’d be some sort of phallic resonance behind my compulsion; some instinctive need to build something larger than myself, to create a sense of significance through the construction of a… what do psychologists call it, an extension of myself?

Well, whatever, let’s not dwell on it.

No, let’s get back to the simple pleasure of gathering a collection. And the most satisfying sort of collection is the set: a collection with a starting point, an end point and a bunch of boxes to tick off in between. The set allows for the greatest sense of satisfaction because you know when you’re done and when you can rest; when you can ease your chair back onto its hind legs, and gaze with satisfaction on the completeness of what you’ve brought to be.

The only thing I dislike in a set is inconsistency; when common or repeating elements don’t match up. Titles change size or position, the logos move around and don’t line up, or, ye gods, the style changes altogether! I love variation, but variation within a theme.


Somewhat like a family of superheroes, where each member has their own distinct character and attributes, while still belonging to a larger, unified whole. Or a jazz performance where each player’s solo is a unique take on the same signature tune. I enjoy seeing how a style adapts and flows across a series (of books, CDs, DVDs or whatever), be it through colour, typeface, style of imagery, or the like. I like to see that the designer has thought ahead and considered the possibilities, and hasn’t just treated each new item as an all but blank canvas. Not that the designer’s always responsible, of course, as many inconsistencies result from bumps along the road of production, and most such issues are more niggles than throat-stompers. The real problem comes when the bean-counters get too involved, as bean-counters care only for their beans...


First up, there was Harry Potter. Disbelieve me if you will, but my choosing the adult covers (or ‘senior reader’ covers, if you prefer) over the original kiddie covers, had nothing to do with shame or embarrassment. It was simply that the kiddie covers were so absolutely awful, and I had the option to choose. Actually, the adult ones aren’t great either, but they’re restrained and don’t look like they’ve been drawn by a colour-blind hedgehog in a bag (to nick a favourite Blackadder expression). So I bought in, and guess what? When the fifth book of seven was released the publishers dumped the existing adult style and re-released the entire series in a completely different one. What’s an anal perfectionist to do? There’s no way I’m having four spines on my bookshelf in one style and three in another that’s completely different. So I stopped buying and started borrowing. Sorry JK, that new wing on your castle will just have to wait.


And speaking of borrowing over buying, I wish I’d done that when it came to Robert Jordan’s ponderous Wheel of Time saga. For a while Jordan drew me along with a carrot of promise, but over time he started using it to just slap me in the face. Not only did he make me slog through 7125 pages (for real) featuring (roughly) the same number of surly and unlikeable characters, involved in an exponentially growing number of plots and sub-plots, but he (or rather, his publisher, but I’m not feeling generous enough to make the distinction) rebooted the series’ artwork after nine of his wretched house-bricks. Nine! Forget the faithful who’ve been on-board from the start! Let me tell you, Orbit Books: if sales figures are falling, the problem does not lie with the covers. And notice how not only does the publisher's logo change for book eight (annoying), but it then changes back to the original logo for book nine (even more annoying)!

And so, lesson (to pass onto our children’s children) learned: don’t buy into a series until it’s complete.

Only, that’s no help with a series already underway. Just when I thought it safe to go back into the bookshop, in sink the sharp, pointy teeth of Martin Gilbert’s three volume epic, ‘A History of the Twentieth Century’.


I bought Volumes 1 and 2 when they were released back in the late 90s, but I somehow missed number 3. I kept an eye out for it over the years, but it never crossed my path. As I just recently started on Volume 1, I finally decided to make a real effort to track the elusive book down. Though the hardcover is out of print in Australia, it is available on Amazon.com, but with different cover art to mine, which I assumed to be the US style. Confusingly though, the same style appears not only on the version available at Amazon.co.uk, but also in the listing on Martin Gilbert’s website. In fact, I could find no trace anywhere of Volume 3 featuring a style of cover that matched my two. Even eBay, Google, and peering through the entrails of a slaughtered Himalayan yak turned up nothing. Figuring that if anyone would know, the author would know, I sent Sir Martin an email through his website, asking if he was able to end the madness? This was his prompt reply:

Thank you so much for your most encouraging words.

Alas, there never was a uniform edition of volume three. I am sorry about this. I do not know what got into the publisher's heads.

With further thanks for writing as you do. You have made my day! Kind regards, Martin Gilbert

Not quite the, “It certainly does exist, and, here, I’ll send you one of the autographed copies I happen to have lying around,” that I was hoping for, but it’s good to have a definitive answer, at least. And bonus points for using 'alas'; one of my favourite words. What a friendly chap!

So, I’m left with five (equally unpleasant) options:
1. Buy Volume 3 in a non-matching style. (Does not compute);
2. Buy Volume 3 in a non-matching style and glue on a mocked-up spine in the original style. (No-one might know, but I would know);
3. Sell current volumes and buy all three in new style. (Possible, but alternate style is, imho, inferior);
4. Leave things as they are and not buy anything. (But if I don’t build it, they will not come); or
5. GEEEEETTT OVER IT! Seriously! (Hmmm. Sounds simple, but would in fact require complete rewiring of personality).

So! What a pit to be stuck in. Though, at least, some consolation, I haven’t fallen into the larger (possibly bottomless) pit of Star Wars. That, however, is a whole other post….

iFind Nothing.

What was that old Microsoft slogan? Oh yes, 'Where do you want to go today?' Well, hopefully it's to someplace you've been before, because this ol' Windoze machine ain't gunna be any help at all. :-)

UPDATE: I WAS WRONG. In sniping cheekily at Microsoft, I've done nothing but expose my own technamalogical ignorance. This screen indicates a hardware error, and there's every possibility, indeed it's quite likely, that this machine is not running Windows. Poor old Bill's got enough to deal with, without some smug little blogging nobody firing spitballs at his much-maligned child. In my defence, I can only argue that, like a Windows machine, I'm prone to errors.

Attack of the Quantity.

George Lucas is getting out of the movie business and into TV. Which would be good news if only he was getting out of script writing as well. In an interview on Variety.com, Lucas outlines his reasons:

"We don't want to make movies. We're about to get into television. As far as Lucasfilm is concerned, we've moved away from the feature film thing because it's too expensive and it's too risky.

"I think the secret to the future is quantity," Lucas said.

No mention of quality, unfortunately, but then what did you expect? Sigh.

A voice crying out from the wilderness.

CK's rattling the bones of a thread four months dead, and he wants to know if he's wasting his time? It's a timely comment because a Blogger feature I feel is greatly needed is the ability to check for any recent comments across all posts on a blog. I get emailed comments for mine, but, and maybe you'll be surprised to hear, I do read blogs other than my own. An RSS feed for comments could be ok, but I'd like a link on the main page to a list of recent comments over the entire blog.

I've been to Blogger's Wishlist page and let them know, but who knows if the masses are with me? Triple J, when are you going to write your own blogging code for me to use, so I can send my feature requests straight to the head of the queue? I want access, and I want features implemented, and I can't do it myself! Only you can set this right!

There: I've put the challenge out. Let's see who delivers first! :-)

UPDATE: I've just upgraded(?) to the all-new Blogger beta, with all-new features that promise to solve the climate crisis, wipe out Third World debt and cure the common cold. I've been putting it off for a while because the new features didn't interest me that much, but I finally decided to join the club. Wish I hadn't bothered now. Nothing's been ticked off my wishlist, and it seems that people's profile pictures no longer appear next to their comments. Maybe it only shows the pictures of people who are also on Blogger beta? Who knows. Maybe you should all get on the Beta bus and we can find out? I can't go back, but you can move forward...

UPDATE 2: Hup: the profile pics are back. Goodo.

Krusty Kreme.

Just got swept up in a cultural phenomenon, and dumped on a deserted beach, washed-out and wasted, like some bedraggled shipwreck survivor.

Yep, Krispy Kreme’ll do that to you.

So sweet, light and soft; they melt in your mouth like, well, like a sugar cube does. I wonder if there’s any connection? My mouth feels like some scorched, sugary wasteland; like a dead sea of sugar that’s run dry, leaving nothing behind but the bitter taste of regret. Too much, too much; but one donut is never enough.

For some reason I can’t work out, the first Krispy Kreme store to open in Victoria was way, way out at Fountain Gate. I’m sure the locals are mad for sugar out there, but I would have thought you’d do more business in the city? There must be other factors at work I’m not aware of? Whatever the case, a CBD store was not far behind, opening recently on Collins Street near Southern Cross Station.

This afternoon Nick, my boss, floated the idea of heading over to check things out. A trip out for sweet, sweet donuts during work time, you say? What crazy, upside-down, dream world have I woken up in? Brilliant. So, off we went, and once there, discovered a queue running out the door and down the street! Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible (not wanting to be sprung queuing for donuts by any clients), we slowly shuffled forward to the counter, where we picked up a Sampler Box and a dozen Original Glazed donuts. Oh, sorry, ‘doughnuts’. (How’d that one sneak through the reforms? Noah Webster must be doing donuts in his grave!)

Once back at the studio, everyone gathered round and dug in, but, as with my first and only other experience of Krispy Kreme in New York in 2004, I was a little disappointed. You won’t believe this, but they were still just donuts! I mean, they were good, but not out-the-door-and-down-the-street-queuing type good; more of a yeah-if-I-was-walking-past type good, I think. Still just a victim of too much hype, I guess; too many years of too many freaks flying back from Sydney with box-loads under their arms, drooling over their precious haul like it was manna from heaven.

Still, this time it was fun snobbing everyone off by declaring that these Krispy Kreme’s were merely satisfactory, and simply nothing like the ones I’d had in America. He, he.

UPDATE: I just checked Krispy Kreme's entry on Wikipedia, where it says since the company went public, many stores have actually had to be closed due to unprofitability. "Though Krispy Kreme has blamed the low-carb diet craze," it says, "others more critical point to their relatively high prices for a product that consists mostly of air." Hilarious. Oh, and also, apparently Australia's the only place to have 24-hour drive-through service; so Americans might have 29 tasty varieties to choose from (in comparison to our paltry 15), but can they get them 24 hours a day? I think not! :-)

Australian Values.

I’ve been wondering. Does anyone know if flashing your headlights at oncoming traffic to warn of an upcoming speed-camera is a uniquely Australian act? Or is it common practice the world over? It certainly seems characteristically Australian – uniting in the blood-drenched spirit of Eureka to rebel against authority, etc, etc – but of course that doesn’t make it exclusively so.

And is the mortal-blow, ‘That’s Un-Australian,’ an expression that’s unique to our wide, flat, brown land? Or do Swedes, for instance, frown disapprovingly and declare, “That’s just Un-Swedish”? Or Brazilians shake their heads sternly and say, “Look, seriously, that’s Un-Brazilian”? Surely we can’t be the only ones to possess an all-purpose, Patriots’ phrase with the power to shame a scoundrel at 500 yards? ‘That’s Un-American’ sounds plausible, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard it. I suppose the British could use, ‘That’s just not cricket, mate’, but it lacks the sheer, unadulterated shaming power of our version.

Anyone travelled long and far and wide enough to know?

A grand Final.

A few random thoughts concerning the 2006 AFL Grand Final (The Battle of the Birds).

• I'm not that into football, but thought it was a cracker of a match. A friend who doesn’t like football at all (and who was unaware that the Grand Final was even on) popped in, and ended up watching the last quarter, which (to her surprise) she really enjoyed. “If football was always this good,” she said, “I’d watch it all the time!” Shame the Swans didn’t win, but the real winner was Football, yeah?! Course it was. I don’t like going for Sydney, but they have a greater connection to Melbourne than West Coast, and how else do you expect me to decide which team to go for? :-)

• So, what about the pre-game entertainment? Was that good as well? After reading the blurb in the Green Guide beforehand, my expectations were pretty high: “Join Stephen Quartermain for all of the spectacle of the greatest pre-match entertainment ever seen at an AFL Grand Final”. Wow! Strap yourself in! But, needless to say, in the end the only thing “spectacular” about the entertainment was its level of mediocrity.

• I have absolutely no experience in organising pre-game entertainment, but I reckon I could organise a more satisfying show than what was on display. And the first thing to go would be back-up singers. I’ve always hated back-up singers, with their lame synchronised gestures and stepping-on-the-spot dance moves, and up on the podium in their evening-wear, waving coloured scarves, they looked even more ridiculous than ever. Of course, it didn’t help that they were singing the West Coast club song; surely one of the worst ever? "We're the Big Birds"? Um, ok.

• And speaking of ridiculous, Channel Ten is a disgrace and they should have their broadcast rights stripped for not only once again inflicting the Australian Idol finalists on us, but for delivering a one-two knock-out blow by following up with the alleged Young Divas, who, to me, were totally inappropriate and totally out of place. Using them is like scavenging through your attic for Christmas presents for your family because you’re too cheap or lazy to get something better. And what percentage of the audience do you think would be diggin’ the Divas? I’d take a punt on not many. Surely, first and foremost - if not exclusively - the AFL should try to please its core audience: the Aussie Male, in all his Footy-Loving, Hard-Rockin’, Beer-Drenched glory. I mean, aren’t Wolfmother around for the ARIAs? (Also on Ten, actually, so there's a missed opportunity for cross-promotion!) Couldn’t they have popped in for a quick gig? And surely Jet wouldn’t mind playing for a bit of publicity now that their new album is in stores?

• I don’t know.

• Anyway, speaking of footy’s core audience, during the interminable motorcade of heroes, I noticed one superstar’s name on the side of his vehicle was Danyle Pearce. Not how I'd choose to spell 'Daniel', but there you go.

• Also, a word of advice: if you have a fully-catered 30th Birthday Do to attend the evening of the Grand Final, don't eat too many pies during the day. You will pay.

• In addition, I just finished watching the NRL Grand Final. What a stupid, stupid game.

My ways or the Highways.

I’ve long been annoyed by those people who insist on adding an ‘s’ to the ends of Melway, Safeway and Myer. Mostly, I guess, because I just don’t understand why? Myer may have had one way-hey-hey back in the old days, but Safeway and Melway never have. And yet people insist on checking the Melways, buying groceries from Safeways, and getting overcharged at Myers. I guess we often talk about a Melway’s Reference, and so it feels natural to add the ‘s’, but that still doesn’t explain ‘Safeways’. Or why these people don’t also check the UBDs or go shopping at BI-LOs and Harvey Normans?

Well, whatever the case, the other day I tapped myers.com.au into Safari to see what would happen, and I received a pleasant surprise. Unlike with melways.com.au, there was no discreet, auto-forwarding to the correct address here; just a page featuring a large, wonderfully condescending message asking if perhaps you weren’t, “Looking for Myer?”


You can almost see the invisible ‘You dummy’ in parentheses after the question mark, especially for people used to seeing an invisible ‘s’ at the end of Myer. So, no auto-forward here, not even after a slight pause. The page just stares you down, and waits. It’s as though they want you to pause and reflect upon your error, to notice the five separate instances of 'Myer' on the page without an ‘s’, and then, when you’re ready, to move forward by your own action so as to reinforce the lesson you just learned.

It’s good to see the folks at Myer continuing in the spirit of Sidney Myer and trying to make the world a better place.

Autobots, recycle and roll out!

I didn't want to get excited about the upcoming live-action Transformers movie, especially when I heard Michael Bay was behind the wheel, but now that it's getting closer and the teaser is out, I find I can't help myself! I only recently rediscovered all the toys my sister packed away under my parent's house but could never remember exactly where, so I've got the fever. And I guess if a live-action version's going to be done, now's the time to do so as the technology is good enough to do it right. If only technology could enhance the script as well. I fear another Hollywood stinker crammed with delectable eye-candy, but come on Michael Bay, prove me wrong!

And speaking of technology being good enough to bring my childhood back to life, I was most excited to come across the new Ninja Turtle teaser! No goofy live-action lameness here; just wicked animation that looks like the original comics come to life. (Except for the differently coloured eye-masks, of course). Now, again, if only they can put the same effort into the script...

As an aside, isn’t it great the Boys in Marketing have seen this opportunity to exploit our nostalgic yearnings for the long, golden days of our childhood? Especially now we’ve started having children of our own, to whom we’ll eagerly peddle the heroes of our youth so we can bask in the sunshine one more time. We’ll be unofficial but highly enthusiastic sales staff, expounding the many virtues of a range of toys from a time (back when I were a lad) when they knew how to make REAL toys, not like this Bratz rubbish you’ve got today. Come over to the next aisle, Winter, and I’ll get you sorted. There’s even a wide range of female Transformers for you now, so how good is that? :-)

I wonder if we’re successful whether the cycle will kick off again in another 20 or so years?

Naomi bemoans so-called "friends of mine".

When those Beaconsfield miners got into a spot of trouble earlier this year, Today Tonight’s Naomi Robson was first, well, second... alright, last on the scene (but better late than never), ready to give her support and lend a hand where she could. Which, I might add, she did admirably, and those miners owe their lives to her ceaseless labour on their behalf. But fast forward five months and things are a little different. Now Naomi finds herself in a stew, and are Todd and Brant prepared to dig in and help her out? Apparently not! I’ve not seen or heard a thing of them. Stuck down another mine, or too busy roo shootin’, sorry, spending time with the family? I can't say for sure.

Man, you find out who your friends are when cannibals are trying to eat you, don’t you?

Arnie travels to Heaven and Brazil.

In a previous post I made reference to one of Arnold Schwarzenegger's Favourite Things (to do in front of 5000 people), namely, 'The Pump'. Can you believe how much he is in Heaven? For the benefit of those who hadn't seen his classic moofie, 'Pumping Iron', I linked to a page of quotes to provide the context. If only I'd waited a month I could have linked directly to YouTube. Aah, YouTube: is there anything it can't do?

While you're there, do something educational and look up Arnie's informative travelogue, 'Carnival in Rio'. Iz funtarztic. You will luff it.

Saúde!

Brocky turns off the ignition.

BREAKING NEWS! And now Brocky’s DEAD too! Not Brocky?! The World’s Greatest Race Car Driver and Proud Proponent of Mobil Oils (even though he couldn’t look you in the eye when praising it).

Don Chipp, Steve Irwin, Brocky and... that guy who wrote Storm Boy... all in a week! I can only sit back in stunned silence and ask, “What’s going on?” and “Will that nasty Germ hack into Brocky before he’s even in the ground as well?!” He did plunder the earth's precious resources racing cars, after all.

We’ll just have to wait and see.

UPDATE: Who needs the old Germ to bash Brocky before his body's even cooled when his ex-wife is happy enough to step in with a shovel herself! She was on TV within hours of the accident saying Brocky had always put racing first and that the kids had really felt that. She didn't say she was glad he was dead, but you got the feeling. Even more surprising were Brocky's brothers who were talking about him in a such a composed and matter of fact way that you would have thought he'd only broken a leg! Sure, Brocky was no Steve Irwin, but I've been surprised at how 'meh' everyone, even including the media, have been about it. Maybe it's all just been too much, too fast?

Like wings on a car.

Cars have come to grief…
Devenish Road, Boronia,
the West Gate, Southbank…
and on Dudley Street
and the Wurundjeri Way
in chilly Docklands

A traffic report in haiku by everyone’s favourite high-brow traffic reporter, Hilary Harper. Well, it’s good to know I wasn’t just imagining things.

In a Green Guide interview the other week, Hilary made her philosophical approach to the traffic clear: “I guess I try to make the traffic a little less boring than it could otherwise be, try to put in some interesting language and have a bit of fun with it where appropriate. I think traffic is such a large part of the way people experience Melbourne as a city. It’s something people drive through every day and it’s part of their day, so if I can make a fairly pragmatic and useful service on the part of 774 a bit more fun and a bit more interesting, that’s great.”

I guess I could understand that if I could see the benefit. I mean, where will the madness end? The Talking Clock is very boring. All it does is give you useful information. What a wasted opportunity. Perhaps it should start using Latin? "Procul tertius plaga, is ero II:XXX et X secundus." Taking the report to Fiji for some fun in the sun is just asking for trouble as there’s every chance people will be so wowed by your cleverness that they’ll take in none of the content. “Brilliant! Hilary’s done it again. She just reported the traffic in iambic pentameter!” “Sure, great; how’s the flow on the Eastern?” … “Um… you know, I’m not quite sure… iambic pentameter?”

Anyway, at least I know it’s not just me. And yes, I can move on now, thanks for asking.

CRIKEY!

Breaking news! Steve Irwin is DEAD! Stabbed by a stingray and dead as a Deepwater Cisco. I’ve been called, emailed, Instant Messaged, RSS'd and even SMS’d from New Zealand. The world's flapping its arms! That plucky little guy who, despite wise advice to the contrary, would always smile at a crocodile... THE WORLD IS IN SHOCK.

It's good to be the Dad.

My first Fathers' Day today. As the subject, I mean; not just the giver of gifts and maker of cards. Speaking of which, Winter somehow managed to get online and find her way to Amazon where she purchased Season 1 of 'Dr Katz: Professional Therapist' on DVD for me! Incredible child. They grow up so fast.

Happy 100th Post.

And so it's come to this: a Commas Clip Show. Seems like it was only 340 days ago when I first paused on the Path and put finger to keyboard; and now I’m 100 posts old. Let's stroll, shall we?

Remember that very first post where I described my struggle to find a username that wasn’t already taken, and where I used the word ‘zeitgeist’? Heady days, full of potential, full of promise. It was pretty clear right from the start that the Big Issues would be tackled hard and taken down harder.

Hard to believe my long pursuit of the perfect iTunes artwork combination began way back in my third post.

Or that the Comments section wasn't filled to overflowing with suggestions for additional humorous Brand and Country of Manufacture combinations.

And who could forget the Concise History of the Annual Christmas Stolp? Not me, I was there!

Or, finally, all those jittery concerns in the lead up to the arrival of Winter? Which I think we can say were unfounded. Although, if you're still unsure, cop this:


Well, that’s enough misty-eyed, hyper-self-indulgence from me. Thanks for your company. See you on the other side of 200. :-)

In the Loop.

Alright look, it is possible for me to reflect on things that have no connection at all to Connex, but things of note just keep on happening. Last Friday some moron in an ultimately successful attempt to evade Connex Valued Patron Service Executive Enforcers leaped from the platform at Melbourne Central and bolted up the City Loop tunnel towards Flagstaff. As you would expect, the system was immediately shut down and a train load of Authorised Customer Care Representative Executives advanced slowly up the tunnel in pursuit.

As the drama unfolded, I was at home listening to the radio and eating my cereal. A Connex spokesperson came on to advise all travellers on the Epping line of a half hour delay to all services. A half hour! Looks like I’ll be late to work today. I weighed up whether to just leave later in the hope of avoiding the packed trains and slow-moving queue that inevitably develops when services are delayed. I figure an uninterrupted train that leaves later may well get me to work at the same time as the stop-start-stop-start one that leaves now?

But it started to seem too much like a maths problem (with a train full of people holding torches leaving the station at 9am heading south at lightspeed, etc) so I decided to brave the crowds and head off anyway. Only to discover a distinct lack of crowds. And delays. My regular train was bang on time and, if anything, there were fewer people on-board than normal, resulting in one of the most pleasant trips to work of the year. Alley-oop, Connex. Thanks for the assist. I wish you’d run interference like that for me every day.

As we barrelled through the Loop towards Melbourne Central I realised I hadn’t received any message from Connex informing me of the supposed delay, despite a “half-hour” falling well over the lounge room of their fine print. I guess that means there never was a half-hour delay, and the SMS system has shown it can be dependable; oh me of little faith. Dependable, unlike the Connex spokeswoman who I assume has yet to subscribe to Ol’ Reliable as she was clearly not in the loop.

UPDATE (31/08): Woah there. Did I say ‘dependable? Did I? Maybe I spoke too soon? I received another text message from Connex this morning. It wasn’t to tell me my train was delayed (which it was, but only by 9 minutes so stop your whining), but to let me know my train would not be running through the City Loop. As I was already on my train and halfway to the City Loop, there was not much I could do about that, but I appreciated being kept up-to-the-minute all the same. Although Connex must have been so busy frantically firing off messages to their valued customers that they forgot to let the driver know. Not only did he not make an announcement for the benefit of those luddite non-subscribers, but once past Jolimont he rolled right on through into the City Loop.

Now I’m more confused than ever.

A Grate Read.

I just happened to pick up and glance through the ‘2006 Books Alive Great Read Guide’ which claims to contain “50 books so good, everyone will want to read them.” Ok, well let’s test that by selecting a sample at random… hmm, what about this one on page 12: ‘The Omega Scroll’ by Adrian d’Hage?

'A DYNAMITE ADVENTURE ABOUT THE VATICAN’S BIGGEST FEAR'

“A ruthless cardinal who’ll stop at nothing to become the next pope, missing nuclear suitcase bombs, an ancient scroll with a terrible warning for humanity – this book has it all.”

Woah! It certainly does; including the plots of at least four other books! The only thing I can think of that’s missing is a ‘dangerous and torrid love affair’. And ninjas, of course. Every story needs ninjas. The blurb continues:

”As a journalist, an archaeologist and Vatican investigators race against time to unlock the secrets of a Dead Sea Scroll that has remained hidden for 2000 years, a CIA agent attempts to track down the nuclear devices. The stakes couldn’t be higher.”

And the connection between those two plot threads couldn’t be more unclear. Are they actually related? Or are they just too good not to have crammed in there? Talk about write-by-numbers. What a contemptible pool of dribble. Kate and I sat down and tried to top Mr d’Hage for ridiculousness, but soon gave up realising it was a near-impossible task. It’s not easy to parody something that already is one.

Who’d even consider reading this rubbish?!

"For fans of The Da Vinci Code, this is a must-read book."

Aah. Of course. Sorry, Books Alive, but your credibility and that of your "independent panel of book industry experts" is as flimsy as The Omega Scroll’s disconnected plots. No amount of stirring endorsements from Aussie Steve Waugh or TV's Andrew Daddo will get me reading this crap. See you in 2007.

Great expectations.

It’s probably a bit late to start watching Charles Dickens' Bleak House now, (that's Charles Dickens with one ‘K’, not the well-known Dutch author), as the final episode was just shown, but if you have the means, I highly recommend picking it up on DVD; if only to see what Wedge looks like when he’s 59. Although I guess that link'll do just as well. Certainly cheaper. Although not as satisfying as Bleak House was brilliant. Such an amazing cast and so many incredible performances. I'll be saying "Oh m'bones! Shake me up, Judy," for years to come. For which, Kate, I apologise in advance. :-)

Vanstone proposes new deterrence strategy.

Immigration Minister Amanda Vanstone was on radio the other day, defending her stance on immigration. “We literally bent over backwards to mirror what would be the case offshore that is the case in Australia,” she said.

Well, while that may or may not be true, please, Minister, that’s really not an image I want in my head! It'd be hard work excising that one. You're on my list!

On a more serious note, I appreciated a letter in The Age from the other week when the Senate was voting on the Migration Amendment Bill:

Petro, Russell and Judy were described in Parliament as being in the gutter. At least they climbed out of the sewer. Dave Gill, Don Valley.

Island in the Sun.

Well, I’m back. And it wasn’t quite the experiment in deprivation I expected. Not only did this island in the sun have internet access (albeit charged at $8.50 per 15 minutes, but access nonetheless), it also had mobile reception (although my phone only seemed to work when hovering over my bedside table). The only thing it lacked was my fam and, let’s be honest, that was always the real challenge anyway. :-)

So while I never touched the internet, nor really used my phone, it wasn’t much of an experiment because I could have if I’d really wanted to. Although not with my mobile because as I didn’t expect to have the phone on I didn’t take my charger (it’s just one more thing to lose) and my battery went flat two days in.

So, no new insights into the human condition then… how was the weather? Aah, Fiji. Beautiful showers one day…


…perfect tropical storm the next.


Despite my concerns, the weather was wonderful, with two bonus days of continuous rain and a temperature that hovered around that pleasant point where either shorts or trousers will do. Paradise. For me, at least. Listening to my fellow islanders, you’d think each drop of rain was a sliver of bamboo pushed up under a fingernail. No appreciation for the beauty and pleasure of rain. Which is a shame; it’s so limiting to tie your capacity for enjoyment solely to the sun. It’s not like there wasn’t anything else to do. But no, people just sat around with their fingers crossed, hoping for the best, and assuming I was being sarcastic when I’d reply that I was quite enjoying the weather. Strange man. I don’t understand what’s so strange about liking rain?

And speaking of strange: at dinner on the final night a group of five seated to my left were having a none too discreet conversation concerning me that I couldn’t help but overhear, even over the sound of the performing band. There’s nothing like being seated next to a group of people for an entire meal to help you fade into the wallpaper, I guess? My mealtime banter must have been scintillating! A middle-aged woman from the Gold Coast who was seated between two couples either side was asking if they’d heard the name of my daughter? “It’s Winter,” she told them. “It’s not that I don’t really not like the name, but it seems sort of negative to me,” she said, employing a triple negative whammy of her own. “I like Summer as a name, but Winter seems strange.”

Sigh. Boring. I think I can safely assume that to her ‘winter’ means grey skies, frigid mornings, cold bones, frozen feet, endless rain and dead trees, whereas to me it means roaring fires, hot mugs of tea, thick woollen socks, walking in warm and heavy coats through the crisp morning air and, best of all, being tucked up in a toasty bed with a good book while steady rain pelts on the window outside. Winter doesn’t mean ‘death’ to me; it’s life lying dormant, ready for renewal, eager to explode. So if you’re looking for something that’s negative, you really need look no further than a mirror.

Back in 7.

Well, nothing lasts forever. We've had a golden run of 15 degree days here in Melbourne, but now I'm off to Fiji for Ahab & Naomi's wedding, and the weather sites tell me to expect high 20s. Glory, it's an old-fashioned heatwave. But it's ok because I'm only gone for a week and will be back in no time to catch the tail-end of the best winter we've had in a long time. Although a bit of rain would've been nice.

Leaving the family at home to enjoy the central heating will of course be difficult, but the real challenge will come from having absolutely no internet access for the longest time since I first plugged into the... big binary road thingy oh so many years ago. It's like unplugging from the Matrix. I'll be like Agent Smith when the data stream disappears. The music will fade and die! I'll be like... that guy in... some movie I can't quite recall, who's spent his whole life plugged into something and then the soundtrack swirls as he disconnects for the first time. Probably for love. JJ, can you help me out here? So, no internet for a week! What might happen? Can I possibly survive? I'll know soon enough. It's like I'm about to undergo an experiment, like... oh no! Like Big Brother, I guess. I'm off to an isolated location with a bunch of people, most of whom I don't know, where I'll be denied my daily bread of family, mobile reception and the internet. Argh! It's Big Brother: Fijian Island. The horror.

So enjoy your time to yourself, be good while I'm gone, and see you again shortly.

Elias Jian-Li arrives.

Welcome to Elias Jian-Li, Winter's first little friend, born Tuesday, August 1st, 2006. 13 days late, but worth the wait, and with a shock of black hair the envy of newborns everywhere. Winter's looking on wondering why she got stuck with such a boring bloodline, and can't be a Malaysian-American Australian as well! :-)

Winter of content.

Alright! Just completed the latest Census form, and I did it online! Woooo! The Future is Now! It’s swerved on up the Information Superhighway’s off-ramp and it’s here in your living room RIGHT NOW so get on-board or get run over!! ‘Information Superhighway’. Remember that? There’s a phrase I’m glad has fallen into disuse. Can’t remember the last time I heard someone use it. In a non-sarcastic way, at least.

So yeah, Census 2006. Pretty exciting. It’s history in the making. Millions of people cooperating to capture a moment in time for future generations to look back upon and discover that yes, I did have internet access in my home in August 2006. The other appeal for me is that it’s a form to fill out. I love filling out forms. There’s something very satisfying about it. I’m not quite sure what it is.

So did everyone tick the release this information in 99 years box? Or did you feel Big Brother breathing a little too hard down your neck? Did you mark down your religion as ‘Jedi Knight’? If yes, are you a stroker? Wait, don’t answer: I already know. :-)

The best part of this Census was filling in Winter’s details. She’s really a real person now! Are those last two sentences enough of an excuse to post another photo of her? Of course it is.


Quick update, if you’re interested: Happiest baby alive. Sleeping well, feeding well and growing faster than the number of Jedi in Australia. Much faster. She’s trying to talk and coming out with all sorts of weird squawks. Sometimes I’m on the phone to Kate and it sounds like there’s a frantic bird trapped inside attacking her. Winter’s also trying to laugh. It never occurred to me that we need to learn how to laugh! She takes these large gulps of air and makes a funny noise, but mostly ends up with a fit of hiccups. Maybe we’ll have to get David Brent to give her a few pointers? Come on, trust me. Ay? Yeah? Hoohoohoo.

UPDATE: ARGH! The Jedi hilarity has mutated into a tool for social activism! Last night I was fenced into a corner of the tram by two very serious and very earnest young women who were talking with pride about listing their religion on the Census as 'Greenie'. "It felt so good doing that because, like, if enough people do it, the Government will have to pay attention." Yeah, good luck with that. Let me know how it works out.

Go figure.

So apparently a couple of the mouth-breathers on Big Brother were having a discussion about why the game show they were on had the name it did. ‘Big Brother’ didn’t seem right. Wouldn’t ‘Father Figure’ be a better name?

Gretel, of course, smirked it for all it was worth, presenting them with their own copies of ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’ once they were evicted. I didn’t see the presentation, but I can just imagine the smarm. “Here you go, dummies. Go and read a book and get yourself an education,” like she’s so much better than they are. Sure, they should have at least a vague awareness of where Big Brother comes from, but I reckon the greater sin is committed by Gretel. She’s (apparently) read the book, knows who Big Brother is, and yet is still comfortable using the name for her fluffy, vacuous, trivial bit of nothing of a game show. That's what's really tragic. George Orwell's spinning so fast he could power a small city.

Microsoft tackles population control.

Microsoft has been accused of a lot of things over the years, but never direct child abuse. (Unless you consider children using Windows as a form of abuse?) But now, in response to new business moves by Microsoft, Rob Glaser, the unhappy CEO of RealNetworks, has come right out and declared, "We think this a case where our technology competitors, in this case specifically Microsoft, have literally thrown the baby out with the bath water." Glory! Sounds like Uncle Bill needs to forget his charity work and get back behind the keyboard at Redmond because things are flying out of control!

And thanks, Rob, for a real-life cracker to add to my collection. :-)

More delays.

Connex is my new best friend. Sure, sure, they haven’t improved their trains’ punctuality or lowered the contact point for their SMS delay service, but they did send me free stuff! And who can resist the wooing power of free stuff?!


I really love the imagery for their current campaign. I think it was a bold move by whoever pitched the concept, and an even bolder one by whoever approved it. I like that it avoids the common, safe and boring diverse blend of ages and ethnicities, with equal representation of males and females, easily and successfully using [insert your product here], and goes instead for giant, rampaging beavers, guinea pigs, Venus fly-traps and fleets of flying saucers all wreaking havoc.

“Giant, rampaging what?! Our valued customers can’t relate to a giant beaver! No, no; we need large, glossy, full-colour prints of a diverse blend of ages and races, with equal representation of men and women, of course, all being successfully engaged and assisted by one of our many, friendly Connex Service Executives. Now that’s the ticket! Sign off on that one, beaver boy.”


I thought some sample images might go well with this post, but rather than try and track down the right number of bus shelters and billboards dotted across town, I thought I’d go right to the source. A quick email to Connex got an even quicker reply! Christie told me she had “a spare copy of each poster” if I would like them, and that I could go in to pick them up, or she could even post them directly to me if I’d like! The next day, there they were. They should put Christie in charge of the SMS service. So 10 out of 10 for customer service, Connex. (Even if the “set” did end up being only two posters, not the expected five. But I no complain).


So, attention Connex, my next irritable rant has been delayed, and is now expected in… oh, I don’t know. Some time later. I apologise for any hurt feelings I’ve caused.

A new head Bobs into town.

You know, I thought Beck’s head on that Dandy set of shoulders was as good a match as you’d be likely to find, but now I’m not so sure. Bobby Timmons has just swaggered into town, you see, looking for a place to lay his head, and I thinks those Dandy shoulders might suit him just fine.

Actually, I say ‘swaggered’ into town, but it was more of a squeeze, like toothpaste from a tube. Or a caterpillar from a cocoon. Indeed, he must’ve been stuck inside Radiohead for some time because the 'Bends' guy looks quite relieved to have him out.


So Bobby’s on the screen, but so far he’s yet to make his move. I can only guess he’s getting the lay of the land, measuring the pixels, seeing what kind of a hold Beck has on those well-known, bohemian shoulders. As you can see below, Bobby’s out in force down south, looking north with a determined gaze.


And Beck’s clearly concerned. He’s making a show of staying close, flitting around like a peacock if a peacock was to flit, but when Bobby flips in, Beck flips right the hell out as soon as iTunes’ll let him.


So this is getting pretty exciting, yeah?

Hello?

[Crickets chirp. Somewhere a wolf howls.]

Well anyway, the tension is building, but will the build-up be worth it? Will Bobby’s head prove to be a better match than Beck’s? Who can say, who can predict? Don’t worry, don’t worry; you will get to see for yourselves. I’m like a deer hunter, watching, lying in wait, ready to snap off a shot when the target springs into view. It’s only a matter of time…

UPDATE, BY REQUEST: Coming to you live from Apostrophe Garden in wintery Melbourne, Australia, it’s all the hot grass-growing action you handle, and it's all right here on The Path. So sit back and stay tuned because this could get out of controoooooool.

Don’t mention the ‘soccer’.

I mentioned it once, but I think I got away with it.

So now that all this World Cup hubbub has died down, perhaps I can ask the question: if ‘soccer’ is such a dirty word, how come the players of our national team (surely the ultimate of football fans?) are happy to be called the ‘Socceroos’? Why aren’t they in open revolt, pushing for a name change to the ‘Footballroos’? Or even, as a nod to their Australian heritage, the ‘Foodyroos’? If ‘soccer’ is good enough for our noble band of heroic footballing heroes, well then it’s good enough for me as well.

And speaking of good enough for me, where have those 2006 World Cup Australian Away jerseys been all my life?! Finally, a colour palette to be proud of, and a uniform that doesn’t make us look like an (admittedly athletic) team of Wiggles (but a team of Wiggles nonetheless). The Brazilians must have been pissed they didn’t get to play Away. Summer fun beach-wear for you again, boys, I'm afraid. Australian Green and Gold was, is, and shall forevermore be, awful, and I for one would like to see more of this dignified type of strip for all our god-like sporting heroes, doing us proud as they battle bravely for Australian glory, exactly like the diggers on the beaches at Gallipoli back in 1915. I don't know who's in charge of all that, but, you know, see what you can do? Thanks, I knew you could.

Warning: giant turkey.

“If there’s ever a delay, we’ll txt you straight away. SMS Updates gives you FREE up-to-the-moment information about any delays to your train service.”

Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? Pretty handy service. So why, despite my train home being delayed almost every single night, have I not been contacted once? Why has my experience not lived up to the promise?

Oh wait, there’s fine print: “SMS messages sent by Connex are for all train cancellations and delays over 15 minutes”.

Sorry? Over 15 minutes? Look, I’m no stranger to weaselly fine print, but let’s look at their bold print statements again: “If there’s ever a delay, we’ll txt you straight away. SMS Updates gives you FREE up-to-the-moment information about any delays to your train service.” I don't see a single second of wiggle room in that statement. It sounds to me like a service that could tell you to keep running because your train’s been delayed by 3 minutes and you can still make it! But no. Fifteen minutes is the best (or worst) you can hope for, and you’ll just have to discover any old trifley 14 minute delays for yourself.

So, the fine print doesn’t clarify the statement, it completely alters it. “If there’s an extended delay, we’ll contact you pretty much straight away,” is not as snappy, but would be closer to the reality. The use of absolute terms like ‘ever’ and ‘any’ seems self-defeating; if you create unrealistic expectations for your new service, don’t be surprised if people think it sucks. As I say, my experience has not lived up to the promise, and as delays longer than 15 minutes are in my experience thankfully rare, this new ‘service’ seems all but irrelevant.

So it’s no help with workaday delays, but what about cancellations? Well last week I got this message at 6:26 am: “Post, the 7:36 am Reservoir train to Flinders Street has been cancelled. Connex apologises for any inconvenience,” which was followed by this one an hour later: “Post, the 7:36 am Reservoir train to Flinders Street will now run. Connex apologises for any inconvenience.” So I’m not exactly filled with confidence.

Then yesterday at 5:33pm I received this message from Connex: “Post, due to a fault, buses have replaced trains Flinders St – Clifton Hill. Please go to Flinders St. We apologise for the inconvenience. Call 131638.” There was an incident like this a while back and I got all the way to my platform before discovering I needed to head for Flinders, so I was pretty impressed by this message. Until I discovered The Age website had posted a detailed article on the situation a full 16 minutes before Connex managed to send me a text message. Rapid response, Connex. Really “up-to-the-moment”. Did you learn of the situation from The Age’s website too? Or CNN, perhaps? Then, 13 minutes later, a second SMS informed me “The fault has now been rectified and services are resuming to normal”. Wow! Resolved in 13 minutes? They might be slow to start, but they finish like lightning!

The icing though was the apology in the same message. It was as though they’d read my earlier post and knew they needed to alter the script and pull out something special. And they did:


Not one, but two apologies. It's a double-scoop of sincerity. That’s making an effort. Thanks Connex. You're the best. Apology accepted.

Please Kelloggs, I want some more.

Speaking of the need for this blog to tackle the Big issues, have you seen the ‘serving suggestion’ on a box of Special K? I have. (For some reason).


Thirteen flakes (give or take) and a thimble-full of milk! And you'll like it! No whinging. I don’t know if a spoon’s worth of Special K for breakfast will “keep you looking and feeling good”, but it’ll certainly keep you skinny.

Technology boom.

Oh, and if you've ever wanted to blow up a Mac, live vicariously...

Winter blossoms.

Well, at three months, Winter continues to fly past her developmental milestones. She’s smiling, she’s jamming her hands into her mouth (which is apparently how we learn that those things that keep moving around in front of us actually belong to us), she’s hitting things that dangle in front of her (in an inquisitive, not violent, manner), and she’s even started rolling! My only area of concern is that while she favours her left hand for hitting, she’s favouring the right hand for sucking, and so it’s unclear which hand is dominant and whether she’ll be left or right handed. Lefties do make an impact, and right-handers do suck, so it could still go either way… No, it’s not a competition, but… LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, COME ON! :-)

Parlez vous Wanklais?

Hilary Harper, la journaliste de circulation par excellence, detait assez gentil pour m'avertir d'un "contretemps" sur la grande route d'Monash un matin recemment. Merci Hilary!

Sure as you can’t steer a train, you can’t change your fate.

I noticed the train driver this morning was talking on his mobile phone as he drew into the station. With my current level of animosity towards Connex and the Department of Infrastructure, I wanted to go up and slap on his window, or issue a Citizen’s Fine, or something. But my desire to secure a seat for the journey won out, and I shuffled on with the rest of the sardines, and put my life in the hands of a distracted driver. I wonder if he texts as well? Tell my wife I love her…

UPDATE 1: You won't believe it, but then my tram driver last night was yapping on his phone as well! It's an epidemic. Save yourselves!

UPDATE 2: This is quite freaky. It gets worse! I caught a bus today and the driver was driving with a cup of coffee in his hand! Three days, three forms of transport, three drivers with other things on their minds. Reminds me of the time an old girlfriend was speeding in her manual car through peak-hour traffic whilst smoking and talking on her mobile at the same time. That was a fun ride. Maybe it's me?

My Top 5 Most Devalued Words/Phrases in the English Language.

5. SALE
Seems like everyone’s having a SALE these days. All day, every day. You don’t need a reason, you just need a sign. We're overstocked with ‘em and they’ve all got to go! Used to be when SALE appeared out the front of a shop, it meant you’d find things inside ‘on sale’, that is, at a reduced price. Today it’s more an indication that things inside are merely ‘for sale’. Business as usual. Sure, there might be three, possibly four, items marked down, but they’re usually ones you wouldn’t normally buy if they were free. They lure you in with an empty promise, then sit back hoping the full-price shiny things will work their magic. And I guess they do because that swarm of signs ain't going away.

4. EXCLUSIVE
Seems like everything’s an ‘Exclusive’ these days. Or 'EXCLUSIVE', rather. Every news report, every article, every interview… they’re all Exclusives. Although other networks, papers and magazines seem to end up with what they want eventually anyway, and usually on the same day, so I don’t really see what’s so exclusive and why it’s so significant? I couldn’t care less if someone gets somesuch a little later than someone else, or if there are two watermarks instead of one. And when you see what they're proudly proclaiming as an EXCLUSIVE, you wonder why they bother. What? An EXCLUSIVE interview with Geri “Ginger Spice” Halliwell on Channel 9? I bet the other networks are whipping themselves stupid over letting that one get away! And it’s funny how often the competing current affairs programs both end up with their own EXCLUSIVE on the same story…

3. AWESOME
Seems like everything’s ‘Awesome’ these days. Nothing is too small or too trivial to be described as such. The other day I heard someone describe their chewing gum as awesome. Last year I gave someone a blank sheet of A4 paper and they said that was awesome. 'Awesome' means 'inspiring awe'. Does your gum really inspire awe? If you mean 'really good' find a word that means 'really good' and keep your hyperbole to yourself. A.Word.A.Day, the awesome email newsletter I subscribe to, is occasionally sponsored by ‘Crazy Aaron’s Thinking Putty’ which their ad proclaims as ‘an awesome stress reliever’. (Or an ‘awesome stocking stuffer’ around Christmas). I wrote to AWAD to tell them I felt this ad was a disservice to the word. “God, for example, is awesome,” I wrote, “a sunrise over the Himalayas is awesome, ‘Crazy Aaron’s Thinking Putty’ is unlikely to be awesome.” I received no reply. :-)

2. LITERALLY
Seems literally everything is literal these days. ‘Literally’ used to indicate you were using a familiar, metaphorical figure of speech in a literal way, as in, “Kate literally threw the baby out with the bathwater” or “It’s literally on the tip of my tongue” when trying to recall the name of the lolly you’re sucking. Now it’s more frequently used to indicate something is meant in its strongest possible sense. A number of examples from my collection of misuses include:

• “The new single from Suede has literally just walked in the door.” –Caroline Tran, Triple J DJ
• “She’s literally a chain smoker.” –Student
• “There are literally only a handful of troops here in Baghdad."
–Television Reporter
• “Cars that smoke really get up my nose… literally.” –EPA radio ad
• "Australians are literally becoming allergic to living."
–A Current Affair reporter

The more people use the word in this way, the more it weakens its very specific, very useful and indeed, very pleasing sense of a common phrase being meant in a literal way, and I think this is a shame.

1. CONNEX APOLOGISES FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE CAUSED
Seems like Connex is apologising a lot these days. My train home is late nearly every single night and Connex dutifully apologises for most of them with the same push-button recording. I now know every word, every pause, every subtle shift in intonation and, you know, the apology’s really starting to lose its sincerity. It’s like they’re saying it because they feel they have to, not because they actually mean it. Shocking, I know; I feel like I’ve lost my innocence. Train after train, night after night. I now get more annoyed at hearing the same hollow recording for the millionth time than I do about my train being late. Is it too much to ask for even one alternate recording? Just to keep things fresh? Just so it doesn’t seem quite so forced?

Well, that was most cathartic. Thanks for stopping by, and I apologise for any inconvenience caused.

The Aras End of the World.

(Here be Survivor: Exile Island spoilers.)

Glory be. Some guy called Arse just won the current series of Survivor! Well, it’s spelt ‘Aras’ but everyone was clearly pronouncing it ‘arse’. Or maybe he was just really unpopular and they actually were calling him ‘arse’? I don’t know, I’ve never watched Survivor. Kate happened to have it on and she pointed out his unfortunate name as I was passing by. If I’d known this earlier I would have had money on him to win. Anyone who’s gone through school with a name like ‘Aras’ is clearly a survivor. I guess he’s lucky he’s American where I gather most people would draw a distinction between ‘ass’ and ‘Aras’. Either way, I’m adding his name to my list of names to never call my children. Yes, I have a list. I also have a list of surnames I’d be uncertain of keeping if I happened to be born with one of them.

My Top 5 Surnames You'd Better Have A Good Reason For Keeping (work-in-progress)
5. Tinkler
4. Roughead
3. Hercock
2. Cobbledick
1. Manlove

I just read a book by Colin Manlove. Imagine being Aras Manlove. Hmm, no thanks.

Rocturnal.

This morning I woke up with Wolfmother’s ‘Woman’ blaring at full speed (and full volume) in my head. I became conscious and was instantly aware of the main riff hurtling around my skull with its size 12 boots on. I wonder if it had been on loop in my subconscious the whole night, or whether it simply started up again when I woke, as though I’d just taken the song off pause? I wonder what goes on in my brain when I’m not there?

(Rereads post. Hmm. Wolfmother’s 'Woman'? I’m glad a lot of Freud’s theories have been discredited because he’d no doubt have had a field day with the supposed significance of this one.) :-)

Predicting good things.

A couple of observations about Predictive Text on mobile phones.

As a lover of books and of home, I am pleased to see that ‘book’ is followed by ‘cool’ and that ‘home’ is followed by ‘good’.

As a father, I am pleased that ‘dad’ comes before ‘fad’, but am surprised to find that 686 defaults to ‘nun’, not ‘mum’. The order of words is not determined alphabetically, so maybe the phonemakers have research that shows people will be more likely to text about nuns than mums?

Anyone got any observations of their own?

UPDATE
The thought just occurred that maybe mum's deference to nun was a trans-Atlantic/Pacific-type thing, and that maybe Nokia, etc, use US English, but when I entered 'mom' I was given a firm 'non'! Well, merci Nokia. Now I’m confused again.

UPDATE 2
Ducking funny video here on the History of Predictive Text Swearing.

Credit where credits are due.

(Here be Six Feet Under spoilers.)

I cannot count the times I sat exhausted, reeling in response to another high-intensity episode of the brilliant Six Feet Under, when Pete "Copperart" Smith (Network 9’s ubiquitous voiceover man), would bust in, trample the closing theme and vomit all over me with his pointless promo for some upcoming piece of nothing.

I know they need to advertise, but it always seemed so inappropriate, especially with a show like SFU. Instead of being a quiet moment of music and introspection that allowed you to disengage and start to process, it became a desperate scramble for the remote so you could hit Mute before Pete would hove into view and kill the moment.

One of the best things about watching SFU via… other means than network TV, besides being able to set your own agenda, was the freedom from Pete and his inane blather. So it was with great pleasure (although great sympathy as well) that I read the following letter in this week’s Green Guide.

If I hadn’t heard it I wouldn’t have believed it. Seven seconds into the closing credits of Monday night’s Six Feet Under, just after Nate had died, a Channel Nine voice-over said “We hope you enjoyed Six Feet Under. Tonight 10:30, we’ll have you laughing with brand new Comedy Inc, the series where no-one is safe and nothing is sacred, taking aim at the living and the dead.” Unbelievable.
Chris Page, East Malvern.

Sadly, Chris; it’s not unbelievable at all. Seems like a fitting epitaph for Six Feet’s run on network TV.

A date with the Devil.

Argh! Argh! It’s 06.06.06! That’s three zeros in a row which is the number you dial in an emergency! And oh my gosh, it’s also three sixes in a row! Awooga, awooga! Abandon ship! Nail bits of crooked wood over the windows! Don’t eat the salmon mousse! I just saw a cat and a dog out the window sitting on a couch smoking a pipe together! The end times are upon us...

Or not? Who’s to say if Satan operates by our Gregorian calendar? Maybe he’s still using the Julian one, or has progressed to the Holocene calendar, or he’s possibly even developed his own demonic version?! Our 06.06.06 might be a public holiday on his Demonorian calender and he’s actually taken the day off?

Whatever the case, I’m just glad I’ve got Jesus watching my back. See you tomorrow.

UPDATE: Well, we survived. Thank Heavens. I think the greatest danger (besides the normal one of having YOUR FACE EATEN OFF) came from the swarm of press releases swooping through the air like a murder of crows. Seems like every man and his Cerberus was releasing some hell-related product yesterday. Nothing like a good gimmick, I guess?

Where'd they steal this idea from?

Back in 1992 a news clipping from The Age newspaper was distributed amongst the Year 12 students at my high school. The controversial article outlined a drastic new plan whereby the government would imprison students who were found to be cheating on their Common Assessment Tasks. This controversial move was in response to a report that uncovered high levels of cheating throughout the VCE program, including instances of students paying other students to complete their assignments for them.

The article sent the student body into fits. Ever-vigilant Student Council members protested in the strongest of terms to anyone who'd listen, labelling the idea draconian, unconstitutional and absolutely preposterous. And of course it would have been; if it were true.

Turns out a mischievous student (who shall remain nameless but who made a pretty penny completing others students’ assignments), had so much free time on his hands that he fabricated the article himself for a bit of a laugh. I don't think even he expected it to be swallowed as quickly and as easily as it was.

The incident was just brought back to mind when I came across this familiar-sounding story from the BBC Online. It appears that the West African Examinations Council is threatening school pupils in Liberia with possible prison sentences if they cheat in their exams! Ma… I mean, the unnamed student was 14 years ahead of his time!

Somehow I ended up with the original article stuck to my bedroom wall, but I’m not sure where it is anymore. Might have got lost during a move, or it might be sitting in some box somewhere, just waiting to come out into the light once again. We’ll just have to wait and see.

A rock star and a hard place.

If over the next few months I happen to kick down your door and strut in screaming, “Hellomelbourneareyoureadytoroooooooock?!” please forgive me, nod politely and go about your business. I’ve just started using ‘Instant Rockstar’ hair product, you see, and I’m not sure how literal its claim will turn out to be.

Instant Rockstar? How desperately lame. It took me some time to muster enough courage to overcome my embarrassment and take it to the counter. It was like I was sixteen again, trying to rent an R-rated movie from the video store. The helpful woman at the Hairhouse Warehouse, however, assured me it would do exactly what I wanted my hair product to do, so what’s a 31 year old, decidedly un-rockstar personality to do?

As an aside, apparently Bart went to school with the brains behind Instant Rockstar! He was the slack-arse who no-one thought would amount to anything, but I guess he's proved 'em wrong. Although, Instant Rockstar? Maybe not. It's certainly not a name I would have chosen if I’d been involved, but if it’s shifting units and working out, good luck to him, I guess. I’m yet to be convinced the product's better than its ridiculous name, but we’ll just have to see.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Children.

I'm sure there are only too many demented half-wits out there, muttering to themselves as they rock back and forth in their straight-jackets, who, assuming you could get close enough to ask, would reply that, yes, they do indeed find the pictures below to be infinitely cute and delightfully adorable.





Not that you'd be likely to understand their answer, punctuated as it no doubt would be with fits of insane cackling and liberally smothered in streams of drool. I, on the other hand, find these images to be terrifying and deeply unsettling. Filled with menace and a definite sense of impending ultra-violence. I’m sure this poor child has a date with a tumble-drier somewhere not too far in its future.

Thanks CK for sending me the images. I’ve forwarded them on to the appropriate authorities.

Wintertime.

Now if you don't think this baby is the cutest baby ever, I will fight you. That's no lie. :-)

Priorities.

Just finished watching the interview with Tasmanian miners Todd Russell and Brant Webb. Best part was Todd's revelation that once he was out of the mine: 'Family comes first, roo shootin' comes second'. Gold. Where can I get the t-shirt?

Spooked.

(Here be Spooks spoilers). Allow me to set the scene.

London. Present day. MI5 are attempting to infiltrate a mosque where they believe acts of terrorism are being planned. They are eventually able to get an agent inside, who informs them that a young boy is being prepared to martyr himself. When the day of action arrives, the boy is readied in a warehouse before heading to the strike zone. MI5 learns of the boy’s location and agents race to stop him. The boy flees the warehouse and into the busy playground of a neighbouring kindergarten where he prepares to detonate his explosives.


In the nick of a time, an agent disturbs him and the boy flees through a fence to an empty basketball court where he is surrounded. Two agents approach and attempt to talk him down.


But negotiations fail, and he triggers his vest.


As body parts and other debris fly through the air, a blue banner zips suddenly onto screen!


As agents rush desperately towards their fallen friends, we’re delightfully informed that ‘3 Non-Blondes’ is up next!



Well, wacky do. I’ll be sure to stay tuned. Thanks for letting me know. I thought the Mother of All Watermarks was irritating, but this takes things to a whole new level. Spooks is often intense, and as the events of this episode reach their tragic climax - a split second after a young boy has killed himself and murdered an innocent man - the network saunters in and urinates over everyone. Way to go. Good work everyone.