Bomber, this one's for you.

Connex continues to redefine customer service: At 7:59am on January 15th I received a text message informing me the previously cancelled 7:36am train would now run. No indication as to when. The next day perhaps? A service so "up-to-the-moment" it's already into tomorrow.

Connex can't seem to do anything right these days. With brake failures sidelining a third of their new passenger trains, a monitoring system that's unable to pinpoint the location of trains on around 90 per cent of its network, and this month an average of 87 train cancellations each weekday, it's a wonder anyone gets anywhere at all. And then, just when Connex thought things couldn't get any worse, the state government fined them $5 million for poor performance. I would have liked to be the guy who wrote that ticket.

UPDATE: It's almost enough to make you feel sorry for the ex-Conn. Trains skidding on soapy tracks like characters out of a slapstick movie; trains pulled from service with timetable chaos ensuing; trains so overcrowded a driver (allegedly) invited 15 passengers into his compartment; and trains repeatedly appearing on the front page of the mX "news"paper, plonked down next to a big old lemon. But, most tragic of all, I just discovered that Connex inherited these dodgy Siemens trains from National Express, the previous network operator, who purchased them back in 2003 before Connex took over! Why have I not heard Connex play this card, like that politician whose every mistake is merely the result of the mess handed to him (or her) by the previous administration?

UPDATE 2: It's also been alleged that the Connex driver who allowed 15 passengers to cram into his compartment then proceeded to chat on his mobile phone while driving the train! There is, of course, nothing new or surprising about that.

What is surprising in all this however, is that although the mX "news"paper has repeatedly hacked into Connex and their faulty Siemens trains on the front page, they've so far failed to make any Semen-related puns! It surely can't be because they haven't thought of any, but what other explanation can there be? Good taste? Ha! Did you hear of the recent competition where whoever drank the most water would win Nintendo's new gaming console, the Wii? One competitor, a mother of three young children, drank so much she died from water intoxication. The mX's headline for the story? 'Dying for a Wii'. I don't think taste factors too heavily in their decision-making process.

UPDATE 3: Wait, I've got it: a new ad campaign that's right up mX's alley and that'll win the masses back for Connex! You remember that bewildering campaign a while back that featured Harry Connick Jr looking surprised, horrified and stoned all in the one facial expression? It played tenuously on the similarity between Connick's and Connex, and had Harry mumbling something nonsensical about them naming the company after him.

Well, this time, when Harry's next over here on tour, we'll slide him a J, tell him his mum's just died, whack him in the head with a cricket bat, snap off a new set of photos, blow him up to poster-size and whack on the copy line:

"I heard someone talking about Connick's semen, and I thought I'd better check it out."

Gold! The public will be so busy dying with laughter, they'll completely forget their travel woes! It doesn't make much sense, but then the original campaign didn't make much sense either. Maybe I should pitch it to Cummins & Partners? Anyone else want to contribute to the brainstorm?

UPDATE 4: Look, I’m not imagining I flew out of left field on this one – the train was at the platform just waiting to be boarded – but as my “Harry Connex” comments were posted February 2nd and The Age’s high-brow gossip column, The Age Diary, published theirs on February 8th (see below), I was well and truly on the early train. :)


UPDATE 5: The train before mine was cancelled this morning, which means there’ll be an extra trainload of commuters trying desperately to squeeze into an already well-filled train. Fun for all. A few stations down the track, the livestock shuffled in, the doors slammed shut, but the train didn’t depart. Then it didn’t depart some more. And then some even more.

Eventually the driver wandered past, heading towards the rear of the train. After a few minutes he wandered back to the front.

We waited. Still nothing.

“If I spend much longer on this train,” someone said loudly, “I’m going to faint.” As if on cue, the driver came over the intercom to tell us that two passengers had done just that, but they’d been removed and an ambulance had been called, so we could be on our way. Although with a train this full, he continued, our way would be sloooow.

I wonder if once they’d recovered, the fainting people could’ve asked the ambos for a lift in to work? That’d be a real Express service.

Fly Byes.

A deadweight has been cut loose from around my neck and I’ve been set free; set free to fly.


I have been accruing wretched, bloody Fly Buys points since… glory, how long has it been? Well, since soon after the scheme’s inception in 1994, so 10 years, at least. Right from the start, a friend of mine who worked in Marketing at BP called Fly Buys, “the worst customer loyalty scheme in history.” As Fly Buys was linked to Shell, not BP, however, I assumed his was just a case of sour grapefruits, and kept on collecting those points anyway. I mean, I had to buy petrol, I had to buy groceries; why not get a little something extra for doing the things I had to do anyway?

The problem, of course, is that it takes more than the odd purchase of petrol and assorted food stuffs to collect enough points for even the smallest of shiny trinkets. It takes strategic purchasing and lifestyle alteration to get anywhere close, and with no credit card, no home loan, and no dupes to farm additional cards out to, I was left paddlin’ around in the shallows.

But I plugged away with my groceries, my petrol, and occasional BONUS! points from a triple-pack of chewing gum or whatever, only to discover several years into the scheme that Fly Buys points have a shelf life! Don’t cash them in within three years and, like your dreams for that ‘Kambrook Pancake Factory + Omlette Maker’, they disappear in a puff of smoke. You don’t just need to work hard, you need to work fast! I was trapped on a treadmill of insanity, frantically grabbing for new points while old ones flew out behind like a ticker-tape parade down Main Street.

I should have jumped there and then, but it was like being on hold for 20 minutes: If I’d known it was going to take this long, I wouldn’t have bothered, but now that I have, I can’t give up, because then it REALLY will have been for nothing. And if I’ve been at it this long, surely the end will come any second now… any second… five, four, three, two, one… and a half, one… damn it! Too late I realised my friend had been right all along, and every time I used my card I felt him and his beloved BP Bookmuncher floating just over my shoulder, shaking their heads in disappointment.

And then, out of the blue, Fly Buys sent me a second card that someone else could use, but that would be linked to my account. With duplicitous words and promises of untold riches I convinced Kate to join me, hoping that together we could knock this one over the fence. And we did actually manage to make some small headway, and so set ourselves the goal of gathering the 12,000 points required for a dozen bottles of wine, before getting out the scissors and calling it a day.

Fast-forward several lifetimes, and at last that great day arrived. The day we held in our trembling hands a Fly Buys statement with enough points for the Wyndham Estate Mixed Dozen! We simply could not believe this journey was about to end. And, of course, it wasn’t. The statement had arrived on the last day of the month, and 300 precious points were primed to be blasted into oblivion when the new month began. A loss that would take us just under the required number of points. “Quickly! Find the phone,” I bellowed. “Let’s cash these first-born in while there’s still time!” Which, of course, there wasn’t. It was now outside business hours, and the head-smashingly perky Fly Buys robot told me to call back tomorrow when the team would be delighted to assist me with my enquiry. “To the Internet!” I screamed. “There are no business hours on the Internet!” Which, of course, there are. And after logging in I discovered that not only had they shut down for the day, they’d also already stripped me of my 300 points although the current month had several hours to live! It seemed as though the excruciating journey would go on.

But then Bomber – who had recently brought his own drawn out Fly Buys saga to a 12 bottle conclusion – swept down like an angel of mercy and bestowed his wisdom upon me. While my 11,992 points was not enough for the Wyndham dozen, it was more than enough for the Cleanskin Dozen. “Cash ‘em in, and be done with it,” he ordered me, and I did. Twelve labels are not worth the grief.

And so, a new dawn. Yesterday, I filled up the car at whatever service station I happened to be driving past, handed over some cash, and walked the hell away. It was great. On my way home I also popped into whatever supermarket was convenient, which just so happened to be Coles. At the register, the checkout executive asked me if I had Fly Buys? “Certainly don’t,” I replied with a smile. “I’ve just set myself free from Fly Buys and ditched my card into the bin. It’s wonderful.” With an expression as bored as a plank of wood, she held my gaze for a second, before wordlessly turning back to her register to complete my transaction.

Oh well, I never expected everyone to share my excitement.

iWant.

Macworld 2007. The biggest event on the Apple calendar, and the long-rumoured iPhone has finally arrived. And it's so much more than just a phone: it’s “a revolutionary mobile phone, a widescreen iPod with touch controls, and a breakthrough Internet communications device with desktop-class email, web browsing, searching, and maps in one small and lightweight handheld device.” So good!


Jack Bauer will have to be getting himself one of these. Although ‘24’ switched most of their Macs to Dells after a couple of seasons, I don’t think it’ll be long until they’re back in the Apple camp and Jack’ll be screaming, “DOWNLOAD IT TO MY iPHONE! NOW” Although if it was a terrorist threat to Starbucks in San Francisco, he could handle it himself. Can’t believe we in Asia/Pacific will have to wait until 2008 to do the same. Though I guess that’ll be plenty of time for the US and European guinea pigs to iron out the bugs for us. Nice. :)

UPDATE: Watched the full keynote speech last night. Steve Jobs demoed the iPhone, and I've got to say it looks incredible. (Although technology writer Dan Warne raises some interesting points of concern in his article for APC magazine.) Also incredible was that Kate agreed to watch with me! No longer a thing of shame to be watched on your computer behind a closed bedroom door, the 'Stevenote' is out on the TV in the best room of the house where it belongs! Almost as amazing as the iPhone itself.

Oh, and also, please note that I titled this post 'iWant', not 'iNeed', demonstrating (I hope) that although my sense of perspective may be somewhat skewed at times, it's still mostly the right way round. Thanks. :)

UPDATE 2: Very funny ad for the iPhone from Late Night with Conan O'Brien. The same ad including Conan's intro is here.

UPDATE 3: Oh well, NBC have yoiked the Conan iPhone ad off YouTube as it was posted without permisson. Hmm, Conan the barbarian with an iPhone; now there's an image! Oh wait: the ad's back on YouTube! I wonder how long this one'll last?

UPDATE 4: Well, after a month of lawyers stamping around, locking horns and bashing heads, the winner in Apple v Cisco is... both of 'em! MacNN is reporting that an agreement has been reached, under which "...both companies are free to use the "iPhone" trademark on their products throughout the world." The terms of the agreement have been published here.

So, isn't that nice?! Apparently we can all just share the ball. :)

A Concise History of All Things FNO.

In the drab brown days before the birth of the Internet, we kids, just trying to survive the mean streets of outer-suburban Templestowe, were forced to make our own fun. Basketball was a favourite pastime, and the sort of fun that didn’t require a television and some fancy $300 gaming console; just a ball, a hoop, and a fancy $300 pair of shoes. Preferably Nike Air; preferably Air Jordans, but alright Ahab, if you want to wear your Agassi Air Techs, just this once. Only, pass the bucket; those fluorescent colours are making me feel ill.


The best place for basketball was on the outdoor courts of Templestowe Primary. Many a day was wiled away poundin' the asphalt, sippin’ the pines, makin' jump shots or, when vandals bent the rings down far enough, runnin' our own NBA-style dunk comp. During daylight saving hours, we’d be back up after dinner to keep playing until the setting sun sent us home. But where we always knew the sun would be there the following day, the same could not be said of our basketball rings. One day they were there...


...and then, like a set of rings taken down as a part of the staged demolition of a primary school because the kiddies of the area don’t need books and pens and ABCs they need netball courts, they were gone.


And so, like a two-headed chicken without any heads, we had an outdoor court without any rings, and a court with no rings was of as much use to us as eight netball courts.

So a new game was needed. A new game for a new landscape. As fortune would have it, two objects that were never in short supply were empty Pepsi Max bottles and, thanks to Stickboy’s love of sticks, sticks. Who knows how these things first occur, but presumably one day Stickboy idly swiped at an empty bottle, sending it skittling across the ground and lo, the New Game was born. Everyone scurried off to find their own stick, goals were established, a loose set of rules was determined, and the game was on.



So we had our game. Now all we needed was a name.

Around that time there was a familiar figure down at the Sheahans Rd Basketball Stadium called Ray Smith. Ray was an excitable parent who could frequently be heard exclaiming, “My Oath!” from the sidelines. “Great pass that one! My Oath!” would be typical. Cobbies quickly adopted the expression as his own, and it wasn’t long before the rest of us joined in. “My Oath” quickly evolved into “My Oath Ray Smith” as a tribute to the man, and became a general exclamation of approval or emphasis, to be delivered regularly with enthusiasm and conviction.

And then, into this storm of oathing rolled a rumbling, fuel-guzzling, V8 Holden Caprice named ‘FNO’.


FNO’s name came from the letters on its number plate which, to us, sounded like shorthand for a common Australian phrase. (If you’re unsure of the phrase, it’s one where the O stands for ‘oath’ and the FN stands for… um, ‘frenchconnection-ing’.) See also: ‘kenoath’. Inspired by this patriotic car, “FNOath!” (pronounced Efen-oath) soon became the emphatic oath of choice. And when this new Aussie game’s namestorming session kicked off, the question was asked if really this wasn’t just hockey, to which the reply came, “Mate, this isn’t just hockey! This is FNOckey!”

And lo, the name came to be.

Unfortunately though, FNOckey was a game not long for this world. The council, concerned it might be possible to have fun without netball courts, sent in the marines and bulldozed the FNOckey strip to hell. As the eight netball courts crashed down around our ears, we scarpered off to a nearby area known as The Birdbath. A small and open bricked square in the shape of circle, with a mosaic in its centre and benches around its perimeter, The Birdbath, oddly enough, features no birdbath. Historians will tell you, however, that before the great Vandal invasion of Templestowe there was indeed a lovely birdbath there, and that after its senseless destruction the name lived on in memorial.

Who knows how these things first occur, but presumably one day someone idly kicked at an empty plastic bottle, sending it skittling under one of the opposing benches and lo, another New Game was born.



As this new game bore some resemblance to soccer and was mostly just a variation on a theme, it was called FNOccer. The rules of FNOccer have never been written down; only passed on by word of mouth from generation to… other members of this generation. I’ve just tried to write them down, and I’ve given up. I think it’s a job for someone else. Writing rules requires a fluency in Legalese that I do not possess. This post is getting too long anyway. Suffice to say, FNOccer is a highly exciting game of tension and drama that is poised to take the world by storm, and if you’ve ever up for a kick, I’ll explain the rules then.

The game has not been played with regularity for some time, but there are whispers of the establishment of an Annual Birdbath Cup, so stay tuned! Unfit, rapidly ageing men kicking around an empty plastic bottle will no doubt make for compelling reading!

UPDATE: It happened! It's The Birdbath World Cup 2007.

FURTHER READING
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Stolp
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss
A Concise History of Super Slurpee Demolition Competition
A Very Concise History of the Milk Run