Althea Explored

Auf Wiedersehn

2009-09-29T13:56:00.006+10:00

WARNING: Sappy speech to follow

So, this is farewell people. Despite the fact that it has been months since the Blogger quill's been picked up, I'm feeling a bit sad about it all. But, the fact is, Althea is being retired. She's had her day, and some rather glorious moments. Althea's puppetmaster may blog again. But Althea's shelf life is up, and it's time to do the merciful thing and lay this, the last of her blogs, to rest. Before she goes, though, she will have her last say.

One by one, the bloggers I knew and loved: Rorschach, Li, Ruby, Tript, Steph, the other Ruby(dot), Johanna, and more recently American Guy have taken their leave of blogland. Some of them became more immersed in their real lives. Some of them just got bored and migrated to Facebook and Twitter. And some of them were eaten by shark-shaped leprechauns. I have no evidence for this in any place except my imagination, yet I know it to be true.

My own reasons for departure are far more complex than that of any person who has ever ceased to blog, at any time, anywhere. You're not going to get it, but I get to justify my reasons anyway. I've been journaling a lot over the past several months (y'know, in the tradition ink pen and papyrus paper sense) and it's been very personal. I've tried several times to do a blog entry, and it felt like it was either going to be too superficial, or too raw. So I left it alone.

I've been accused of being too negative before, with the name of my first blog "Dream Inevitably Lead To Hideous Implosions" cited as a piece of primary evidence for this. I will admit to the court that I have indulged in the negative and obsessive, and as much as is possible, I intend to leave that luxury behind.

Lastly, and most importantly, my current employment situation is not ideal for me. I am now actively pursuing a viable career in writing, which is a fact that I scarcely believe, but there it is. I need to believe in it to make it happen, and to do that, I need to let all my various side projects go to nurture the belief and do the legwork for turning the dreams and vague possibilities into my day-to-day reality.

Nonetheless, it would be remiss of me to omit the fact that my blog(s) have given me many gifts. Through blogging, I have practiced my writing, creative and otherwise, and been fortunate enough to read some superbly talented writers express themselves freely. Using my blog as a propeller, I have achieved a really important, long-term dream of mine, which is coming to Melbourne to live. It has been one of the greatest gifts I have ever been able to give myself.

Above all, my blogging helped me be entertained and engaged by life (albeit in an artifical via fibre optic cables kinda way) throughout 3 out of 4 moderately depressed years of working in shitty finance/investment jobs. That's a blessing that can't be counted.

I don't know what else to say other than this: it's been real. Especially when it hasn't been.

Ciao folks.

Still Here, Still Pretty

2009-07-10T17:21:00.002+10:00

You heard it here people.

More to come.

**Update** Not so much more, as it turns out.

How To Spread Superstition

2009-05-20T13:09:00.022+10:00

No comments!!

This fotograph taken in 1916 is showing a figure likely being the soul of someone departing.

A couple took a picture of their one year old baby in the car. The car stopped outside a cemetery of the 17th century. NO COMMENTS.

A couple take a photo of their baby , while the TV was switched off. This face appeared. The fact that a picture was taken, its proved by the flash next to the figure!

A couple on vacation took a photo of their daughter.When the film was developed, a lady without legs appeared.

This ia a scene from the film called 'Three men and a baby'. A boy behind the curtains appeared. They say that this boy was killed in the same room that the film was taking place.

This picture was taken by a reporter in Indonesia , in 1993. The reporter wanted to take a photo of a room where a mass killing was done.When the photo was developed showed this!! It is said that people that were looking at this picture for long, had nervous breakdown problems afterwards.

NO COMMENTS!!!!!!!! Look At These photos Carefully!!!

If You Don't Send This to at Least ten People in the Next 2 Hours .....You will Forever have Bad Luck.....If You do...Something Good Will Happen to you in the Near Future !!!!

Internet, internet, wherefore art mine internet?

2009-05-07T21:23:00.003+10:00

I was going to whinge about my lack of home internet, but that's gotten old. It's yesterday's news kids. And instead of sitting here thinking about how to structure (and then not proofread) a post on catapults as a perfectly viable method for transportation (which I'm sure they could be), I'm going to do a rhyme.

Because, you see...

Doing a rhyme,
Takes up so little time,
It's easy, you see...
Not like 13x14x3

You can make it up in your head,
Or make it up on a plate of red,
Whatever, I'm still tryings to recover,
From a drunken night with colleagues, I find it an amazing stat
That in a group of eleven not one potential lover.

Makes it easy to keep the rule,
Don't mix sex with work, nor with school.

I love silly poetry,
It amuses the crap out of me.
But sadly this one must end for I cannot countenance,
Staying awake much longer, this picture of awesomeness needs sleep maintenance.

Conversation Revolution

2009-05-04T13:26:00.004+10:00

People, I'm excited. We are about to experience something wonderful. Significant advances in individual liberties and freedom of expression as well as open-mindedness of the general population. And it's all thanks to, you guessed it....

Hands-free mobile phone users.

What?!? Those annoying cockwads?!?!!! I hear your say, with my bionic ears.

It's true. Those annoying cockwads are ushering is a new era. A dawning, if you will, of greater human understanding and tolerance.

The realisation came upon me when I was reading one-liner reader opinions in the disrespected publication MX and there was one as follows;

"It's getting more and more difficult to tell whether someone is having a mental breakdown or just talking on their hands-free phone."

First of all, since when was it a sign of mental illness that one conduct conversations with oneself in public hearing? Oh, right, since there was a implicit society-wide agreement that one-person conversations were taboo, and hence, anyone who holds aforementioned conversations must not be able to help themselves and are therefore, non-compus mentus.

Only it's even more sinister than that - the scope of this agreement has widened to include peoples houses. Even their minds.

How did such an absurd agreement come about? We may never know. As a result of my observations on the matter I suspect a variety of reasons... as follows...

-Because It makes people feel uncomfortable and insecure when people adjacent to them in public spaces talk in their general direction, but they aren't talking to them. Tends to make most people a bit "miffed."
-To more easily identify schizophrenia sufferers and other persons experiencing dangerous forms of psychosis. (Yeah, like the bloody axe isn't half a clue.)
-Due to general misunderstanding of the illusory nature of "self" and the subjective nature of "sanity", and hence not realising or fully appreciating that when someone is talking to themselves, even when that someone is "perfectly sane", there can often be an exchange. With value even.
Stupid people.

Despite the overwhelming presence of stupid people - the tables will turn. The streets, restaurants and cafes, the trains, trams and buses -the supermarket- will be filled with people talking to themselves, whether they are in possession of a hands-free phones or not.

I have seen a small glimpse of the future, which I'm delighted to share with you.

From modest beginnings, the tiny, hands-free phones will become so prolific that people will become used to talking in public spaces, using no apparent device, to people who aren'there. The most intolerant and jusgemental people won't notice when the next generation (Generation Scabby-Ears) begin to use that as a cover to have loud conversations with themselves on public transport.

Eventually, people will cotton on. Only, because Gen Y bred like rabbits in response that global economic crisis way back when (around about the time that all forms of currency were replaced with peanuts and mulitnational CEOs were replaced by ethically superior lemurs), Gen Scabb-E will have exceeded the voting power of all other living generations. Legislation regarding the inalienable right of people to have audible conversations with themselves in public.

The leap in productivity will be astounding. GDP rockets in the progressive countries who adopt this legislation (USA, Australia, New Zealand, UK, Spain and Svalbard), entire independent of that whole business of ripping the earth apart and killing people in Africa to get collective hands on rocks. People will be happier and more in tune with themselves.
.
There will be minor resistance from the "noise pollution movement" (mostly from crochety Gen-Xers) which will be violently put down and quietly fade into history. Especially since developments in hearing aid technology - instruments which better assist you in not hearing what other people are saying. There then will be even more minute resistance from the "natural sound movement" which will be put down even more violently. Because nobody likes hippies.

In the end, we will reach a point where entirely new social conventions wil develop....

"Hiya, how's it going!!!" "Oh, good, good." "No, not you man, I was talking to one of my more reticent selves - we haven't caught up in ages." "Oh, I'm sorry man. Please don't let me interrupt."
"I'm really interested in how the boys are going, but I'm dying to know whether the waitress Jenny's' selves have kissed and made up - I'll be with you in two shakes.."
*Hey that guy's the only person on this train to not having a conversation with himself or anyone else - what's he got to hide????"

A Poke In The Pandemic

2009-05-01T15:44:00.000+10:00

Drowning In Mediae

2009-04-07T21:39:00.002+10:00

As a preface to this post, I'd like to inform you all that it has been decided that media as a plural term to describe multiple tools for storing and communicating data / information is just not doing it for me. Therefore, we will introduce the new, somehow more satisfying, plural form - mediae.

Has there ever been this much mediae? I don't think there has been. There are, of course, the conventional forms; TV, noose-papers, trashy magazines, outdoor displays, etc.

Enter internet stage right. Whoosh! Zing! Rhu-ka-puh-zazz! There she is; the best, spankiest media form ever to grace humanity. For a good number of years there it is generally thought of as one single form of media.

Similar to the Behaviouralists, those of us who thought this were proved wrong! Completely wrong! Email is as distinctive a form of media to a networking site as a hand-written letter is to a speech at an industry networking event. Thus the internet can only be described in terms of mediae. All the various little subsets of mediae are mind-bogglingly numerous.

Email(s). Blog. Facebook. LinkedIn. Message forums. News. (So much news.) Last but not least - The Twits. I don't know about anyone else, but I can't keep up with them all. There is too much information that I want to receive, and too many channels that it frequents!!!

Overload!!! Mega-information overload!!!!!!

Shutting.....down.

Public service announcement to OZ-e government - there ain't no need for mandatory censorship over here. The constraints of work firewalls, lack of home internet solution, attention span, and a mere 24 hours in a day are its own kind of censorship.

In other words - don't you dare automatically censor my internet. You'll inevitably fuck up what you're trying to accomplish, and although I ofttimes these days get the feeling of overwhelmededness by the masses and masses of internet media, I reserve the right to be overwhelmed.

And that's my final word on that. I don't approve of government imposed media censorship for the benefit of individuals.

It is interesting to consider the effects of increased access to reams upon reams (or screens upon screens) of information though. Does it actually hinder people to have that much ready access in that they become disinterested in looking for it and are more likely to ignore information that's right in front of them because there's so damn much of it? Are there more cases of analysis paralysis as a result of pervasive mediae? And are people sacrificing doing to get in more media-ing? Where do the waterfalls of information with increasing degrees of pressure carry us?

These are the mysteries.

(Twilight Zone theme plays and screen fades to black)

Now That I'm An Expert On All Things Melbourne..

2009-04-06T21:44:00.010+10:00

I am pleased to announce that I know everything that there is to possibly know about Melbourne and the Melburnians. I know what you're thinking, can't believe it took me this long, right?

Now that I am in this exalted position, my duty is clear. I must educate those at a disadvantage not having the insider knowledge that I now possess. I could be selfish and keep it all for myself. But, nay, compassion has overtaken me.

This wisdom I bequeath to you....

Dodgy-looking alleys are where the awesome things are. Unlikely as it sounds, it is all about the alleys. You could wander the main streets of Melbourne for hours and hours and find nothing but office buildings and overpriced things. Yet, if you turn down a grimy-looking alley, you are guaranteed to find one of the best cafes / restaurants / pubs / bars / clubs / graffiti displays in Melbourne. Go figure.

Trains are better than trams. Trams are adorable and quaint in their way. The novelty associated with lurching action of the trams wears off remarkably quickly though. Also, they are slowww. Very, very slowwwwwwwwww. As in 'awmuhgawd am I dead yet' kinda slow. Lastly, crowded trains suck. But crowded trams suck worse. You have a chance on a crowded train of not being jammed in someone's armpit or having someone else stuck in your armpit. On a crowded tram, there is no such chance. (Having said that, please don't anyone else catch my train line during rush hour. It gets enough patronage, seriously.)

First is best, last comes second. No matter which line you're on, the best train carriage to get on at any time of day is the first one. 95% of the time, it's the least crowded. That fact fascinates me. This says to me that the people catching the train are hindered by one or more of three things. A) They are too stupid to realise that the first carriage is the best. B) They are too lazy to take advantage of this fact. ("Oh boo-hoo, I have to walk a whole 2 minutes extra now, and a whole 2 min once I reach my destination." Wimps.) Or C) they surpass even my amazing disorganisational skills such that they do not have the opportunity to reach the first carriage. In any case - all the more standing room/window-seat for me!!

Pushing is for adults. In the CBD especially, it is push or be pushed. Or, the more likely thing of push and be pushed. Spread the pushing around a little. Just don't be a dill and reflexively exclaim "Ooh, sorry!" each time people run into you through no apparent fault of your own. Because that would be rather silly of you. One might think of pushing other human beings around on the street somewhat inconsiderate, however, it is important to note that, there are a lot of people, and they have a strong tendency to get in the way. You will have a better chance of getting off at your train stop, getting to places on time, making it through the pedestrian crossing, and paradoxically enough, not running into people, if you do not shun the shove.

The MX is good value. The free newspaper churned out on a daily basis is very entertaining. It also even manages the occasional actual news item. Every now and again.

That's all for now, travellers and immigrators. My next post in the 'I know everything about Melbourne' series will include useful tips on living in an awesome and affordable 2-bedroom apartment with a walk-in wardrobe (including its own light, several shelves, mirror and vanity table) in a visually beautiful, conveniently located, artistically-inclined and well-provisioned suburb.

Well, probably not.

Damn if it's not ever so much to fun to talk about though.

HR: A Dirty Acronym

2009-03-18T17:09:00.005+11:00

I have previously indicated my distaste for persons of the 'human resources' persuasion. From the reasonably safe vantage point of the employed and also with the discontented flavour of someone who has a cold, I shall further elaborate on that as (hopefully) my last tribute to the quest for employment.

Human resource experts, recruitment agents, and (my personal favourite spin) "intellectual capital specialists" are all terms used to describe one thing. People who make their livelihood from the exchange of other people's labour for money. Can you think of any other occupation that does that?

Yes, that's right. Slave traders. Slave traders also make their money selling the labour of other people. Only the slave traders are more industrious, because they actually have to go out and catch or otherwise buy their product. With the HR folk, all they have to do is wait for naive fish to wander into their nets.

Dramatic? Of course. But not untrue. Like Shylock, they believe that the living flesh of other human beings is valid consideration for a commercial contract. They are sharks. They are bottom feeders. They are not your friends, they are not ever on your side. Although it is your skin and bones that pays their way, it is the 'employer' that writes the cheques, therefore employee interests will always be ranked a distant third.

What causes me to slap my thigh and laugh a little is that they supposedly are the "screening process" for candidates. Unless they screen your DNA by lifting skin and hair samples from the interview room (I wouldn't put it past them, except that it seems a little labour-intensive for your average recruitment agent), there really is not a lot of screening that goes on. I've met with probably eight agents over the past month and the process is all the same. You show up on time, they make you wait. They apologise, fetch you a drink of water and get you to fill out a basic details form. Then you wait some more. Then they talk to you. You both shake hands, and part ways.

This is what they base their decision on. They don't call your referees. (Trust me, I asked.) A few written words and a maximum half hour discussion is the rigorous screening process that the employers are paying such good money for. Some may say that the employer is getting their human resource-related "expertise." Bullshit. I don't care how experienced you are with people, it's not like reading a book. You can't spend ten minutes to half an hour with me and be able to accurately predict my work-related competencies and behaviour. They don't just trade in human labour; they profit off of the lie that they are good at it.

I know this. Yet I sought their assistance in gaining employment anyway, because, as you would all be aware, it is a mega-shitty market at the moment. And because, if you want to apply for a specific job, chances are you have to go through a HR person anyway.

Which unfortunately, I did. it all looked good on the surface. The HR person pushed me through the interview process surprisingly quickly. They got me the rate that I requested, which is the highest rate I've ever earned (legally anyway). I am now employed in the IT section with a French mega-monster of a company working with a pretty fantastic pommy team. Sure, there's a certain percentage of cash that I'm earning that isn't making its way into my bank account, but I can deal with that. If that was all, that would be fine.

But that's not all kids.

First I get dicked around on starting date. I was told I was to start the next day, however, I didn't end up starting until a week later. OK, it wasn't necessarily the guy's fault the fact that I had a delayed start, however, the moral of the story is; don't say that you know something for a certainty when you know that you don't. I was tense for pretty much the entire week with the thinking I knew what was happening, and having the carpet pulled out from under me on that fact.

Also; the induction. The recruitment agency had their own special induction, which was, as all inductions tend to be, a complete wank. Accompanied by a handbook with Big Brother propaganda tones. Where the major problem lay wasn't in the fact that the agency had their own totalitarian induction, but rather that it was unpaid.

Sound illegal? I'm pretty sure it is.

But that's not the worst of the HR fucked-up-ness. Second day of the job, I have a nightmare of a cold that was threatening me on the first day. I go into work anyway and work a half day. Today I convince my workaholic head to stay home and convalesce for a day. Guess who gives me a hard time about it.

What the hell is up with that?!? I am a contractor, not a robot. If I'm sick, then I'm sick. The best thing to do in such a circumstance, when one is coldly informed by the HR leech that getting sick on the second / third day "isn't a good look" is to pleasantly, but formally and just a tiny bit more professionally, remind said leech that one valiantly went into work the previous day when one was actually sick and that one will return to work when one is physically capable. Leaving it unsaid that it wouldn't happen before that. Hopefully in his life before being a leech he cultivated enough intelligence to get that fact.

There is one extremely positive aspect regarding HR flesh-dealers that must not be overlooked: they are powerful motivation to further ones plans for freelancing work.

Happy Jan

2009-03-10T23:16:00.004+11:00

A state of visualisation. Followed by a purposeful state of action. Resulting in a state of actualisation.

I got me a jawb! Not only a jawb, but a job with a Melburnian employmer!

I now meet at least one of the criteria for residency - gainful employment.

Sweet 'N' Sour: Combination

2009-03-08T18:37:00.012+11:00

***Spoiler Alert! Spoiler Alert!!!!*****

****BIG GIANT SPOILER ALERT!!*****

Seriously, if you haven't seen this Aussie movie, and you want to - do NOT continue reading this post.

All non-wanting-to-have-film-spoiled readers gone? (Yes, son. I'm talking to you.)

Good. Then we can get right down to it.

OK. So. About this movie.

It was beautifully made film, a real credit to the Lebanese-Australian writer, but it really packed a punch. I can confidently say that, no matter what background you came from, the filmmakers were not kind to you. They certainly weren't kind to me. But, considering the lot of the characters in the story, I think that I got off pretty easy....

Yes, the blonde racist teenage was a little fuck job. He was an angry tosspot, ill-educated, and very prejudiced. His introduction to the audience was aggressively pushing the very anti-social line that people of Lebanese descent were "not Australian" and "wogs that should go back to where they came from." Quite uncool behaviour, effectively sneering at other teenage boys that their cultural identity as an Australian is not valid, that he is not welcome in the country he grew up in. That he is basically living a lie.

However, does the admittedly very fucked up behaviour of blonde teenage boy warrant a death sentence? His story was pretty sad, with his mother gunned down by Sydney p'liceman, and him being addicted to drugs. And recently dumped to boot The film didn't explicitly say so, but I don't believe that he would have have devised the racial stereotypes all on his own. He was extremely angry, wrongly pouring angry shit on other kids in a very detrimental fashion to them, but conditioned by family and community to do so. I don't have the magic medicine, I don't know wht you do with teenage boys who are that troubled and trained to hate - but killing would not even make it onto the table as an option.

To the individual in the cinema today who applauded when blonde kid died - wtf? The event was not a victory. No cause for celebration. Just another life that never really had a chance. I will admit it was troubling as all fuck to see this kid in such a mental state that he was willing and able to shoot the blonde kid - just because the blonde considered him and his mates to not qualify as Australians. However, one racist kid's tragic death doesn't solve anything. And if you looked a little closer, you might just see the film maker making this very valid point. If you applaud the murder, you also applaud the Leb-Aussie kid going to jail. You applaud the use of violence to solve complex and deeply embedded social problems. In other words, you aren't doing much better than these morons.

I must convince, hearing people I was in a cinema with applaud the murder of a teenager, gave me pause. It made it just a tiny bit real, brought home the fact that this was based on real cultural dynamics, really present in Australian society. Definitely made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up a bit.

But, getting back to unreality.. the film would not have been such a shock to the system if there hadn't have been some really positive heartwarming aspects. The open family love between the two Lebanese boys/men and their mother. The beautiful subtly yet strikingly done interracial romance between the blonde woman and the older Lebanese guy. The rough but honest goodness of character demonstrated by the Aboriginal characters in the film. The rich cultural display of Lebanese language, food and dance within Australia. The film had some pretty sweet highs, for sure.

But the lows. Oh, they went pretty low. For example....

WHY DID THE BEAUTIFUL LEBANESE BOY HAVE TO DIE!!!!! The pusher man got his money. Seriously. Lebanese boy had to put up with so much crap. Dead father, brother in prison for the past couple of years, fucked up social circle, racism, and then some more racism. WHY DID HE HAVE TO DIE?!?!?!?! Don't they understand that he was too beautiful to die?

*sigh*

Despite the fact that it was a bit of a jagged pill, I am glad I saw the film. It was well-done, and very relevant. It raised some interesting points, such as whether women of minority groups tend to be less a victim of racism than men (one instance where a girl was referred to as a 'wog', as distinct from the boy being a 'dirty wog'), how cultural difference isn't a death sentence for partnership and also how easy it is to be blind to racism (both in how prolific it is and how detrimental) when it's not targeted at you.

When Random Isn't Random

2009-02-24T11:37:00.000+11:00

This post is partly inspired by the distant memory of an ex-something of mine who would insist; "There's no such thing as random." Despite the fact there was greater scope for intelligent discourse with my big toe than with the individual in question, the statement raises an interesting point to consider. As the concept of random deserves a dedicated post, this is a precursor to my next post in the Karma series.

Define 'random.'
References are good. In order to avoid having a sea of links or pages of text, I've edited out additional definitions from the sources below where the meaning is adequately captured by another source.

I've included some definitions that I personally believe are wrong. Common usage or not, in terms of capturing the core concept of random - dead fucking wrong. I've done this, partly to poke fun at particular professions, but also to highlight the extent to which this term has been applied to so many different meanings, some being mutually exclusive, that it has essentially become a meaningless term without a specific context.

Apparently, random is...

(1) "lacking any definite plan or order or purpose; governed by or depending on chance."
Princeton website

(2) "a lack of order, purpose, cause, or predictability." (more)
Wikipedia

(3) "is often used in statistics to signify well-defined statistical properties, such as a lack of bias or correlation."
Wikipedia

(4) "an event for which there is no way to know, before it occurs, what the outcome will be. Instead, only the probabilities of each possible outcome can be stated."
Cliffs Notes

(5) "the equal chance of any occurrence."
Marketing and Geography education resources

(6) "an undefined, unknown or unimportant person; a person of no consequence;"
Wiktionary

(7) "(describes) a happening or event due to chance and not determined by other factors."
A Dictionary Of Epidemiology

(8) "sometimes used as a colloquialism for nonsense, e.g. for outburst that are non sequitur."
Wikipedia dispute page for 'randomness'

And the list goes on. Others include, "haphazardly", "at great speed", "an undesirable person."

Etc, etc, etc.

Wow, you're right. The term is all but meaningless.
Yes and no. Whilst it may be near impossible to neatly box it up into a single definition, it does express a concept and idea that has to do with unpredictability and, by extension, unfathomability. So let's see if we can't tighten up the definition some by referencing it to that with a little insight and integrity...

Those wacky statisticians
As per definition (3), a random distribution of events is defined as a series of events that follows a uniform and predictable pattern, where the greatest number of events occurs in the middle of the range of options (ie, the average, aka mean), and each of the extremes (variables that are the largest number of standard devs away from the average) represents the fewest number of occurrences. Also known as a Gaussian distribution or 'normal' distribution. (Interesting, no?)

This is relevant because, in the absence of any other information, statisticians assume in their modelling, with some success that a distribution is 'random.' Why does this work? Because, when you're looking at a series of data, no matter what the data is (length of cats claws, height of humans, etc), the greater your sample is, the more likely it is that the pattern of events will resemble this kind distribution. Whilst this has some very important ramifications for random as a whole concept, I'm going to largely leave the technical aspect behind as we clear out some of the guff associated with this term.

The Elimination Game Time eliminating definitions for the purposes of sanity and maintaining the scope. As you will see from below, the following definitions are, in a word, bollocks;

Random as a synonym for the non sequitur, the nonsensical, the absurd: As can be observed, there are a variety of terms that are a) more descriptive of the event and b) intrinsically less confusing for the listener that ought be used in this context instead of random. *definition lands in the trash with a swoosh.*

Random as a way of describing strangers, friends of friends, casual observers, people that you may or may not have met yet: As for previous.

Random as a way to describe something "with no cause": This concept is a myth. I say with an enormous amount of confidence that every single event that we are ever likely to experience in this lifetime has a cause. If it doesn't have a cause, it has several causes. Whether there's any intelligence, behind the cause(s), whether we can accurately discern the nature of these causes - irrelevant. The cause is there. In the same way that it doesn't work logically to put the cart before the horse, you can't have an effect without a cause. Busted.

Random as a way to describe an equal chance of any occurrence: What a load of crap. And yet, I will recognise that it is common usage to describe the event of any number coming up on a dice as 'random' despite the fact that the chances of any specific number coming up are equal.

Whilst I am guilty of the offence of using the term in one or more of the following incorrect contexts, I do not condone it. The definitions as per above are symptomatic of lazy thinking, and are best avoided.

When *is* random not random?
In to assist dissecting delve into the more woolly interpretations of the term, I will quote one more source;

This article presumes a priori that randomness means irreducible randomness, and 'essentially' pretends that reducible randomness doesn't exist. This is in spite of the fact that reducible randomness is the only form that can be definitively demonstrated, in special cases.
Wikipedia dispute page for 'randomness'

From this and the disparity between some of the remaining def'ns, it would seem that you can divide random into two categories;

Irreducibly random - ie How the fuck did that happen? I had no basis for any reasonable assumption that that was going to occur.
Reducibly random - ie OK, there was a likelihood that this would occur. Maybe I felt like I knew enough to put a number on it. But I didn't know it was going to happen, indeed, it wasn't even likely, given the number and/or probability associated with the alternatives. And yes, the existing uncertainty associated with the (supposedly) random object.

This is all very well and good, as far as it goes. Only one problem - the absence of parameters. Due to the level of reasonable uncertainty which we determine and predict things as human beans, anything can be classified as reducibly random. My car starting in the morning could be random. The sun rising in the morning could be construed as reducibly random. (It could get hit by another universe and be wiped out of existence before tomorrow.)

My question would then be - at what point do we say, 'Although we cannot perfectly predict the outcome relating to this scenario, we are sufficiently familiar with the causes relating to the situation, and have a reasonable ability to foresee what's going to happen (ie when I roll a six-sided dice, it will come up with an integer between 1 and 6) such that it has sufficient predictability that it can no longer be considered random'?

I take the point that we can't prove whether something is irreducibly random, only when it's not. However I believe there's a danger in assigning too much to the term 'reducibly random.' Surely when we have certain level of knowledge of related causes and effects, whatever the outcome turns out to be, we can say 'Yes. I hereby declare this thing un-random." Stamped, sealed and delivered.

Either that, or we need to start coming up with some more terms to describe the various degrees of random. Clarity of language people. I demand clarity of language.

Bloggng from Melbourne Central

2009-02-23T15:32:00.002+11:00

From my lofty view here on the second floor of Melbourne Central mall, it has gotten a lot easier than it was an hour ago to look down upon people.

Some of my more psychically adept readers may be asking themselves the following question; "I wonder why Althea is blogging from a noisy place awash with various greasy odours wafting from the food court, when she has access to at least one free computer at any given time at her sister's apartment?"

Which is indeed, an excellent question. To which my answer would be "Because I braved close proximity to a recruitment agent, and as a direct result got locked my keys and wallet in my sisters apartment!"

*pauses for the ensuing applause and standing ovations*

Yes, it's true. My genius is unparalleled.

Luckily for me and my genius, I was still able to get money out of the bank. This was a result of the fact that I carry the contents of Morocco in my handbag. Despite not having keys or wallet, I had my US passport in my bag.

Go pack rats of the world!

Teach This

2009-02-20T23:19:00.008+11:00

I've not ever seriously considered it as a full-time gig, but I think that I would be a truly shagawful teacher. Not because, I don't have patience (though it does have it's limits), or because I couldn't teach material (depends on the material and the nature of the thing absorbing the material), but because there are reasons why I would not be the kind of teacher that I would want to have. Some include the fact that I fancy myself something of a comedian and I can be very blunt. (Shock, horror.) For instance, some of you may recall a certain scene of a Simpsons episode where the kiddy school orchestra was having a rehearsal and there was the following dialogue:

Chorus of kids: Lisa li-ikes Nel-son...
Milhouse: [indignantly] She does not!
Chorus of kids: Milhouse li-ikes Li-sa...
Janie: [indignantly] He does not!
Chorus of kids: Janie li-ikes Mil-house...
Music Teacher: Nobody likes Milhouse!

That is the sort of teacher I would be.

Not quite, but pretty damn close.

Of course, that wouldn't stop me if I decided that I wanted to find me a home where the teachers roam. However, they get paid precisely jack-squat (especially in Victoria). Seriously, unexotic dancers get paid more than Victorian teachers do.

Needless to say, it ain't happening for this cookie cutter.

Blaze Of Death

2009-02-11T18:00:00.002+11:00

How about that Mother of all Bushfires in Victoria? Madness. I tried to find a link for the story and drowned in the stories of death, loss and depression. And guess what? They're still burning!

For those that don't know, Saturday was the kindling. It got to 47 C. So hot. But far be it for me to whinge when I still have a roof over my head. (Seriously though - the only time I have *ever* experience that kind of hot was when I was passing through Needles, California.) The exact cause of every one of the bushfires is unknown. There's been quite a bit of finger-pointing, but I suspect that the gum trees screamed "It's too hot!" and spontaneously combusted en masse.

And I do mean en masse. From the comfortable and welldefended haven of Melbourne, I could see the gigantic clouds of smoke from the apartment window. It makes the Canberra bushfires of 2003, about which there was quite a brouhaha, pale in comparison.

Despite the horror of the destroyed lives and homes, it is quite heartening that so many people are willing to give and help out. Over the past few days, they've managed to raise several million for the relief fund. Although most of the big bikkies not coming from individuals, the fact that so many people from different places and different walks of life have dug in their pockets to help those that have taken a great spanking by the elements says something that I like to hear.

Existing In The Place Between Places

2009-02-10T21:13:00.002+11:00

Ah, transition. Could there possibly be anything better? Except, oh, I don't know...actually knowing where you're going and what you'll be doing and that you'll be able to afford rentish and billish type things??

A lot has happened since I last posted. I got on the aforementioned plane for starters. I have now officially commenced the next leg of the journey which is: Finding The Means To Prevent Having To Crawl Back To Hometown With Tail Between Legs. (Also known in some parts looking for a job.)

To all the Melbourne folk who I know and adore who may be reading this - apologies for being somewhat less than social during this transition-time, but it's the way that it's got to be. I needs bag me an income. Until such time, I will probably be all but inaccessible.

Know that the time is productively spent however. As endearing as my shotgun approach to job seeking is, I've been conducting motivational, aptitude and personality tests on myself for the purposes of narrowing down options a bit. With some interesting, but mostly unsurprising 'career match' results. Although, my sister and I had a really good long laugh about the prospect of telling our parents that I was going throw away my university education and become a beautician because a book said that it was one of my career matches.

Once I got up off the floor and wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes, I put together a hierarchy of options, based on interest and likelihood. Basically, the plan, if it can indeed be called that, is to continue applying IT project positions, get a job nice and quickly in this area. After I get a place and get settled, I'm going to take a short course in one of the areas that actually interests me (omfg) and makes good use of my innate talents (omfgiah) and obtain a job in that area. There are a lot of variables, but I believe that it can be done. Alls I got to do for the moment is keep applying and approaching orgs.

Historical Sign

2009-02-01T11:32:00.004+11:00

Part the joy of "deep cleaning" is that one gets to uncover all sorts of lost treasures Indianna Jones-style. I found one such gem this morning in the form of a sign that I made when I was in my early twenties. My sister had just come back from Japan for the second time. Having moved back home from uni dorms and happily adjusted to being an only child, having her around the house was a rude awakening to certain realities associated with living with other people, that is, having to deal with other people's quirks. My sister had a quirk that involved her busting in on me while I was having a bath. Without fail almost, no matter what time I would have my bath, she would disturb a pleasant soak I was having because she needed something from the bathroom, despite my asking her on more than one occasion not to. Often without knocking. It drove me nuts. Thus, having a penchant for the passive-aggressive, I made a very colourful sign for the bathroom door during my bathtime, as follows;

Are you a considerate person?
Do you place value on human dignity and comfort?
Do you have respect for the wishes of your fellow human being?
You posess all of these qualities, and more? Wonderful.
Then Let Althea have her bath in
PEACE (insert artfully done peace sign incorporating the 'E' and the 'A')

It gave me chuckle when I found it. If memory serves, my sister never actually saw it. My mother took it down discreetly the first time I put it up and when asked about it promised that she'd talk to the sestren. Nonetheless, it was a very good release. I put it aside (just in case). But I don't imagine that I'll be needing it in a 1BR apartment.

*does happy "I'm getting a 1BR apartment" dance*

Bluetastic

2009-01-31T22:47:00.007+11:00

I'm adorned with a bit of blue this eve. I've been in a crappy mood since I got off the phone with my sister trying to convince me to essentially "take whatever I can get" regarding job and salary when I get to Melb. Gar! I get it, she doesn't want to put me up for ever, and the economy is crap at the moment, but having my little-big sister essentially advising me not to aim high and not negotiate anything offered is just not cool. 'Specially since we're meant to be encouraging each other in our mutual ventures. In any case, personally, I'm with short-haired, middle-aged blonde woman that I did some vocational training about 6 years ago....

"Don't give advice unless you happen to have walked on water within the past eight hours"

Convincing my sister of that though....miss worrywart, meddle-monkey extraordinaire....chances of that?

Forget it.

And, on top of not being able to find my pink and purple bead box, I can't find my green bead box!* It disappeared along with the pink and purple bead box on time with the Christmas decorating madness that occurs each year (ie complete re-arranging of the house by my mother who at present is conveniently outside the realm of phone reception in Tasmania) - only this time with more disastrous results than usual. I love my pink and purple bead box and miss it dearly, but I need my green box! I'm surrounded by other beautiful colours, but they're not what I want. Reds and yellows are too hot for this weather. Blacks and whites are too stark. Browns are alright as an accent but not as a main colour. Orange is, well, orange. (Seriously, does anyone like that colour in abundance?) And blue is a great colour. It's soothing, it's smart - but I just finished a piece using heaps of it. If I use for another piece, I'll OD on the colour blue!

Universe: give me back my green bead box!!!!!

I should be applying for jobs. I don't want to apply for jobs. I'm sick of applying for jobs. Now that my contract's done, I'm going to be applying for jobs every day until I get one.** That's both annoying and lame.

You know what else is both annoying and lame? Two out of three of my old, dear friends from university dorms that have been my buddies for six years bailed on me for drinks last Friday that I took pains to book them in for a month in advance. Screw 'em. I love 'em still, but screw 'em. That's the last time for the forseeable that I'll be making the effort to get together down the one-way-street that is my relationship with those two gels.

*sigh*

There are positives here. I'm getting out of this crappy, crappy town. Next week in fact. I have a darling sister who is usually very supportive and kind, despite being a Nervous Nellie. I had my very first facial ever today and it was a pretty cool experience.^ It may have been somewhat placebo-esque as far as appearance and epidermic health is concerned, but my face loved it and felt all smooth and spongy afterwards. I also went grocery shopping for the week today and I have enough food to last me until I head south. And I had a really nice dinner last night with my now ex-colleague who is just...well...human candy. She is sugar and spice and everything nice, plus a little bit of wicked. We parted which was kinda sad, but we parted friends.

And, hey, I don't have a loser boyfriend. That is always a plus.

This sookarific post has officially come to an end.

Tomorrow's another day.

Bring it.

*Yes, I have several bead boxes dedicated to one or two colours. I used to keep all beads and bead related products in a good-sized fishing tackle box, but the beads outgrew it.
**Or get a pet monkey that has minimal needs and a six-figure salary working as an actuary. It could happen.
^Nonetheless, if I hadn't got a 75% discount on the price, it would have been no way Jose.

Maladministrated Vocables

2009-01-30T11:50:00.001+11:00

I am enchanted to advertise the actuality that my final day of work is momentary. Thus I perceived that there would be no better potentiality to exploit Macquarie Thesaurus software on the apparatus used for my post for the purposes of amusing oneself.

It has been gratifying. The indulgence is all explosive.

The Lesser Known Brand of MP3 Player

2009-01-29T12:58:00.004+11:00

My ip-Pod has taken a hit. It was contaminated by an alien brand of speaker/alarm clock that it was attached to, and I'm not sure that it will recover. I was in a state of shock this morning when I discovered its critical state. However, the shock subsided, and the wonder of rediscovery emerged as I beheld the previously acquired lesser known brand of MP3 player - The Inbuilt Random Synapse Firer.

This product has many admirable features. That's not to say that it doesn't have its drawbacks. For instance, the volume doesn't go as high as other MP3 player brands, but, as with other brands, this can be augmented by linking the device outputs to vocal outputs. On the plus side, it's very user friendly and has an effective and excellent algorithm for selecting tunes (whatever that may be, the exact formula remains a mystery to us fans).

Some examples of fine tune selections that were produced for my entertainment so far today include the following tracks;

Day-O - Harry Belafonte
Fourth Floor - The Waifs
Iko Iko - The Belle Stars
Ordinary Angels - Frente

And the day ain't over yet! I look forward to the fabulous selections to come.

NB I am extremely busy and.....concerned in and about the near future, but the posting will continue.

Ceremonial Extension

2009-01-22T11:51:00.004+11:00

In light of recent events, and thoroughly keeping the spirit of Australia Day, I have decided to extend the finish line my 26 for 26 posting marathon extraordinaire until the 26th of February. To do otherwise would, of course, be un-Australian.

*nods*

In other news, my flight is booked!

Karma Part 1 - Existence Of

2009-01-19T21:13:00.010+11:00

I find it extremely amusing when people utter the self-righteous phrase "I believe in karma." Almost as though it is an idea that requires an enormous leap of faith. To those people who probably are far too enlightened to follow this blog; let me assist in casting aside any doubt you may have - we're not exactly talking about a concept of great mysticism. A commonly accepted root definition of the term is as follows;

Karma is a fundamental concept which has no direct translation into English. It has multiple levels of applicability and can approximately be defined as the natural order of action and each action has an associated result (often called fruit of the karma). (more)

Each action has an associated result. Hmm. I don't know, it seems pretty far-fetched. Let's go over this again. Natural order of action, the organic sequence relating to action. Action(s) occurs, consequence(s) ensue. Sounds an awful lot like....

*pauses for dramatic effect*

That's right - it's cause and effect people! Wow! I'm just in awe of the supernaturality of it all! Things are, like, totally related to each other!

I have more to say on this topic, but at the moment, I'm just too overwhelmed by the divinty of it all to be able to be able to continue at this point!

Stay tuned for Part 2.

I'm Lea-ving On A Jet Plane...

2009-01-18T21:32:00.003+11:00

The command decision has been made. Rather than hide out here like a rabbit in a warren gathering carrots, come the end of January -and my current contract- I'm leaving. I'm going to take a week after I've finished to pack my necessities and tie off any loose ends that may be dangling precariously and I'm just leaving. I'm going to get on a plane* and I'm going to savour the feeling of being lifted up from the earth into the sky. Then, shortly afterwards, I will find myself in good ol' Tullamarine and be on a SkyBus with my luggage. My talented and hard-working sister and boyfriend are going to put me up in their 3-bedroom apartment until I get a steady income and, subsequently, a lease of my very own. Because they are just very beautiful people.

I am so stoked about this. My sister lives in a great neighbourhood. So many options. Five minute walk from the train. Two blocks from an Asian Bakery. Around the corner from a branch of my bank. A train's distance from Federation Square, Melbourne Central, hundreds of great bars and restaurants, and probably the place of my future employment. A train-and-tram's distance away from St Kilda and IMAX. Seriously cool.

Once I have a reliability of cash flows, I will find a nice 1 bedroom apartment in one of my preferred suburbs that won't break the bank, but hopefully has a decent kitchen and a bath tub. I will return briefly to Canberra to pack up the rest of my things and haul them to my new place. I shall then proceed to unpack, organise and decorate my apartment with various things, put it together with creativity from a combination of acquisitions to date and new purchases. I will both further my healthy routines and nurture my semi-regular bursts of creative pulse. It will be lovely.

From there, the adventure will continue. To where, who can say? There are too many cool-looking branches to see the top to the trees. Time to get in and swing amongst the vines some.

That's the plan that will be executed within the foreseeable.

And it's fucking good one, if I don't say so myself.

*Which will cost me < $40, because Tiger Airways rule.

2009: Fine Or Divine?

2009-01-18T14:35:00.005+11:00

Resulting from my deliberations on and relating to the subject, I have identified three goals for 2009. Whilst these could be described as New Year's resolutions, I think of these more as a guide as to what kind of journey I wish to have rather than boxes to be ticked as at 31st December 2009. These noble quests are as follows...

Moving to Melbourne and establishing myself there.
Achieving a higher quality of general health and fitness.
Practicing smarter and better methods of wealth creation.

Bring it awn!

Ring The 'Gong

2009-01-17T12:49:00.000+11:00

I set out for the 'Gong for NY's in the manner described in here. It was very spur of the moment, only deciding on the day that I was going to go. Booked accommodation with good ol' reliable YHA, packed what I needed, printed out driving directions, jumped in the car, and we were off!

The drive to get to the city was very liberating. And easy! I so didn't even need the dirs to get to the city itself. For the many readers of this blog who are likely to want to drive from Canberra to Wollongong, directions are as follows: face the car north, follow the signs pointing towards Sydney, take a left at Moss Vale and follow the signs to the 'Gong - done.

The drive to get from the outskirts to my accommodation was somewhat uncool however. The roads of the inner city are styled far too much like Sydney for my comfort. If I had a dollar for every 'No Right Turn' sign and unmarked dead end roads, that particular avenue of income would have funded my accommodation for the two days. I cannot phrase it better than this: extremely annoying. I even got pulled over by a couple of cops for illegally turning right at one point. I didn't get a ticket though, as I managed to present a very convincing image of a dumbass tourist trying to find their accommodation - not exactly a challenge. Got there eventually, put the perishables in the fridge and collapsed.

Having recovered from the excitement, I set out to explore the city and venture out to one of the zillion beaches. Wollongong is a very trippy place. I'm convinced that the city's founders and all the inhabitants were on drugs. How else do you wind up with a suburb named "Fairy Meadows?" The best way that I can describe it though, apart from a town founded on drugs - surfie town. Lots of raucous dickheads with less than coherent English roaming around looking for waves (and drugs). I heard various parts of the Aussie vernacular that I can do without, the term 'youse' being one. Youse is the uneducated Australian plural of the term 'you' - very cringeworthy term. More so when you observe an individual using the term when referring to a singular entity. ('Ay, youse! Gyet ovah heeere!) Although I had pleasant interactions with a few of the residents, and acknowledge that it's not exclusively populated by ignorant yobs, on aggregate, the general population of Wollongong concern me.

The beaches though. The beaches. So amazing, beautiful, spectacular, zen-like. Did I mention that the beaches were pretty? Most of my stay was spent at the beach. Over the course of the two days, I went to the following beaches; Corrimal, North Wollongong, Port Kembla, and Wollongong City. They each had their own flavour to them. Corrimal was the best, with North Wollongong a close second. I made good use of the new swimming cozzie that was one of the 'practical purchases' made in one of the best stores in this hemisphere. Unlike the beaches around Bateman's Bay, these beaches actually have waves, so there was less swimming, and more movements of the 'let's not get dunked' nature. I built a couple of sand castles, read on the sand, chilled. Lovely.

I spent NY's at the Nan Tien Temple watching the Chinese dragon dance, or, as I like to call it: Budda Vegas. That place was spectacular. The reason I call it Buddha Vegas: the sheer size of it, with all the lanterns were lit and the roof of every single shrine was lit up with lights, it was a bit plastic, shiny, overcompensating for a religion that is concerned with impermanence and the illusions perceptions of reality. And the whole business of buying blessings - weird. But who am I to judge? It serves a purpose, it's a gigantic billboard for Buddhism in OZ and it caters to a lot of Chinese Buddhists of the Mahayana tradition. Despite noting the shininess of it all, I really enjoyed my visit there. The shrines were amazing. The calligraphy room was fab. I loved the Buddha Babies (child-like statues in the likeness of Buddha). There were literally hundreds of them scattered across the vast compound. They were so cheeky and cute, I just wanted to cuddle them. Especially the ones near the lotus flower pond.

The dragon dance was really cool. Lots of Chinese and Chinese-Australian kids banging their drums and shaking their dragon clad booties. I watched it with a really nice Italian woman that I came across and had a good conversation with. I could have watched it all night. But it ended all too soon, and then came the 'pilgrimage' from the pagota to the main shrine, which consisted of the following:

All stand in a line. Shuffle along for a few steps. The gong sounds. Stop and genuflect on the ground at nothing in particular for a few seconds. Repeat the process.

Myself and the Italian woman were rather of the opinion "Fuck that" and each went on our merry way. If that practice gives something to people raised in Eastern traditions: more power to them. I occasionally sit on my ass in a manner resembling meditation posture, however, the only time I get down on my knees is if the ball's coming fast and low in a volleyball game.

Afterwards, I didn't feel like to going to bar and chatting with assorted randoms as I had thought I might. Instead, I ventured around the city a bit and contemplated the year behind and the year ahead. I woke up without a hangover on January 1st, checked out, went to the beach for the last time, had a relatively uneventful drive back to Canberra, sighed, and went to work the next day. Some people I know were somewhat appalled when I told them that I went away for NY's by myself, but these individuals clearly haven't experienced Christmas with my folks and the subsequent need for some time to oneself. I probably would have invited one or more persons to come with if I had a bit more lead time, but I'm content with how it all flowed as a mostly solo thing. I needed that time to myself and not having to worry about the wants or needs or anyone else.

Enter 2009.

Light & Fluffy Post #1

2009-01-16T13:05:00.006+11:00

It has been brought to my attention by the poisonous snakes that I've been putting far too much thought into my blog posts. As such, this is the first of a series of light and fluffy blog posts that will make up the 26.

Fair warning, these pictures are advertising. *spits on the sidewalk* They also promote inaccurate and judgemental gender stereotypes. If the gracious and glorious author of this blog had done up the images, the lines would have a different configuration.

But, they are also not without humour value.

Wish You Were Black 'Manitarian Association Brochure

2009-01-15T12:54:00.007+11:00

Introduction
The Wish You Were Black 'Manitarian Association (WYWBMA) is a newly formed community service initiative to help a segment of the population who have not typically received support, but suffer nonetheless. White boys and men....answer the following questions to determine whether you need our help.

The Test

Are you in a bad way?

Do you want what you do not have?

Do you desperately want to be able to dance but you just can't?

Do you desperately want to be able to dunk but you really can't?

Do you desperately want to be a hip-hop artist but a melody comes out each time?

Do you dream about being a Black Panther?

Do you laugh a little too loud and a little too long at stand-up jokes by black comedians at the expense of white guys?

Would you be OK with being blind if it meant that you could be Stevie Wonder?

Would you kill for bass tones of Barry White?

Do you want to be dark and/or mysterious?

Do want to be....more....in a physical sense?

If you are a white male and answered yes to four or more of the above questions, chances are you have a case of "wish you were black" complex. This is the opposite of the "Michael Jackson" complex, but with the same potential for irrevocable psychological damage. You want it so bad it hurts. Chances are every time you look in a mirror you find yourself confronted by your non-brutha' status and it depresses the crap out of you. For those of you who are too far gone in denial of your condition, snap out of it man! You wish you were black. Don't try to hide from it any longer.

So where to from here?

The Next Step
Congratulations for recognising where you're at and having the courage to face your problems! Now that you are acquainted with the horrifying reality of your social malady, you can accept it. No longer need you, the afflicted, suffer in your private WASP-y hells! Funding for relief activities by the WYWBMA outreach program to help those in need. Hallelujah!

Register yourself as a sufferer and access a wide variety of treatments available to those who notify us of their need for support. There are the two general streams 'A Guide Back to the Light' and 'All The Way To The Dark Side' described in this brochure. There are also customised treatments based on your special circumstances available - contact us to discuss your options.

A Guide Back to the Light
For those who can still entertain the notion of living life as a self-accepting white man on some level, we can assist you in finding your way back to The Land of The White Honkies. You can implement some of the strategies on your own if you're feeling strong.

And here's how!

Distance yourself from other tryhard WYWB complex sufferers. Carry a baseball bat around with you if necessary - WYWB sufferers can be very assertive.

Destroy all music in your possession of the following genres; blues, soul, real R&B, contemporary R&B, reggae, rap, hip-hop, jazz, swing, ragtime, rock 'n' roll, funk, disco, gospel and most world music. Yes, even that by white or near-white artists. Stay away from the slippery slope.

At once, listen to this, this, and this. It's all part of the treatment. When you start to get past the numbness and start tapping your toes, you'll know that it's working.

Rebuild your music collection from the following genres only; country, western, bluegrass, classical, romantic, baroque, yodelling, and choir (remember, no gospel! Christmas carols, however, are acceptable). This may prove a challenge to sufferers of the WHWB complex. If needed, our support workers can assist you in this matter.

Vote Republican. They're not going to win an election any time soon anyway, and by voting Republican you will automatically get a little whiter.*

Play lots of golf. Note: this is not a suitable activity for an individual who idolises Tiger Woods.

If this is insufficient in getting you on your way back to being happily white, you may need to resort to more drastic measures. Even if you're not from New Zealand, we may recommend that you go All Black.

All the Way to the Dark Side
Are you truly a black man trapped in a white man's body? Is an escape from wishing you were black a futile prospect?

Don't despair - we're here to help. We are fully equipped to provide the following treatments to ease the transition....

Race reassignment surgery. In the vein of Black Like Me, we will fry your skin for this treatment. There may be some dangerous side effects of this procedure, but, surely it could be nothing worse than the pain you're currently inflicting on your friends and family.
Speech coach. We'll fix your bastardised vocalising and have you -izzling it up in no time!
Hairdresser, to arrange an appropriate mini-plaits or dreads style for you.

Assistance with selecting a modified version of your name that fits your status as a brutha.'

And more!

Contact us for more info, and take a moment to read the words of some of our many satisfied customers!

Testimonials

"WYWBMA really made my life worth living again, I really can't thank them enough."
-That guy in Philadelphia who had more Bob Marley paraphernalia in his apartment than I have even seen before or since

"I'd recommend WYWBMA to anyone who is experiencing racial dissonance."
-Bob Seger

"I'm really looking forward to my surgery - I'll finally be a whole person. Thanks WYWBMA!"
-J Tibby, formerly known as Justin Timberlake

*Not a lily kind of white, more like a sickly, nasty bleach white. But white nonetheless!

Brain Jam

2009-01-12T13:19:00.005+11:00

I would like to let one and all know that I refuse to be one of those people that doesn't post on ze blog at work because they feel too much like a slacker doing so. I am a supreme slacker, and I am entitled to fit the mold of the Australian public servant in this respect.

Of course, the other difficulty associated with posting at work is being on a different thought train. I'm dealing with voluminous data here, so when I try and turn my brain towards the concept of, 'hmm, what do I feel like writing about,' my skull starts to make noises similar to the following....

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl
Ker-chink-ker-chink-ker-chink
Da-doof-BOOM!
Crash.

And then I get distracted by something that my brain tells me to do. There is a serious traffic jam in my creative brain of ideas that want to be expressed but get compressed by the pragmatic brain. Since when was it not an acceptable excuse, either for myself or boss, that, sorry, these laptops aren't going to get delivered, because I have to write a very important blog post about white blokes who wish they were black? What kind of world do we live in?!

Won't somebody please think of the children!

I will impart one tidbit before I cease my resistance against the tide of Work. I came up with an idea for a story last year that involved two madly dressed women who sold pair of glasses that were tinted, not with colours, but with emotions, such that that it would stream the thoughts, ideas and mental states of the user through the filter of a specific emotion (or combination of emotions), with some very entertaining and thought-provoking events unfolding as a result.

The story of the two eccentric women selling emotion-tinted glasses will be told. I don't know exactly how, where or when.

But it will.

2008: Sighting 'Hind

2009-01-11T13:35:00.007+11:00

2008. What a year! What fun we had! We laughed, we cried, we snorted, we defecated. We experienced the following things, in a nutshell:

January: Coming back to Canberra from New Zealand.
That was pretty crap. Part of it was the fact that it was the end of a holiday, but the whole business of having an awesome overseas experience, and then having to come back to a town and job that I was thoroughly sick and tired of - blech. Unhappy Jan. Prior to this unfortunate return, it was determined that one would move to another city in Australia for the next leg of life's lil' journey. But was it to be Melbourne, Perth or Brisbane (all very sexy cities). In the meantime, it was back to work, and saving money to move.

February - May: Same crappy job, different Fascist supervisor. **Warning Explicit Language**
Aww. Mah. Gough. The bossy, presumptuous, control-freak, head up-her-ass, esteemed colleague who I'd been trying to train through the almost insurmountable barrier of both her and my arrogance, got promoted in a rather untimely fashion. I won't go into intimate details of her fucked-up life view, wildly inappropriate behaviour and our delightful encounters due to the ever-shrinking quality of the world. Suffice it to say that our relationship did not improve as result of the change, and the goal of sticking it out until the end of financial year and bonus time became significantly more challenging.

June - July: Death is better than my job.
Hating job. Hating town. Having some success at saving money but it is slow going. Still debating the goodness of one Australian city over another. In possession of a great ball of inertia and distinct air of irritability. A lot of restructuring (Nazi-ising) happening at the company. Spat the dummy when supervisor chose to instruct me to perform jobs that were the specific and clearly understood domain of a more junior employee, being the twig that broke the camel's back. Left not a moment too soon for my sanity (unfortunately, only a few scattered remains were salvaged), got jipped out of my bonus by the bastards I'd been employed with for 4 and 1/2 years, despite having worked up to and including June 30. In other words, the whole business of gritting my teeth and sticking it out in Pseudo-Hippie Hell for more $$ - completely and utterly pointless. Nonetheless, singing hallelujah to be the fuck out of that place and away from the soul-sucking management. Yep, still singing. If I'd stayed there any longer, I probably would have started bashing my head against the desk until it was bloody.

Late July - August: Perseverence in adversity.
I was at this point that I experienced something that I hadn't since I was nineteen and had just returned from a working holiday in the US - unemployment. I hadn't planned it to happen at that time. Should have, but didn't, and I didn't really know what to do with it. I could do anything that I wanted. Unfortunately, I still had one demon on my back: study. Fucking study. Earlier in the year, I enrolled in a post-grad property investment analysis course. My motivations for doing so were somewhat cloudy, however, I got into it, and fucked if I wasn't going to finish it. I had the exam in exactly two weeks from the day that I walked away from the fuckwits that I used to work for. Strategic action was required. I took a few days to absorb, booked myself return flights to Melbourne and booked accommodation with my sister and her boyfriend there. Called the institute that I was studying with and asked them to change my exam location from Canberra to Melbourne. Done. Had a very nice two weeks, studied some, hung with my sister and the boi and ate healthy food, enjoyed Melbourne, saw some friends down there, aced the exam. Suck on that, former employer asswipes. As to what to do when I got back to Canberra....

August - October: Unemployment, not as sexy as it sounds.
Slack, slack, slack. That is the best way that I can describe these months. I did stuff and saw people and made jewellery, bring my DIY earring count up to ~45 pairs, but, overall, this period was something of a wash. A whole lot of TV watching and sleeping and noncing about. I know that I needed a break, but what I did wasn't very restful. I shoulded myself a lot, and agonised about how I was going to get to Melbourne. Yes, we decided, as we suspected we would, that Melbourne was the next destination for the long-term voyage. We also, after some long conversations with the sister were considering entrepeneurship as a valid state of being, and spent time considering and planning items for this arena. But, to sum up, got some ideas, but going nowhere fast. Started applying for jobs wholesale after observing slow but steady depletion of carefully saved funds.

November: Love that nepotism.
A couple of friends of my parents who have their own contracting business for IT contractors found me a job. It wasn't a proper IT job, otherwise I wouldn't have been in the hunt, but they wanted to pay someone what I was earning in my previous job to help organise and keep track of a bunch of techs doing a system upgrade for a government department. I'd registered with a handful of agencies, applied for dozens of jobs, got nothing to date. Bob & Betty call me to see if I still wanted work, and I was employed the day after next. I am still employed there, albeit on a short-term contract. It's a crappy job but enough variety to not make me want to kill myself, and a really awesome team. A real breath of fresh air. And money!!!!

December: Fucking Christmas. Is it the holidays yet?
Had a bit of a spending blow-out around Christmas. For the first time in my perfessional life, I work in the 'city' centre, with handfuls of retails stores, restaurants and coffee places. Not good for saving. I now have nice clothes, but my budget from late last year is in shreds. Nonetheless, between self-spending, I got the Chrissy presents sorted, and braced myself for the festive season. My mother experienced (and inflicted) her seasonal psychosis in time for her Mega-Annual Boxing Day party. We had a respite from this last year, due to going to New Zealand. However, this year, we had the madness, with a bit of a twist. My grandad has come down to Australia for his once-a-decade visit. (Originally from West Viginia, but it's OK, he escaped to Louisianna. He's actually a bit of a dude) We had the usual Christmas at the family friends and we had the party at our place. Some nice pressies, some nice company, overall, not too much of a hassle. So far so good. But it doesn't end there. Oh no-no-no-no. Mum then has to invite people that she didn't invite or that couldn't make it to The Boxing Day Party, that she neglects to tell the rest of us about until a couple of hours before the event. The next three days filled with eating and sitting at tables with people I just don't give a crap about. Had enough of the FFF (Forced Family Fun). Not to be selfish, but I only had 8 days of respite from work, and I didn't want to spend all of it sitting at a table stuffing my face and making nice with my parents friends. I counted the pennies, and made the command decision to fuck off to beach and the city of Wollongong for the NY's. I'd never been, and wanted to visit there before going south. Got a good deal on a last-minute cancellation for accommodation. I'll do a separate post for the 'Gong, but overall; nice and just what the doctor ordered.

And that was 2008. Auf wiedersehen, year gone past. You will not be greatly missed, but you will be noted.

(24 to go.)

Twenty-Six for Twenty-Six

2009-01-11T13:20:00.004+11:00

In honour of the New Year, Australia Day and the fact that the paint is peeling on my blog, I've decided to do a marathon.

No, not a running marathon. Pssh, silly reader. A marathon of blog posts.

I pledge, to no-one in particular, perhaps to my Inner Gossip Columnist, that I shall offer up twenty-six blog posts between now and midnight on Monday January 26th. Spread the word!

One down, twenty-five to go.

Coffee-Crazed Cookin'

2008-11-30T22:14:00.005+11:00

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

2008-11-17T08:36:00.004+11:00

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...

2008-11-09T21:34:00.005+11:00

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

2008-11-04T17:34:00.012+11:00

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.

Fuck, fucked and fucking. See the article linked for a good summary of the reasons for killing this verb set.
Fuckjob, fuckknuckle, fuckfeatures, fuckwit and fuckface. As for 'fuck.'
Shit, shitty, and shitfaced. As for 'fuck,' see linked article.
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.
Crap and crappy. The arguments against the shit-related trifecta hold for these two terms.
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.
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.
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;

Screamful. Descriptive, emotive - it has it all.
Ferret features. Not original, but, fjord it, the term works as an insult. Which brings me to...
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!)
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

2008-10-29T23:43:00.005+11:00

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

2008-10-13T22:43:00.005+11:00

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!

2008-10-12T01:41:00.006+11:00

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

2008-10-08T19:15:00.004+11:00

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.

2008-10-07T11:20:00.011+11:00

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

2008-10-06T18:25:00.007+11:00

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

2008-10-04T22:26:00.002+10:00

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.