Xmas is Over

For another year. Hooray!

Advantage Vintage

 
Trips away broaden one's experience and indeed for myself, broadening my anything is reason enough to flee SinCity.

Under cover of darkness, I propellered into the land of many berries last Friday. Making contact with Agent M who successfully identified herself using a clever double-bluff to throw off enemy agents (ie. looking like herself, waving at me as I entered the terminal, saying hello and administering a kiss and hug...... so obvious that they didn't look out for it!), we then mobilised into the night automobilically. Base station was ruther good so proclaimed a chap called Glen. My task for the weekend was to present a stunning display of knowledge shortcomings with regards to sophisticated fruit juice, cleverly disguised.

Tardyness is usually inexcusable, so it was with wonder that I entered the dining facility at our headquarters and was not pummeled with pies. Agent M, myself and the very patient pairing of agent J and agent L sat down (not in a coordinated way mind you, they had accomplished this task preceeding my arrival) to consume consumptables. I was introduced to a Ukrainian fowl who said very little but was butter for it. I occasionally peered up to make sure my face was not getting too close to the plate. Discussions were discussed regarding the next days discourse and we retired.

Agent M and I cohabitated the murder room, and I squeamed at the thought of ghostly visitations during the wee hours. Agent M made helpful suggestions along the lines of future murders if I continued to take discussions in paranormal directions and so I decided to simulate death for several hours.

After the following dawn (well after) and suitably breakfasted we made contact with the first of many local juice pimps. He conversed cordially with Agents M/J/L and politely veneered his detection of my ignorances the way one does with a helpless dunce. I delighted in tilting stemmed glasses into my face, usually when they contained an exalted beverage. I nodded when terms such as bouquet, nose, length, complexity, levels, notes, and vestibuliranariousness were bandied about. I later learnt that it had something to do with the stuff we were drinking. I grinned inanely and stroked the ever present cat. The process was repeated more than once as a repeated process frequently is. As I was in charge of turning the steering wheel in our automobiliousness transport I ensured all such grape juice that passed my lips was dissapointingly spat into a spitoon. Surprisingly, my shirt displayed no remnants of the exercise as I was expecting to look like a crazed butcher by the end of the day.

That evening we ensconsed at a local eatery... to eat. I ordered the calamari in a further attempt to disguise my ignorance of all things good. Presented before me on a plate the size of a viking shield were squidgy tubes filled with nutty niceness. I ate it, muffling my usual animalistic eating noises as we had company. To follow was a fist of honest red meat in the form of a fist of honest red meat and potatoes so wonderfully smoked I wondered if I was going to develop a habit that would need Nicola Roxon to legislate they only be sold in plain packages. I wanted to throw my eating utensils across the room and bury my face into the offering. Dessert was timed timidly and even someone like me with an underdeveloped sweet palate felt tooth decay was worth the experience.

The following day we continued the tour. I was an expert on cat stroking by then (but useless at wine comprehension) but nary a cat could be found. The tour ended at a chocolatarium where I drank iced coffee and an organic burger that tasted just as good as a real one. With the evening not too far away and many miles needing to be covered we bid farewell to Agents J/L who I believe were off to overthrow the bra canning industry and we began our journey home to the RBoO. Agent M proceeded to communicate with me primarily through the technique of singing along to her iphone which made the five and a half hour journey so much easier as it drowned out the noise of the trucks roaring alongside us.

Anyways, bottoms up !

Shawt

"Explain", enquired he, "What is meant by procrastinationary denialism?".

"Sha'n't", responded she, "Until perhaps tommorrow".

iBuy

Spotted in today's SMH, a full page advertisement by a certain tobacco giant. As a result of the federal government's decision to make it illegal for cigarette packaging to carry any sort of marketing attractiveness, understandably these companies that sell their awful product by means of hoodwinking their customers with fantasy are none to pleased. But the question is, do they have a very valid point?

Rightious attacks on cigarette companies is the easiest game in town. These organisations could not be less desirable to the vile middle class even if they were to hand their durrys out to children in school playgrounds. Politicians, always keen to make an easy score to balance out their other myriad inabilities, know a wounded prey when they smell it and have little hesitation simulating moral superiority for our viewing pleasure and hopefully some cheap votes when needed.

The art of marketing to me is utterly repulsive. A technique whereby the details and realities of a product or service are camoflaged by a shroud of falsehood and scam. Imagine how many McDonalds burgers would be sold if the only way they could promote them is by advising us of their existence and the ingredients. How many cars would Holden sell if they actually detailed the true cost and effort of owning one? Would Apple have sold millions of iPads without the annoying jingles and lineups outside their glass encrusted stores?

Branding in itself is considered a highly valuable intellectual property. It is here to stay and is considered a valid tool of commerce. The Australian government seems to be happy to allow some pretty awful products to continue their disgusting trade without interference in the use of branding and marketing. It is hypocrisy to single out the tobacco industry.

Alcoholic beverage industry, you're next!

Getting a "Bit"

Very recently, Agent M and myself have had cause to prop ourselves atop my brown leatherish couch to absorb screenings of a favourite comedy duo hailing from the British Isles. Entitled, "A Bit of Fry and Laurie" and even indicated as such with a quadruplette of dancing middle and index figures by the former, it has unleashed upon us a dowry of mirth, mayhem, and very silly foolish fun.

Unless one has committed their lives to drudgery and blandness, the elegantly mischievous wit of Stephen Fry would be well known. He is rarely far from our television screens, an oasis of pure entertainment in a media sea of rotting detritus. If one has committed their lives to drudgery and blandness, Hugh Laurie would certainly have been observed playing the lead role in an American medical drama that will remain unnamed here for fear of cracking my head open with a croquet mallet to induce blessed release from a world where one more medical TV drama pushes me o'er the brink. For shame, as Laurie is the equal of Fry in every way but height.

From the opening scene, a play on awfully overpriced and over-marketed bottled smells for dedicated non-thinkers (entitled "Protention - by Fry and Laurie) to the conclusive concocting of a cocktail for guests that include such ingredients as a litre of air, and a measure of fried water all mixed by a rollicking brass medley produced by Laurie without a brass razoo and hysterical gyrations by the tall frame of Fry, the viewer is treated to something that is laughably ridiculous. One thinks that these gentlemen enjoy casting off the shackles of intellectualism and behaving in a manner unbecoming of sensible souls. Being a fool can really be so much fun, and I hope to improve my proficiency in this area along with grumpiness as I age.

Such things are worth seeking.

Ban the Beret

If I had a choice of languages other than English to speak, French would be top of the list. I have a kind of affinity with France even though I have never set foot in the place. Perhaps it's the food or the wine, or our shared indifference for ignorant Americans, but it was with an overwhelming sense of disappointment to see the French government display an exhibition of such stupidity that it made the most boneheaded American tourist look like a goddammed genius.


In a triumph of arrogant conservatism over being human, the French government introduced some sort of law to ban the wearing of the burqa. It is mind boggling to think that a country capable of such good pastries can bring such foolish concepts into law. At a time when people of the Muslim faith are feeling ever more ostracized by the western world, leave it to the French to fuck it up even further.


To whit, I condemn this vile behaviour by introducing the "Ban the Beret" campaign. Until this ridiculous action is reversed no beret shall adorn my bonce. Who's with me?

B Times in B n B

An escape from ones home base is a healthy thing. And indeed can further the appreciation for ones base of operations. In case it's not known (and why should it be unless you were there) I was fortunate enough to dash off on a little journey south of SinCity under the guidance of Agent M, for the purposes of battery recharging via the consumption of good food and wine and enthusiastic conversing with exceptional souls.


Let me say that the heavens did open on occasion and did the ol' cats and dogs routine. Luckily, our temporary home was bereft of discomfort and many hours of reading newspapers, foodling, winering, and generally being in a pleasing environment were the result. Games were played, and needless to say my lack of competitive spirit had me at a disadvantage. The marjong was confusing, the charades was panic stricken (but I like being panicked it's true), and the scrabblation was beyond my feeble capacities and hence my seat was resigned to those with expert grasps on wordnessness. I preferred being roped into activities closer to my dreams.


The local beach was but a stroll away and we had a enough of a break in the weather to peruse. Agent M managed to convince a small rock crab to attack me with fury but I was talented enough to squeal in an ungainly fashion and leap to safety. That rock crab had little chance against my superior cowardice and scuttled away disgusted.


More excursionary activities are definitely planned.

Aerophilia

Aghast, once again struck by the ability of people to build things wonderous. Raw noise, many thousands of horsepower with not a horse in sight as this was no place for mortal creatures to exhibit. Avalon, not the beautiful song but the venue for many mechanical beasties that snub their metallic noses at gravitational concepts. I and senior familia were there for what is no less than a pilgrimage adopted every second year.


Oh yes, I indeed paid a degree of heed to such issues of carbon footprints and the perversion of drooling over machines of war, but I am satisfied in my weakness and not so naive to think that one turned head will change such matters. Along with thousand hundred others the indulgement was a festival of aerial speed, size and verbosity. We stood firmly upon the ground as the stars of the show did not. An orgy involving the conversion of avgas to action amid aerial exploits.


Will I return in another years two? Ofcourse.