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.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, February 2, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, January 16, 2009
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.
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.
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