90 days of Hell(now rebranded as Metro)

So the new stationmasters have stepped in to the boots that Connex left with much fanfare, flashy lights and other such media releases. Much hullabaloo is also being made about the fact that nothing seems to be changing and that a few days in we should nail them to a cross and dancing around with pitchforks.

I’m holding my judgement for now.

The new breed of owners who’s new ‘original’ name is Metro have already started by stomping all over whatever respectability ‘Connex’ had by decrying the lack of service for the trains, the fact that parts are missing and that they are not ‘Connex’.
Now I know, that every media outlet has been banging on about the fact that out of 3000 + members of the company only about 20 people right up the top have moved onto another job at another place (most likely with a good send off with a banquet and all) but I think it needs to be absolutely clear on this.

Trains are identical - Check
Tracks are identical – Check
Staff are still wearing the badly fitting overcoats – Check
Control System is still identical – Check
MX still handed out haphazardly at stations – Check
Occasional spin still sent out by Transport Minister – Check
Transit Authority still informing us that it won’t be fixed overnight –Check

It doesn't seem that different to me personally. But on that last point is where I start to get a little annoyed. We just went out to the world to look for the people who are prepared to offer us the method to turn our ailing system around and they haven’t completed it already?
I don’t care if the infrastructure is so bad we might as well wrap it all up in Gaffer tape or that every train is sticking together entirely based on the belief held by Lynne Kosky in flying pigs but they should be able to fix this thing quick smart. Considering how long and arduous this tender process was I can’ think why we didn’t get a team who promised converting lead into gold, water into wine and bus stops into nightclubs, all in the first night.
I have noticed a few new changes though already, apart from the occasional new executive laughing uproariously from the Metro head office. As one of the new changes is for more information on announcements, I presume Commuters will now get a clipped female reading full romantic history of all trains should any of them need a mental fatigue day. Granted it will tell us what actually happened but it will be dull and boring but wouldn’t it be better to have a droll sarcastic voice yelling out obscenities to help the commuters at least know it annoys the operators and workers just as much them.

Still I’ll give them 90 days(28 Feb 2010) before I properly yell and abuse them. I don’t know why but I would actually like them to get the system working to cover the 600,000 people who travel daily. And if they need it, I’m more than happy to yell obscenities over the loudspeaker instead of the current announcements.

Helpfulness-ness

I had the chance this morning to help a bewildered visitor to Melbourne town who was trying to get to RMIT from the corner of Elizabeth and Collins. Now for all the non Melbournites out there, this kind of direction is quite simplistic and helped me feel good about myself for the next hundred meters or so till I started dodging trams jaywalking on Bourke St.


The man, of unknown overseas origin, wandered on his way happily hoping that he was one step closer to his destination than he had been when standing on our meeting corner. And I can't recommend enough that you ensure these tourists, visitors, new residents, interlopers or otherwise time travellers do get the assistance that they are asking for.

It may be a little far to run ahead of him and drop bread crumbs or pay a skywriter to lead them towards there intended goal but it does give you a good kick to make people feel a little better.
Now, I know you can all see this as self congratulatory but this should lead to an obvious conclusion.

People need to help people out.

Well, I don't think that was that much of a revelation but maybe, just maybe if you're feeling a little down you should go out and find someone who is incompetently trying to parallel park their scooter and assist them (without appearing to actually steal the scooter).

Heck, this should be naturally for everyone to assist any stranger, who happens to walk by, across a pedestrian crossing regardless if they want to cross or not. Why not wait half an hour to merge onto a freeway letting everyone else past first, you'll feel 189.3% better than you had earlier in the day(figure not yet proven)

But lastly, if you want to truly help someone else. Maybe you should let them help you. If you notice a friend or colleague feeling a little glum then what better way to make them feel better than to go out there and injure yourself(only to a slight degree, no point killing yourself) so that they can give you the kiss of life, tourniquet up your acute angled knee and feel for a good two days on top of the world.

Well, that's all from me for this post.
I think it's time I went and helped some people out.
Maybe just a twisted ankle this time, broken bones just take too long to heal.

Inspirational Purgatory

So I have been sitting here looking at the many pieces on Mister Fine thinking about a piece or two to post in my mind and nothing seems to be gelling. Despite years of cynicism, coffee, bad travel experiences and other such stuff there seems to be no rhyme or reason why I can’t put down fifteen paragraphs or so without sobbing quietly into my pillow at the third and declaring that whatever talent I had is all over and it will never come back.

I can’t seem to shake this sense of foreboding that after working on the full 32 posts (and one dodgy mobile phone photo) that I can’t seem to get the ideas in my head down on paper. And the ideas seem to be there, from inspirational school television influences, crazy american familys with hot air balloons to the excitement of not paying a cent extra for public transport for the next 2 years (the last one apparently was enough to pay for more ticket inspectors.) but the issue seems to be that I get to a good point, then I lose the moment and stop...right...about...now……..



….so the question is that, while wallowing in a mire of inspirational deficient mud, I should be able to step forward and get enough momentum to move on.


And at this point I want to kick start my muse like a motor scooter without the use of hard or soft drugs. Without resorting the methods such as extreme antarctic polo(with seals) or running off to an ancient emo temple to wear lots of black and talk to no one. I need to get the movement going again with a cheap and practical muse for hire, especially if I want to keep Mister Fine moving at some pace.


And I don't seem to be the only one. I know numerous blogs that start out so well with the updates occuring in such a regimented fashion that the Army feels out of step before tailing off with posts occurring yearly, like the school journals of old.


So my real question to everyone, and it has only taken five paragraphs to get to a point, is on the way we get our muses to work. We seem to be dependant on these little spirits of inspiration so much so that without them, our motivation falls like a brick(I prefer a brick to a stone on this occasion). And the point is that why are we so reliant on our muse?

In reality(at least this one) being subservient to a bodily function seems to be akin to reverting to being a toddler. We get to train our bodies to wait for us to eat, sleep, exercise, go to the toilet and even breath(should you be a pearl diver or sewerage worker) but our creative mind gets to be waited upon like Cleopatra until it feelshappy enough to help us out.

So the answer to all this is either in blaming our parents for only toilet training us as a toddler(which is always a good excuse to a board of directors) or to work out exactly what the muse needs (may be alcohol, hard drugs, maths books or monopoly money) and then withold this until you have a better exchange policy. Blackmail always seems to be a good option, right?

Feasible?

I'm out of other inspirations I think I might just blame the parents.

Looking for: one Greek god of indecision.

A friend of mine recently was lamenting on the issues of the ancient civilization of Greek gods and that it takes a while to work from one disenchanted offspring through to the other side of the Olympus trailer park. And while this may seem like more of a chore than a benefit, I can see that it adds a level of perceived omnipotent interest that you don’t tend to see in other major religions.

For example the family tree of Christianity, as far as I understand it, is just Father, Son and Holy Spirit with no specific focus for each of the three, saying that they are, in fact, all one entity in effect. The Greek gods, on the other hand, seem to have worked out that they shouldn’t multi-task but endeavour to share out the responsibilities to all of the family, from supporting the world on there shoulders right down to god of deceit and lies. Personally I can see that it would be quite annoying to be born, be congratulated on being immortal then told that you have to take care of a certain section of the population for the rest of eternity without any option of retiring in forty to forty five year.

So what did this mean for all those ancient Greeks? It meant they could curse to their hearts content should they not catch any fish that day and only annoy a minor deity of hooks and nets, or pray specifically for a miracle of childbirth right to the god of childbirth for a quick and painfree labour. With this kind of personal service it could be a working version of the automated phone switches with more of a personal touch.

But if you think these ancient gods may now be useless, redundant and a little out of touch you may be a little surprised. Sure the majority of these are split between death and love and the many facets of that but for starters, there is a whole group who seem to be the group for the internet.

For starters blogging is covered by Momus who was the male spirit of mockery, complaint and stinging criticism, a perfect role should anyone ask. Neiceaa happened to be the god of quarrelling, grievances and thus of forum posting of all kind and lastly Pseudia seems to cover all photoshopped images and gossip columns with the portfolio of lies and falsehoods.

But does this mean that a range of gods, titans, spirits and other yet unnamed immortals have the option of heading back into our current time, moving away from catering to the chariots and sandals and adapting to mobile phones and Transcontinental Jets.

Well, with the right marketing they can bring Mr T back from the eighties and make it popular to wear slapbands, if only for a day, but then again maybe there's a god of Fads?

Can you tell me where the FAQ for me is?

Recently I was disappointed with a customer’s service department of a website for there inadequate options on the frequently asked questions so I wrote them a letter. I have included it below for your reference.

Dear [Name removed to protect the innocent]

I would like to say that I have no problems whatsoever but I’m a little unsure, Can you tell me if there is a frequently asked questions section for those who may have forgotten the questions they wanted to ask when logging into your site. I feel that this is a common occurrence but something that has been neglected by your administration there.

This should cover all the available options that could be on someone’s mind when logging into the computer, should it be simple like ‘Does [said website] know the meaning of Life” (Yes but we’re not saying) to the complex “Can you tell me if my computer is on” (Yes but we’re not saying).

I think that until this has been implemented that the frequently asked questions is severely incomplete.

Mister Fine

So this brings me to my point. Does customer service really serve a customer or is it now too much of a buffering tool to make hardworking absentminded people such as myself forget the thoughts they have before they actually want to ask the specific question. Understand?

But even with current frequently asked question sections I personally wonder why I have to answer questions correctly for the help section to know what I want help with. Can’t it intuitively interpret my answers that I’m thinking about fruit and colours to know that I want to look into Volkswagen Beetles with fluffy polyester interiors? Why does it require such specific information without a random assumption that I don’t actually know what I’m talking about. Considering the impression most IT professionals have of technical questions it might not be the best thing to assume.

So my solution to such an issue is to have a government funded body just for getting people working with Frequently Asked Questions and other such Customer Service tools. Maybe call them the Department of Infrastructure for Persons Seething with Technical Issues on Computer Keyboards (DIPSTICK). If we can’t throw some money at some public servants to help us out, what hope is there really to go on in this world.

Still, I should get back to my point on this blog. It had it before, I remembered it halfway through but now it’s gone again.

Here's to the non-recession.

Thanks to the efforts of numerous politicians on both sides of the fence, millions of consumerist instincts (similar to communist instincts only that the colour red has to surround the word sale) and a healthy dose of what the hell just happened; Australia is apparently not going into a recession.

So I feel a whole lot safer personally to know that all those real estate agents who had gone into hiding after inflating house pricing to insurmountable levels are now crawling out from there rocks to bask in the sun with lawyers, reporters and bloggers.

But if you are just looking at the crisp freshness of a brand new contract I recommend you start working on your plans for the economic meltdown. Considering the last major three world slowdowns happened every ten or so years it might be an idea to get ready for the next one(as well as the next 3 epidemics) by laying the ground-work now for a safety net to ensure you retain your job is such complicated times. Here are a few hints to start off.

Whatever your job may be, it has to be a needed and almost exclusive profession. Encourage everyone to use your role where you can but tell everyone it’s a highly dangerous and disgusting job, especially children and teenagers who, in a decade’s time, could possibly land your role for half your wage and twice your quality. Try to break all hopes they have of working in the industry by showing them an image of your office as it will break all false illusions of hope.

The other part is that your industry needs to be kept buoyant in the times of economic downturn. Even if your industry is as niche as a knitted assault rifle cosy for the over 60 year olds it is better to ensure that there is a market and that the market is in dire needs of your product or services. Should you have to illicitly vandalise a few of these products the demand will stay high enough for the demand to outstrip production.

At all times it is good to have a backup job or market in case you are a little too worried. If you’re a manufacturer of a products look for a good second market to drop these items in too as a backup, maybe one that could be seen as being less savoury on first inspection. If you happen to be producing a inflatable pool toys, simply re-box them as military grade pontoons and sell them to Aussie disposals stores. If you happen to be a data entry clerk at a multinational corporation insert your name into another’s teams roll call the instant the word downsizing starts flapping overhead. That way should one or the other team be dropped you’ll get both the redundancy payout and the assurance of your job.

But I’ll stay happy where I am with this recession or lack thereof. I’ve made a nice bunker in the supply room, I have a chain holding me to the desk here and if anyone wants to get me out of my job here, you’re going to have to use a crowbar and an oxy cutter.

The allen key of reliance.

I was recently extremely impressed by the ingenuity and ‘can-do’ attitude(one of those wonderful business terms my old work loved using) of a neighbour of mine recently when he decided to paint his own car. Now, I’m not one to normally talk up the virtues of breathing in litres of toxic chemicals, but truth be told, the job he did was equal, if not better, than most jobs completed by a fully fledged paint monkey at a repair center (please not that we do not condone the hiring of monkeys for painting, only for panel beating). My own surprise was initially compounded by the fact that his entire equipment compliment comprised of a herald sun, a couple of cans of black gloss spray paint and a breathing mask. The fact that it cost him the smallest fraction of a fully fledged paint job in both time and monetary value really made me sit up and take notice.

But can this not be transferred to other jobs that do exist. Can we not look at important everyday jobs such as chemical manufacture, children’s entertainment and submarine tester to save our dollars instead of handing over an unused organ to a dodgy organ store to ensure we get our personal submarine tested?

I think that some jobs can be taken away from these niche markets to save our own pennies. Why hire a person to peel grapes and other food items for you when you can do it yourself for a saving of almost 100%. Have you actually looked at your life to see if there are some jobs you can do yourself.

Personally, I think the car wash industry, with its self service bays has led the way for years and I think that most industries should take a leaf out of their books. Can we walk straight into a dentists surgery sit down in the chair and skewer our gums with a drill without hearing about the attendants newest yacht. Can we walk into a farm and grab a milking cow by it’s udders to get a litre or so instead of all this newfangled milking and processing techniques with the added benefit of mocking city slickers for not understanding country life.

Truth be told, this idea is already in evidence. Ikea has been working on this theory for years and they still seem to be getting bigger, despite the fact that every person who has put together an one of their beds has nervously slept for a few years after for fear that they hadn’t put every bolt into the frame and could now be sleeping on a death-trap in darkened pine.

But anyway, I can see this is the way to live my life from now on. I am saying 'no more reliance on useful industry jobs' and more work by my own two hands.
Well, except for the dishes in the sink.
I think washing is just a little too complicated for me.

Our home away from Home

I think that there could be a problem that the world don't see the "real" Australia. It has to be an issue that they don't get the right impression about us.
It seems that our reputation is based on a theory that we all say 'g'day' constantly, show off an extensive arsenal of knives, and occasionally tackling a crocodile and for being loud, abusive angry film stars in Hollywood. And this is all based on the fact that our best media representations to the world are our down to earth khaki wrestling crocodiles, our bus riding drag queens, our megalomaniac media moguls and a psychotic vengeance seeking lawman with a penchance for Leather.

I believe we should start to send out better representations from our moat-bound isle than these shallow representations of our fair nation. I don't think we can just rely on the bywords of our tourists and mentions in occasional distopyan action movies. Can we actoally get our greatest minds together and not throw money at Baz Luhrman as an ad campaign. I didn't have much respect for the Lara Bingle 'Bloody Hell' ad campaign but at least it showed a semblance of our dry humour and irreverent swearing to the world. Can we get our tourist ads produced on an "underbelly" tone with sex, violence and possibly bootlegging. Or maybe get our very own Kath and Kim production house to show the virtues of the outer outer eastern regions of Melbourne and surrounding housing estates in all their outspoken glory.


But this may not be a problem for our island nation but in actual fact I see this as a great opportunity. While we are percieved as fun loving freedom wanting individuals we can now plan our best takeover of the world. We can sit behind this thin mask of incorrect perception and plan for a global world domination.
Who's to say the process isn't already in effect with Australian expats getting control of major media outlets and the world beer supplies we may be halfway to grinding the world to a halt should our nefarious demands not be met.

And now, I think I should be off. Our nation is in need of an Art Deco style lair built around an active volcano. I have a spade and a shovel and I'm going to dig till I find Lava.

Spending for the nation

In times of treacherous economic decisions it is always good to feel a little better about yourselves if you manage to save a little bit of money or think you have saved some cash from one thing or another.

When you happen to get the milk carton with ‘20% more Milk TM’ you smile to yourself as you elbow the poor pensioner off her motor scooter so you can have that extra Milo before you go to sleep without feeling guilty. When you see a ‘5 for the cost of 1’ tray of car air fresheners with the scent of stale beer you have to pick up at least 15 just in case the fiscal apocalypse does happen to crash the world monetary fund and no-one is prepared to make them ever again.

And if this kind of economic frugalness is ‘here to stay’ as most media outlets parrot endlessly, at least until decadence and greed is glamorous again then we’ll have to start to look further and further into measures to beat this recession like a continuously jammed printer in the office.

But the true nature of the beast cannot be beaten by government stimulus packages alone. We, the people, need to start frivolously overspending this money. We need to truly believe that $240 to see Mick Jagger attempt to rock all over again is worth a hidden seat in the back of a cupboard at Rod Laver Arena just so that Keith Richards can snort cocaine off the tour busses toilet seat. We should all buy a small overpriced lump of moving metal that may depreciate within seconds of leaving the lot as a third of it’s cost enters to the speaking salesman’s pockets who’s best character trait is that he can straighten his tie by using only his eyebrows. These things are the best option when convincing yourself, what you can do.

So go out now, spend up and spend up big. Don’t look at something lovingly thinking that you should save the money for your poor child. Buy them a future, buy them a life of luxury, get them limited edition autographed football Guernsey from your favourite team and know that while the food may be a little thin on the table, a tear will come to there eyes(mostly involuntary) when they gaze at that signature.

Now, please excuse me while I rush off. A trusted salesman I know is offering me limited edition Wolverine china TeaSet. Apparently only 5 million cups were made with left handed handles so I’m hoping to I can spend a good 900 to get a matching set. I think I’m worth it.

Repainting the deck chairs on the Titanic.

I seem to be thinking that to fix a mechanically unfit car you need to, occasionally, fiddle with a part or two to get the rust bucket working. Maybe, if necessary, it might be an idea to replace one or two things to keep it going smoothly or, and this is a last resort, the whole thing seems to be falling apart while it’s vibrating down the road it might even be an idea to send it to the scrapyard in the sky (or at least at the end of the street.) But should I recommend that the best way for you to get your car to work would be to re-badge it, repaint it you may think me just a little bit crazy. Even if you’re totally inept and unable to find the difference between your car battery and the windscreen wiper refill port you may just decide to consult an overprice mechanic over myself.

Personally, I wouldn’t blame you.

But that exactly what the Victorian Governments believe will help the embattled transport system do. Considering I’m in marketing I’m highly doubtful that a new logo on a pack of letterhead for each of the stations and some new signs will really assist the operators, the passengers and the trains in general to get past gruelling weather conditions, outdated equipment and an increase in patronage.

But does this kind of spin really help? Can our trains and transport system be run on the optimism of the political candidates and can they really assume. We do joke often that Politicians produce enough hot air to power a wind farm but can we now hook up a politician to a train to ensure it will run.

And that, really, could be a valid idea, considering there is an interest in reducing out carbon footprint and a recent increase in unemployment. Why not gather up all the prospective political aspirants and chuck them in front of the old motor less carriages. The driver can whip them to keep pace ensuring they manage to get to Flinders Street by 8 am and we’d reduce the carbon footprint considerably. Who would have thought the race for parliament was actually a literal reference.

And should there be any issue with this we can include the assistants in this as well. Why stop at just punishing those whose voices keep the media entertained when we can get the whole office block who assist the Member of Parliament to push 500 or so passengers into the city. If someone asks, ‘What is your MP doing for you?’ you can just point to the front of the carriage and nod.



Ah well, we can only dream.

Still, I’m going to get my paint brush out and repaint my own car. Apparently it needs a new fuel tank but I think it only needs a nice coat of Ferrari red.

Newspaper killed the Twitter Star

After a time of yelling repeatedly at friends getting louder each time we finished playing Pictionary on the weekend. We were in high spirits and drinking other spirits as well and will, most likely, quote idiocy from it for years to come. I, personally, think we’d had more fun than cramming us all onto a dance-dance revolution to tap dance.

And, after this, I still think board games still can go the distance against there computer compatriots despite the death knell indicated in every article written about them. Every article written about them since the start of television will tell you that in the future no-one will crow over their family at Monopoly or cheat decisively at Cluedo. No-one has mentioned twister yet, though I think that has kept its high usage by children’s parties and drunken teenage drinking games (I make note that the second has never been exploited to its full availability by its parent company).

So why do media outlets think that for every new invention out there some industry should be wearing black, hanging up closed signs and deciding to form a band. Why, at every available opportunity, do we here about the iPod killer, the replacement for books and the end of radio? What real purpose can be seen by alluding to these pieces of plastic being compared to Jack the Ripper for sensational purposes.

I am still to see the death of radio, the end of children reading books, the replacement of television with the internet and all other visions of the future reporters seem to be bound to mention in their articles. Are we really relying on these reporters to give us our ‘vision of the future’? We seem extremely sceptical of a seemingly elderly crone crouching on a milk crate in a tepee telling us our future but should the writer from Newville Chronicles mention that helium balloons will replace the conventional automobile we bow to this opinion and nod over cups of tea at our next mad hatters tea party.


I am yet to see a train without a single person carrying one of the flimsy papers known as newspapers that has been said to disappear ever since the wireless came along. The wireless itself has still been on the ‘endangered species’ list on everything since the cathode ray made a name for itself. Who argued, in the 80’s, with the sentiment that video killed the radio star. I personally can’t think of any nightclub where a VJ (Video Jockey apparently) can make enough money to be called a starving artist.

So why is it only mediums that are already on the wanted list are the ones that are reporting these things? Why are there blogs out there telling everyone that no-one will be Twitting and not blogging. Is there such self loathing in the reporting industry for there personal medium? We should really be worried about this entire profession if they think that nothing they do is worth the paper it’s printed on. Maybe we need to have mandatory anti-depressants for these reporters if they hate their jobs that much?

Still, I think the best option is to slowly wind back a little and become technophobic again. This technological development may not be all that helpful. We need to look at what we’ve done in the past and try it over again. I’m going to start chipping away at some stone tablets for my next blog and get a personal slave to carry them to you.

It might not be next week though.

An 'Emotional' Message

I love living my life by moderation. If people ask how I am I might say 'good', 'bad', 'tired' or even 'where's the coffee'. It seems that that really covers my lifes feelings, wants and gives back about as much information as the asker requires or wants. And despite english stunting emotionally direct communications, the tone of my answer will give away more about my actual feelings than anything else.

The tone of all my answers is, in fact a highly relevant supporting the use of the wonders of sarcasm, the wit of irony and the humour of a movie like 'Wayne's World'. All these things that are then lost in the wonders of the net. And that comes at a point. If you think I'm serious with the first comment of this paragraph you can't hear the tone of my voice dripping with sarcasm. You may be waiting to see if I'll insert a winking emoticon to check I'm joking otherwise you could, possibly, watch a feed of my webcam as I gaze, glassy eyed, into the glowing box of a screen in front of me. I can't see much emotion being conveyed through 36 alphebetised characters plus punctuation or at intently gazing at a flickering screen while people watch me from a plastic egg.

So can we get past this barrier of only putting straight flat lines down on a screen with little to no emotion. Does a :) really convey that I have ambivalent feelings about my cat's employment choices or that :P will show my heightened disapproval of the business plan for the matchstick world builder set. So what options does this leave us, Maybe we can start to have a colour variations to indicate anger(red) sadness(blue), envy(green), shallow(pink), Peachy(peach) or even Pissed Off(Yellow). Personally I like to think that emotion is all about pressure and the keyboards, in all there innovativeness, should be able to the pressure your pounding into the keys. So if you're hammering nails into a concrete wall or lightly brushing a speck of dust on the keyboard the letters should change in size. Apparently, the chinese language, has five different tonal variations but the English could not have over 128 different points of pressure. It might make it a little harder to see the vary light touch people have when typing lightly but punch the keyboard and some letters should sit there for days.

But just to be clear I'm quite happy to see you all reading this. It's just annoying for you, the reader, that you can't tell if I'm sarcastic or not.

What's in a name?(What's their name?)

Have you ever asked yourself what is really in a name?

What defines you to someone else?
What makes them remember that your name is not Fred or Antoinette?
Because often, if you're in this fair country of ours it's not the name that people will refer to you. I mean what is really in the use of a name. It's whole idea is to give you an individual persona but it's real usage is only to identify you in documents, across a crowded room and by the police should they ask your friend who it was that drove them from the scene of the crime.

But the real heart of your personal moniker is the nickname, especially in your local neighbourhood and workplace. With such a diverse creative flair in most people Darren can become anything by shortening from D to Dazza to D-ren then to lengthening it to something like Dublin Darren even if he’s from Bangalore and has a liking of Gridiron. And with our current trend of expanding nicknames Dublin can change to Ireland and be Irish in a blink of an eye.

So this very Australian method or renaming people, places, animals and any other noun within sight probably has a lot to do with the fact that few Australians speak clearly enough for you to understand there name. If they happen to be from somewhere like Melbourne. They tend to speak with speeds akin to a Japanese bullet train whereas up north near Cairns the vocals are so drawn out that by playing there words back at double the rate it still takes a minute to say the name Bob.

So the fallout of such a movement inside this country is that no-one actually knows the real name of a person that they talk too and the ‘AKA’ line in the Police report looks more like an internet phone directory. Many a friend gets into a conversation with another on a street corner only to start referring to them as Walker, for walking around all the time.

Still, you can take heart in the fact, that when your parents failed miserably in attempting to give you an unshorten-able name that they didn’t call you Moses or Apple and expect you to go through a playground without any minders.

I like my reality with fantasy on the side

I was having a discussion recently musing over the thought of setting up a themed restaurant, a version of a standard eatery based on a forensic science style. Toe tags being a standard, zip lock bags with pieces of food inside, chalk outlines for the cutlery and microscopes to inspect the meal. Waiters wearing full body jumpsuits would end up saying profound, but annoying phrases in gravelly voices while looking into the middle distance. And that would be perfectly in line with CSI : Antarctica whenever it happens to be conceived.

And that is when the major issues hit me like a lead balloon.

That, while this would work based on the TV setting, the real forensic science is nowhere near as exciting. In fact the distance between the television version of reality and actual reality is so far that they wave at each other as though on differing magnetic poles.

It is, unfairly I believe, indicated that the media is glamorising the dramatic side of these jobs and that in reality, apparently, the whole case cannot be solved by the half centimetre of glass with an ants fingerprint on it.

And the problem with this whole issue is reality.
Reality, right now, isn't that exciting......yet.
Reality, should be a lot more like TV; glamorous, dramatic, riveting, sexy and all over within an hour.

This is the problem that we should go to our politicians, local council and radio shock jocks about. If we are truly entering into a nation dependant on the TV, computer and other fictional mediums. Can we really exist in such boring lives that we live in right now.

We should have police who can't enter a room without a diving role, forensic scientist who work alone to perfectly syncopated music tracks, delicatessens to meet with friends that do not smell like bad pastry's.
We should have some home lives where people don’t pay attention to living costs or budgets and hand over their credit cards without a care in the world. The fact then is that you get to have a new marriage/affair/kid/divorce every three months and the possibility that if you do seem to die you may be, saved at the last minute, resurrected, or have an evil identical twin.

If we really want to believe in the television lives we should make them real, in every way possible. We might get sick of the theme song every morning when we wake up, but our flashbacks would seem like we’ve just looked into a pool of bad stereotypical 80’s music videos.

Sure, it would mean that most towns would have incredibly high murder rates, security guards should keep up there life insurance policies but police would be invincible roundhouse kicking cowboys.

But until that day happens I'm going to work on my own life getting more 'dramatic'. Considering that I'm a photographer it should mean that I'll have to start investigating a large multinational corporation illicit happenings, get killed off in the first ten minutes so a friend of mine can investigate the case and shoot the head of HR in another 40 minutes before driving off in a sports car with a blonde sitting next to him.

Damn.

21 is not always a card game

Birthday parties are meant to be the most fun you can have, with or without your clothes on. (At the early years it is a lot more acceptable that at the later ones) And they often are with the exceptions happening when people start to get depressed or compressed by thoughts about age, especially if it changes the last number from a nine to a zero.

Often when you start off being the most excited about getting past the age of ten, every age question is not a matter of how old you are, but how old you will be. If a child happens to be turning twelve in June, five years from now, he’ll adamantly say he’s turning 12.

And I have to congratulate the children on wanting to get to the teenage years so quickly. I enjoyed my angst-ridden years of wearing black outfits and complaining that everyone was out to get me. Who wouldn’t want to step back in time. And it’s not until you turn 18 that it starts to get a little better. The world is your oyster, which at the time you hate due to the fact that you’ve become a vegetarian.

But 18 leads you happily onto 21, the magical figure where the party is probably the best you’ll ever have, the presents are only matched by wedding gifts and the speeches people make actually make you proud of your achievements up till now(which include being the chip fryer manager at the local unrespectable eatery).

After this date, everyone now starts to fret about being old. Regardless of there actual age, people still live as though they want to be 21, and compare there lives to this magical figure as though it will make the flab they happen to be holding in there pinched fingers magically disappear.

But you are only as old as the verbal abuse you send out. To give you a fair idea of how this system works, you are about ten years older than anyone you want to tell off in a condescending fashion. If you hate school kids on the train and tell them that they should wear their slap bands correctly. If you complain about the young executives for talking loudly on their phones or not letting you sit down, you’re probably at least pushing mid 40’s. If you start complaining about elderly people over 90 you probably should be classed as an idiot and locked up especially if you’re under 30.

So don’t worry, just use the same stationary as you’re 21’s birthday. Don’t stop being 21, just never let your actual age past it. In that way, even when your children are 40 you can trundle out in your three wheeled scooter as people hand you happy 21st cards. It’s a foolproof plan. I’m still following it.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen. Lend me your emails.

In my years of surfing the Internet, checking emails, watching bad viral videos and even making some money on the side, I have been amazed by the stupidity of the Internet and the fear of the unknown people are when they enter into this world of negotiable knowledge.

I am meaning, of course, about the proliferation and scourge of the chain emails.

Chain letters, once the social outcast of the physical mail system managed to get from one communication option to another. Bouncing around the red letterboxes of life until one, if not all, were scanned, typed and dictated into a computer to be sent on an endless quest of annoyance(If you can't tell, I'm not a fan). I am an opponent to them in all senses, in fact I have got to the point of sending chain emails back to "friends" of mine threatening wanton destruction of property, but that is taking the whole hate aspect a little too far. These fearful people, friends and acquaintances among them, are only worried about their health and safety. I think it only natural that you believe that a south American orphan will kill you if you don't send the email onto 12 of your closest friends, especially as that orphan has now got access to a computer. This orphan, who might or might not be a spirit has enough time and worry to want to look through email logs on her computer, just in case you sent the email off to a dead end of some sort or do the opening of emails emit a placating spiritual essence to fend off such a spirit.

As well as the gory warning about such a happening there are also the luck emails that inspire you to send them on 'as luck will follow' if you send them to 25 of your friends. Each one contains a wealth of testimonials, each about a person in a long distant location who has benefit ted with finding enough gold or winning enough money to give their dead wife's prized gold fish a heart transplant. A tear comes involuntarily to my eye as I read such badly worded drivel but I think it can be assumed that only the 'unlucky' ones are the smart ones. The unlucky ones are mentioned that fail miserably in life over the next 20 years, or lose their entire family in a freak golf ball incident if they do not send on the emails. I'm still waiting to be attacked by golf balls and, short of walking through a driving range wearing a target I have my doubts.

But, and this is the important thing, if these people are right then we should really be worried. If, at current trend, people are sending these emails out continuously with spirits, luck, poltergeists and curses attached to them we may need to rethink our application of computers in the home. Internet fridges were just a warning but I'm worried that in the future our toaster's could be imbued with the spirit of a cranky pirate who only will cook toast if you call it a scurvy dog or the light switches hexxed to flicker when certain people walk through the room imbuing them with .5% more UV radiation than anything else. Who knows how many items will now need to be exorcised to keep them from being harnessed. We may see it as beneficial if our alarm clock bounces emails around making luck shine from it's bright red LED's but do we really need it to turn evil and not wake us up in the morning for work.

Anyway, that's enough of a scare campaign from myself. I can't think that this docuement is providing you with zero luck whatsoever. But should you not send a message out about this blog to anyone a rock will fall in the Andes in Argentina that will roll into a snowball, be flung at a poor defenceless orphan who will make a vow of revenge to start a revolution encompassing the world that will destroy all computers and electronic devices.

Wait a minute. That might not be such a bad idea.

The Office Jungle

In many ways the world of the office can be compared with life for a wilder beast in the, well, wild. Some might say that it is a little too uncanny that offices are like a desert with only the kitchen and water cooler as the veritable oasis (that aren’t always safe, they just contain supplies)

But this was brought to my attention by the role of the work Meerkat or, to the uninitiated, the habit of peering over the edge of cubicles with both hands on the edge checking out the surroundings. After observing the cubicle habits, over many years, of the average office worker this isn’t that far off the truth and, unfortunately, these are not the most dangerous creatures roaming the walkways of your carpeted halls.

The first creature that springs to mind is the parrot, a role that should not be confused with the vulture. In the jungle of the office the parrot, whether female or male, often wears bright outfits that scare the living daylights out of any predators and perch on the edge of a cubicle or on a door frame. They’ll repeatedly ask you about last weekend or next weekend before laughing about things you say that aren’t even really funny then move to the next office to have the exact same conversation. Infuriating people with their repetition they may laugh in a fake manner throwing a hand around like a grenade to ward off any other parrots. No one actually knows if they do any work.

The next character is the elephant, not the worst kind of creature, but not really the greatest. Often it’s a larger or taller person but characteristically they move through the office bumping into everything and grunting excuse me occasionally, and the most obvious trait is that they only want things from the furthest destination. At this point they will reach past whatever is in their way, including other people, and pick it up lightly while apologising the whole time. Often hard working they can be useful to know if you want to get anything without personally upsetting people. They also can clear a path to the cakes on the breakfast morning tea.

A third is the vulture, a creature similar in nature to the parrot but without the conversational tone. They might tend to mingle around offices of those people who, in this time of upheaval, decide or are pushed to leave there jobs. Don’t try to get too close because they’ll swoop on anything left in the office, such as chairs, coffee cups, even administration staff. Best advice is to put out bait for them, maybe leave the occasional unowned coffee cup glued to the desk and watch them try and surreptitiously try to get it off with a staple remover.

The last, for this short list, is the alligator. Not really known as the highest of workers they tend to hang around the safe places of an office; the kitchen, the water cooler and even the toilets. But these can be seen as the most dangerous of all of the office wildlife. They’ll latch onto you, often with bad hug greetings, to get you to help them with some favour or other. Sometimes it can be a quick ‘toner replacement’ for the copier but it can verge on the ‘helping them move house’ to take you entirely away from your day. And they will drag you under if you give them half a chance. Better to struggle back, pulling yourself back with the all important lie ‘I have a meeting with finance’.

So all my advice would be to move in packs, to keep these creatures away from you, but if you want to be really sure best keep a blunderbuss at your desk and find a good safari guide to get you out of there.

For the love of coffee

It has been commented by many through the years of my life that in the morning my movement and speed is matched only by a pot smoking turtle. I think that the amphibious narcotics community would be severely hurt by that kind of an allegation as I move at pace that is only discernable in a time lapse video. My own and many other peoples reason for this is that the morning does not begin until we’ve mixed some brown powder into some boiling hotwater. Until this appears in our hands we should be classed as the walking dead, moaning occasionally as we lumber through the rising sunlight.

I know that I’m not alone in this legal narcotic addiction. Friends, family, unknown strangers all suffer from this heaving post caffeine haze that can be matched, in pain only, by a hangover from a heavy night of tequilas. These other coffee addicts of the town can be seen lining up on street corners or curled up in a ball on a train to the city.

Since this is such a wonderful drop that has kept me going I won’t listen to a bad word against it. I know it yellows your teeth, can give you heart palpitation and is not recommended by either the doctors on the TV or the Heart Foundation, but I still like it. It’s just so comforting to know that in my hands I carry a substance that can enable me to finish off a gruelling day of work. Some people need chocolate to calm them down but I need coffee to keep me awake.

Needless to say, this city of mine runs on caffeine. They can limit the water in times of drought, food in times of war and electricity in times of those eclectic massage chairs(which are fun) but the whole city will grind to a halt should the caffeine level be stopped. Having an Espresso isn’t just having a drink it’s a way of living. Even on 45 degree days (celcius) people, including me will ask for a cappuccino or mocha in preference over a nice cool milkshake.

And Melbourne loves it as well, with it’s abundance of coffee shops, bars, even Laundromats with espresso machines you can’t escape the smell or pleasure of a cup anywhere. You’d need to hide yourself in a cupboard with eucalyptus stuffed up your nose and chewing gum the whole time.

Now before I do fall asleep at my desk I have to dash to the coffee shop to get my second fix for the afternoon.
Would anyone else like a cup while I’m there?
It’s nice and hot.

A sad farewell to Colleague

If, in this time of economic upheaval, the worst should happen and a friend, colleague or countryman pushes or is pushed to get out of there job the whole workplace enters a period of uncertainty. Often this can be due to people questioning whether there own job is safe, questioning who will steal the office chair first and finally who has to take responsibility for the leathery plant that seems to be the only greenery for a few kilometres.

But the other thought that start to plague people and makes people watch each other like hawks is when the required envelope goes around for the “farewell present” that work has decided that it can’t afford. And while the office personal assistant hovers over you watching your hands move inside you’re almost empty wallet you have to put the right note in without seeming like a stingy bastard or put too much to seem overly generous. It’s a fine balancing act between nasty and generous that will invariably land you in trouble unless it matches in with the workplace requirement. The rules of the desk jungle that no-one speaks about but everyone is meant to know. So to all you new workers who are looking in there coffee coins I’ll put down a few notes that will hopefully help you.

On first inspection of the envelope never ask ‘how much is expected’ as that will raise the ire of said personal assistant who will then send it round in an express email to all the other assistants and slow your important stationary order for a couple of month. This kind of question is never said out loud even though it’s valid and only muttered occasionally under a cone of silence. This kind of question is considered an ‘attitude’ that is only seen as being a benefit in an accountant or politician.
A good way to go about this is to mention that you still have to draw money out for the day, though you may still get a scowl, and you can then watch how much others put into the pot.

But I wouldn’t be making my money from this blog without recommending a figure or at least a few figures that should roughly give you an idea how much is right to hand over for some poor unknown worker from the other end of the building who has decided to start his own Origami business. The magical starting figure is $10 and that’s just for your run of the mill, ‘good morning, how are you’ colleague that you chatted to once about beekeeping. If you happen to have a liaison with them at one point or another it might be a good idea to add an extra $10, especially if you have included a deep and meaningful conversation at the Christmas party about your one true love. If this happens to be a close partner of an illicit nature then bump it up to $40 to $50 and if you are already married to them leave it at $50 but add a shopping list to the note especially if they get to leave earlier on that day.
If you are the owner or manager of your section it’s best to match the highest person and if you put in too much, you will be hated for showing off how much more you earn or derided. It can’t be helped as if you didn’t you’d be loathed for putting in too little, so it is best to grin, make a bad joke, insult someone then shut your door loudly.

Now, the recession is apparently about to hit our economy like a cyclone, so I’m going to have to shore up my illegible farewell note script, keep my collection of $10 notes handy and not talk to anyone wanting more than a quick hello about beekeeping.

The dangers of unfavourable work (or The trains are crap in warm weather.)

To live in such a wonderful city as Melbourne you have to be able to understand a little about the climate. Or more to the point it’s unpredictable nature. In this city I call the centre its rainfall seems to be about as predictable as the roll of the dice at a craps table, invariably it won’t be to your liking. And the more you live in Melbourne the more you love the fact that it can be 4 seasons in one day, or at least get to be used to carrying a jacket and umbrella in 42° Celsius heat just in case it’s going to change to be a thunderstorm.

To weather the storm we try to rely on our local weathercasters who have the respectability of a car salesman, the insurance premiums of Evil Knievel and the public respect of a parking inspector. Needless to say they have short careers before moving on to things like Teleprompter readers (possibly known as News reporters.) after they make too many bad predictions. Said predictions are actually based more on the feelings they have, the abusive letters they receive from yesterday and rolling dice in the office. And at one point or another they are often names as being most hated public professional in Melbourne.

To put it mildly, I don’t envy their job at all.

But, they are being overtaken by at least one group who want to be vilified as the most hated in Melbourne and that is ticket inspectors.

On days such as this scorching hot 37° Celsius day the current Melbourne train company is spitting out spin doctors words like it’s having a fit, declaring that should anything happen today to cancel a few trains that they have no responsibility and it has no bearing on the fact that the system is barely capable for the crush of people at the best of times.

And then, to make their presence even better they have a public outing of the grey trench coated inspectors at each station ensuring that you pay your dollars to them so they can pack you into a sardine tin to bake in the body odour of others while the platitudes of a computer voiced speaker tells you that you still have an hour on this lunchbox ride of hell. If only the inspectors seemed a little more helpful.

I know that we, as a community tend to deride our infrastructure systems for its failings and look for the devil in the system but do they have to treat every person as though they were about to commit acts of terrorism by buying a two hourly ticket instead of a daily ticket, they might have a little better public image. Regardless of whether the punk in the jeans that are sitting on his ankles has his concession card on him or not, if you slam him up against a wall, he’ll still get his Toorak based parents to sue you the very next day. So maybe we should look at a better alternative, maybe teaching the inspectors some courtesy, and occasionally letting people off with a warning.

There is a way for them to get a little better public image and I’ll elaborate, so read on to the end to understand. If a commuter happens to miss out on buying a zone 1 and 2 ticket they then recieve a $100 dollar fine for a difference of about $1.50. If that is truly the penalty for that much error in expenditure, the brand new ticketing system (because that will, of course, help the trains mechanically work better, less packed and on time) that was meant to cost $500 million dollars but is now at $1.5 billion dollars(a difference of a scant billion dollars) I expect a ticket inspector at the door with a good sized $60 billion dollar transit fine soon enough, maybe even in novelty sized for the photo opportunity. We all love to see a useless company get a bit of a fine for stupidity occasionally.

Now I have to run so please excuse me while I get the deodorant.

I’m going to do my bit to alleviate the other passengers inside my sardine can.

Fraser Island - A guide to misadventure. Part 1

In the first place I must make it absolutely clear. Fraser Island is absolutely stunning. It has vistas that are amazing, stupendous waterways and sand so clean and smooth you can almost see your face in it. The hard part is that the promise of all this is fulfilled as long as you can get through terrain that make Mountain Goats quail in their boots.

Fraser Island has a wonderful capability of being almost entirely inaccessible to all vehicles indicated as 2WD, AWD and almost all but the hardiest of 4WD.These roads are not designed for the Sunday driver with his black SUV and alloy wheels at all and the smoothest one of all is really a picturesque beach on the east side with stupendous views between the diesel swilling hulks that glide across the waterfront and the occasional plane landing.
So you won't see any sub height four wheel drives tentatively worrying about rolling over gravel here unless they're dropping in and out at the resort carpark to the waiting ferry and the closest you'll get to an urban wax and wash is a hose on a stand wating to fill an overheated radiator.
If you have something that hasn't seen anything worse than dust on the AWD badge I'd steer it clear of the whole place let alone the local grocery markets curb.

Like bulls in a china shop these actual all terrain overblown vehicle look like they could take on a herd of wilderbeast and win. If you're really lucky, you get to see a miniturized version in a Suzuki Jimny, that is about a quarter the size and tenth the power, and is used to transit an extra one or two passengers behind a whale of metal, like an elephant calf trailing it's mother revving that much extra just to keep up. I can only think that if it did break down it could just sit on the roofrack back to the nearest resort.

But I do recommend you go there. It's definitely worth the fun but get a chiropractor to check you're neck beforehand especially if you're heading in as a passenger, as will need to know how good your back was before it was twisted into knots. The roads make the travel bumpy and moving at a rate of about ten kilometers an hour seems even worse when you're travelling for a good eighteen across the island sitting in the center back seat.

And the views here are stunning. You can't take a step without wanting to whip out your camera and record the days lunch with everyone still eating and a goanna eyeing off your meal. My own face now has tan lines indicating how long I pressed the eyepiece to my eye and burnt the skin off. And the best part of having a digital camera is that the place looks great behind the screen. Just remember to look occasionally without the camera as some of the most dangerous creatures do exist in the region and in no way does it help to limit yourself to tunnel vision.

So the real four wheel drives are the way to go for this haven of tourists and the sights are truly worthy of two panoramic office like photographs at once. The one real eyeopener for the whole trip was that on the drive back, the workhorse vehicle we'd been pushing through the island decided that it's clutch would give out, and though it wasn't the best time, I'm just glad we weren't in a region where the locals recommend you defend yourself aggressively(which could mean something like carpet bombing) against the local fauna as they are proudly on the top ten most dangerous shows regularily. Thankfully out there the only dangerous things are the locals, the tourists and the ants.

As well as this we were all within phoning distance that made it a whole lot easier.
So the driving was enjoyable, the stopping was not so dangerous and the chiropractor is now happy he's back on my quick-dial register.
Now please excuse me while I disinfect a bite on my arm, I'm still looking for a german tourist anti-venom.

Love and service

Many of us at one point in our life will have had a crush or fantasy on a waitress or waiter. But be wary of this kind of option of relationship as this kind of crush is fine as long as it stays a crush. Should it eventuate into anything serious the whole café – client power play will be in jeopardy.

These staff are kept in pristine condition by minutes of hiring, seconds of training and years of verbal haranguing from the clientele. So should someone make a personal connection between staff and one of the public, the whole balance of helper and payee may be ruined and the world might collapse into a little ball of hydrogen (no real connection between the two, but it just might).

The reasons for the staff being as distant as they are is a truly dastardly secret.
You may think that the wait staff are their to help you have food and drink but the owners have other ideas. They really select there waiters and waitresses to ensure maximum return on there client and the point the owners (who coincidentally are all evil overlords inhabiting volcano’s) ensure their staff know is that they have to stay alluring yet aloof. Many owners are wary of this and attempt various displays to ensure that the clientele remain a little distant to the staff by hanging funny sayings on the wall over the tips jar to promote the idea of working staff insanity. Their whole point of the wait staff is for guilt and guilt alone.

If you’re not there for your regular decaf double choc soy lemon infused flat white on the dot at 10:39 am the waitress checks a mirror to ensure her most heart wrenching pout is visible when you do finally push the door past the annoying bell. Why else would any sane minded Legal Director visibly empty her wallet into the tip jar if not for the waiter making sad puppy dog eyes at her for declining a second coffee at lunchtime. And heaven help you if you’re actually sick. I recommend that, short of a coma, you be sitting at that rickety death-trap stool half smiling with a hand calling them over. If you are actually in a coma, send a nurse.

But we shouldn’t be cowed by such displays of emotional blackmail. These waiting staff are still human (some may be questionable) and we need to use our own measures to get back at them. If they start to wield the power away from us too much we need to strike back with our own blackmail. Some people do know the truth and make there best efforts to be surly, unhelpful and abusive to helpful wait staff because they KNOW THE TRUTH(I can’t think of any other real reason personally).

Anyway, to ensure the balance is kept you don’t have to yell rants of abuse about insufficient foam, just make sure you aren’t addicted to your personal large frappe or chai and keep a random schedule.
But I can’t go on right now, I have to run.
I need to get my Latte from across the road.
I think I might be a little late.

Resolutions for a new me

So now is the time for the old us to be wheeled out in a cart and the new us to be dropped into the mess that is our lives. And with all this wheeling and dealing it is said to be time to have some kind of resolution of what you are meant to do in your life.

But New Years resolutions are not to be taken lightly. They need to be thought out carefully, measured, allowed for and most importantly allowably attainable for the husk of the person who made it past 2008. This is where most people fall into a screaming mess. Now, if I was a halfway decent support column I'd recommend certain aims for people to have and visions for people to attain but I'm not, so I'll just write up my own list of what I won’t do with some descriptions and if they change your life I have failed at my task.

What I will not do in 2009
I will not be the person who bore the life out of other people at a party. Despite there feigned interest in the movement of the planets they don’t really want to hear about them, or that my opinion on star wars is that it’s an allegory for… well you get the idea. I can’t say that I’m that good at mutual conversation but I am going to brush up on sudden opinionated bursts to keep conversations arguementative. If people are showing too much interest in my collection of rubber stamps from Peru in 1940 then I really have to evaluate whether they are on something really good or just plain freaky like myself.

I will not buy useless electrical items of unknown frivolity that has not real use apart from making people go ooooooooo once then turning away. These are not the best way to start conversations and do not make my house feng shui oriented but clutter up the already small place as well as building up my credit card bill exponentially as they are invariably only available online from Iceland.

I will not attempt to join a gym. Considering there policies are written by the devil, the machines are made by demons and the music track is by a DJ(much much worse than the other two) the whole place could be seen as some kind of hell. The instructors seem to get too much fun out of making unfit people burn through calories and almost collapse across the bars of the machines. I should already have learnt my lesson twice(yes twice) but I must keep away from the polo shirts of shame.

I will not start arguing on an internet forum post, regardless of whether the person posting on it has a name like arguer4530 or spambot265 the argument will only leaving me crushing plastic cups and biting the desk(which is expensive when I finally do get to the dentist.) The whole exercise is fraught with idiocy and since I have been known to delve into the occasional fray before it is much better to say some minor opinionated comment to enrage the masses then run off into the sunset, skipping.

I will not try new things, since most new things have been done before, by other people and a lot better. I will just leave myself to do other things that I’ve done before at a mediocre level to ensure that the balance of the world is in good order. Who wants to be the worlds best skydiver(I’m not sure how you do attain it but I presume it’s the one most alive after the fall) and the best bungee-jumper if all it means is that people smile faintly at you after you tell them then move away from you, asking you not to follow them.

I think that should be enough for this year, it’s enough to give me a headache and I’m already five days into the year. If you do think of any others or think that these are not good enough for my resolutions then just post here and we can argue like it’s 2008.