Coffee-Crazed Cookin'

How to cook a magical casserole all hyped up on coffee....

Step 1. Go out with a friend for coffee on a Sunday afternoon at 4pm in the afternoon after being off the drop for a few months. Be sure to order a tall.
Step 2. Arrive home buzzing with a caffeine frenzy that you *know* is not going to wear off before bedtime. Make the command decision to cook a casserole for next weeks lunches to burn off some of the energy.
Step 3. You are pretty low on traditional makings for casserole. Decide to not let a small thing like that stand in your way.
Step 4. Put on some water to boil for the pasta. Ferret energetically through the contents of the fridge and pantry cupboards to find ingredients with an air of creativity about you.
Step 5. Assemble the following ingredients;
The dessicated remnants of a big bag of spinach purchased approximately a month and a half ago
The last 3 mushrooms
The last tomato
An onion, the length of whose life-span it is important not to question
Approx 250g of random tube pasta
2 small tins of tomato and capsicum flavoured tuna
Step 6. Slice the mushrooms manically into slivers about the width of my chewed-down fingernails.
Step 7. Repeat the process for tomato, onion and spinach. Mash the tuna energetically.
Step 8. Throw pasta in the boiling water in an unceremonious fashion, splashing boiling water around the place, leaving your skin with that invigorated look.
Step 9. After pasta is cooked, drain haphazardly with some more slopping of boiling hot water.
Step 10. Throw in and stir in the shredded veges like your life depends on it.
Step 11. After realising that you haven't given any thought to what sauce to include in the casserole, randomly grab a tub of "El Paso Spicy Bean Salsa" from the pantry, and throw it in the mixture.
Step 12. Hurl the contents into the casserole dish. Heap generous amounts of parmesan cheese on the top of the casserole.
Step 13. Utter a brief but fervent wish that it turns out somehow, throw it into the oven that you don't quite recall having pre-heated.
Step 14. Approx. 45 min later, extract the lightly toasted casserole. Allow to cool, then freeze.

Defrost and serve a piece for lunch at work two days later.

Marvel at how amazingly tasty coffee-crazed cookin' is.

Sleep Is For The Weak

Rumfy, rumfy, rumfy. Sploobarb. Schneggurburglefahfer.

I get eloquent when I'm tired. Unlike those pathetic specimens, who, upon discovering evidence of tiredness within themselves, goto bed earlier, I have persistence. Despite being employed in such a fashion that requires my presence by 8:30am, I refuse to surrender my favourite late night TV viewing. For the information of readers, this viewing is, most of the time, of the pre-recorded variety. Jon Stewart, Colbert, Maher, Death Note and America's Next Top Model don't get watched while I'm at work. From personal experience, I can impart the special wisdom that it's quite a challenge to fit the viewing schedule of an unemployed person around an eight hour work day - but not impossible.

In conclusion, I might be a possum.

And the award for greatest contribution to the election goes to...

Some have said that Sarah Palin really won this election for Obama. The staggering statistic of 47% votes to Republican leads me to believe that she played no small part in his victory.

But the award for greatest contribution goes to....

My second cousin Malcolm!

How could anyone, even the most hard core right-wing gun-toting looney tunes say no to that face?



Good work son. You did it.

What the what now

I'm inspired by this piece of randomness I came across when attempting to solve a cryptic crossword online today. Despite the *cough* creative structure of the article, I agree with the substance of what they're talking about. Swearing has gotten really, really boring. And that's sad, because the language that we use is undeniably linked to the way that we think. Some linguists argue that we don't actually experience cognitive thought processes until we develop sufficient skills to be able to think in words. I don't completely buy it, but this idea is backed up by concepts such as "if you can't explain it, you don't understand it."

Howsoever, delicious linguistic-related tangents aside, I need greater turnover in my stash of swear words! My vocabulary has reached a stunted period in its growth, and I refuse to be stunted in the language that I speak, think and write with.

So, here are the swear words that I am phasing out of my vocab. Sayonara, overused profanities.

1. Fuck, fucked and fucking. See the article linked for a good summary of the reasons for killing this verb set.
2. Fuckjob, fuckknuckle, fuckfeatures, fuckwit and fuckface. As for 'fuck.'
   
3. Shit, shitty, and shitfaced. As for 'fuck,' see linked article.
   
4. Bloody. I mourn the loss of this word as a regularly used profanity, as it forms such a large and significant part of my culture as an Oz-tralian. However, the violent literal meaning of the word encourages me to find alternatives.
5. Crap and crappy. The arguments against the shit-related trifecta hold for these two terms.
   
6. Good god, oh my god, devil, damn, jesus, jesus mary and joseph, geez*, christ, hell, heavens, mercy and zeus's butthole. Stricken due to overuse and religious associations. No longer will I allow my language to be thus corrupted by a mythology that I haven't adopted, despite societal influences from the religious and non-religious alike.
7. Ass, tightass and assface. I wish to make a clarification on this. I reserve the right to use the term ass as a positive description term of someone's rear. For example, "Phwoar, his ass is hot" or "The shape of my ass is positively delectable." However, the use of 'ass' as a profanity or insult, e.g. "The CEO of my private health insurer is a horse's ass," is no longer on. Butts are beautiful people.
8. Slut, bitch, whore, cunt, wench, tart, tramp, skank, slag. I feel confident that giving up these terms in my day-to-day language usage will not be a hardship.
   

So, similar to any "out with the old, in with the new" situation, and getting back to the central issue of more creativity in language, replacements swear terms as follows;

1. Screamful. Descriptive, emotive - it has it all.
2. Ferret features. Not original, but, fjord it, the term works as an insult. Which brings me to...
   
3. Fjord! Why the fjord did this term ever go out of style as a great-sounding utterance? And whatever happened to Pinky and The Brain? (Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain!)
   
4. Republican. There are two reasons I want to get this word out in the profanity space. First the obvious, US Republican policies blow. Second, the systems of government that people often refer to as a democracy (e.g USA, Australia, England) are actually republics. Republican works as a profanity on so many levels. Oh, Republican.

That's all for the moment. Please add any contributions you may have in mind to my profane linguistic melting pot.


*Geez Louise may be a different story. I like the rhyming aspect of it, and its usage in this country is rare enough that I view its colour to be acceptable. The question is, is it a phrase that is divorced enough from xiananity, or is it really a thinly veiled attempt by god botherers to avoid the guilt of blasphemy? The jury's still out on that one.

Selection Hysteria

Apologies adoring fans, it's been awhile since my last post or checking of any blogs. I've got four half-written posts in the mix, at least a couple of which will probably be churned out precisely soonish. I keep getting distracted by the ongoing quest for cash. Recently that quest has taken the form of gritting my teeth and applying for jobs. Wholesale. I have several applications that I'm currently working on, three of which are due tomorrow that I should be trying to get finished and out of the way, but I've filled my quota of that today.

Whoever invented the concept of The Selection Criteria should be shot. Seriously.

Dear potential employers, if you want to know what I've done or what I can do: read my resume, you lazy bastards. If you're not convinced or you want to know about that which I haven't conveyed, pick up the the fucking phone and we can talk about it. Of course it's not eight hours a day of your time that's being wasted on this crap, so why would you go to the bother?

Fortunately for me, I have done enough of these crappy things now that I have a cache of ready made answers for run of the mill employer expectations.

For example...

Good written and verbal communication skills.
I can talk and write. Also, I've read a book.

Ability to organise and prioritise.
Where are my keys? Shoes...then pants.

Works well in a team.
I hate people. They can fuck off and die. There's no 'i' in team, but there is an 'i' in win.

Responds well to changes in the clients needs.
The client is always wrong.

Yep, I'm getting pretty good at this. I expect that I'll be gainfully employed again any day now.

Exactly a little vague

Vagueness is a concept that is a lot of fun. At the moment, I'm very fascinated with the Sorites Paradox as relating to a heap. If unfamiliar, I recommend clicking the link for more info, but I will illustrate the the basic premise of this riddle with the use of an alter ego: Lysta.

Althea: Welcome to the blog Lysta, glad to have you here.
Lysta: It's a pleasure to be here.
Althea: The concept that we're working with here is that you start with many, many grains of sand (e.g. 10,000) which collectively make up a heap. Now, if you take away a grain of sand, is it still heap?
Lysta: Yes, dummy.
Althea: OK, but if you take away another grain of sand, is it still a heap?
Lysta: You bet.
Althea: And again, if you take away another grain of sand, is it still a heap?
Lysta: F**cking hell...is this what I came here for? Yes!! It's still a heap!
Althea: So, if the quality of being a heap is not changed by taking away one grain of sand at a time, and because of the vagueness of the term heap, we cannot conclusively define at what point it ceases to be a heap, logically, you could say no matter how many grains you removed in this manner, you would still have a heap. In fact, you can remove all the grains of sand what and was left (nothing) would still constitute a heap.

(silence)

Lysta: But wait a minute. That's really stupid. You're using stupid logic.
Althea: No, it's just a erroneous conclusion. No matter how loosely we define our concept of a heap, you need to have some of something in order for it to qualify as a heap. So if you have nothing left, then we observe that it does not meet that condition and therefore, there can be no heap. That's why they call it a paradox.
Lysta: I still say that you're using stupid logic. I can smoke a cigarette and not get sick. I can smoke two, and three and four cigarettes and not get sick. But there is some quantity of cigarettes that I can smoke which will make me a cancer-riddled specimen of disease. Just because I don't know what that quantity is doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. And just because one cigarette won't do it, doesn't mean that several cumulative instances of one cigarette won't cumulatively get me in a position where I need to have my voicebox removed.
Lysta: Man, I feel like a cigarette.
Althea: Focus Lysta. Now, several people have used a spectrum approach to truth and falsehoods in trying to solve this problem, ie have 'true' on one end, 'false' and various conditions acting as mediums between truth and false that allow them to explain this paradox in a way that isn't contradictory.
Lysta: That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard.
Althea: Agreed - it's just lazy non-thinking. Either something is true, or it's false. If there is enough complexity in an idea or statement that some parts of it are true, and some are false, then the statement can be clarified or otherwise broken down further into statements that either true or false. Whilst we may not know which is the case for each statement, it is not the case that statements lurk somewhere in some nether region between truth and falsehood.
Lysta: And people who make statements that are either both or neither a falsehood and a truth along the lines of "This statement is a lie" are bloody tools.
Althea: You said it.


Althea: So, getting back to the matter at hand, without some wishy-washy middle ground between true and false, how can we possibly define the point at which a heap of something ceases to be a heap? Or do we just accept the idea vague concepts such as this negate refinement and there will always be a paradox?
Lysta: There ain't no bloody paradox. My point is: it's all about the ranges. It's quite simple really, and it can be done mathematically defining variables. Only, because it's a vague, impression-based concept, you can't do it objectively. You take a sample of the population and put them in a room with the heap of sand, quiz them on whether at what point they would each consider grains to no longer be a heap and use that data to define your ranges. Here, I'll draw it up for you on the blackboard.....


Y = the number of grains in starting heap (everyone in the sample agrees that this is a heap)
X = the highest number of grains that everyone in the sample agrees constitutes a heap
X - 1 = the highest number of grains where there is dissension as to whether the grains constitute a heap or not
V = the highest number of grains where everyone in the sample population agrees that the collection of grains, for whatever reason, no longer constitutes a heap.
0 = zero grains (bloody well not a heap)

Random variable in series (X+1,Y) = An indisputable heap of sand. Marked by the condition that you can remove a grain of sand and what is left over still has quality of being a heap.
Random variable in series (V+1, X) = A quantity of sand that has some probability of qualifying as a heap, a probability that is dependent on various conditions, not least of which who the observer is. Marked by the condition that each grain of sand that is removed within this range (ie the closer you get to the V+1 end of the range) increases the probability that what is left over will not qualify as a heap of sand.
Random variable in series (0, V) = Not a heap of sand. You can take away a grain of sand if you like, but the not-heapness quality of this number of grains of sand will not have changed.

Paradox my ass.


Lysta: Any questions?
Althea: Just one or two. Do you believe that it's actually possible to conduct an experiment or a series of experiments that would conclusively define these ranges that you have referred to?
Lysta: No. I sure as hell wouldn't volunteer for removing 10,000 grains of sand one at a time anyway.
Althea: If you can't conclusively define these ranges, not just for this example, but for every example involving the concept of a heap, then the paradox isn't removed. We both agree that there's a point at which the things cease to be a heap, but we don't know what it is, and, near as can be determined, removing one of those things doesn't change the quality of whether it's a heap or not.
Lysta: Well, fine, if you want to be difficult about it.
Althea: Nyer, nyer, I'm right.
Lysta: There is one other option for determining whether a group of things constitute a heap or not.
Althea: What's than then?
Lysta: You could hire a property valuer. They're well-practiced at confidently making hard value determinations on that which they have very little real understanding. Pay them $5,000 to look at some grains of sand and specify that the valuation report must include a statement regarding the usefulness of the grains as a heap.
Althea: Brilliant!

Please give Lysta a round of applause for her outstanding contribution to this post!

Plural bids!

I am so very happy right now. Well, I'd probably be happier if I were asleep, but as the beastie referred to as Slumber is eluding me at the moment, I will have to make do with the fact that I sold another piece of obsolete second-hand clothing on eBay! That in itself is good (yay money), but what's even better is that, for the first time in my eBay selling history, I've had more than one bid on the item in question. People actually competing to give me their money. Love it!

I don't whether it is because I have more feedback now, or because more people were fearing the cancerous effects of the sun at 12:30pm on Saturday or because a bizarre proportion of eBaying females like to wear the colour orange (seriously, who digs orange that much?) - but I'm happy with the outcome in any case. My expectations are exceeded, and, bit by bit, people are giving me money for my mammoth behemoth sized mountain of unwanted clothing. This clothing boulder that I am purging from my possession and would otherwise be given away to the op shops (Australian-US translation: vintage stores) is actually translating into $$ in my bank account. Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.

All I can say is; keep the bids coming Australia.

Wanted: Treasure Map Design Consultant

We're going on a job hunt..
(We're going on a job hunt..)
I'm not scared..
(I'm not scared..)

Job hunting. Blech. Job seeking is a process designed, I'm sure, for the express purpose of eroding what little self-worth and confidence that one is able to muster. It is the mincer that us raw meat of humans are ground through to make us compliant, conforming, miserable tools of society. It is the reason that the all-knowing Dilbert cartoon advises us to quit and go on the hunt when hanging from a noose by the chandelier is more appealing than what one has in the way of current employment.

Why the fuck should I have to parade around like a show animal for the sake of getting employment? Human resources managers should queuing up at my door and clogging up my phone line begging me to work for their corrupt and pitiful organisation.

*bring bring*

"Hello, this is Althea."

"Althea darling! Hi, this is Organisation Y's waste-of-space HR Manager, Toady Trogs. I've heard so many wonderful things about you, and our government funded psychic probe revealed even more than appeals to us. Your heightened abilities to take an inordinate amount of crap and generally suffer fuckwits in the workplace are nothing short of astounding. We must have you on our staff. How about coming into the office next week for an interview to discuss how we can best make your 9-5 a living hell?"

"Fuck off Trogs." *click*

Eight and a half seconds later...

*bring bring*

"Hello this is Althea."

"Althea, hi! This is Organisation Z's waste-of-space HR Manager, Steely McStealthief.

"Hi Steely. How's it going."

"Good, good. I'm calling to inform you that you meet our requirements for a position we currently have vacant: treasure map design consultant. We've heard you're one of the best in the area."

"Damn straight. But why is Organisation Z willing to pay someone to make astonishingly realistic and ominous-looking treasure maps?"

"Well Organisation Z is in the business of selling fake treasure maps to idiots under the premise that they're real treasure maps. Our lawyers have worked out the contract of sale such that it's all legal, so you needn't worry about job security. You might experience a couple of twinges of guilt when you first become a part of the process of ripping people off, but that will fade with time and once you see how truly imbecilic our customers really are. We have a "Dipshit of the Month" showcase - it's funnier than the Darwin Awards."

"I see."

"We will pay you an obscene amount of money and you can work from home, so that we'll have no idea what hours you're actually working and you have complete autonomy over how you manage your time."

"Kewl."

"How does a Monday start sound?"

"What, you mean I don't even have to come in for an interview?"

"No. In fact, apart from an email once every two months, and the staff Christmas party, there is no need for you to have any contact with management from this point onward. Just post us the maps once they've dried from the tea."

"Can I get paid upfront, before I've done the work?"

"Sure, not a problem."

"Count me in Cap'n!" *click*

Three seconds later..

*bring bring*

"Hi, this is Althea. And you're too slow!

*click*

Wow.

Wow. I mean, just, wow.

Quick question; has anyone else ever had a blog locked due to it allegedly looking like a spam blog? The landscape of Planet Blog sure has changed.

Dear Blogger personnel: I am not a computer program of any variety and I'm not actually selling anything. Kindly dismiss any suspicion regarding this matter and remove the associated notice from my dashboard.

In other news, I have decided to scrap the blog formerly known as SoapBox Time, and merge any future content of that blog with this one.

Why volleyball is better than sex

Volleyball is fantastic. As an activity, it kicks ass over sex. Don't get me wrong, I am not a prude. In fact, I am a card-carrying fan of the feel-goods associated with sexual activities. Nonetheless, I rate volleyball higher, and here's why;

• There are less injuries in volleyball.
• Volleyball is played with the adversaries on the other side of the net.
  
• If there are any injuries sustained during volleyball, it's the fault of you and yours, not those that you're playing against.
• You get more exercise in volleyball. I know, I know, it's not like soccer or Aussie rules where you're running around like a spastic monkey the whole time, but it's definitely more of a cardiovascular workout than the horizontal tango. Last time I checked, sex does not typically involve any amount of running or jumping.
• Volleyball smells less. Human sweat is very stinky though very natural. Human sweat combined with other bodily secretions? Not exactly my top choice for an variety of air freshener.
  
• What little intimacy is involved in volleyball is light and uplifting (rather unlike romantic intimacy).
• The more you play volleyball, the better it gets. The more you have sex, the less imagination goes into it and the less pleasure per play you receive.
  
• Volleyball does not inspire any soul-searching questions such as "Do I really want to be playing this game against that opponent?" or "What annoying series of events is going to be set in motion after this set is finished?"
  
• I am good at volleyball.

None can dispute it; volleyball wins!

Revival

This is a public service announcement to citizens of all galaxies and dimensions.

Having received long-awaited grants from slow-moving bureaucratic entities, we am pleased to announce that funding has been approved. This expedition onto Planet Blog is now ready to blast off, along with abandoned vehicles Soapbox Time and Relay Shun Ships.

This announcement has been produced by slobbering monkeys.