Wednesday, October 31, 2012

We're hiding from trick or treaters

I saw a kid in costume in the street. I executed actual public service lockdown procedure—we really do have to do lockdown training—and closed all the curtains. theBoy and I then retreated down to the end room. It took a while to convince theBoy, a negotiation that at one point had him shrieking 'trick or treat!' at the top of his voice in the lounge room and had me pushing him along the polished floorboards and out through the sliding door lest his bellows attract spooky attention.

We're telling Storyverse stories. There's ghosts in it!

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Hello, campers

Well it's been a while. I've been a bit meh again, largely because of a combo of IBS-flare and deep-set ripples of joint pain that blast out from random joints throughout the day and night. It's hard to want to type beyond my typical mong-out poison of making RPG characters. The later at least can suck me in enough to forget about the yuck for a while.

So things of note.

I had to catch the bus. I texted theBeve, who used to ride the very same numbered bus as I but who does no longer because he works from home. I complained that chances are the text I'd just sent him had found him still in bed because he was a lazy c___. He texted back a picture of himself still in bed.

Touché, theBeve, touché.

On the bus was a middle-aged Indian man. His haircut was a reversed tonsure. Only he was balding in a diagonal slant across the back of his head. The reverse of his tilted back head looked like a downcast Pac-Man. 

I learned a bunch of kewl new shit in the last two days about words and the intertubes. For example, how to insert an em-dash into a text message. I for shiz love shit like that.

For the past several mornings I've woken around 5.45 am with bad gut pain. The next 60–90 minutes is spent with me dozing between several bouts of toilet visitation until I give up, accept I'm awake, and sally forth into the over-bright brand new day. Still, could be worse. I could be someone facing the choice of cancer surgery whose success results in colostomy bag outcome or having to decide whether to let the cancer take its course rather than endure final months with a bag stuck to my internals. Imagine being in that position? Fuck.

I did 50 minutes on the TPC tonight. That's not bad. Had to stop a few times, though. Still I have ten minutes banked in credit for if I need to stop early next time on account of ouchies. Hooray, that's time in the bank; the god-damned bank!

Speaking of trying and so forth go Casso for trying again and again with her various attempts. You rock, Casso! I'm so fearsome proud of you for still trying.

theWife made me ice-cream! Home-made vanilla ice-cream. It works particularly well as part of a thickshake with A2 milk. Hooray for home-made ice-cream!

I was at a business the other day. They had a wizard's hat on the counter. I said 'Hey I tried your sorting hat and it said I was Slytherin!' No reaction; nothing. Not even a wry smile. Come on, that was total gold; denied!

I had four cups of coffee today. Loaded with normal milk and buckets of sugar. I also added Milo. And some Fantales on top of that. Crimeny! No wonder my guts were a roil with sad unpleasantness.

Mind you I probably compounded it all by having McDonald's for breakfast. I got some sort of egg, sausage patty, double bacon effort minus the cheese and bread (1) and chased it all down with a small orange juice. Only naturally the breakfast got a bit stuck in my tum and wasn't sitting right. So I had to go and get something super fizzy to help shift it all about—the burping helps. I'm still trying to avoid artificial sugar so I went with ... Mello Yello. Yes, Mello Yello. It's back! Or, at least, I think it is. I presume it's the same thing. By Coca-Cola, I think. When Mello Yello first appeared it used the weird-as-fuck push-in tab system of a big push-in circle and a little push-in circle (2). I think you pressed both at once like keys in a missile silo to pop the can, with you drinking out of the big circle's circle. Only the popping open mechanism often failed and you had to bash in the bigger hole with a pencil. I call fail. 

Guess that's it for things of note; many of which clearly not being actually noteworthy. More important proper actual writing style musings on the flip-side. Too ouchie to keep going. Need to drip-melt into the bed and sleep until 5.45 am rolls around once more. Hooray!

(1) Okay, I had half a bun too. 
(2) Check out this totally cool article from Slate about the redesign of aluminium can tabs. To think such a small change made such a big difference. Like thousands of tons of difference.  

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Nine seconds

The itch I have spaken of below first re-appeared at the start of the week, commencing after an unpleasant experience I will only describe as being somewhat akin to what came out of the self-service soft serve machine—with the combo of vanilla and chocolate selected—that was once available as a totally awesome add on extra to the Sizzler experience here in the nation's capital. 

Sizzler, alas, is Canberra no more (1).

On my way into work I realised I urgently needed to attend to matters in the scratching department. As the lift doors closed I got busy. By the time the lift doors opened I was relaxed and ready, and I strolled decorously along the landing and in through the sliding door. 

Today the same pressing need pressed upon me and when the lift doors pressed together I pressed my fingers likewise and pressed on in. As I wiggled back and forth I counted, Mississippi-style, to find out the actual duration.

Which was nine seconds. 

Nine seconds in the lift attending to a deep-set itch (2).

That's nine seconds well spent (3).

Naturally I emailed some work peeps in case they needed a private place to attend to business to let them know ... the final countdown!

(1) The cheese bread; dear probs, the cheese bread. We had an attractive friend who had large bosoms. Her boyfriend used to use her like a lure and get her to ask for more cheese bread. This is no judgement; she used her resources to hands. If I had any ability to lure the man-attracted with physicality I'd we waggling it on out there. More man to love, baby (pew! pew!
(2) The lift has a frosted glass backing so no one can see in or out. This was not always the case...
(3) Speaking of nine seconds, this NPR interview about the lifespan of a fact is totally trippy, especially for those of you in the writing (slash) communication field. About a fact checker and an author sparring over the difference of eight versus nine seconds in a story about a suicide and how the piece was constructed around the latter even though the coroner said it was the former.

A deeply-set itch redux

The itch is back. I've had it for a couple of days now. A deeply-set just-inside-the-gate rectal itch that's been driving me nuts.

As I was gracing the cover of the TPC, an exercise bike still technically owned by Casso, the itch's need for satiety grew to the point where I had to almost get off the bike in order to address it.

Almost. I say almost because I realised that I could attend the itch's needs without a full dismount. How? 

The seat.


The seat tapers off to a rounded point at the front of the seat. This rounded point is small enough that it can snugly abut against the butt, the butt's entrance in fact, and by pressing my itching ring lightly against this rounded point and grinding up and down I discovered the itching needs were indeed (1) met by this frenetic seat-based activity. 

Scratching mission accomplished. And I was able to simply re-mount the bike, all without ever having climbed off the pedals to begin with.


Excelsior!

(1) A friend with weed is better!

Round 3 of 3; Romney waffles crap and is called on it

I listed to the third US presidential debate via ABC's News Radio, jacking in to the PC to catch a streamed broadcast.

So I didn't get to see body language on display and all that business. They were, I later found out, seated at a table. All up in the debates that means in terms of body positioning it's been a lectern (standing), townhall (standing and stool sitting), and desk (sitting). I would have liked to have seen both kneeling and / or the worm.

But while I didn't get to see the body language in action I did get to hear what the candidates were actually saying. Obama was all substance, Romney was all Fox-induced attacks or motherhood statements about 'America'. Indeed Romney has been so inculcated within the Fox bubble of noise that he attempted two Fox-based attack lines that blew up in his face. 

The first that Obama had been on 'an apology tour' for America since taking office—which Obama neatly got to criticise by saying every fact checker in the universe had labelled the claim false (1)—and the second that Obama was apparently reducing the Navy's size in total number of vessels to less than they had in 1916. This of course opened Romney up to not just a fact-smack from Obama but a fact-smack with style; 

You mentioned the Navy, for example, and that we have fewer ships than we did in 1916. Well, Governor, we also have fewer horses and bayonets, because the nature of our military's changed. We have these things called aircraft carriers, where planes land on them. We have these ships that go underwater, nuclear submarines.
 

And so the question is not a game of Battleship, where we're counting ships. It's what are our capabilities. And so when I sit down with the Secretary of the Navy and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, we determine how are we going to be best able to meet all of our defense needs in a way that also keeps faith with our troops, that also makes sure that our veterans have the kind of support that they need when they come home.

At any rate Obama sounded presidential and tied his steering of the ship of state to actual outcomes. Not only that he was able to use the chart topper of 'I killed Bin Laden' to beat Romney around the head with it 'cos Romney had previously claimed the search for Bin Laden wasn't worth moving heaven and earth for. 

This was another good set of lines that Obama got in to help paint Romney as hopelessly mired in ideology of the past.

Governor Romney, I'm glad that you recognize that Al Qaida is a threat, because a few months ago when you were asked what's the biggest geopolitical threat facing America, you said Russia, not Al Qaida; you said Russia, in the 1980s, they're now calling to ask for their foreign policy back because, you know, the Cold War's been over for 20 years.

But Governor, when it comes to our foreign policy, you seem to want to import the foreign policies of the 1980s, just like the social policies of the 1950s and the economic policies of the 1920s.


Andrew Sullivan live-blogged all the debates. This is his conclusion for the third debate.

10.35 pm. After the first truly epic implosion in the first debate, Obama has clawed his way back in the following two, in my view. He has marshalled his arguments as potently as possible; he brought the themes of his candidacy together compellingly. His advantage on foreign policy will not, I think, diminish; it may well strengthen. And that is only just. After eight years of the most disastrous, misguided, immoral and a catastrophic foreign policy, Obama has brought the US back from the brink, presided over the decimation of al Qaeda, the liberation of Egypt, Tunisia and Libya, and restored America's moral standing in the world.
For Romney, he made no massive mistakes. No Gerald Ford moments. And since the momentum of this race is now his, if now faltering a little, a defeat on points on foreign policy will be an acceptable result. But this was Obama's debate; and he reminded me again of how extraordinarily lucky this country has been to have had him at the helm in this new millennium. 

He's flawed; he's made mistakes; but who hasn't? If this man, in these times, with this record, against this opposition, does not deserve re-election, then I am simply at a loss for words. I have to believe the American people will see that in time.

Here's hoping Andrew Sullivan is right.

The transcript for the debate is available at CNN.

(1) Romney later qualified his attack by saying the mere fact that Obama had mentioned that the US had not deported itself honourably in the past on the world stage—for example overthrowing elected governments such as Iran in '53—that this recitation of facts combined with Obama truthfully noting that America had in the past been dismissive and derisive, all constituted an apology; 'You said that on occasion America had dictated to other nations. Mr. President, America has not dictated to other nations. We have freed other nations from dictators.' (1a) Romney's obvious lack of grasp on the foreign policy history and International actions of the US is a somewhat glaring gap of knowledge for a would be Commander in Chief of the most powerful military force that's ever graced the face of the planet ... 
(1a) 'America, fuck yeah!'

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Right on

An eight-year-old's letter to Mitt Romney asking him not to hurt little kids by de-funding PBS.

To think it's come to that. Right winger cock-holes (1).

(1) You know what? cock-hole should be a greater insult than c___. C___s are awesome. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. Cock-holes on the other hand look like the spikeless mouth of an Arrakian Sandworm. They are not attractive. And also wee comes from there. That's not nice to be near, is it? Unless, of course you're into that and if you are then let your freak flag fly!

SUPERMEDS!™

I'd been near out of SUPERMEDS!™ for about three weeks as I needed another script. I'd been climbing the walls. I finally got home and had some. 

I was worried over the three weeks if I'd been using SUPERMEDS!™ as a crutch. Relying on them too much to deal with the low-grade but ever constant ache my body is in (1). Did they actually have efficacy? I mean the pain, did it actually deal with the pain? 

So the three weeks where was rationing a tiny drab of what was left I had good cause to see. To note when I finally got to have SUPERMEDS!™ whether the SUPERMEDS!™ would actually do a fucking thing when I had more.

Well, hurrah. Because now I've had SUPERMEDS!™ I can confidentially say yes. Might I add, fuck yes. Yes indeed. To me SUPERMEDS!™ is preferable to not. But of course too much of it is bad for the bod so I have to be careful in its use. 

Let's see, stuff I need to kvetch about. Look away if the grim near middle-aged whining is going to depress. I know I would do so. 

I am the only one whose really ethically allowed to use the disabled toilet at work. I had a fucking hip replacement for fuck's sake. I sometimes need the bar to lower myself with in case I sit too fast and hurt my delightful tush (2). Only able bodied people keep using the toilet as well. One dude changes there before and after he goes from a run. An a thin attractive clearly extremely able-bodied blond girl uses it if the ladies stalls are all full. I find it annoying. That's Mikey's place. And sometimes I go in there to chill. I even take a magazine as I lean my head against the cool tiles. It's a sacred place and I don't want to share. 

The money situation. Money at work is really tight. It's the same across the entire public service. Our area had 10 per cent of its Full Time Positions disestablished for savings. The boss+++ had a candid meeting with all the lower-level managers about the money situation and said it was utterly irrational yet these are irrational times. They are. What's happening in the federal government---this obsession with saving money to get surplus---is having a real impact on not just morale but the ability to actually help the public. We're reducing services. That's what you get when you are stuck in minority government and you can't risk the Opposition painting you as liars on when you planned to get to surplus. Because Australians apparently are so fucking weak that we can't handle the idea of a couple of years of deficit to ensure services don't diminish as the economy ticks on. It's gotten to the point where I drastically have to reduce space in released reports so as to save a skerrick of money in the just four figures. Mind is boggled. I am astonished at the political impact this may have when well-regarded special interests in the community realise what's happened. 

Waking early. My body has programmed to wake at around 6:15. And usually I am sore from the moment I open my eyes. That can be depressing. But if I am up and theBoy comes in early for a "doze" then it's nice having him there. This morning he sat on my doona-covered form as I used myBeloved and he used theWife's iPad. Our screens lit up the semi-dark of the morning-intruded end room as we waited for theWife to emerge. 

Hey, that turned into a nice memory. Stupid life ... and its wonder! (shakes fist)

(1) Stop right there, thank you very much. I need to point out theWife is sick. She's had a lingering cold for a while that's she's finding hard to shift. She's got an itchy cough on top of that and no really effective means of redress. So I want that on record. 
(2) So I've been told by the twenty odd people who've seen it. Go on, have a think. How many people realistically have seen your arse. The naked one. Not cheeks apart or anything; heavens no. Just your naked arse. It's probably in the hundreds really. Relatives, medical people, peers. Also if you did press hammies in the drive-thru through the side windows of the weird-as-fuck white Suzuki Carry van my dad had as one of the over 83 cars he's in a lifetime (2a) then it would be a few more than that. 
(2a) Cars are a near-mad obsession for him. Oh, maybe not that mad. But it's a lot. I think theWife and I have had I think six. Let's see. Ladies and gentlemen start your engines. And if you're up for a challenge have at me as well. I am totally curious.
Our car history starts with the Volkswagen Golf, 1976 or so; red in colour. Total piece of shit my said car near-mad obsessed dad (2a) encouraged us to get which proved to be a challenging rascal. I will tell its tale in another post. Next was a red 1986 Laser. We had a CD player put it! As it dying we sold it to a pair of Indian students at the University of Canberra. They drove off in it with a loud squeal as they pulled out of our drive way with dosh dosh music thumping out the wound-down window. Then we stupidly bought a giant boat of a machine---a blue V8 ---that guzzled fuel. We bought that off a departing diplomat who was a heavy smoker---her vice deeply imprinted on the cloth seats of the car. She was a awesome totally cool sassy African American who had a gorgeous voice and was just so warm and friendly you couldn't just wish her the best in everything. She cried when I managed to tune her TV to get proper reception on Channel Seven as the tennis was on and it was her thing. Alas she was partially disabled with a fucked back and ended her tour early and retired. Then I think it was the green Mazda. A '93 something. It was yummy. It was, however, trouble prone. Its transmission died. When it got towed the towie had to drive it under protest to the back of the truck so they could cable it on. When he got into our car he realised he had a cig in his mouth and so he opened up the window and stuck the cig in his ear as he started the car up. Yes, in his ear. Lit end outward, obviously, but still. This is a man who willingly ear-crotched his cig rather than let a delicious little smoky he hadn't fully smoked get away. Ouch, the Mazda we wrote off when we rear ended a car after I pointed to theWife at an accident ahead and said 'look, they had a crash!' causing us to literally then crash as theWife rear ended the car ahead. The cars behind us also crashed and thus it was a twin two car pile up. We had to call the plods, which pissed the two hot girl drivers behind us because they just wanted to get a tow. As I exchanged deets with the driver ahead---whose lesser worth but towbar enabled vehicle suffered minor damage even as his towbar killed our car by cleaving its engine in twain---he asked if he could get the also-deets of said foul-faced furious-yet-attractive twenty-nothings whose day, and yes week, had been ruined by our accident which caused their accident. We also ruined the workday of much of Canberra, causing an hour long crawl in morning rush hour. We actually got abused by people from their windows as they slowly drove past. I think 'YOU FUCKING C___s' was a common refrain. Then my dad sold us the white shitbox---his old car---I now drive. Because, you see, we got a lease-plan car---a sexy black compact---our first ever new car---and we became a two car family. I drive the shitbox when I need to go separately from theWife. There you have it; it's six.
(2a) That being said my dad helped us out numerous times with car crap because he was so skilled at dealing with multiple failures of vehicles that rippled across his timeline of 83 cars he's had in his possession. So, so, so many things he's had go wrong with cars. Just breathtakingly astonishing. But he on-sold almost every car we had, selling them to students after getting things tweaked, and did things like drive them a good two days drive from Canberra to home in order to sell them. What a neat guy!

Friday, October 19, 2012

Murdoch lies in tweet demanding ABC apologise for lying

Maybe it's because he's getting on a bit? Maybe it's because the 140 character limitation of Twitter forces Murdoch to condense his many earth shattering 'listen to me; I'm fakkin' awesome' thoughts and he doesn't quite get the syntax right, but Murdoch appears to think the ABC reporting what he recently tweeted about 'scumbag celebrities' is laced with falsehood ... even though they reported exactly what he said. 

On balance then, from a basic reading of words and understanding the meaning of them you can only conclude Murdoch's tweeting of a demand for retraction from the ABC has a whacking great lie in it.

Oh dear for Murdoch. You'd think Mr Newspapers would know the snit you can get in for saying what you actually think.

Here's Murdoch's demand for the retracted, according to the SMH.

'Typical ABC in Oz alleged I called hacking victims scumbags," Mr Murdoch wrote on Twitter. "Direct lie. Major correction and apology please.'

And here's what Murdoch originally said in his tweet about celebs, whose phones had been hacked by Murdoch's paper(s), meeting with UK PM David Cameron.

"Told UK's Cameron receiving scumbag celebrities pushing for even more privacy laws. Trust the toffs! Transparency under attack. Bad."

Yeah ... the ABC with their bizarre habit of reporting exactly what Murdoch said.

Unbelievable. The man is unbelievable. How ANY journalist on the planet can work for his companies and still claim to hold true to the values of journalism I do not know. Maybe they put something in the water there? Perhaps Rupes collects all his elderly shed skin and he powders it up and sticks it in the water cooler or something?

Good on ya Rupes. Now you keep tweeting and keep your hoary old bullshit a coming. 

Oh, the counter tweet. Okay, here we go. 

 'Typical Murdoch thinks he can tweet something and then claim everyone is lying for reading it as he wrote it and calling him an evil fuckwit.'

He may not be a journalist but he at least has to be present in a world of facts

The trouble with "opinion" talk radio is that "opinionists" on talk radio can and do talk out their arse.

Alan Jones is the quintessential talking-out-his-arse talker. Let's shorten that to just 'Arse-Talker'. 

Fortunately, unlike in the US, we have a regulator that at least tries to encourage balance and correct information being foisted on listeners by Arse-Talkers like Alan Jones.

Which is why Alan now has to go to basic journalism school. To learn, you know, remedial broadcasting.

In this case it was prompted by Alan Jones's extreme climate change denial where he claimed humans are responsible for less than 0.001% of the carbon in the atmosphere. 

Yes, he did that. Of course that's just in addition to all the other crap he's done over the years; the inciting racial violence (Cronulla Riots), the cash for comment scandal, chaff bag, the shame comment, and all the other hateful screeds he's sprayed forth into the aging ears of his dying demographic.

Which of course means time will eventually take care of both Jones and his audience (1). 

Oh here's a blast from the past. Hack on Triple JJJ re-released the Jones files. Recordings of a candid Jones in his studio whining about all that bedevils him such as ... dust motes in the air.  

(1) Jones's lifespan as compared to the Australian male average having famously been re-tweeted by Rebecca Misfud

The Last Rulebender

theBoy tends to get up before we do. Now he's five he can be relatively trusted to look after himself until we're up and ready to get him breakfast or oversight his getting dressed. However even though we leave theWife's iPad out for him to play with until we rise he will often still come into me if I am sleeping in the end room to sound me out about violating the rule.

The other day theBoy’s appearance was at 6:35 am. He claimed he wanted to "doze" snuggled up to me but within two minutes he was demanding stories.

'Chooky, we can't do stories until seven, you know that.'

'Yes, but these are Muppet stories; not our stories. Let's tell Muppet stories.'

I'd been up since 6.15 am with the Tens machine on for my shoulder ache, so what the heck, I said yes.

It was a semi-rollicking tale involving the Muppets—for theBoy has recently binged on Muppet movies—with my feebly attempting to assist the action from my recumbent position with less than stellar Muppet voice impressions; Gonzo and Rolf are no worries, Kermit—or “Hermit” to theBoy—is not great. Fonzie … well my Fonzie sucks.

Anyway theBoy was clearly clock watching because the moment 7 am landed theBoy, without missing a beat, made a change in the Muppet-themed story; 'Then Fonzie steps through the time machine and appears next to Humpty and Stumpty!’

Yep, theBoy had gone the crossover, bringing the a Muppet character into our story universe the moment legit morning story time kicked in to seemly merge our semi-illegal Muppet-themed tale into an allowed post-seven-am story. Like mafia going legit!

His rule bending skillz are totes awesome. I am of course worried he may end up being Nicolae Carpathia or some other despot with his sneakiness ... and proclivity in stories to ruthlessly eliminate his enemies; 'And I shoot them in the face with my shotgun! Chk-chk BLAM!' (1)

(1) Sometimes he sounds like a five-year-old Clare Werbeloff...

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Round 2 of 3; Obama all out of bubblegum

With thanks to John Carpenter and Rowdy Roddy Piper

I listened to the second US presidential debate—in the Townhall format—live through ABC's News Radio so I didn't get to see the body language and how the debaters moved around the stage. 

I know, the fact you have to care about the optics of a debate is pretty silly when really it should be about the substance. Alas optics matter, even more so in the US than anywhere else in order to get voter cut through.

The Townhall format is supposed to be the cute and cuddly debate. It's where the candidates take questions from an audience and they get to empathize with the questioner—because inevitably it's about 'this is my shitty situation, what can you do to help?'—as they hit their points. But because of the outcome of Round 1 with Obama rolled by Romney on style and glibness well that cute and cuddly crap went out the window. 

So ... what did Mikey think? Well I think Obama's three days in debate prep—sadly having to take time away from steering the great ship of the US in order his tenure isn't rudely cut short—and a dose of whatever V juice Joe Biden was drinking paid off (1). Obama forcefully defended his record, painted Romney as an out of touch plutocrat more interested in pulling up the ladder of opportunity than helping people up it, and most importantly challenged Romney on his crap. 

Obama even got in some good lines. When Romney whined about Obama targetting Romney's personal wealth for having investments in China—when Romney had claimed "he'd get tough on China"—Romney asked Obama if he'd seen his pension so as to imply Obama's pension fund likely invests there too Obama got an awesome riposte in; 'I don’t look at my pension. It’s not as big as yours so it doesn’t take as long.'

Check out Joan Walsh in Salon's giddy air fist pump about Obama's better showing (2). Ditto Andrew Sullivan, a conservative writer who has come over to the light side. The Washington Post and other commentators also declared Obama had a win, though they claimed it was a narrow one and nowhere near the margin of Romney's slam of Obama two weeks before. That's true I suppose but the important thing is that Obama got up off the mat and punched a bullying plutocrat right in his monied guts. And that has to fire up the base. 

Speaking of firing up the base. Three days before the election there's going to be a march on Washington. 

It's not just any march because it's a march of puppets; puppeteers and PBS supporters protesting Romney's plan to cut funding to the Public Broadcasting System. 

Left: Braveheart Big Bird to lead the march

And, like the big tent of the Democratic party, this march accepts all puppets of all types; sock puppets, hand puppets, marionettes, mascots; hell, even finger puppets!

Because Romney may try and take their funding ... but he'll never take their fascination!

(1) Biden doesn't drink. But the conservative lock-step media led by Fox inferred Biden's feisty performance of Ryan mockery was in part due to Biden knocking back a few. They also implied Biden's gleeful mockery of Ryan may indicate early dementia (see same link). Right wingers. You're just ... well ... so right wing ... with all that this entails.  
(2) Disclosure: It's fair to argue Salon has a left-of-centre perspective.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Now that's a callback

theBoy sometimes tries some post-bedtime adult interaction by calling out for someone to come in and address his needs.

He wanted me. I went in.

'Hey, Chooky, what do you want?' I asked.

'I just wanted to let you know that the Muppet movie, the first one, has a montage in it,' he said.

'...' I said.

About three weeks ago I showed him the Team America 'Montage' segment on YouTube and tried to explain the concept of the montage in film to him. I guess it must have sunken in.

That's Mikey. He uses Team America as part of his parenting tool-belt.

Another low tale

I am a short man. I'm about 5'4" or 5'5" in the old scale of measuring things (1). My shortness has never really been that big a deal (2) for me. I basically feel I'm normal height and I just happened to be around taller than average people. Go me and my self delusion.

However that being said I do run into the occasional height induced difficulties. For instance I have to go up on my toes to reach the pain meds on top of the fridge whereas the taller theWife—I think she's about 5'8"does not. She's also more effective at changing light bulbs because even on a chair I have to stretch.

Being a public servant in a public servant building we all have to wear security passes. A pass has to visible and located below the neck and above the waist for visibility purposes. It should not, for instance, be clipped to your belt where in order to see your pass someone has to intently scan your groin area. You can either clip your between-neck-and-waist worn pass to a collar or a pocket or let the pass dangle free-style, Flava Flav-like, around your neck from your lanyard (3).

Only if you go the latter and free-style your pass with the dangle then I discovered this can present a hidden danger for us shorties. For if you sit on a toilet then unless, like me, you're generously rounded and your pronating tum forces your pass away from between your legs then the shortness of your upper body means your dangling pass is going to dunk past the toilet seat's lip like the pass is now a disturbingly personalised tea bag.

I'm glad I don't believe in Voodoo. Otherwise the drowning of my pass photo in toilet water may result in some unusual frothing from my mouth as poppet magic kicks in.

Which would be unfortunate for the first aid lads in my building due to my now toilet water laced resuscitation needs.


What's the bet they'd let me drown?

(1) When Australia went to the metric system completely they started noting offender's details in the new measurements. Except no one knew really what 176 cm meant height wise but they did if you said 5'10". Go figure. theWife once noticed that the sliding doors at the local Post Office had coloured strips either side of the door. Apparently it was so staff could approximate the bandit's height against those colour bars when they ran out the doors. Of course with CCTV everywhere I suppose that's also useful since footage reply allows measuring of a fleeing offender against the baseline of the door height.
(2) Pun! Though I confess I do find the genetic lottery that gave me my low height as compared to the six plus feet of my brothers and father, somewhat annoying. But then if I wasn't me as I am, will all that genetically entails, I wouldn't actually be me. I had to be that sperm meets that egg. And it's the same with theBoy. It had to be that combo of that sperm and that egg and therefore whatever comes with that comes with that.
(3) Your pass lanyard should also NOT be emblazoned with your organisation's name. This is because when you're out in public your pass has to be tucked away from sight so as not to draw aggro from nutters—and yes, it has happened. Only if you tuck your pass away in a top pocket then it's kind of a moot point if your lanyard is still around your neck if written in bright cheery letters is the name of where you work. Now do you think government organisations have worked this out? They have not. Indeed they had a refresh of lanyards at my work and, sure enough, the org name was scribed upon them. I remain using my plain no-named effort. But not before I smugly pointed out the fail to a few people. Because I am a huge NIG—or Nerdy Instructional Geek—a sobriquet gifted to me 17 years ago by a friend of theWife who decided I was an officious little know-it-all. And I am, too! You should have seen the narrow-eyed glaring coming from Casso last D&D outing when I happily reminded the GM about all the rule-induced smack down he could bring down upon us... Mind you even I was disgusted with myself. 

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Inevitable, really

We have two water pistols in the bath. They're the sponge coated ones with the handle you draw back to suck the water up with before you then single shot spray at an enemy.

theBoy was in the bath as I was next to him in the shower. He used the new water pistol to fire it up at the ceiling over the partition between the bath and the shower and spray me with water ("it's raining!"). While he was distracted with filling his up, I grabbed the other one and started counter firing over the partition.

It was inevitable then that he would load his water pistol, move to the side of the partition, pull the shower curtain back, and shoot me with his weapon. Several times, in fact. And because I was I was trying to shoot him then he could shoot me at my front. Which meant of course he went for my junk, every single time. Plus he could rapidly reload from his bath water whereas I had to cup my hand to allow shower water to pool there and gradually suck it up. He got about three shots in for each one of mine. He was also unerringly accurate because to my chagrin he actually managed to fire a blast that caught me right in my pee hole.

That is the last time I attempt to shower when a dead eye dick eye shooter is in the bath next door. 

On a side note...
I can't be arsed making this a separate post. And I figure I can do a Bridget Jones and simply note stats / metrics about health attempts or violations thereof as a kind of footnote to a proper post. I rode the TPC today. I did it on a cocktail of Nurofen, Paracetamol and Codeine. This combined intake dialled the pain that always results, from both exertion of limbs and the crippling agony the seat inflicts in my arse region, way back down. I was in fact able to do the 40 minutes in a single sitting without getting off, cracking 12.5 kays in the process. It was a good ride, and while I didn't get the exercise high I did partially enter THE EXERTION ZONE. That's where you get a good rhythm going, your breathing is deep but regular, and the sweat just rolls on down.

So I had that going for me. 

However prior to all of that I spent much of the day feeling pretty shit. Sore in the guts with IBS, sore in the limbs from my fucked biomechanics. As such I was tetchy and quick to annoyance. Which is horrible to be around. Plus that easily-annoyed state runs up smack against theBoy's natural theBoyness; which consists of him running around and shouting at the top of his voice. I started flinching when he came near, his five-year-old lungs bellowing out random gibberish as the sound of his rapidly moving feet echoed down the spinal corridor (1). I hate feeling that way. And that's what constant pain, even if low-grade, does to you. It sucks the colour out of the world and you see everything as an obstacle to get past instead of life to be lived. Usually, though, when I feel that way it means it's at the peak of the pain-cycle. So it's downhill now in the good way with the yucky feelings soon to pass. At least so experience tells me. Hooray for cycles!  

(1) theWife took him out of the house for an hour when she went to Bunnings for secret garden business. I got to spend that time lying in front of the end room window, myBeloved tablet held just behind the curtain and away from the sun, a cat either side of me in dozing sunny slumber. Yay theWife!

If HM could counter-tweet Murdoch

Aged Octogenarian world-stomping arsehole, Rupert Murdoch, likes to tweet. Which is great for the hundreds of editors of his across the globe because they don't need to guess Murdoch's position on things in order to cast their publications to reflect Murdoch's world view; they merely have to ape them.

Murdoch, who apparently thinks the current Israeli government and government policies are tickety-boo, tweeted his views that an Obama re-election would be a disaster for Israel

"Nightmare for Israel if Obama wins. Biden outright lied about personal relations with Bibi. Susan Rice for State real nightmare,"

Allow me to respond with my own counter-tweet, should I be a tweeter.

"Nightmare for world with continued existence of Murdoch. His empire helps kill planet by denying global warming. His media empire is also a war-creating fuckhole"

If it wasn't for Murdoch here's probably what would have happened; no election of George Bush (see the impact Fox news had on the 2000 election), no Iraq war, and an effective world response to climate change led by Gore during his 2000-2008 presidency. 

Yep, good on ya, Rupes. You have helped fucked the world in pursuit of your monstrous fucked-in-the-head ideology and sense of personal entitlement; you're the ultimate capitalist. A man willing to fuck over the ENTIRE planet as part of his desire for personal power and wealth. Well done.

And well done to all the lickspittles in your employ. 

UPDATE: Murdoch's at it again! Here's a new one from the fumbling thumbs of Rupert M. 

"Told UK's Cameron receiving scumbag celebrities pushing for even more privacy laws. Trust the toffs! Transparency under attack. Bad."

Well isn't that interesting. Murdoch's news organisation hacks the private voicemails of thousands of people, not just scumbag celebrities mind but also people thrust into the public space through the most private of grief possible—the brutal murder of their child—and he has the fucking gall to rag on "scumbag celebrities" who don't want things like a countdown to when they'll be legal to fuck—Charlotte Church's experience as a 15-year-old at the hands of a Murdoch paper—or being menaced and chased by paps down a street. Let alone having their private moments being exposed to the world through massive alleged bribery of police and hospital staff for their private information. 

Oh, and thanks to the hacking, because said "scumbag celebrities" naturally presumed people close to them had been spilling the beans about their private life causing massive disruption to friendships and relationships with those people.

Only last year did Murdoch front the Leveson inquiry, arrogantly stopping his son in mid-speech to take over a microphone to declare his appearance at the inquiry was 'this is the most humble day of my life'. Yet here he is tweeting like a twit about 'scumbag celebs'. The very celebs his papers have monstered through their bastardy ever since "The Dirty Digger" arrived in old blighty. 

Oh well what do you expect? I hardly think there's anyone in his life whose not a toadying sycophant desperate for his approval. No one's going to tell the big man his offensive media-influencing tweeting makes him look like a massive tool of the worst water. 

Rupes rides again!

If you want to check out the monstrosity Murdoch and his bottom feeder red top army have inflicted on the UK media landscape then check out Dial M for Murdoch. It's available in hard and soft copy formats. It's an eye opening read about the bullying tactics of Murdoch and his gutter press. Don't forget too there are tens of Murdoch-employed journos on bail for their alleged efforts in all of this unsavoury hacking and illegally-sourced private information business. No wonder Rupert split the newspaper arm away from the broader News Corporation; they don't want to be saddled with the likely outcomes from all of this when these journos, people like Rebecca Brooks and Andy Coulson, go before the courts. 

Oh what it is to see evil fall. I gots me Schadenfreude big time.  

Wait, I've forgotten something. The counter-tweet!

"Murdoch claims celebs are scumbags for wanting privacy from paps and private info not sold by plods or nurses. Parents of murdered children also want privacy for grief"

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Taking one for the team

I'm about to launch on another Daddy plus theBoy movie adventure.

And theBoy's chosen movie? Tinkerbell and the Secret of the Wings.

Yep, taking one for the team. I suspect I may be violating social custom and be surfing on my loaner iPhone in the fairy-emblazoned semi-dark. 

UPDATE: He spent about 30 per cent of the movie trying to climb over the balcony wall. I actually watched the movie. I figured I'd accept the offer of being there and analyse it for plot structure as well as dialogue. And to their credit it was well paced, the movie looked awesome, the dialogue was good, and the sense of threat and tension was deftly plotted. To think of the drek we accepted as kids compared to the quality of productions like this.

More Showerus Interruptus

I was in the shower when I felt something press against my leg. I turned to see that between the tile wall and the shower curtain was the end of a snorkel and about two thirds of the shaft. 

Yes, theBoy had goosed me through the shower curtain with a snorkel end.

I had to admit, that was well-played.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain

With thanks to the Wizard of Oz

It's election time here in the ACT. The sides of Canberra’s arterial roads are littered with placards thrust into the ground bearing beaming faces. 

On the drive to work the other day I had the surreal joy of seeing one ALP candidate’s giant ute-tray-mounted sign by the side of the road … when said candidate was standing just next to his ute. A tiny 1:1 scale him next to his massive 5:1 scale head. 

I am of course a terrible ALP member. I haven't been to a branch meeting in five years and I may not in fact even be still enrolled as a member as my credit card number changed since I had membership and the automatic renewal may have failed. I should have volunteered to man the front of the polling station or done something more active than simply turning up to vote. But I didn't. 

Shame file, Mikey, shame file. 

UPDATE: Whilst heading to the movies I saw the early polling place was open. So theBoy and I went and voted. I chose the e-method. You get a small cardboard sliver with a barcode on it. You swipe the code in a scanner and use a number pad to assign votes. Then you scan the barcode again to lock your vote and drop the cardboard sliver into a ballot box. I needed help to work it out---or rather as I was mudling through a volunteer leaped in to offer assistance. And yes, I voted for the Giant Head as my first preference. theBoy, wearing a kids'-sized Panama hat, danced around as I was voting and naturally preened himself at all the adult smiles cast in his direction. He is, like his parents, an attention seeking whore.

Four minutes, eh?

I woke up this morning with the Madonna (slash) Timberlake song of '4 minutes' stuck in my head (1). The theme of the piece is that the protagonists only have four minutes to save the world; 'Time is waiting We only got 4 minutes to save the world No hesitating Grab a boy, grab a girl'

So as I drank my delish theWife sourced mocha I fired up the '4 minutes clip' up on YouTube, a song, which I presume was a chosen move, that is nearly exactly four minutes in length

It was about halfway through the song that I realised the song's theme and lyrics were violating linear time.

Why? Because if they only have four minutes to save the world that means the clock started when the song started. Therefore the countdown should be reflected within the song except it's not. 

For example the starting lyrics, as voiced by a rapper before Madonna and Timberlake appear to do their athletic sing-dancing, are these.

'I'm outta time and all I got is 4 minutes, 4 minutes I'm outta time and all I got is 4 minutes, 4 minutes I'm outta time and all I got is 4 minutes, 4 minutes I'm outta time and all I got is 4 minutes, 4 minutes'

It should really be this.

'I'm outta time and all I got is 3 minutes 56 seconds, 3 minutes 54 seconds. I'm outta time and all I got is 3 minutes 50 seconds, 3 minutes 48 seconds I'm outta time and all I got is 3 minutes 45 seconds, 3 minutes 42 seconds I'm outta time and all I got is 3 minutes 38 seconds, 3 minutes 35 seconds'

Wake up yourselves Madonna, Timberlake and assorted supporting other artists, and get a fucking stop watch.

Also the title of the song should be 'Four minutes' not '4 minutes' as a number less than 10 is typically spelled out as opposed to reflected in numeral form. And at any rate you shouldn't start a sentence with an actual number; it should always be spelled out even if it's over 10.

So get a fucking Government Style Manual as well.

(1) I was actually woken up by hearing a despairing wail from the lounge-room. I staggered out to see theBoy upset. 'What's wrong, Chooky?' I asked. 'I want to doze with you!' he said, pointing at me, his collection of six Lambys and Fortys (his semi-manky sheep-shaped and bear-shaped sleeping aids) clutched in a big grotty posy in his other hand. So, blinking sleep from my eyes, we went down to the end room and hopped in the end room bed. He fired up some Storyverse action as I sleepily attempted to contribute. Aw, I missed that. He was away for eight days and I've gotten so used to him coming in for morning stories before Mummy gets out of the shower that its absence was keenly felt. Aw.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

What the hell?! Get out!

Last night, after a brutally long work day followed by an unpleasant encounter with the TPC (1), I set out to have a long, languid shower (2).

Only my cat tried to get in with me. I discovered her presence when I felt six nipple points press into my back. Okay, she came in through the shower curtain and rubbed up against my leg but still it was weird and uncomfortable and I had to whip the curtain back and toe-prod her out of the shower recess. 

She was probably jonesing after the salty metallic tang of pooled-around-the-drain water. For some reason our cats dig on lapping that unpleasant residue up.

Cats!

(1) Still owned by Casso but borrowed by me for over a year, this salty devil of an exercise bike is ridden by me daily with the target of 40 minutes of riding being the daily goal. Some days I get there, others I do not. I'm not an Übermensch for fuck's sake!
(2) Confession. This post is adapted from a text I sent to a pet-owning friend whose pets are fiercely glomy; as in they glom on to her whenever she is home and won't leave her alone. Hey, I'm all about the recycling!

Bullies, bullies everywhere

On the weekend Alan Jones had his Mercedes taken away. He got one as part of his sponsorship deal. When the deal was cancelled they asked for it back (the same thing has happened, if you recall, to other sponsored "stars" like athletes).

Anyway the pressure on 2GB and Jones was applied thanks in part to e-organisers suggesting companies that advertise with 2GB and Jones remove their advertising  given Jones's recent declaration at a Liberal party event that the Prime Minister's recently deceased father 'had died of shame for her lies'.

And what did 2GB declare this act of social media induced targeting of sponsors?

Bullying. 

Yes, they said it was bullying. Cyber bullying in fact

In a statement on Sunday, Macquarie chairman Russell Tate acknowledged the "inexcusable" nature of the comments.

He said the suspension of advertising is a temporary response to "unprecedented focus" on Jones and the "cyber bullying" of sponsors.


"We have taken this unprecedented decision to suspend advertising in the Alan Jones Breakfast Show until further notice so that all of our advertisers are on an equal footing, can regroup and discuss with us the way forward and how we together deal with these attempts to damage great Australian businesses," Mr Tate said.


"We'll be doing that over the next week or so and I would personally also welcome discussion with representatives of the organisations behind the totally unwarranted pressure being put on our advertisers.


"But any discussion will need to be face to face, not hiding behind a keyboard.


"The decision obviously comes at a very significant short term cost to MRN. It is an insignificant price to pay for our audience to be able to listen to what they choose to listen to, and for Australian companies to advertise where they choose to advertise."


Mr Tate also said there is no indication that the condemnation is coming from 2GB listeners.


You have to admire the gall, the sheer, unmitigated gall to whine and bitch and carp and moan about being mass targeted for what 2GB support through their hosting, promotion, and board membership, of one Alan Jones. A man whose purple-faced invective sprayed at thousands of Australians over the years is nothing short of bullying.

Indeed, as Malcolm Turnbull himself has noted, Jones is now merely getting richly deserved comeuppance.  

''The management of 2GB have announced his show will be run henceforth without any advertisements at all. For the first time Alan will have something in common with the ABC,'' Mr Turnbull said last night in his Alfred Deakin lecture entitled Liberty in the Digital Age.

''Mr Jones has sought to lead 'people's revolts' for many years. But this was indeed a popular revolt against vicious and destructive public discourse … It is difficult not to believe that he is getting a dose of his own medicine ...


And once more I have to hand it to Turnbull for manning up and critiquing Jones, a rusted-on and nastily partisan shrieking parrot for the Liberal party.

Oh you can enjoy Jones pathetic ranting against Mercedes for wisely deciding the dying demographic of angry whitey that Jones represents in this article from the SMH

And speaking of bullies. Today Abbott stood up in parliament and had a go at the government over their support for the embattled speaker, Peter Slipper, who later resigned today of his own accord. You can see Tony in fine fettle here

You'd think, though, he'd avoid the descriptive of "shame" given what had happened with Alan Jones just a week or so before after Jones declared the Prime Minister's recently deceased father had died of "shame" for "her lies". Jones declaring this at a Sydney Young Liberal's event (1).

Then Abbott actually said, he actually said it, that the government 'should die of shame'. 

Should she rise in this place now to try to defend the Speaker, to say she maintains confidence in the Speaker, she will shame Parliament again.

Every day this Prime Minister stand in this Parliament to defend this Speaker will be another day of shame for this Parliament, another day of shame for a Government which should already have died of shame.


The Member for Fisher should never have been a Speaker in this Parliament.


He shouldn't have been made Speaker last November and he shouldn't be Speaker now.


I can't think it was an accident. I believe it was a deliberate choice by Abbott to repeatedly use the word "shame" and then declare that the government "should die of shame".  

This man is appalling. He is an appalling bully who uses the bully pulpit of parliament to bully. Just like Alan Jones uses his microphone to bully and hector others. 

At any rate, and thanks P--- for the link, Gillard got up and then returned fire, throwing Abbott's pious worries about the apparent misogyny of the Speaker (2) over recent text message revelations in the Ashby Sexual Harassment case,  back in his face, declaring if Abbott wanted to see a misogynist in action all he needed to do was look in the mirror. And then she methodically, surgically, cut him to tiny pieces, bringing up all his and his Coalition's previous support for Slipper, Abbott's personal friendship with the Member for Fisher, and assorted other failures of Abbott on the misygony front. 

She made me proud today she is my Prime Minister. 

Tony Abbott; take that into your back-face.

(1) Which in itself, that Jones said this to Young Liberals, I find simply hilarious. I wonder if they all went 'Mwar, mwar, mwar, mwar' in an affected Plutocratic manner as their monocles dropped into their starter soup at the hilarity of Jones's comments?' Oh Young Liberals and your silly views (1a).
(1a) My mother was a high up member of the Young Liberals in Western Australia in the '60s. She joined because she was British and she wanted to socialise with other young people (my mother was 19 in 1960). Later, or perhaps earlier (it's hard to know with my mother's 20s timeline) in Canada, she joined the Communist party so she could take advantage of a cheap seat on a charter flight home. Years later she claimed she would get calls from the comrades asking her to come and man a booth. In truth I don't know how she voted in the last few elections. I presume they knew I was a paid up member of the ALP. I would now and then go on extended rants about certain then government policies, when the Coalition was in power, and she bore my rantings with good graces. But by then her command of the issues wasn't all that great and so it was of little use and I am sure my viewpoint mattered little to her. Of course with Alzheimer's she doesn't vote any more. I wonder if my Dad gets letters from the Australian Electoral Commission about it? (1b)
(1b) By the way big ups to the AEC. I've heard some horror stories over in NPR about the Gerrymander-ridden system in the US with the majority of States houses able to determine political boundaries of electorates. Here we did away with all that stupidity and created a professional, well-regarded, non-partisan Department staffed with well-qualified, hard working public servants. Guys, if you self-Google, then thanks from me for helping ensure that people in this country have their votes count should they choose to vote in a proper manner. And by the way the arguments against "compulsory voting" are utterly facile. 'Wah! A couple of times every couple of years I have to get my name marked off on a roll; it's a violation of my rights, wah!' All voluntary voting does is encourage not only the rise of special interests but it encourages the disenfranchising of people's votes as witnessed by all the electoral chicanery committed by right-wing cockholes in the US electoral process such as dirty tricks to retart the votes of the poor and minorities (as witnessed by their "voter fraud" initiatives demanding photo ID for voters). And if you think that doesn't matter then I give you the 2000 US election Florida result. A result marred in the extreme by the disenfranchising and wholesale deletion from the rolls by then Sectary of State for Florida, Katherine Harris. Her actions took thousands off the roll and that election was won by less than 1000 votes. And that election effectively brought in George W Bush and the world...
(2) I will confess I did not find the twin revelations from the text messages in the case—comparing the most-fun part of a lady to shell-less molluscs and calling Sophie Mirabella an "ignorant botch (sic)"—to be actual misogyny; an indication that Peter Slipper regards women as lesser to men or is dismissive of them as a gender  (2a). It's not lady hate to poke fun, 'scuse the pun, at the comedic appearance of our genitalia—the penis is a decidedly stupid looking appendage, especially in full boner bode; ladies, you're welcome to tease the snot out of it. As for calling Sophie Mirabella an "ignorant botch (sic)", that's clearly not appropriate ('bitch', or 'botch' in this case, is skirting the line of misogyny), but the fact is that observation, and the content of these text messages, were private correspondence between apparent friends. It's only through this sexual harassment case that these private messages are now known to us, the general public. Besides, Peter Slipper's views of Mirabella as a person and as are a parliamentarian are his own. I personally do not like Sophie Mirabella, what she stands for, and how she comports herself in parliament. It has nothing to do with her being a woman; it has everything to do with her ideology, belief and her behaviour. I've heard her in Question Time and I've seen her interviews. She's emblematic of everything unpleasant the Liberal party to me represents.      
(2a) Unlike all the delicious examples of Tony V women that the Prime Minister brought up today (see back-face link). Poor old Tony, the internet and search engines just are not your friend, are they? Maybe you could let off some steam and go and kick a door in or punch a wall...

Monday, October 08, 2012

Sixty minutes (tick/tick/tick/tick/tick/tick)

Before I took on the salty trollop that is the TPC, an exercise bike lend-leased from Casso so as to avoid obstruction in Congress, I pre-medicated with the last of my SUPERMEDS!™ and some Nurofen plus. The ride started off horribly, as usual, with my chosen bliss-out-and-removed eye (slash) ear poison being a Real Time episode. 

In the first 30 seconds I wanted to stop. But fortunately the goodness of Real Time with the medications helped drag me away from the desire to simply stop. Just stop and stop doing it. 

I had to get off at the 7.2 kay mark for a gentle de-numbing of my arse from the seat of the bike (1) but managed to then make the 10 kay mark so I could switch over to the time and see how close to 40 minutes I was. I was about 38 something.

So I hit 40 minutes ... and kept going. I figured 'What the fuck?' let's try for the entire episode of Real Time, with a running length of about 57 minutes plus another five minutes or so for arse-rubbing stops.

Such as the stop I took 48 minutes for three minutes of arse-rubbing—soon, my pet, soon; a new seat for you—but the rubbing worked and I staggered back onto the TPC and, lo and behold, I done cracked the full 60 minutes (2).

Hooray! Plus I figure I can bank that extra chunk against a day in the future when I am so wretchedly yuk-feeling that I can only make the original goal of six kays. 

Now I'm going to go drink a big lovely drink of lightly sugared fizzy raspberry cordial and go and watch some teev!
 
(1) theWife sourced a new seat from the intertubes. The seat has the promised power to take away the de-numbing. Only I can't work out how to put it on so I am waiting for theWife to come home to do it for me. I may break a nail!
(2) In the last two minutes I also started to get an exercise buzz. Alas my bod was too wretched to keep going in order to further enjoy it. Next time, exercise buzz, next time!

Watching the Rumble 2012 (and a side order of Real Time)

It's the Bill O'Reilly V Jon Stewart debate. The footage is a little jerky but the audio is good. O'Reilly is going for gags and using props. Stewart is calling him on his crap. Awesome.

UPDATE: Well I've watched the whole thing. It was weird seeing Bill O'Reilly being relatively civil. And his extraordinary admission that talking head pundits like him are assassins half of which don't believe the things they were saying was an eye opener.  But they dug into some serious issues and I believe, though admittedly my bias is obvious, Jon Stewart got the message across that the foundations of economic failure of last four years were laid in the Bush presidency and O'Reilly trying to claim the economy's state is now sheeted home to the Obama administration's policies alone is just on the face of it utterly absurd (1). O'Reilly, alas, is still Mayor of Bullshit Mountain.

Also check out the 5 October episode of Real Time with Bill Maher. Bill's pre-panel guest is the Orwellian Frank Luntz whose teddy bear like exterior hides the Machiavelli within. Luntz is the man who successfully changed the nomenclature of Global Warming to become Climate Change instead. Luntz delightfully attempts to defend the GOP position on a number of things and, to his credit, manages to hold his own with Maher despite not being buoyed by reality. I was tempted to get his book Words That Work: It's Not What You Say, It's What People Hear, except it's not available for Kindle. 

Frank, that's a communications fail and you know it. Get one of your many Franklings to get onto that, you big, delicious, cuddly, kid-safe Skinner! (2)

(1) Indeed Mother Jones (who helped bring to light the 47 per cent video), also noted that Romney, as a private equity fund manager, said it took at least eight years on average to turn a business around once he, the great white company hunter, got a hold of it. 
(2) I know, they're in different fields. I just wish Luntz was elevated to the ranks of top behavioural-inducers in people's minds given the impact he's had on the world. What a waste that such a mind was harnessed to serving self-serving plutocrats happily poisoning the world so they can feed off the earth's corpse like bloated ticks before they retreat to their well-stocked sex bunkers to await nature's return. Hang on a second, now I know why he's doing it; it's so he has a golden ticket to the Playboy Mansion-esque fuck-mine from Dr. Strangelove