Friday, June 8, 2012

Proof that this blog is pointless.

Very occasionally – well okay, actually almost never – I experience a brief moment wherein I wonder if I mightn't be expecting too much of my fellow humans, and whether I shouldn't stop criticising society's apparent insanity on this blog. After all, evolution isn't necessarily a one-way street, and maybe the odd side-track into a garbage-strewn dead-end back alley is just part of the process.

But now, courtesy of a poster I saw on the Net, I've had it confirmed for me that there's absolutely zero hope for the human species.

Below, a cropped section of that poster (plus my caption) says it all:



"Um, no, dude, I can't see
any future for humanity.
What made you ask that?"

Thursday, May 31, 2012

You may or may not want to buy this finding.

Psychiatrists at the University of Minnesota have discovered that a drug called memantine, normally used to minimise deterioration in patients with moderate-to-severe Alzheimer's, can also help sufferers of 'compulsive buying disorder' (which is simply shrink-speak for what we uneducated plebs call 'shopaholics') by acting on a brain chemical thought to be involved in the development of dementia. Uh-ohhh...

And while the researchers haven't said that there's any connection, my suggestion is that if you experience buyer's remorse, you can probably find some comfort in the fact that at least you're able to remember buying all that stuff you now regret buying. Well, so far, anyway.

As for the medication angle, I can see two obvious problems with its widespread introduction. Firstly, with the economies of most Western countries in the doldrums, will governments allow spending to be reduced? And secondly, how do we get shopaholics to take the stuff?






"Wow! On sale? Gimme ten!"

Sunday, May 27, 2012

It wasn't plagiarism, it was just responsible recycling.

Here in Queensland, the Australian state I try to stay well on the edge of, we've just had an election in which voters demonstrated their lack of intelligence and sophistication by electing a new State Government on the promise of... um, well, Change.

And not just loose change, either. This is a government committed to bringing freedom and prosperity to the boardrooms of their friends by stopping waste – aka the spending of public money on the public.

To this end, and among other right-wing slashings, they've abandoned the practice of encouraging the Arts, and have already saved us all a whopping $230,000 per year (which works out at, um, 7¢ per year per person) by discontinuing the Queensland Premier's Literary Awards.

But why not? This week the new Arts Minister, Ros Bates, showed how unnecessary the art of original writing is by delivering a 740-word speech to Parliament which turned out to be word-for-word exactly the same speech given less than six months ago by her predecessor.




"First up I thought of lifting
something from Shakespeare,
but some words were tricky."

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Their potential disaster is bigger than someone else's.

Latest contender for the world penis symbol measuring championship is Japan, with its 634-metres-high Tokyo Skytree. This gee-wiz new building has everything – even state-of-the-art technology supposedly capable of countering the earth tremors so endemic to Japan.

At its grand opening last Tuesday, amid all the oohs and ahhs there was just the one slight oops: Um, the elevators to the 450-metres-high observation deck had to be temporarily shut down, stranding visitors up there for half an hour, because the building's management feared that there was a potential safety threat caused by the wind outside.



"Ah, but even though we
may be trapped up here,
we can see if there's an
earthquake approaching."

Friday, May 18, 2012

Proof she could've made a shyster, oops, lawyer:

Eighteen-year-old Rose Ashton-Weir didn't get the kind of high school results that would have let her enrol to study law at the University of Sydney. So she's suing the prestigious Geelong Grammar School for not giving her the 'academic support' she needed to, like, 'really excel'.

Personally, I hope she wins and sets some kind of legal precedent, and that an 'unsupportive' guitar teacher from my youth has lots of money.



"And then I'm gonna
sue McDonalds for not

making me overweight,
and thus denying me the
chance to sue them too."

Thursday, May 17, 2012

You can't pervert the course of poetic justice.

Charlie Brooks, husband of former news editor and Murdoch groupie Rebekah Brooks, has expressed his concern that his wife, charged with perverting the course of justice, won't get a fair trial.

Why not? Because of the over-the-top media coverage she's copped.



"Take it from me:
You shouldn't believe
everything you read
in the newspapers."

Thursday, May 10, 2012

I think, therefore I fail.

Every so often and again, I ponder the outer limits of René Descartes' 'I think, therefore I am'. Taken to its extreme, it implies that the only thing I can be sure of is that everything I experience is the product of my consciousness – which itself is the only thing that I can prove actually exists. And for all I'll ever know for sure, the rest of it could be some kind of pizza-induced nightmare (if pizzas actually exist).

So okay, I get the concept. But if it's true, what really bothers me is the idea that I could have the the kind of troubled mind capable of dreaming up the crap that seems to make up the world around me. It's bad enough to think that everything's real and therefore beyond my personal control, but to consider the alternative possibility that I might actually be manufacturing it all as an imaginary place in which to park my consciousness is a real downer.

How disturbed can I be if almost everything I perceive to be around me (and which, in this scenario I'm expressing, is all my own work) is an absolute travesty? Like, surely if I had any class I could've come up with better stuff than, for example, politics, or rap music, or religion, or commercial TV, or Facebook or Twitter. And what kind of tragic masochist would invent a city like Paris and then not locate himself there looking like what he's created as Alain Delon, instead of giving himself an ordinary face and dumping himself in the monocultural wilderness of Australia? When I get it wrong, I go to extremes, huh?





"And also, why am I blogging
dumb crap like this for what
could be imaginary readers?"




Of course, where this gets really messy is that for all I know, I also created René Descartes and his philosophical statement. Um....

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Mind you, the sex scenes could get kinda squirmy.

New York Magazine runs an appropriately short and shallow knock-off of James Lipton's wonderful 'Inside The Actor's Studio', imaginatively called 'Inside The Model's Studio'. And they've just interviewed the androgynous Australian Andrej Pejic, a guy whose sole claim to fame literally appears to be presenting as an attractive female model.

(Um, no, I don't know why they'd use a female look-alike instead of an actual female, but it's maybe got something to do with my partner the feminist d'une certain rage's opinion that fashion designers tend to parade an implicit hatred of women.)

Anyway, what did Andrej have to say? That he's been 'pigeon-holed', and that he could be an actor or a singer if he hadn't been 'typecast'.




"Give me one reason
why I couldn't be the
next Russell Crowe. 

And/or Sharon Stone."

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Only driven by unarmed cops on Sundays.

We've all heard the clichés: Italians pinch bottoms, the French are only interested in food or sex and preferably both simultaneously, the British seem to muddle through, and the Germans are über-efficient. Put these and various other national characteristics together and you've got the European Common Market.

But maybe the clichéd German efficiency has been diluted by mixing with other nations. Authorities in Germany's Hesse district have just spent more than twenty-three million Euros (thirty million bucks) on a fleet of 800 sporty new Opel pursuit cars, only to find that the Polizei can't fit into them because the seats are too narrow for cops wearing the belts carrying their tools-of-trade – guns, batons, handcuffs, etc.

What to do? Especially for my image and caption? Revert to cliché.



"With our über trade-ins,
we have ways und means
of making you buy one."

Saturday, April 28, 2012

If they're so smart, how come they don't look hot?

Through the synchronistic courtesy of my partner the feminist d'une certain rage (who reads The Guardian daily) and Tristan (who hosts a delightful blog) I've just read an interview with Professor Mary Beard, the presenter of a new three-part television series called 'Meet The Romans' which is currently running on Britain's BBC2.

It seems that Prof Beard, regardless of the quality of her program, is copping major flak from some viewers because she's fifty-seven and doesn't appear overly bothered about the fact. One idiot complained 'Shouldn't she be sexing herself up a bit?'.

Which reminds me of the way misogynists invariably react to one of my all-time favourite women, Germaine Greer, unwittingly validating most of the points she makes simply by commenting unfavourably about her appearance rather than rebutting her arguments.

We may flounder in shallow times, but at least there's someone out there who can impart the kind of wisdom the world pays attention to.





Professor Mary Beard.
Not young or considered 'hot',
therefore not relevant.







Professor Germaine Greer.
Not young or considered 'hot',
therefore not relevant.



"What worries me
is getting older and 
losing my credibility."

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

It's hard to see how this will solve things.

Here's the problem: In Australia, dogs aren't allowed in venues where food is sold, with the exception of guide dogs. But apparently, many cafés and restaurants are mistakenly refusing entry to blind people with guide dogs, so a local organisation has launched a campaign to address this, along with 'Guide Dogs Welcome Here' signs for display.

My question is, should the people behind the campaign be thinking more laterally? Because who exactly is gonna be reading these signs?


 \
"I smell coffee, Rex.
But are we welcome
in this café or not?"

Monday, April 23, 2012

Thanks folks, it's been unreal.

My earlier post about robotic sex, while dumbly frivolous, got me brooding darkly about where the world is headed, and why I won't be particularly unhappy about getting off before it gets there.

According to the prognostications of Professor Yeoman and Sexologist Mars, in a quote that I didn't use in the original post, one of the main advantages of people having sex with androids would be that 'robot sex would be safer, and free from the constraints, precautions and uncertainties of the real deal'.

Huh? Okay, their hypothesis may have been little more than a mish-mash of futuristic fantasy, but the essence of that particular quote – whether in reference to sex with hookers or many other aspects of contemporary life – says it all as far as I'm concerned.

It seems that reality has become a problem for the human species, and we'd rather accept/embrace imitations than risk 'the real deal' – which could mean anything from non-homogenised milk to political integrity to honesty in personal relationships. Then of course, there's life without the ultimate artificial substitute for reality, religion.

But it occurs to me that perhaps the reality hardest for us to accept is our own individuality. We're taught very early that the rest of society is 'normal', and we know we don't quite fit the stereotype, so we fake being what everyone else is faking being. We become crap imitations of crap imitations of some bizarre collective cultural fantasy, and we fear and avoid anyone who doesn't conform. Because they're too real.

Even if they're maybe only faking a believable imitation of 'being real'.




"Except if I'm terrified
of being the real me,
isn't that actually being
the real me anyway?"

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Why Chanel No 5.2.7 already needs an update.

A Melbourne-based collaborative artistic group has commissioned an Australian scent maker to create a specific fragrance to be wafted into a current exhibition of computer 'art'. It's aroma de Macbook Pro, and it simulates the smell of unpacking a brand new Apple laptop.

So if you, for whatever disturbed and arguably masochistic reason, want to seduce a Mac nerd into opening you, here's your big chance.





"Sex? Gee, let me check
if there's an app for that."





A post post disclaimer: I wasn't bagging Macs above. I've been an Apple freak since I first touched the keyboard of a Mac Classic back in 1991, and I believe that anyone using a PC and/or Windows is missing out. That said, while I'm familiar with the smell of opening up the box of a new Mac, the only emotion it ever seemed to cause me was Fear Of Incompatibility with my existing applications.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

I've seen the future, and it's a fake orgasm.

Two New Zealand researchers from Wellington's Victoria University, Management Professor Ian Yeoman (who calls himself a 'futurist with an interest in tourism') and, um, 'Sexologist' Michelle Mars, have just published something they've called 'Robots, Men And Sex Tourism' in the journal 'Future'. (I guess we're supposed to overlook the frankly sexist 'thrust' implicit in that female-exclusive title.)

According to these academics, by around 2050, regular human female prostitutes will have been replaced by realistic robots/androids (no, I'm not sure what the technical difference is) programmed to provide whatever services their clients require – and the best part is that those clients would feel 'guilt-free' because they wouldn't have had sex with an actual real person and therefore 'wouldn't have to lie to their partners'. (Now there's an interesting academic take.)

Anyway, I was initially thinking that hooking aficionados would maybe find this whole concept kinda unappealing. But then it occurred to me that if you're into hookers, you're probably already into robotic sex.


"Hi, handsome, please
state your user name,
your credit card details,
and the pleasure/s you
wish me to simulate.
If a malfunction occurs,
call Tech Support on..."

Saturday, April 14, 2012

It's enough not to drive you from drink.

We all know the drill. If you're gonna drink, don't drive. Call a cab instead. Unless, that is, you're doing your drinking in the isolated North-Western Queensland mining town of Collinsville.

Collinsville has a population of around 2,500, a great many of whom have lately lost their driving licences after being busted while driving themselves home from getting well-boozed at the local.

Serves ’em right, you're thinking, they should've called a cab. Except Colinsville boasts only one taxi and one licensed taxi driver. Actually, oops, make that no licensed taxi driver, because he's recently had his licence suspended for a year. For, um, Driving Under The Influence.





"C'mon, Officer – I'm just
doing what they say to do.
Going home in a cab."

Friday, April 13, 2012

I'm not sure it's what I burned Alice Brown's bra for.

Something called the American Lingerie Football League has just announced plans to establish a national competition here in Australia, where gridiron football is essentially something people only watch on Pay TV really early in the morning when they can't sleep and they've run out of booze and pizza and any kind of hope of getting a life.

But Lingerie Football is out to change that. Instead of the usual bunch of guys running around a paddock trying to prove they're more macho than the other team, Lingerie Football is a bunch of hot babes running around a paddock trying to convince audiences that they're not really just soft-core porn in shoulder pads and helmets and not much else.

How does one evaluate this? Is it an expression of the freedoms and equality that the women's liberation movement burned their bras for? Is it women exercising their right to exploit themselves as sex objects if they choose? Or is it simply to peddle flesh to voyeuristic lechers?

That debate probably won't be over till the well-endowed lady sings.



"Okay, girls, this next play
let's go for it and force the
women's movement back
at least another ten yards."

 


Um, yeah, about Alice's imported French bra: It'd cost a fortune and she never spoke to me again no matter how aggressively I told her that I'd only torched it so that she'd be freed from male dominance, and that I hadn't done it to impress the hot chick leading the rally.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

If the shoe fits, your brain must be size zero.

Okay, so is the world as insane as I think it is, or am I simply so out of the cultural loop that I don't understand stuff? Here's one of maybe only a squillion reasons why I so often find myself wondering:

For over three years now, the alleged fashion brand Gucci has been fighting the alleged fashion brand Guess through the courts over Guess allegedly marketing shoes which Gucci alleges are knock-offs of what they're alleging is their 'iconic design'.

Gucci wants $124 million in damages, presumably trying to convince the court that they lost that much business because people bought the Guess version of the shoes instead of the Gucci originals.

But seriously, folks, take a look at Exhibits A and B displayed below, and ignoring the obvious fact that the Guess version at top right is a blatant knock-off of the Gucci at bottom left, and assuming that the court case has only been going on for so long because the lawyers are squeezing as many bucks out of it as possible, honestly tell me this:



Would you ever wanna
be seen dead in public
wearing what look like
your granny's slippers?

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

A funny thing happened on the way to the cataclysm.

If you're one of those sceptical people who think that Climate Change (aka Global Warming, aka The End Of The World As We Blow It) could be some kind of joke, here's a possible reason why:

The respected journal 'Nature Geoscience' has just published a study by the Australian Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (aka CSIRO) reporting that world atmospheric levels of nitrous oxide (aka laughing gas) have increased by 20% since 1750.



"The weird thing is that
the worse it all gets,
the funnier it seems!"

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Why white people can't dance and I'll win a Nobel.

Back when our great-great-grandparents a-squillion-times-removed left Africa's Rift Valley, they were black – which was a good idea, because it's kinda sunny in Africa and darker pigmentation was the only way not to die from skin cancer. But when people eventually wound up in Northern Europe, where it rained whenever it wasn't just depressingly overcast and grey, the dark pigmentation wasn't all that important anymore, so if an occasional mutant was born with a genetic defect that produced lighter skin, he or she could survive long enough to reproduce that genetic defect – and in fact had the edge on the darker-skinned people because lighter skin could absorb the lower levels of sunshine to make Vitamin D better, so white people wound up prevailing in Europe and inventing racial discrimination.

Okay, so I'm postulating that those original black ex-Africans in Europe didn't find the paler mutants all that hot, which meant that the pale folk wound up having to settle for each other when it came to rubbing their mutated genes together and making mutated kids.

The dancing bit? Well, in the normal course of events back in the Rift Valley Social Club, anyone who had a genetic defect that made them a crap dancer wouldn't have got a chance to pass on their crap dancing gene, coz they'd have just been wallflowered instead of deflowered, and left unmated-with. Like, no way was a black person gonna get it on with another black person who couldn't shake it out on the floor and hopefully later down on it, so that was that.

But in Europe, because there were increasing numbers of pale wallflowers still considered too unattractive to be invited to dance by the black people, they'd sneak outside together and console each other as deeply as possible. In other words, you didn't have to be a good dancer to get laid. And that meant that any crap dancing genes could also be passed on along with the pale skin gene – but, and here's the clincher: only in liaisons between pale skinned people!

So eventually Europe had decreasing numbers of Vitamin D deficient black people whose bones had become too brittle to risk dancing (or even banging each other, hence their gradual disappearance from Europe in general), and more and more white people who had Vitamin D enhanced bones but couldn't move their feet to save their lives and therefore had to develop pale imitations of dancing like minuets and pavanes so they could hit on each other and breed more bad dancers.

There you have it. Why white people can't dance. Coz we're mutants.
But fortunately for the human race, and kinda inconveniently for all those sub-human segregationists and racial bigots, the fact remains that all of our most important genes are still the original black ones.



"It's got nothing to do with
your weird skin colour, Dork –

my folks are just freaked
out
coz you're a crap dancer
without any kind of future."

Monday, April 9, 2012

Good marketing highlights a problem, then solves it.

In the state in which I live (no, not confused cynicism – Queensland), new laws will take effect in a few months whereby a 'Do Not Knock' sticker on one's front door will theoretically prohibit door-to-door salespeople, religious zealots, et al, from pestering the occupant/s. Callers who ignore the signs will face fines and other penalties.

It seems like a great idea, and one that I'm sure will prove extremely popular with long-suffering householders. And I'm gonna make major bucks by printing up some stickers and marketing them. Even better, I've worked out the perfect way to sell them effectively – by paying a small commission to Jehovah's Witnesses for every sticker they sell.


"Okay, well, if you don't want
'The Watchtower', how about
a nifty 'Do Not Knock' sticker?
Coz if you'd already had one,
I wouldn't be here hassling
you like I am right now."



Potential hitch: Does 'Do Not Knock' apply to houses with doorbells?