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

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.