Vanilla Brogues

Standing on the pavement, he looked forlornly at his left shoe and pondered its deterioration. It was made all the worse by the apparent good condition of the right. To make matters worse, a blob of his ice cream slipped from its perch atop a crispy cone and landed with a splattering upon the worn out toe. He thought, "I scream, but perhaps I should just shoe-oosh up".

Meanwhile, not very much was happening elsewhere.

Bestin & Edwina

Bestin Spequrious, a man of another time, found himself in the town centre awash with contradiction. To his left, he spied a curious woman wearing a frozen quail atop her head and reciting low quality prose. He grinned in a useless attempt to veneer his contempt that she was wearing an organic quail while his was merely "free range". Anyway, the day was growing increasingly less refrigerated and so he removed the deceased bird, constructed a sturdy boat from yesterday's newspaper and placing the increasingly pungent non-feathered creature upon it, placed it into the large duck pond to set sail. As it drifted away he threw coloured streamers and waved his handkerchief. Bystanders were surprisingly accepting of the situation.

Meanwhile, in the town of Greater Normalsville, a congregation of the people was taking place. For discussion was the issue of cactus, and it's role in the arctic regions of the Zambese corridor where the penguins roam. Edwina, third empress of Lexinbridge, wearing a black lace tablecloth with attached tea set was red faced and roaring. "You fools", she cried, "do you not know that the Zambese region is the last place on earth where one can find the peppercorn people, known far and wide for there dance of the eleven toes?". A murmur flowed through the crowd as this revelation changed opinions to that of a more sure-footed aspect.

Red Riverbank House

I have no idea why this fascinates me

...but it does.

Hi Ho Hi Ho, It's Off To Work I Go

Question. What makes a seemingly sane chap pass up a good 9 to 5 job to commence doing shift work on the same salary? Well, actually there are a few good answers to this and as yours truly has performed exactly this type of career metamorphosis, who better to spill the beans. 
Work and career has always been a fairly straightforward process for me. I've rarely concerned myself with seeking the "dream job", my calling that will allow a miraculous contribution to the universe. I never felt that was entirely necessary, instead believing that regardless of the job you have you should extract what you can from it and perform it as best you can. Do this, and you will enjoy your work. 

So, when the opportunity to make a change to shift work was set before me with new tasks and experiences to investigate, I couldn't hold back. Yes indeed the times I would require to be at work are a little odd, and it would cause some disruption to social and recreational opportunities. However sleeping late, not working on Mondays, going to the beach when others are at work, avoiding traffic, and being uninvited to the most boring and pointless meetings as they do not align with my roster are ample compensations. 

Just ask me again tomorrow when I start at 5AM.

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.

Satisfaction with Factions

‘Tseems I have struggled as of late keeping this here blog stocked with thought-flow. Pity, but bah phooey and who said that a blog needed constant entries anyhoo. My mind muddied with muddled thoughts perhaps a healthy evacuation of such onto this papier digitale may be of benificial brainage beautification.... hence:

I find myself in a peculiar place in life. Oh please, say they of lives more peculiar than mine, but indeed I find it peculiar all the same. First, since May my methode of employ and funding has progressed in two directions, namely slightly improved in dollars and cents wise, considerably improved, nay increased, in responsibilities and activity wise, and fucking o’er flowing in frustration.... wise. My gracious employer has never sparkled in the area of modern technology for the workplace, the bare minimum of rudimentary but reasonably workable IT tools have been furnished in the past and minor grumblings aside I always seemed to be able to press the buttons required to make things happen as required. Unfortunately, an ambitious and somewhat fuckwitted introduction of new systems has rendered my daily activities ridiculously difficult, complex, and bordering on impossible. Complaints are unwelcome to those who champion the new order and solutions will not be forthcoming while my derriere is pointing in a certain direction. Luckily, I have the incredible ability known as “Nary Giving a Fuck” and I bravely work on allowing the things that cannot be done to remain undone. Added to all this, the silly season that is the fault of celebrations related to the story of the miracle of a virgin birth is upon us and the work will soon become all that much harder.

Still in the workplace, I grow weary of the daily battle in a war not worth fighting with some of my occasional comrades. Arguing incoherently with me is like eating a lump of lard, pointless and leaves a bad taste in ones mouth. Some of our people do find themselves in a tough place at the moment, but they confuse me with somebody who has a responsibility to help them. My job is to make decisions that are rather ruthless in nature, and I am sooooo fucking good at it that it gives me energy. I dismiss dilly-dallying, sob stories, and people who think they know my job better than I do, but I wonder if secretly I actually enjoy pissing them off and observing the fits of fury. Is there some degree of masochism involved here, perhaps I subconsciously enjoy having abuse and mental degradation heaped upon me and just when they think I’m out for the count I rise up, kick them in the balls and deliver my own tirade. The workplace is indeed a terrible terrible place, but I’m thinking that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Home life is very subdued, mostly a lack of energy from the encounters above. But alas, a slowly percolating excitement is developing as my years of single living are in their final weeks. It’s a brave new world I embark towards with a wicked grin and understandable trepidation. Having known of her existence for a little over a year now, I have gradually identified her as one of the treasures of the trove and someone I have a desire to desire utterly. Certainly it is not without hurdles to be leaped, but bound together in a three legged race even I feel we shall soar.

Fatigue now descends upon me, so I shall rest.

There's Nothing Wrong with being Anon

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. - Oscar Wilde.

As an anonymous blogger (a lazy, inconsistent and infrequent one lately) this quote is just so true. I wonder why we feel so much more at ease with the truth when it cannot be directly connected to us by others?

A debate I heard a while ago about the blogging community was that anonymity presents the danger of the author not having to stand by what they are writing. This opens the door to all sorts of false and scandalous information that could lead the ignorant astray and damage reputations. Bah! Anyone who reads a blog (especially mine) and considers it a source of valuable information that they should base their own thoughts on has serious problems. People should understand that the written word is as corruptible as any other form of communication. Its dangers require at least two people, one to write it and one to read and believe it. Does not the reader need to accept some responsibility?

Oscar would have loved blogging. I wonder what he would have called his blog page? The Importance of being Scandalous? A Blog of no Importance?

Smile for the Camera.... Darlin'!

Oh dear, it seems I have been neglecting this blog something awful. Clearly my “one pic a day” plans have come a cropper, and hence will be now be referred to as “one pic whenever I get around to it” instead.

Today I read a small article that can be found on Adelaide’s “The Advertiser” website about the most recent victim of Channel 9’s practice of “boning” its female presenters. In case anyone is unsure, Channel 9 is a television station that broadcasts copious quantities of advertising for products no sane person could ever want (at least while they are legally entitled to button their own trousers) with the odd program of dubious entertainment or informative value thrown into the mix just to keep us from trading in our television sets for things we..... well, might actually find of use instead.

Anyways, I’m not here to pour scorn on channel 9, they gush it onto themselves readily enough, I instead wish to unleash my cynical bwahahahaha’s upon the recently boned Kellie Connolly who may just qualify for the “Hypocrite? Who? Me?” award for this year. Yes indeed it appears that Mrs. Connolly has been rocked to the core after being the latest casualty and is not too pleased about it. The pearly whites and the pleasant face it appears were not enough to save her from the chopping block, probably because some other unmarried, non-pregnant, white toothed glamour has joined the ranks and taken her place on the gravy train.... oh yeah and some shit about journalistic ability too, yada yada yada.

Is there a naivety inherent in the concept that if you score a gig on “A Current Affair” or one of the plague of morning breakfast television shows that ooze, puss-like, from the screen you got the gig due to journalistic credentials? ...... wow... ACA, morning breakfast television, and journalistic credentials all in one sentence. I feel sooooo dirty.

Kellie, you didn’t complain when they put you up in the apartment overlooking SinCity Harbour, you didn’t complain when they poured fucking stupid amounts of cash into your bank account. You had a damn good run in a game more crooked than a poker table on a Mississippi steamboat. You don’t now have a right to sully the strides made by the real feminists who are battling the real issues by jumping aboard a bandwagon and saying how appalled you are that it was all about teeth and tits. If your that good a journalist, pursue a career in the free press where there is some integrity, but little chance to attend the Logies underpantless I’m afraid.

The article can be found here.

The One Step

Braced in walking boots, I wrap my coat snugly about myself and elevate the zipper till it starts to pleasingly choke. The wind has a banshee roar about it and all exposed skin feels the tingle of frigid air. I can feel my nose turning red as my sinuses protest the chill.

The sun provides glare but nil warmth and the expanse of the moor soaks it in and expresses a deep yet rugged green. I walk and smile as each step produces a crunch upon the cold shale of the path. Peering to the distance I see the same as where I am, solidarity and remoteness without regret. Once again I step out of a life surrounded, uncaged and free to ramble. Directionless, wonderfully directionless and devoid of task or duty.

Energizing, revitalizing, replenishment of the zing thing. Never has it been so clear that I am in fact a battery and one that is charged by denial of the things I am supposed to be doing. These are the things that make up me, that may bother the other, but so be it.

Forward to the next village, the next stage where the show must go on. Fearless, but to be frank one must be frank. The great pleasure of diving back into the civilization and thumbing my nose at the apparent "opportunities". Some may hint at arrogance, fuck them, so how's that for arrogance?

A handful of cards, and I'm not the one who shall fold.

What's Dan Watching - Religulous

When one wishes to make a point of shooting fish in a barrel, the key I feel is in the way it is done. Today's fish in my little barrel is that of the worlds religions and the gunslinger is American standup comedian Bill Maher in the documentary "Religulous".

Much in the same genre as Michael Moore, this film is structured with a foundation of outright bias, builds it's walls to a conclusion that was already made before production even started and is roofed with a contempt for the rights of people to follow the faith of their choosing. Maher's treatment of people in the film is disgraceful at best, and the old trick of creative editing to make the participants appear ridiculous and foolish is crafted exquisitely. To argue that this kind of behaviour is necessary due to religion being the primary cause of the world's troubles to me wins the longbow award (as in the drawing of) and to suggest that because the scriptures of the religions have obvious inaccuracies it should render the respective faith null and void perhaps glosses over the point of religion entirely.

However, and here it comes, I liked it. There is no doubt that Maher has the supreme ability to deliver a message. Years of standup and television work have helped him develop his patter and showmanship. He correctly points out some of the flaws in the world's faiths, and the problems they are causing to at least some of their followers. This is an intelligent man who is doing the thing that we all need to do, express our concerns.

I may not be a religious man myself, but I pray we may all be able to continue to follow our faiths or not as we see fit.

An Image per Day #4 #5 #6 #7

An Image per Day #3

An Image per Day #2