Pay your Martians

I just had to comment on this.

It seems that something or someone is cleaning the solar panels on the Mars Rover when they shut it down at night.

I’ve got a picture in my head of some poor sap standing next to the Rover, soapy squeegee dripping in one hand, the other hand extended for payment, nervously glancing at the traffic lights just in case they change.

Because if NASA could spend billions of dollars in sending remote control toys into space, surely they could’ve packed on some “quarters” to tip the cleaners. But they’re probably just gonna drive off without paying.

Jerks.

Obligatory Christmas Comment

Yep, it’s that time of the year. Like a Credit Vampire, Christmas rolls around with the sole intent of sucking every last resource from your pocket.

I think every man, woman and dog has as some point or other objected to the commercialisation of Christmas, but I don’t look upon the season with that much derision, aside from the aforementioned seasonal Nosferatu. The reason I don’t criticise the Christmas season is because of my absolute terror.

Christmas often develops attributes that are not normally exercised during the course of the year. The gift that Christmas gives is that it grants everyone superhuman powers.

Where else must you use the great powers of Extra Sensory Perception to determine what exactly everyone wants for Christmas? Not birthdays, as you only have to buy for the one person. There always seems to be the case in where you have to buy a present for one person or couple that has absolutely everything, and couldn’t possibly want more. Who would’ve guessed that socks were “just the thing” they were looking for? Where else do you manage to find the perfect present for upwards of ten people, and still manage to cram it all on a budget limit that matches the GDP of a small country. Yes, Christmas brings forth powers beyond that of mere mortals.

Where else would you exercise the steely determination to tolerate the thousands of people who crush into department stores, trying to find that elusive wallet or fragrance? People freak out at rock concerts, and others get symptoms of claustrophobia in toilet cubicles. These situations pale when compared to the masse of mad mothers with Tourette’s Syndrome that is typical of this season. During any time of the year, you would snot these people on the nose, but during Christmas it is different. To every kick to the shin, to every item plucked out of your hand by a desperate father, to every toe that is run over by a two tonne shopping trolley, you just exchange a knowing smile with your assailant and continue with your task.

Where else would you exercise the tolerance at receiving yet another fucking tie? “Why thank you, “ You say with a Cheshire cat grin, “I needed one of those!” Amazing that you can pull this face off, even when the voices in the back of your brain are instructing you to use said present as a garrotte.

Where else do you exercise the Oscar worthy acting ability to maintain an air of excitement about the season, just to satisfy little children who are infused with yuletide atmosphere hyperactivity? These are children who can perceive any façade, know if you’re not entirely enthused, and subsequently get upset due to your lack of commitment. Hell hath no fury like a five year old that senses that you don’t believe in Santa Claus.

What other time of the year would convince you that taking your holidays to go spend it with one hundred thousand other like minded families with rotten kids would be a fantastic idea? Normally people go away on trips to have some quiet time alone, but during this period, somehow fail to realise that whole cities migrate to rural areas to ponce about in their hoity-toity four wheel drives, or SUV’s (whatever want to call them). What other time of the year convinces you that taking a holiday with enough people to sink the Titanic is relaxing, and worthwhile?

So, in summary…

I don’t fuck with Christmas. It has eerie powers.

Untraining the "More Is More" Thinking

This entry initially started out as a bit of a whine about how I have to leave my workplace to go to my substantive job... but then I realised something.

I looked back at a previous entry in where I criticise someone for not appreciating something when they have it, and are quick to mourn the loss of said thing. I guess it is the norm rather than the exception that people will take things for granted, and that nothing is truly appreciated until it is taken away.

So, I guess that rather than lamenting the slight inconvenience of having to change workplaces involuntarily, I should really take my own damn words, and appreciate what I have.

I have a good job. Maybe not as good as I’d like, but it’s still a job. A lot of people don’t have that.

I have a wife. Sure, she’s not perfect, but I don’t feel like I can criticise that, as I know that I’m far from a perfect husband. Besides, most of the blogs I read pertain to the lack of a love life, and the writer’s seemingly endless wander through the wilderness of singlehood, so I guess I should be grateful that I’ve found someone so early in my life.

I have a roof over my head. Although this said roof may be mostly in the possession of the bank at the moment (ie mortgage), it is still more than what some people have. In this current economic climate, and with house prices at a stupid level across the country, I should think that I am lucky that I got this house early enough to avoid the property boom of the early 2k’s.

The only mouths I have to feed are mine, and my wife’s. No dependents equal independence. I should be thankful that I don’t have to sacrifice 20 to 30 years of my life to the gamble that is raising offspring.

Yet.

People don’t comment on this blog, either due to the fact that I don’t know that many people online, or because I don’t mention anything postworthy. Probably both. Anyway, the fact is that I have access to blog, and that being able to express these thoughts across the globe is a luxury that a fair whack of the world couldn’t partake in.

It seems to be norm that people always want more, no matter how much they have. I admit to being guilty of subscribing to this philosophy. I am not sure where I go from here, as I cannot easily break out of this method of thinking. It is ingrained in my mind that life is a race in where the winner is not the person who crosses the finish line first, but the participant who runs a better race, finishes with the most things, most friends and most respect.

How do I untrain this mind? Surely preaching on the internet isn’t a good way to start.

Maybe a coffee is a good idea – If all else fails, rely on your vices.

Affront Page

Two posts in a day? Well, stuff is happening...

Sharks have been featuring heavily in our paper lately. This is obviously due to the tragic event last week.

At the moment my ire is currently torn between the girl on the front page on Sunday, and the paper that actually whacked her on there in the first place.

Now, it was a tragic event, having someone taken from you in such traumatising circumstances, and I am sure the paper likes to report upsetting stories as a means of “informing the populace”. Yes, I am sure that speaking to the girlfriend of the victim does warrant some relevance.

I’m sure she mourns for him, however being a girlfriend for five weeks does not necessarily suggest that these two were exactly soul mates. I dunno, maybe they were. But being smack bang on the front page with the title of “Lost Love” seems a little bit sensationalist to me.

The story doesn’t really indicate that these two love birds had made plans together; in fact the victim seemed more keen on going surfing with his mates down the coast. The article doesn’t indicate whether this ailing, suffering soul-mate was actually going along with him.

Basically, I’m sure that there is pain there, as there would be if you lost anyone you knew. But having her on the front page of the paper smacks of either enthusiastic, exaggerating media types trying to sell papers, or some girl who wants her mug on the rag.

I’ll assume the former, because I know their track record.

What other news happened that day? Lets have a look. Oh, look. There was a dawn raid on a Pakistani family who face deportment. They were shifted from their house at 7am and moved to Port Augusta, which is 4 hours away. Wow.

I feel a bit insulted if a paper believes that I would buy a paper because of one girl’s pain for the loss of her “boyfriend”, over the authorities’ uprooting of an entire family, based upon their nationality and the possible psychological damage it is doing to their children.

But I guess that issue is so 2001.

And here I was thinking that the front page was for “important” news. How idealistic of me.

Oh... and my wife said that she noticed the paper having a fish markets advert on the same page as the shark attack coverage. That was a little... er... ominous? Tasteless? Ironic? I dunno.

Suggestions "P" me off

Truth be told, I’m not the hugest fan of P platers of late. Not so much about how they’re driving, but it is what they’re driving. It shits me that some of these young-uns get to drive these nice and powerful cars, however my insurance company won’t let me touch one, even if I beg profusely and offer to “be their friend”.

But enough about my pending midlife crisis.

I just love subtle barbs.

A news story today outlines a crash in Sydney which took the lives of two people. It just so happens that these two people were driving some high powered sports cars, and are suspected to have been participating in an illegal street race.

But one sentence has pissed me off. If you look early in the piece, it reads, “Eerily resembling the recent spate of fatal crash scenes involving P-plate drivers”.

Normally I wouldn’t take issue with such a throwaway statement, but when there has been so much press into how to stop P platers from committing inadvertent mass suicide on the roads, I think that this comment was uncalled for.

Because in this instance, the driver was fully licensed. Well, the article doesn't indicate that they were a P plater at least. I think it's safe to assume that they were fully licensed.

Now, one crash doesn’t necessarily equate to a “trend”, but likening a crash like this, which didn’t involve P platers, to crashes that actually do involve P plate drivers seems to me just flagrant, old fashioned “blowing out of proportion”, even if it is in a relative subtle manner.

The mere mention of P platers in the article implies to me that the writer was only seeking a reaction. And not a reaction that befitted the actual event.

My opinion on the matter of kids in high powered cars, however, isn’t in the scope of this entry.

This entry is about how this article allowed conjecture to set the tone, instead of simply reporting the facts, and in one sentence seemingly tries to dislodge a keystone to cause an avalanche of protests from vocal minority groups against kids in high performance cars. I can just imagine the right wing talk shows having a field day with this issue.

In fact, after reading the article a number of times since beginning this entry, I cannot determine who was driving what. Maybe other people can make it out. Maybe I’m just too blind with rage.

But, having finished reading this article, I am interested in discovering how many fatalities were on Australian roads this year, and what percentage was P or L platers. I’m sure they’ve run a story on this before, but I wouldn’t mind reading it again.

Because it seems that it is not only P platers who kill themselves in high powered cars. I know many older and mature people who don’t have control over their midlife-crisis-mobile.

But I guess they’re different. Because they’re not young...

Moron Magnet

My wife locked horns with her sister’s boyfriend on the weekend. For the sake of anonymity, let’s call him “The Fuckwit With No Sense Of Right And/Or Wrong”, or TFWNSORAOR for short.

From that, I think she learned a valuable lesson: Do not argue with idiots, as they only drag you down to their level and beat you at their own game.

Or they beat you with experience... whatever. Either way, this bloke can use the most fragmented of logic to argue a point.

And to TFWNSORAOR’s credit, he is really, really good at it.

Who else could try to crack onto my wife, attack me after I caught him red-handed (and before he forced himself onto my wife), blame his actions on alcohol, pledge to give up alcohol, get stupidly drunk the following weekend, and then wonder why we haven’t “gotten over” what he’s done?

He puts on a marvellous display of misdirection, as he tries fervently to climb atop the moral high-ground in order to justify his behaviour. He cites previous occasions in where I somehow lied to him, hoping to get me to argue back on that topic, and eventually causing me to lose sight of what we were actually arguing about in the first place. Or he uses the fact that I decked him as some reasoning that I’m no better than him.

He uses a “get over it” adage to assert that he can go on with life, and is therefore somehow a superior human being, and that somehow our holding resentment towards him and his actions is trapping us in the past and makes us lesser people.

It is the way that he says this with such conviction, that you honestly believe that he has a point. You somehow feel like you’re at fault, as though you have no right to administer this level of scorn upon his poor psyche.

But then you realise that this argument wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for his actions.

Honestly, dear reader, if you performed an act that hurt someone, would you take some steps to rectify the situation? If alcohol was a contributing factor to your bad behaviour, would you try to reduce your excessive consumption of liquor?

I mean, I wouldn’t expect someone to go dry for the rest of their lives, but at least I’d expect them to exercise some level of self control, especially if they cite alcohol as the major factor behind their obnoxious attitudes and sleazy deeds.

That is... if they honestly believed that their behaviour was wrong, which in the case of my sister-in-law’s boyfriend, I think he doesn’t.

Or, if they actually respected the people to whom they did their terrible deeds, which in his case, I don’t think he does.

I fear for my sister-in-law, as she is obviously under the sway of this manipulative, conniving and calculating prick. She happily accepts that his unfaithfulness (my wife isn’t the first person he has tried this on) is brought about by his alcohol abuse, and that it is “the way he is”.

“The way he is”. Oh how I never tire of hearing this excuse. I like the idea that all our actions should somehow be accepted due to our personality quirks, or our ingrained behaviours. On an exaggerated level, this is the reasoning that would allow Martin Bryant to roam the streets, shooting whoever he feels like.

My wife tried to argue that if I was to try to crack onto TFWNSORAOR’s girlfriend (ie my sister-in-law), then TFWNSORAOR wouldn’t be so keen to “get over it”, to which he replied that “[Aph] and I are different people...”

You gotta love that. Because I’m a decent person, I’m not allowed to do indecent things. Heaven forbid that in a moment of drunkenness, I turned around and punched this guy in the face (again), that I cannot lay the blame with my personality. Therefore, I must be chided for acting out of the character set by the guidelines of TFWNSORAOR.

I love a nice hypocrisy. It’s a pleasant reminder that despite all the intelligent people in the world, life will almost always be affected by vocal yet narrow-minded fuckheads.

I seem to be a moron-magnet.

Murphy was an Optimist

The interview went well, despite the fact some malicious force within the universe was conspiring evilly to ensure my downfall.

The presentation I was to give simply would not save to the USB flash card I had. After a colleague found a card that worked, I tried to email the presentation to him so that he could save it to the card. Unfortunately the work email servers had decided to take an early Christmas drinks session and were stumbling around the server room and crashing into each other, before laughing hysterically at the poor, urgent email I was trying to send on.

I decided to then burn the presentation onto a CD. No problems there. Worked fine. After stopping at every single traffic light on the way to the interview, and scraping in just as the panel chair was coming out to fetch me, I meet the rest of the six person panel.

I set up my presentation, hand out the… handouts, and commence talking. I got maybe 2 minutes into my presentation when I realised that I had burned onto the CD the wrong version of the presentation (ie an earlier version). I could feel the colour drain from my face. After a slight moment, I threw my notes onto the table and commenced what is commonly known as “winging it”.

I surprised myself. I would click, wait for something to appear on the screen and then waffle on endlessly about whatever appeared, somehow managing to mine away at the corners of my brain to recover information I thought was buried forever.

Although the presentation finished somewhat early, I still had the panel nodding and smiling.

Now… a little background. When applying for a state government job, you must address criteria outlined in a Job and Person specification (J&P). The panel also uses this J&P to form their interview questions to applications. I read over the J&P earlier to try and anticipate some possible questions. I had prepared handouts based on my technical expertise, my ability with IT and my writing skills, as I figured that these things might be useful for a web administrator. I didn’t regard the criteria of “being able to work in a team” and “able to liaise with clients of diverse backgrounds” as very important, as they sounded relatively generic.

Guess what two questions they asked? Yep, ones addressing these criteria.

Again, “winging it” was required, and I think I performed well under the pressure.

At the end of the interview, I was asked if I had anything more to add, to which I presented their shoddy letter with all my red pen corrections splashed across the paper like blood over a sacrificial carcass. The inquisitive looks I got were more of confusion than scorn. I outlined that it was an example of my “attention to detail and strict attitude toward professionalism”, and they nodded approvingly.

This confused me. But, after much thought, I concluded that sarcasm was dead.

Anyway, since the interview and my writing this entry, my referees have been contacted, asking about my ability. This is a sign that I have a good chance at getting the job, and that there are probably one or two people I’m up against.

I’d love to say that I’m hopeful about getting this job, but the truth extinguishes this somewhat. This job would only be a stop-gap measure until I land the ultimate job that I want. Something to keep paying the bills. Something to do between 9 and 5 each day.

It is a job in where, if you’re not careful, you blink and you’ll somehow turn 35 years old, with knowledge that you still haven’t achieved anything.

My manager just walked by to say they’ve called again with more questions. It must be a close call.

(see title)

I think Homer Simpson said it best when he said (and I might be paraphrasing a bit here), “No matter how good you are at something, there are always a million people better than you.”

So, when travelling down the highway of Existence, you must be mindful that when you decide to overtake other motorists of Life, there is the chance that someone will have a faster, more powerful car of Opportunity, who will leave you choking on their Success smoke. The trick is to ensure that you keep your eyes on the Life road, or else you may find yourself crashing into the oncoming car of Depression, or into the ditch of Cynicism, and ultimately inhaling the airbag of Therapy.

This isn’t exactly a new revelation for me, in fact, I’ve known this fact for about 10 years, having being beaten at various sports, outclassed in academic pursuits, and looked over for promotions. I guess I’ve had a slightly humbling experience that simply reasserts this notion.

But I’m hardly depressed about it. In fact, my mood seems to be of relative indifference.

I have come to terms with my general mediocrity, and subsequently don’t often lament my failures. However, this hasn’t come at the expense of my determination to succeed, as I’ve also found that success is largely determined by one’s ability to bullshit effectively before then coping with the ensuing expectations. That’s what I believe is Adaptability.

So, I applied for a job, which in turn received 50 other applications. Out of those 50 applications, there were at least 12 people who were better than me (I was short listed to a final 12, according to the panel chair), either through experience, qualification or bullshit factor. Whilst I would love to assume the third, I cannot discount the fact that there is quite a good chance that I simply wasn’t as good as the other applicants.

To also lay blame to the “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know” phenomenon is extremely cynical, and ultimately not a beneficial state of mind.

Because to blame any favouritism towards all the other money grubbing, under-talented, thesaurus wielding, opinion regurgitating, humourless, self indulgent, self promoting, two-faced, academic-but-stupidly-naive, pop influenced, Friends wannabe, bright eyed and bushy tailed, young, bad smelling poo-poo heads seems… too easy.

Note: Whilst I did say that I was largely indifferent… I never claimed to be above name-calling. You can be indifferent and immature at the same time, can’t you?

But after watching television, listening to radio, and reading the newspaper it seems that mediocrity isn’t something that should be ignored, but rather applauded. The abundance of reality TV shows, and the subsequent (although perhaps short term) success of the participants in obtaining positions of import is testament to people’s ability to accept everyday Joes into responsible positions normally reserved for people with... well... talent.

So, I must take my mediocrity and find a niche in where is it most appreciated and people have the tolerance to accept it.

Until I find out where that is, I’ll blog...

Find out what it means to me

A slight change of tack today.

There are times when someone admits to themselves, “Well, fuck me. I’ve been wrong all this time”. Today, the person undergoing this WFM moment is I.

Respect is earned. I doubt there is anyone out there who would disagree with that statement. But for some time now, it was my belief that whilst many would preach respect, none would actually value the word. Respect was a façade, a mural displayed until an individual’s goals or aspirations were impeded, in which case tactics involving cloaks and daggers were employed.

Hence, disrespect is shown. I had seen this happen often enough to believe that the word respect was an antiquated notion.

This opinion of mine stood until last night, when I attended a formal dinner to celebrate the birthday of the 34th Soke (Grand Master), Masaaki Hatsumi. But it wasn’t the man being honoured that caused my opinion to sway.

It was the Shihan (Master Instructor). He is an imposing figure, seemingly standing an extra two feet over my wiry, six foot frame; his stature and build a testament to his life of discipline and training. But, as intimidating as this man appears, it is not a sense of wonder that causes everyone around him to bend and hang on his every word. Whenever he stood or spoke, everyone would turn to him and the overall feeling in the room would become one of total and complete respect. No one dared interrupt him, no one stood in his way. Glasses were raised, and ovations were given at the mention of his name. Even when he uttered a quip that was only slightly amusing, the room would burst out with belly laughs you would associate with the wit and genius of Oscar Wilde.

It is difficult to place an exact reason why, but the fact remains that this man is just so damn respectable. It seems somewhat derisory to suggest that this respectability stems from some “gift” that he holds – in that some people are respectable, and other’s aren’t – but I think that it is a factor, compounded by the amount of sacrifice, hard work and effort that he has made to further his art in our country.

That, and maybe the knowledge that he could snap you like a dead tree branch if he ever felt the need.

It is amazing what an effect that respect has on people, when it is valued. Respected people have this magnetism about them that draws people in. People are always courteous, perhaps hoping that to show some measure of respect will somehow return a similar amount of “Respect Reciprocation”. I must admit to being one of these people. In retrospect I hate the fact that I was so easily manipulated by such a rudimentary sense of awe, but I don’t think that it was something that I could willingly control and overcome. I was an unaware puppet of an involuntary puppet master.

It has been said that when Bill Clinton speaks to you personally, a certain sense of warmth exudes from him, as though you are the only person on earth. I think this is similar to the “gift” I wrote about earlier.

Perhaps some of it resides in the powerlessness you feel around these people. No matter what phrase comes out of your mouth; it somehow insults their obviously superior intelligence. No matter what tale you regale, it pales in comparison to what they’ve achieved over their life. No matter how good you are at the subject they teach, your ability will never surpass theirs.

Anyway, going back to my main point. I no longer think that respect is an antiquated notion. I now know that no amount of showing other people respect is going to earn any respect – in fact quite the opposite. Yes, respect must be earned, but not through trying to impress other people. In order to be respected, hard work is required. Hard work at a passion; an individual passion. Doing hard work for others is pointless, as generosity is often taken for granted, and soon becomes an expected practice.

I am saddened to think that it has taken me 26 years to find this out.

Furthermore, I am saddened by my belief that in order to be respected, I must have enough ability to win awards and travel the world on someone else’s dollar/yen/lira, like the Shihan outlined in this entry.

Either that, or I must become “Leader of the Free World”.

Ultimately I am saddened by the fact that a simple handshake with one man has inspired a 700-odd word gush, emphasising the fact that I am an involuntary marionette at the beck and call of anyone with this theoretical gift.

And if does come down to this “gift”, then perhaps some of us will have to accept that true respect is something that is, and will always be, just that little bit out of reach.

Forks n' Freedom

This amused me. It’s amazing what makes news these days.

An article printed in the paper indicated that a study conducted at the recent “User Experience 20045 [sic] seminar” indicated that 95% of Internet users reacted negatively to pop-up adverts, ones that flash excessively, and/or make annoying noises.

Next week, on Aphertiser: Results on the study into whether Internet users like having their eyes dug out with rusty forks. It is anticipated that subjects will exhibit similar negative behaviour to those experienced in the study outlined above.

Moving along from my usual paperbashing, I was on my way into work this morning, when I noticed some graffiti. Note, I don’t often notice graffiti, as I find staring at walls on my way to work rather pointless. I do enough wall-staring when I actually GET to work. But that’s another story.

This graffiti simply read: “Freedom is dead!” Despite my initial shock of the words actually being spelt correctly and being somewhat legible, I did actually stop to ponder over said declaration.

I cannot say for sure what exactly was the inspiration for this piece, whether it was some recent events, or those obvious ones from 2001. Yet, I can’t help but feel that this graffiti wouldn’t have been inspired had the author of said piece appreciated freedom’s existence beforehand. Maybe the perceived absence of freedom today wouldn’t have been so hard to fathom, and that defacement of public property wouldn’t have been warranted.

As succinct and to the point the piece was…

After further consider, the accuracy of the statement seems to be subjective depending on who you are. For instance:

Most people: “Freedom died after September 11”

Cynics: “Freedom was an illusion, and has never existed.”

Veterans: “You wouldn’t have known Freedom if it wasn’t for us.”

Academics: “Just what IS freedom? Define it.”

John Howard: “Freedom won’t die whilst I’m in power, but surely will under Labor. Is this an election year?”

George W Bush: “Freedom is alive and well, and under our guard at an undisclosed location. We’ll let them out when we think we’ve finished our job.”

Comedians: “Probably died whilst waiting for Sally Robinson to show up for their date. Wait, who’s the flavour of the month now?”

Asylum seekers: “Ffffffreeee… dom…?”

As for where I fit, well... I don’t believe that freedom is dead, but perhaps it’s a little ill. But, this illness won’t go away if there is some perception that insidious characters in dark corners have somehow multiplied. The simple attitude that freedom is dead is more fatal to this liberty than any other scapegoat that the media throws at us.

On that note, I need some volunteers... preferably owning their own rusty forks.

Only ‘cos we said…

This is just a light hearted observation…

I love reading the paper’s opinion columnists. More for the sheer spectacle of watching someone make a thriving living off stating the bleeding obvious. However, sometimes you can't help but feel a bit confused.

Recently one of these opinion columns I read over outlined the author’s disdain for breeding a society of dobbers as a result of the government’s campaign against insurance fraud. The author tiptoed along a fence bordering moral obligation and ruff n’ tumble aussie larrikinism, before plummeting over the redneck side of the threshold, and launching his scorn on reasons that dobbing isn’t necessarily the Australian way.

He makes a compelling point, by drawing parallels between reporting fraudsters being akin to dobbing in Ned Kelly because you know where he is hiding.

However, the link seems somewhat dubious as Ned Kelly was effectively rebelling against oppressive and extremely violent law enforcement, and the domineering powers that be. The idea that insurance companies go around knocking on people’s doors and asking them, “Do you mind renewing your annual policy, and whilst you forage for the dough do you also mind if we rape your mother and sisters and then shoot your dog?” seems somewhat doubtful. In fact, the last time I checked, the only thing that came close to a threat from insurance companies was the "Pay By" date in the corner of my renewal form. But even then, at least they had the decency to print “Thank You” at the bottom. It can hardly be perceived as oppressive, can it?

If this paper is so averse to dobbing people in, then I guess I’ll admit to being somewhat perplexed. I vaguely remember this paper printing stories some time ago about how rowdy schoolies kept residents awake until the small hours, and how these residents complained to police. The story was predominantly sympathetic to the residents’ point of view.

You may find my link between these two somewhat tenuous (not unlike the dubious one above), but I seem to read “Run to the authorities, but only if you’ve got a worthy reason that ties in with our individual opinion at the time” in between the lines here.

So, according to this paper, it is okay for people to dob in a number of underage drinkers to the police on the sole basis that they’re acting like a bunch of teenagers (which, funnily enough, they are), but to dob in the shifty guy next door who is loading up the heavy surfboard on the top of his newly purchased Land Rover, after he got a $100,000 payout for “injuring” his back, is somehow un-Australian.

I’d be interested to see if this particular columnist still “prefers a society of scallywags and rogues to a society of dobbers (excerpt from column)” the next time some rowdy teenage revellers disrupt his evening kip.

Or is this publication somehow advocating that ripping off large faceless corporations is somehow less of a crime than, say, petty vandalism and excessive noise? If this is the case, I’ll grab my large Hessian bag, a pointy stick and waltz on down to the offices of Microsoft, taking care to not wake their senior staff, and minding that I don’t inadvertently scratch their property.

Beginning with one step

As with any journey, it all begins with a single step. After that it is a case of subsequent single steps until the brain decides that it can't take any more steps, and forces the body to stop at the nearest cafe for a latte and a sit-down.

And torturing metaphors in this manner will probably be a running theme for this particular blog.

In short, I'll initially be using this thing to define what exactly has piqued my curiosity recently, and will probably slowly descend into a tirade of soapbox standing, what-is-wrong-with-everyone-but-me cynicism after about ten entries. Eventually, it may die off... but at least I've had a vent in the meantime, which I am sure is quite healthy, psychologically.

But first, lets explain some things. My username, Aphertiser. Well, the username "Aph" was already being used by another blogger. The letters APH are, incidentally, my initials. The "ertiser" was ripped from the name of the local news rag, and seemed to flow well on then end of my initials. Locals will know the paper I'm referring to.

As for the title of "Celebrating mediocrity", well again I will refer to the local newspaper. I guess it really does sum up my opinion of said publication quite well. As the only newspaper in this city, it enjoys a monopoly over public opinion, which probably wouldn't be so bad if it did not employ fundamental, right-wing, talentless, single-minded, single-sided, sensationalist journos.

Sadly, it does.

Having said that, there are SOME members of the editorial staff that can write the occasional interesting article, but sadly they seem to be the minority.

The rest of the time, the people of this town are fed minute doses of facts, blended with conjecture that would make a tabloid appear ethically apt, and iced with interviews of selfish, ill-informed members of the public.

So, it is my opinion that this rag - and I guess the local media in general - are a celebration of mediocrity, which is impeding the flow of accurate, unbiased information onto its audience.

Oh... and I also think that this blog's mere existance could be classed as a celebration of mediocrity, considering this author's unproven ability. So whilst it may be hypocritical of me to denounce one medium's quality when yours truly cannot hold anyone's interest for more than five minutes (and I applaud the reader who has gotten this far), but note that I never claimed to assuming some form of professional high-ground.

I am only a young, twenty-something male, and I have an opinion. That's all.

I will end this entry here, I think. I don't wish to exhaust most of my material in the space of one entry. Besides, the horse I rode in on is hungry, and must be fed.