It’s too grey and cool to be Christmas. And it’s too quiet. Calm, even.
Panic shopping, customary 24 hours before a cyclone, Easter or Christmas, wasn’t apparent this morning. There were no fights over car parks, no tugs of war over the last tray of ripe mangoes and no unseemly jostling at the ice fridge.
After dropping off the easily won spoils – ice, hard liquor, lobster, champagne – it was time to commute on roads seemingly empty but for the prowling constabulary.
Yet, over the ANZAC Bridge it started to feel a bit more like the festive season, for, beneath it lies the fish market in all its foetid, piscine glory.
The traffic tail backs were enormous. Every ingress and egress was a car park. Was that the reassuring sound of tooting? And, yes, is that a head out a window screaming Yuletide invective? Is that a carload of grim faced children and red faced adults?
Only extreme heat, melting the bitumen and flaring the stench, could have enhanced the unpleasantness.
That’s more like it.
Happy Christmas!
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Wednesday, 8 December 2010
English Overreach
The Simon Barnes award for journalistic hyperbole, this week goes to James Lawton of The Independent.
“This is not to devalue the scale of England's triumph in the exquisite Oval ground that was as silent as a mausoleum the morning after the most crushing of defeats, one that has provoked a burst of countrywide introspection so deep it might even be linked to a loss of national identity.”
Countrywide introspection? So deep? Loss of national identity?
Mate, wet your terry toweling hat to soothe that fevered brow. Or try cooling off in an art gallery or concert hall.
What an excitable tosser.
“This is not to devalue the scale of England's triumph in the exquisite Oval ground that was as silent as a mausoleum the morning after the most crushing of defeats, one that has provoked a burst of countrywide introspection so deep it might even be linked to a loss of national identity.”
Countrywide introspection? So deep? Loss of national identity?
Mate, wet your terry toweling hat to soothe that fevered brow. Or try cooling off in an art gallery or concert hall.
What an excitable tosser.
Sunday, 14 November 2010
In his own modest words…
In time, this will find its way to the right hand side of this page but first deserves greater billing.
Writing an introduction to a section of Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks: The Essential Alan Coren (for Christmas please Santa), the grossly over exposed Stephen Fry has come up with this priceless titbit:
Fortunately the censoring membrane of wit never allowed him to become pompous about the genuine intellect within. Something else I could well learn from him…
Writing an introduction to a section of Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks: The Essential Alan Coren (for Christmas please Santa), the grossly over exposed Stephen Fry has come up with this priceless titbit:
Fortunately the censoring membrane of wit never allowed him to become pompous about the genuine intellect within. Something else I could well learn from him…
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
Legalise it!
So sang, Bob - or as he was known on GLR (the B.B.C.’s now defunct radio station for London) - The Right Honourable Robert Nestor Marley.
At least decriminalise it.
After all, “Our last three presidents used marijuana during their reckless days of youth but went on to successful careers because they were never busted. Millions of others [sic] Americans are not so lucky.”
At least decriminalise it.
After all, “Our last three presidents used marijuana during their reckless days of youth but went on to successful careers because they were never busted. Millions of others [sic] Americans are not so lucky.”
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
Unless it’s instructive, keep your teen longings to yourself, mate
Sometimes a piece appears that makes one wonder if there are any editors.
On the flimsy pretext of publishing a paragraph from Lolita, Nick Antosca* shares his teenage sexual fantasies, though, thankfully, without explication. There is no insight here, just a dry rendering of wet dreams.
Anybody who suggests Lolita is anything other than an account of adult weakness may not have sufficient insight to see their need for treatment.
It’s a rare man or woman who hasn’t been moved by the beauty of youth. It’s only the weak who are moved to act.
Youthful beauty is at its most poignant and powerful during transition from childhood innocence to adult knowing. That beauty is entwined with innocence. As soon as its darker implications are recognised by the beautiful, the beauty begins to evanesce. The moment is lost.
The very act of observation unalterably affects the object. Any expression of appreciation has a more pronounced effect. But to act upon it, is to destroy it.
Not that Antosca told us any of this.
*Ed. Nick Antosser?
On the flimsy pretext of publishing a paragraph from Lolita, Nick Antosca* shares his teenage sexual fantasies, though, thankfully, without explication. There is no insight here, just a dry rendering of wet dreams.
Anybody who suggests Lolita is anything other than an account of adult weakness may not have sufficient insight to see their need for treatment.
It’s a rare man or woman who hasn’t been moved by the beauty of youth. It’s only the weak who are moved to act.
Youthful beauty is at its most poignant and powerful during transition from childhood innocence to adult knowing. That beauty is entwined with innocence. As soon as its darker implications are recognised by the beautiful, the beauty begins to evanesce. The moment is lost.
The very act of observation unalterably affects the object. Any expression of appreciation has a more pronounced effect. But to act upon it, is to destroy it.
Not that Antosca told us any of this.
*Ed. Nick Antosser?
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
Science Vs Religion. Why bother?
The increasingly ill tempered debate between scientists and religionists has become a bum fight – an unedifying tragicomedy offering some guilty laughs for bystanders. Here we see Dawkins applying his knee to the Papal groin for something he didn’t say while down the alley Monsignor Carrasco affords the Nobel committee a taste of asphalt for recognising a man who has made millions of people happy and, no doubt, added to the Catholic flock.
Now in a bitchy article in The Chronicle of Higher Education, the usually estimable Carlin Romano has tried to use a cripple as a punching bag for poking his tongue at God. And Romano has emerged from the encounter with his credibility damaged.
Eschewing Jesus’ advice to turn the other cheek, (the most selectively applied of Christian maxims), Romano has risen to Stephen Hawking’s recent baits that philosophy is dead as it hasn’t kept pace with science, which alone can explain the universe, and that it isn’t necessary to invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe going.
But Romano has not just risen to the bait, he’s leapt from the still waters of religious reflection, performed a few unbecoming epistemological contortions in flight, and impaled himself on Hawking’s twin barbs.
Once the smooth surface of his prose has been scratched, his response is a combination of nastiness, contradictions and illogicality. Most clearly, Romano demonstrates the futility of the debate. The two sides aren’t even playing by the same rules.
Romano is a Fellow of the John Templeton Foundation which he spruiks as specialising in prodding believers and nonbelievers to discuss things in a civilized way. However, with his next breath he refers to Hawking’s statements as an “ex cathedra squawk” – a combination of sarcasm and, as he’s referring to a man with a mechanical voice, tactlessness (at best).
Elsewhere, he refers to Hawking’s smugness, sarcastically to Hawking’s “media echo chamber”, the media’s portrayal of him as a genius and that “a genius, presumably, must be right about anything. Especially if he managed to sell nine million copies of a book.”
Miaow! Do we detect a twinge of jealousy, perhaps, Romano?
The main criticism of Romano’s article does not concern his incivility but his attempt to dupe the reader into thinking that there is a philosophical “antidote” to Hawking’s claim that only science can explain the universe.
In doing so he invokes Ludwig Wittgenstein and Stephen Toulmin, the latter of which he claims “inoculated us against the naïve view that science shows God does not exist and is irrelevant to cosmology”. Us? Perhaps Romano means “me”. And where is the claim that science shows God does not exist? Indeed, one page earlier Romano quotes Hawking as saying, that “one cannot prove that God doesn’t exist.”
For that matter, what does Romano mean by “cosmology”? Is it the same as Hawking’s meaning? If Hawking only refers to the modern meaning of the science of the origin and development of the universe and Romano to the ancient meaning of holistic theories of the order the universe not confined to science, then they are using different linguistic tokens. They are speaking different languages.
At least Romano allows Toulmin to speak on this, noting that in ancient times, “Toulmin pointed out, cosmology meant more than how the universe mechanically operates. Rather, it captured the Greek notion that the entire world ‘forms a single, integrated system united by universal principles’”.
This is the point. Romano, Wittgenstein and Toulmin are speaking from the perspective of a “‘traditional world picture’ [that] happily combined ‘an astronomical, a teleological and a theological picture’”. Hawking is not. But that doesn’t stop Romano from seeing a dispute when there isn’t one. Sure, Hawking started it (this time) but for Romano to rush into the melee, head down, windmilling his arms when there is no fight isn’t smart - particularly when the first casualty is his credibility.
After a bit of Hawking bashing, Romano settles into his work by offering what he describes as a thumbnail of what Wittgenstein and Toulmin “taught us” about religion, science, and cosmology. Again, he presumes to speak for “us”. He also informs us of what we were “taught”. Their arguments are not described as such, nor presented as but one perspective. Rather they are lessons learned – truths told. From this point, all Romano tells us of the thinking of Wittgenstein and Toulmin is taken as (ahem) gospel truth and, therefore, anything inconsistent with it is treated as incorrect per se.
One might be tempted to say that geniuses (for that’s clearly what Romano thinks they are), must be right. Especially if there are two of them and they’ve been elevated by their one man media echo chamber. But that temptation should be resisted.
The thumbnail is the real start of Romano’s problems. One paragraph in we’re informed that Wittgenstein’s God is beyond human understanding. That’s convenient.
Once that cat is out the bag there follows a flurry of felines:
“‘Christianity is not based on a historical truth; rather, it gives us a (historical) narrative and says: now believe! … through thick and thin.’” (Wittgenstein) This is a defensive position religionists quickly turn to under pressure (though increasingly it’s used offensively) - my belief is above criticism or parody precisely because it is a belief.
“‘If I am to be really saved – then I need certainty… and this certainty is faith. And faith is faith in what my heart, my soul needs, with its passions… not my abstract mind.’” (Wittgenstein) No comment required there.
“In contrast to his enormous respect for truths of religion that cannot be said, but only acted on, Wittgenstein displays little appreciation for science’s hard-won descriptions of physical reality.” (Romano) Just read that again! And Romano accuses Hawking of having a closed mind by ignoring philosophy of science developments! Here he lauds Wittgenstein for believing in the notion of truths of religion but for rejecting science’s descriptions of physical reality – notwithstanding that they’ve been hard won.
“Wittgenstein in his later work sought to preserve ‘the integrity of a non scientific form of understanding’”. (Romano quoting Ray Monk, biographer of Wittgenstein)
Is any further evidence required that the physicists are riding a spaceship to one part of the universe while the philosophers are being lifted by angels to another? Well, one more can't hurt.
“For Toumlin, ‘human candor should also lead us to admit that matters of faith are intellectually unprovable and accordingly uncertain’”. (Romano quoting Toumlin) But a few pages earlier Romano quotes Hawking as saying just that.
Perhaps this is what Romano is saying - keep your hands off our version of cosmology, Professor, and play with you own. It’s just a pity it took him eight pages of self defeating twaddle to inadvertently achieve it.
In a recent article, a visiting fellow in Astronomy at the University of Sussex raised the spectre of the universe being by design but not by God’s. Upon reading that, two things came to mind. First, please don’t let Carlin Romano read it.
Second, if these designers ever revealed themselves in this universe, it’s a good bet that the scientists would shake them by the tentacles.
The religionists would prostrate themselves.
And both would claim they were right all along.
Now in a bitchy article in The Chronicle of Higher Education, the usually estimable Carlin Romano has tried to use a cripple as a punching bag for poking his tongue at God. And Romano has emerged from the encounter with his credibility damaged.
Eschewing Jesus’ advice to turn the other cheek, (the most selectively applied of Christian maxims), Romano has risen to Stephen Hawking’s recent baits that philosophy is dead as it hasn’t kept pace with science, which alone can explain the universe, and that it isn’t necessary to invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe going.
But Romano has not just risen to the bait, he’s leapt from the still waters of religious reflection, performed a few unbecoming epistemological contortions in flight, and impaled himself on Hawking’s twin barbs.
Once the smooth surface of his prose has been scratched, his response is a combination of nastiness, contradictions and illogicality. Most clearly, Romano demonstrates the futility of the debate. The two sides aren’t even playing by the same rules.
Romano is a Fellow of the John Templeton Foundation which he spruiks as specialising in prodding believers and nonbelievers to discuss things in a civilized way. However, with his next breath he refers to Hawking’s statements as an “ex cathedra squawk” – a combination of sarcasm and, as he’s referring to a man with a mechanical voice, tactlessness (at best).
Elsewhere, he refers to Hawking’s smugness, sarcastically to Hawking’s “media echo chamber”, the media’s portrayal of him as a genius and that “a genius, presumably, must be right about anything. Especially if he managed to sell nine million copies of a book.”
Miaow! Do we detect a twinge of jealousy, perhaps, Romano?
The main criticism of Romano’s article does not concern his incivility but his attempt to dupe the reader into thinking that there is a philosophical “antidote” to Hawking’s claim that only science can explain the universe.
In doing so he invokes Ludwig Wittgenstein and Stephen Toulmin, the latter of which he claims “inoculated us against the naïve view that science shows God does not exist and is irrelevant to cosmology”. Us? Perhaps Romano means “me”. And where is the claim that science shows God does not exist? Indeed, one page earlier Romano quotes Hawking as saying, that “one cannot prove that God doesn’t exist.”
For that matter, what does Romano mean by “cosmology”? Is it the same as Hawking’s meaning? If Hawking only refers to the modern meaning of the science of the origin and development of the universe and Romano to the ancient meaning of holistic theories of the order the universe not confined to science, then they are using different linguistic tokens. They are speaking different languages.
At least Romano allows Toulmin to speak on this, noting that in ancient times, “Toulmin pointed out, cosmology meant more than how the universe mechanically operates. Rather, it captured the Greek notion that the entire world ‘forms a single, integrated system united by universal principles’”.
This is the point. Romano, Wittgenstein and Toulmin are speaking from the perspective of a “‘traditional world picture’ [that] happily combined ‘an astronomical, a teleological and a theological picture’”. Hawking is not. But that doesn’t stop Romano from seeing a dispute when there isn’t one. Sure, Hawking started it (this time) but for Romano to rush into the melee, head down, windmilling his arms when there is no fight isn’t smart - particularly when the first casualty is his credibility.
After a bit of Hawking bashing, Romano settles into his work by offering what he describes as a thumbnail of what Wittgenstein and Toulmin “taught us” about religion, science, and cosmology. Again, he presumes to speak for “us”. He also informs us of what we were “taught”. Their arguments are not described as such, nor presented as but one perspective. Rather they are lessons learned – truths told. From this point, all Romano tells us of the thinking of Wittgenstein and Toulmin is taken as (ahem) gospel truth and, therefore, anything inconsistent with it is treated as incorrect per se.
One might be tempted to say that geniuses (for that’s clearly what Romano thinks they are), must be right. Especially if there are two of them and they’ve been elevated by their one man media echo chamber. But that temptation should be resisted.
The thumbnail is the real start of Romano’s problems. One paragraph in we’re informed that Wittgenstein’s God is beyond human understanding. That’s convenient.
Once that cat is out the bag there follows a flurry of felines:
“‘Christianity is not based on a historical truth; rather, it gives us a (historical) narrative and says: now believe! … through thick and thin.’” (Wittgenstein) This is a defensive position religionists quickly turn to under pressure (though increasingly it’s used offensively) - my belief is above criticism or parody precisely because it is a belief.
“‘If I am to be really saved – then I need certainty… and this certainty is faith. And faith is faith in what my heart, my soul needs, with its passions… not my abstract mind.’” (Wittgenstein) No comment required there.
“In contrast to his enormous respect for truths of religion that cannot be said, but only acted on, Wittgenstein displays little appreciation for science’s hard-won descriptions of physical reality.” (Romano) Just read that again! And Romano accuses Hawking of having a closed mind by ignoring philosophy of science developments! Here he lauds Wittgenstein for believing in the notion of truths of religion but for rejecting science’s descriptions of physical reality – notwithstanding that they’ve been hard won.
“Wittgenstein in his later work sought to preserve ‘the integrity of a non scientific form of understanding’”. (Romano quoting Ray Monk, biographer of Wittgenstein)
Is any further evidence required that the physicists are riding a spaceship to one part of the universe while the philosophers are being lifted by angels to another? Well, one more can't hurt.
“For Toumlin, ‘human candor should also lead us to admit that matters of faith are intellectually unprovable and accordingly uncertain’”. (Romano quoting Toumlin) But a few pages earlier Romano quotes Hawking as saying just that.
Perhaps this is what Romano is saying - keep your hands off our version of cosmology, Professor, and play with you own. It’s just a pity it took him eight pages of self defeating twaddle to inadvertently achieve it.
In a recent article, a visiting fellow in Astronomy at the University of Sussex raised the spectre of the universe being by design but not by God’s. Upon reading that, two things came to mind. First, please don’t let Carlin Romano read it.
Second, if these designers ever revealed themselves in this universe, it’s a good bet that the scientists would shake them by the tentacles.
The religionists would prostrate themselves.
And both would claim they were right all along.
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Respect for the dead
In the poem The Quality of Sprawl, Les Murray says that hitting animals is not part of it. He’s right. Animal cruelty is very not cool. But it can be funny in the same way that zombie movies and racist jokes are funny. The sheer outrageousness, the fundamental wrongness (mixed with more than a frisson of audience guilt), gets the laugh.
The story of the famous footballer reaching into a bird cage, biting the head from the budgie and returning the stump to the perch still makes me smile. A mate drop kicking a cat from a verandah, another place kicking a pigeon with a toe to the date – were hilarious at the drunken youthful time. Cleese smacking the rigid parrot on the counter top remains extraordinarily popular amongst those suffering arrested comedy development.
The last couple of weeks haven’t been the best for inter-species relations. Aussie teens made the US news for smacking around a kangaroo and a pissed Pom popped a hamster in a microwave. Neither was funny, though I warrant a few smiles flickered across lips upon reading about the last.
Better to be speedily zapped than slowly suffocated in a movie star’s poop chute, you might think.
Now, now, that’s enough.
The hysterical reactions to these events are funny. Most are of the “jail’s too good for ‘em” kind. The anthropomorphism on display is staggering as it is delightful and the high level of inter-species telepathy is impressive.
The Pom got nine weeks in the slammer for killing a rat.
But most outrage seems to be have been reserved for the Kiwis (I love Kiwis) who raised money for the local school with a good old possum toss (as in, throw). I wasn’t even too outraged when I thought the possum was alive. They’re extremely agile and have tough tails. Indeed, they’re perfect candidates for a fling (as in throw, not movie star tryst). The possum wasn’t alive. Sure it had to become not alive, but it didn’t suffer while it was being chucked around.
So, lighten the fuck up.
If you anthropomorphising nutjobs want to pick on someone, pick on the killer whales. Now that’s mean. And funny. At least to them.
The story of the famous footballer reaching into a bird cage, biting the head from the budgie and returning the stump to the perch still makes me smile. A mate drop kicking a cat from a verandah, another place kicking a pigeon with a toe to the date – were hilarious at the drunken youthful time. Cleese smacking the rigid parrot on the counter top remains extraordinarily popular amongst those suffering arrested comedy development.
The last couple of weeks haven’t been the best for inter-species relations. Aussie teens made the US news for smacking around a kangaroo and a pissed Pom popped a hamster in a microwave. Neither was funny, though I warrant a few smiles flickered across lips upon reading about the last.
Better to be speedily zapped than slowly suffocated in a movie star’s poop chute, you might think.
Now, now, that’s enough.
The hysterical reactions to these events are funny. Most are of the “jail’s too good for ‘em” kind. The anthropomorphism on display is staggering as it is delightful and the high level of inter-species telepathy is impressive.
The Pom got nine weeks in the slammer for killing a rat.
But most outrage seems to be have been reserved for the Kiwis (I love Kiwis) who raised money for the local school with a good old possum toss (as in, throw). I wasn’t even too outraged when I thought the possum was alive. They’re extremely agile and have tough tails. Indeed, they’re perfect candidates for a fling (as in throw, not movie star tryst). The possum wasn’t alive. Sure it had to become not alive, but it didn’t suffer while it was being chucked around.
So, lighten the fuck up.
If you anthropomorphising nutjobs want to pick on someone, pick on the killer whales. Now that’s mean. And funny. At least to them.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
What’s wrong with this picture?
There so much of interest in the weekend protest by some members of Sydney’s Muslim community.
For a start, this sign caught the eye - “You ban ‘Quran’ you burn in hell. United in Islam we stand”.
A weird feature is that each letter is balloon shaped and alternately rendered in a different primary colour. This lettering was last deployed by hippies in the late 60s and early 70s to preach love or peace, man. Here it’s been used to convey eternal and fiery damnation.
Perhaps small Muslim children were encouraged to join in the fun of the protest against oppression. Or is it a reflection of how entrenched and, therefore, pro forma Muslim protest is that it didn’t strike anybody as odd that the message of damnation was made to look so friendly. Naïve or malign, it’s bloody peculiar.
Could the explanation be that the sign maker was only allowed out of the house if she tricked her sensible but illiterate parent that she was off to a school sports day? It’s hoped so.
Then there’s the message. The protest ostensibly was against moves to ban the burqa. So what’s Quran burning got to do with it?
But, hang on. According to the SMH, the NSW Premier, Kristina Keneally, has recently made a statement re-affirming the right of Muslim women to wear the burqa. So what’s the point of any of it?
Weave all these strands together and surely one gets closer to the truth. This fight has nothing at all to do with Australia. It’s about reflexive Muslim grievance, some strange desire to paint yourself as oppressed.
Sure enough, the give away is not far off. As the spokeswoman, Ms Ardati said, the support of key politicians did not mean Muslims could ''relax''. ''Even if this bill is not passed in NSW now, who knows what will happen in one week, one month or one year?''
But the suspicion is that the whole thing really was just an elaborate ruse by the poor protesters to get out of the house and express themsleves in the only way their men permit.
For a start, this sign caught the eye - “You ban ‘Quran’ you burn in hell. United in Islam we stand”.
A weird feature is that each letter is balloon shaped and alternately rendered in a different primary colour. This lettering was last deployed by hippies in the late 60s and early 70s to preach love or peace, man. Here it’s been used to convey eternal and fiery damnation.
Perhaps small Muslim children were encouraged to join in the fun of the protest against oppression. Or is it a reflection of how entrenched and, therefore, pro forma Muslim protest is that it didn’t strike anybody as odd that the message of damnation was made to look so friendly. Naïve or malign, it’s bloody peculiar.
Could the explanation be that the sign maker was only allowed out of the house if she tricked her sensible but illiterate parent that she was off to a school sports day? It’s hoped so.
Then there’s the message. The protest ostensibly was against moves to ban the burqa. So what’s Quran burning got to do with it?
But, hang on. According to the SMH, the NSW Premier, Kristina Keneally, has recently made a statement re-affirming the right of Muslim women to wear the burqa. So what’s the point of any of it?
Weave all these strands together and surely one gets closer to the truth. This fight has nothing at all to do with Australia. It’s about reflexive Muslim grievance, some strange desire to paint yourself as oppressed.
Sure enough, the give away is not far off. As the spokeswoman, Ms Ardati said, the support of key politicians did not mean Muslims could ''relax''. ''Even if this bill is not passed in NSW now, who knows what will happen in one week, one month or one year?''
But the suspicion is that the whole thing really was just an elaborate ruse by the poor protesters to get out of the house and express themsleves in the only way their men permit.
Monday, 6 September 2010
Soccer skills impaired by shagging. Religious skills, not.
Experts have stunned the medical research community with the discovery that infidelity, particularly with prostitutes, might adversely affect the coordination, speed and tactical decision making of elite sportsmen.
In related research, the ability of church representatives to provide moral and spiritual guidance has been found to be unaffected by the representatives' acts of sexual depravity and breaches of trust.
In related research, the ability of church representatives to provide moral and spiritual guidance has been found to be unaffected by the representatives' acts of sexual depravity and breaches of trust.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
A Kiwi super city?
Ever hired a car in New Zealand? When you drive it around, people stop and stare. I’m not talking about a European convertible here. More like a 5 year old Holden with 160,000 on the clock.
“Nice wheels, bro. Iz thet the ‘04 ‘dore. Sweet.”
You see, it’s a bit cut-off. Lost in time and space. Lost in a reality all of its own. And despite the warrior image, it’s gentle, friendly and, shall we say, slightly old-fashioned.
In keeping with this other worldliness, the New Zealand Herald is in the middle of a major series: “Auckland the Super City: a Herald special feature”.
The series charts the city’s “spectacular growth since 1945” as it prepares to become a “single Super City”.
Super City! Capitalised for superness!
Bless.
Speaking of spectacular growth, are you prepared to have your mind boggled?!! From 1976 to 1986 the population skyrocketed from 707,000 at a density of 19 people per hectare to a crazeeeee 755,000 at a crushing, err… 19 people per hectare!
In the last 24 years the population has gone bonkers – 1.16 million now with 23 people per hectare. That’s 4 more people! Per hectare! In 24 years.
I wonder if they know that Paris has 2,000 people per hectare.
I love Kiwis. They’re so cute.
“Nice wheels, bro. Iz thet the ‘04 ‘dore. Sweet.”
You see, it’s a bit cut-off. Lost in time and space. Lost in a reality all of its own. And despite the warrior image, it’s gentle, friendly and, shall we say, slightly old-fashioned.
In keeping with this other worldliness, the New Zealand Herald is in the middle of a major series: “Auckland the Super City: a Herald special feature”.
The series charts the city’s “spectacular growth since 1945” as it prepares to become a “single Super City”.
Super City! Capitalised for superness!
Bless.
Speaking of spectacular growth, are you prepared to have your mind boggled?!! From 1976 to 1986 the population skyrocketed from 707,000 at a density of 19 people per hectare to a crazeeeee 755,000 at a crushing, err… 19 people per hectare!
In the last 24 years the population has gone bonkers – 1.16 million now with 23 people per hectare. That’s 4 more people! Per hectare! In 24 years.
I wonder if they know that Paris has 2,000 people per hectare.
I love Kiwis. They’re so cute.
Monday, 23 August 2010
Couples we’d like to see - Part 1
As a selfless and romantic organ, Gliberty is kicking off a free introduction service. Some people just deserve each other and we're here to help.
Let's get these two together as soon as possible - Keli Lane and Matthew Newton.
They’ve so much in common – self-love and, ahem... allegedly , a tendency to violence as the ultimate expression of it.
Let's get these two together as soon as possible - Keli Lane and Matthew Newton.
They’ve so much in common – self-love and, ahem... allegedly , a tendency to violence as the ultimate expression of it.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
Mugshots
The Chicago Tribune runs mugshots of the recently arrested. Yes, it’s voyeurism but fascinating all the same.
Who said those cop shows were realistic? Even actors don’t look this stupid or unfortunate. But more interesting than the dull eyed slack jawed mugshots are the crimes for which the mugs have been arrested. Personal favourites include:
Theft of manholes – Say no more.
Murder, neglect of a dependent, battery and false informing – As if she wasn’t in enough trouble without stooping to false dobbing?
Murder and attempted battery – How do you fail at battery but successfully kill?
False impersonation of a police officer – Are you really going to do it like that? OK, that's bad, you’re under arrest.
And take a look at those who resisted arrest. They're easy to spot. Ouch.
Who said those cop shows were realistic? Even actors don’t look this stupid or unfortunate. But more interesting than the dull eyed slack jawed mugshots are the crimes for which the mugs have been arrested. Personal favourites include:
Theft of manholes – Say no more.
Murder, neglect of a dependent, battery and false informing – As if she wasn’t in enough trouble without stooping to false dobbing?
Murder and attempted battery – How do you fail at battery but successfully kill?
False impersonation of a police officer – Are you really going to do it like that? OK, that's bad, you’re under arrest.
And take a look at those who resisted arrest. They're easy to spot. Ouch.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
More evidence of panic
Does Warwick McKibbin have a web page? If not, he should emulate Henry Ergas.
Panicked decisions are bad decisions. Lying to cover your ineptitude is contemptible.
Promising to repeat your mistakes is arrogance and narcissism.
Panicked decisions are bad decisions. Lying to cover your ineptitude is contemptible.
Promising to repeat your mistakes is arrogance and narcissism.
Sunday, 4 July 2010
They’ll do anything
Feeling queasy? Dare I say, sea-sick?
Appalling politicians will do and say anything to keep the smell of ministerial leather in their (in some cases, capacious) nostrils.
NSW Labor about faces at the drop of a hat. Now Federal Labor has been taught the same steps.
Perhaps Red Gillard should reflect on the negative consequences of her desire to send ‘em home so she can stay.
Could someone pass me the anti-emetics?
Appalling politicians will do and say anything to keep the smell of ministerial leather in their (in some cases, capacious) nostrils.
NSW Labor about faces at the drop of a hat. Now Federal Labor has been taught the same steps.
Perhaps Red Gillard should reflect on the negative consequences of her desire to send ‘em home so she can stay.
Could someone pass me the anti-emetics?
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Everybody loathes a boaster, but…
According to The Age, Professor Warwick McKibben, “university economist and member of the Reserve Bank board deliver[ed] a scathing critique of Kevin Rudd's response to the global financial crisis, saying his government 'panicked' and 'rammed through' decisions fraught with risk”.
Around two and a half years ago, Gliberty predicted this panic in the face of financial crisis (before the crisis hit), accurately assessed Rudd’s bad character, predicted who would undo him, and let all know about his expletive ridden communications, and all in fewer than 500 words.
Hurrah for us! Oh, and everybody else who did it too.
Around two and a half years ago, Gliberty predicted this panic in the face of financial crisis (before the crisis hit), accurately assessed Rudd’s bad character, predicted who would undo him, and let all know about his expletive ridden communications, and all in fewer than 500 words.
Hurrah for us! Oh, and everybody else who did it too.
What do the French and Julia Gillard have in common?
A lot:
In the vernacular of Straya, to “French” a lamb cutlet* is to use a very sharp knife to trim it of excess fat.
In the world of football, to “French” a coach is for a group of players to openly and publicly revolt against him in act of disloyalty reflecting ill on all participants.
Ajourd’hui la Gillardine, well and truly Frenched her boss.
Not much:
The Elysee Palace, Paris, France
Le petit but dapper Nicolas Sarkozy and the tres elegante Carla Bruni greet the Prime Minister of Australia and her partner, [insert name here], for dinner.
During dinner, though initially sensitive to the Australians’ confusion with the cutlery, the French hosts become concerned and finally alarmed when each time [INH] wished to speak he got up and stood behind the chair of the person to whom he was speaking.
As he said good night to his guests, President Sarkozy was overheard politely declining [INH's] enquiry as to whether "sir required anything for the weekend".
* Don’t use this expression in the United States where to “French” has an entirely different meaning not usually associated with raw meats.
In the vernacular of Straya, to “French” a lamb cutlet* is to use a very sharp knife to trim it of excess fat.
In the world of football, to “French” a coach is for a group of players to openly and publicly revolt against him in act of disloyalty reflecting ill on all participants.
Ajourd’hui la Gillardine, well and truly Frenched her boss.
Not much:
The Elysee Palace, Paris, France
Le petit but dapper Nicolas Sarkozy and the tres elegante Carla Bruni greet the Prime Minister of Australia and her partner, [insert name here], for dinner.
During dinner, though initially sensitive to the Australians’ confusion with the cutlery, the French hosts become concerned and finally alarmed when each time [INH] wished to speak he got up and stood behind the chair of the person to whom he was speaking.
As he said good night to his guests, President Sarkozy was overheard politely declining [INH's] enquiry as to whether "sir required anything for the weekend".
* Don’t use this expression in the United States where to “French” has an entirely different meaning not usually associated with raw meats.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Short memories
General McChrystal has been recalled to Washington for a carpeting by the President of the United Sates following a Rolling Stone interview. At that meeting he offered the President his resignation.
The worst thing said about President Obama was by an aide to General McChrystal. Mr Obama appeared "uncomfortable and intimidated" by the military and "didn't seem very engaged" when he first met General McChrystal.
Ouch. Stop hitting me with that cooked spaghetti.
It wasn’t so long ago that the Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, wrote the epitaph for her candidature by using Congressional hearings to call General David Petraeus a liar. He didn’t complain.
It seems the price of military service is honourable behaviour. The privilege of political service is freedom to behave appallingly.
... and, a day after this post, just to prove its thesis, General Petraeus again serves those who publicly failed to support and ridiculed him for the sake of their political skins.
The worst thing said about President Obama was by an aide to General McChrystal. Mr Obama appeared "uncomfortable and intimidated" by the military and "didn't seem very engaged" when he first met General McChrystal.
Ouch. Stop hitting me with that cooked spaghetti.
It wasn’t so long ago that the Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, wrote the epitaph for her candidature by using Congressional hearings to call General David Petraeus a liar. He didn’t complain.
It seems the price of military service is honourable behaviour. The privilege of political service is freedom to behave appallingly.
... and, a day after this post, just to prove its thesis, General Petraeus again serves those who publicly failed to support and ridiculed him for the sake of their political skins.
Monday, 24 May 2010
Bigwiggery
‘Bigwig’ is a favourite word. Its internal rhyme and firm consonants make it a pleasure to say. But its best feature is the visual imagery it conveys. This comes from its straightforward etymology - early 18th century, so named from the large wigs formerly worn by distinguished men.
Was it the case that the bigger the wig the more distinguished the wearer? Or did those with delusions of grandeur suffer ridicule for presumptuously lavish headwear? Perhaps the real swinging dicks sported tiny wiglets as an expression of their power?
The plural holds greater delights, for when circumstances permit its use there’s more than one bigwig about, and nothing is more risible than a gathering of them, for the inevitable result is bigwiggery.
Bigwiggery is on display each morning Federal Parliament sits when a line of taxpayer funded limousines idle, each waiting in turn to deposit its puffed-up occupant.
Ricky Gervais knows a thing or two about bigwiggery. Witness the delightful scene in Extras when he is finally admitted to the celebrity area in a nightclub, indistinguishable from the area available to the hoi polloi, other than for the rope surrounding it.
But real life examples delight and appal just as much.
A favourite occurred at the unveiling of the statue of the New Zealand soldier on the ANZAC Bridge in Sydney, the companion to the Australian soldier on the other side of the road. Bigwigs, in the form of State politicians and senior bureaucrats were present front and centre near the statue. Onlookers, including relatives of fallen veterans, some of whom had flown from New Zealand, were prevented by police from getting too close and were relegated to positions behind barriers out of earshot of proceedings and with the statue almost out of sight.
That’s bigwiggery at its very, very best.
From opening of a playground to a blockbuster's premiere, bigwiggery abounds.
Notice of further examples will be gratefully received.
Was it the case that the bigger the wig the more distinguished the wearer? Or did those with delusions of grandeur suffer ridicule for presumptuously lavish headwear? Perhaps the real swinging dicks sported tiny wiglets as an expression of their power?
The plural holds greater delights, for when circumstances permit its use there’s more than one bigwig about, and nothing is more risible than a gathering of them, for the inevitable result is bigwiggery.
Bigwiggery is on display each morning Federal Parliament sits when a line of taxpayer funded limousines idle, each waiting in turn to deposit its puffed-up occupant.
Ricky Gervais knows a thing or two about bigwiggery. Witness the delightful scene in Extras when he is finally admitted to the celebrity area in a nightclub, indistinguishable from the area available to the hoi polloi, other than for the rope surrounding it.
But real life examples delight and appal just as much.
A favourite occurred at the unveiling of the statue of the New Zealand soldier on the ANZAC Bridge in Sydney, the companion to the Australian soldier on the other side of the road. Bigwigs, in the form of State politicians and senior bureaucrats were present front and centre near the statue. Onlookers, including relatives of fallen veterans, some of whom had flown from New Zealand, were prevented by police from getting too close and were relegated to positions behind barriers out of earshot of proceedings and with the statue almost out of sight.
That’s bigwiggery at its very, very best.
From opening of a playground to a blockbuster's premiere, bigwiggery abounds.
Notice of further examples will be gratefully received.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Picking on the fat fag
Thanks to Jason Akermanis for clearing up any remaining doubt as to whether he’s a tool.
We’ve noted before what we think of taking advice from celebrities.
And thanks to Channel 7 news and some sections of the Sydney press for clearing up any remaining doubt as to whether they’re scum. An undercover operation to spot a middle aged man leaving a gay sauna is nearly as petty and pathetic as the Fitzgerald Inquiry getting Don Lane for fiddling his expenses. More fatty bashing?
Apart from his family, who gives a toss (poor choice of words perhaps) what David Campbell tickles with his walrus?
As for Akermanis’ advice that gay sports people should stay in the closet, we’ve only to look at the damage done in the Campbell case to see the folly of suppressing one’s sexuality.
Food for thought for the Catholic Church?
We’ve noted before what we think of taking advice from celebrities.
And thanks to Channel 7 news and some sections of the Sydney press for clearing up any remaining doubt as to whether they’re scum. An undercover operation to spot a middle aged man leaving a gay sauna is nearly as petty and pathetic as the Fitzgerald Inquiry getting Don Lane for fiddling his expenses. More fatty bashing?
Apart from his family, who gives a toss (poor choice of words perhaps) what David Campbell tickles with his walrus?
As for Akermanis’ advice that gay sports people should stay in the closet, we’ve only to look at the damage done in the Campbell case to see the folly of suppressing one’s sexuality.
Food for thought for the Catholic Church?
Monday, 17 May 2010
Fish ‘n chip paper before it hits the newsstands
Are you really surprised by many of the ‘big’ stories? Wouldn’t these have been at lot more interesting if they’d not been true?
Politician doesn’t tell whole truth all the time.
Big business fails to thank government for increased taxation.
Labor stacks branches - preselection corrupt.
NRL player uses fists to remove girlfriend’s stuffing. (Too may links too choose from.)
And my personal favourite from today - Russel Crowe claims to be greatest actor in the history of the universe.
Politician doesn’t tell whole truth all the time.
Big business fails to thank government for increased taxation.
Labor stacks branches - preselection corrupt.
NRL player uses fists to remove girlfriend’s stuffing. (Too may links too choose from.)
And my personal favourite from today - Russel Crowe claims to be greatest actor in the history of the universe.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Hurrah! The President of the United States likes me!
I know I am not alone in having a slightly sore chest this morning. It’s been stretched with pride at President Obama’s praise for our Prime Minster!
Gosh, if he likes Mr Rudd, do you think he might like me too? Oh, I hope so. He did say that the Australian people were hospitable and I’m an Australian person so, really, he was saying that I am hospitable. Don’t you think?
And as the Prime Minster is our elected leader, perhaps when he praises Mr Rudd he is really saying that we are, and therefore I am, smart and humble and helpful around the house too!!
Oh joy! Oh life! Oh love! ♥♥
Gosh, if he likes Mr Rudd, do you think he might like me too? Oh, I hope so. He did say that the Australian people were hospitable and I’m an Australian person so, really, he was saying that I am hospitable. Don’t you think?
And as the Prime Minster is our elected leader, perhaps when he praises Mr Rudd he is really saying that we are, and therefore I am, smart and humble and helpful around the house too!!
Oh joy! Oh life! Oh love! ♥♥
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
Picking on the fat kid
Churchill spent most of the Second World War rat arsed. Kennedy was up on pain killers and down on actresses during the Cuban Missile Crisis and, if Coppola is to be believed, every American serviceman spent the Vietnam War strung out.
Piggy Nixon scoffed a pie at a pub during the Victorian bush fires.
What we now know is that, wearing her dress uniform and a furrowed brow, she should have been in a glass control room to be seen pinning tiny flags on a wall map with her left hand and pushing toy fire trucks across a table with the miniature rake in her right.
Later, we should have seen Piggy read them their rights and place the fires under arrest.
Anything else was a greedy dereliction of duty.
Piggy Nixon scoffed a pie at a pub during the Victorian bush fires.
What we now know is that, wearing her dress uniform and a furrowed brow, she should have been in a glass control room to be seen pinning tiny flags on a wall map with her left hand and pushing toy fire trucks across a table with the miniature rake in her right.
Later, we should have seen Piggy read them their rights and place the fires under arrest.
Anything else was a greedy dereliction of duty.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
We posed a question about Matty…
We asked the question and all along we knew the answer - not very steep at all. The path to redemption is flat and short if someone can profit from making it so.
Monday, 15 March 2010
Public Hospital Outrage as Wrong Baby Given to Mother
Calls for the NSW and Federal Health Ministers to resign have followed revelations of a scandalous incident at Broken Hill Hospital in which a mother was given the wrong baby to breastfeed, for 5 minutes.
The woman given the child in the very early hours of the morning noticed it wasn’t hers and altered hospital staff.
“I was totally disgusted. I mean, it saw me half starkers. It even touched my nipple.”
The woman, who prefers to remain anonymous until she has spoken to A Current Affair, has demanded an apology from the Governor-General.
The nurse has been counselled and procedures reviewed to ensure this atrocious infringement of human rights can never been repeated.
The baby was unavailable for comment but was said to be considering all its options.
In what authorities claim is an “unrelated incident”, two visitors to the hospital cafeteria were allegedly given the wrong meals.
“We was here visiting me mother who was gettin the boils under her back fat squeezed out and we got real hungry. I ordered lasagne n chips and Josie aksed for chicken schnitzel, chips n salad”, said Bevania Slap.
“When they handed us the tray the lasagne had the salad on it and I hate salad. It’s todally unaccepal”, she added.
Ms Slap has not ruled out legal action.
The woman given the child in the very early hours of the morning noticed it wasn’t hers and altered hospital staff.
“I was totally disgusted. I mean, it saw me half starkers. It even touched my nipple.”
The woman, who prefers to remain anonymous until she has spoken to A Current Affair, has demanded an apology from the Governor-General.
The nurse has been counselled and procedures reviewed to ensure this atrocious infringement of human rights can never been repeated.
The baby was unavailable for comment but was said to be considering all its options.
In what authorities claim is an “unrelated incident”, two visitors to the hospital cafeteria were allegedly given the wrong meals.
“We was here visiting me mother who was gettin the boils under her back fat squeezed out and we got real hungry. I ordered lasagne n chips and Josie aksed for chicken schnitzel, chips n salad”, said Bevania Slap.
“When they handed us the tray the lasagne had the salad on it and I hate salad. It’s todally unaccepal”, she added.
Ms Slap has not ruled out legal action.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Therese Rein – That letter of apology in full
Dear Premier,
I was mortified at Kevin’s behaviour in Sydney on Friday and I extend my sympathy for the discomfort and embarrassment he caused you. After the first 5 years of our marriage I gave up apologising to people he was rude to as it began to occupy too much of my time, but seeing his treatment of you was enough to make my blood boil.
We were having coffee in the living room when it was replayed on the Insiders program. As the segment started, Kevin got up to scuttle out of the room but I told him to sit right back down. Of course, he busied himself behind some papers and didn’t emerge until the whole show was over.
At the end of the program, I asked him what he had to say for himself. He said he had to ring Wayne urgently and began walking out but, thanks to my new lithesome frame, I got to the door first and blocked his escape.
I offer the exchange which followed verbatim as, I hope, you will find some comfort in it.
“Kevin, what do you have to say about the way you treated that lovely Kristina?”
“Who?”, said Kevin, looking at his shoes.
“Kristina Keneally.”
“Who's that?”, he said while removing some invisible lint from his shirt cuff.
“The Premier of NSW to whom Australia has just seen you being rude.”
“She’s a poo. And she smells.”, he said to an area just over my left shoulder.
“Kevin, don’t be ridiculous. You were horrid to her.”
He stamped his foot and closed his eyes and shouted, “She started it!”
“How did she start it?”
“She was all smiley and looking.”
“What do you mean ‘looking’?”
“She was looking at me in my face and I didn’t like it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She was looking at me. I hate it when people look at me. I bet she was looking at my fringe. I hate my fringe and I hate her and I hate you!”
Anyway, Kristina, this went on for some time but you get the general idea.
If it’s any comfort you’ll remember he’s treated another charming, polite and intelligent woman this way. That time it was on the BBC when he refused to look at the Chinese Foreign Minister.
I apologise for Kevin’s incivility. I understand how you feel. After all, I live with the odious little twit.
Yours sincerely,
Therese Rein
I was mortified at Kevin’s behaviour in Sydney on Friday and I extend my sympathy for the discomfort and embarrassment he caused you. After the first 5 years of our marriage I gave up apologising to people he was rude to as it began to occupy too much of my time, but seeing his treatment of you was enough to make my blood boil.
We were having coffee in the living room when it was replayed on the Insiders program. As the segment started, Kevin got up to scuttle out of the room but I told him to sit right back down. Of course, he busied himself behind some papers and didn’t emerge until the whole show was over.
At the end of the program, I asked him what he had to say for himself. He said he had to ring Wayne urgently and began walking out but, thanks to my new lithesome frame, I got to the door first and blocked his escape.
I offer the exchange which followed verbatim as, I hope, you will find some comfort in it.
“Kevin, what do you have to say about the way you treated that lovely Kristina?”
“Who?”, said Kevin, looking at his shoes.
“Kristina Keneally.”
“Who's that?”, he said while removing some invisible lint from his shirt cuff.
“The Premier of NSW to whom Australia has just seen you being rude.”
“She’s a poo. And she smells.”, he said to an area just over my left shoulder.
“Kevin, don’t be ridiculous. You were horrid to her.”
He stamped his foot and closed his eyes and shouted, “She started it!”
“How did she start it?”
“She was all smiley and looking.”
“What do you mean ‘looking’?”
“She was looking at me in my face and I didn’t like it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She was looking at me. I hate it when people look at me. I bet she was looking at my fringe. I hate my fringe and I hate her and I hate you!”
Anyway, Kristina, this went on for some time but you get the general idea.
If it’s any comfort you’ll remember he’s treated another charming, polite and intelligent woman this way. That time it was on the BBC when he refused to look at the Chinese Foreign Minister.
I apologise for Kevin’s incivility. I understand how you feel. After all, I live with the odious little twit.
Yours sincerely,
Therese Rein
Thursday, 11 March 2010
Canada: New Zealand with moose
An irrational jealousy (is there a rational kind?) came over me when an extremely attractive American girl said she found New Zealand accents very sexy. She might have been English, it was long ago. I can’t even recall what she looked like, though I know I wanted to get close to her that night, until she said that.
I don’t find the New Zealand accent sexy. Nor does any of Australia’s fauna. New Zealanders are friendly and, particularly in their own country, incredibly helpful and inexplicably cheerful. That’s also my experience of Canadians, other than Norm Verdec, my high school chemistry teacher, who was a fat, box-headed imbecile.
Canadians and New Zealanders share other traits. They both have bigger and richer neighbours and lots of people who poke fun at them and their accents. Both have tried to reach agreements with those who occupied the country before European settlement and both seem willing to embrace policy for the furtherance of mushy, non-specific ends such as social justice.
Most importantly, Canadians and New Zealanders share irrepressible smugness.
They’re smug because of what they are not. Canada isn’t the USA and New Zealand isn’t Australia. Turning a negative to a positive is a common survival technique of the relatively weak. Note that they’re not elevated by superior virtue, intellect or management but by what they lack. That is, neither is materially or spiritually big enough to blunder like their neighbours. Any mistakes they do make cause barely a ripple. Their smugness at big brother’s excesses, in reality, is driven by inability and insecurity.
The people of these lands of lakes and mountains have a lot in common. To flip it, their differences seem few. Indeed, all that springs to mind is that seal isn’t on the menu in the New Zealand Parliament and New Zealand’s vice-regal representatives don't rip the hearts from baby seals. Oh, and moose are scarcer in New Zealand - at least, in the wild.
I don’t find the New Zealand accent sexy. Nor does any of Australia’s fauna. New Zealanders are friendly and, particularly in their own country, incredibly helpful and inexplicably cheerful. That’s also my experience of Canadians, other than Norm Verdec, my high school chemistry teacher, who was a fat, box-headed imbecile.
Canadians and New Zealanders share other traits. They both have bigger and richer neighbours and lots of people who poke fun at them and their accents. Both have tried to reach agreements with those who occupied the country before European settlement and both seem willing to embrace policy for the furtherance of mushy, non-specific ends such as social justice.
Most importantly, Canadians and New Zealanders share irrepressible smugness.
They’re smug because of what they are not. Canada isn’t the USA and New Zealand isn’t Australia. Turning a negative to a positive is a common survival technique of the relatively weak. Note that they’re not elevated by superior virtue, intellect or management but by what they lack. That is, neither is materially or spiritually big enough to blunder like their neighbours. Any mistakes they do make cause barely a ripple. Their smugness at big brother’s excesses, in reality, is driven by inability and insecurity.
The people of these lands of lakes and mountains have a lot in common. To flip it, their differences seem few. Indeed, all that springs to mind is that seal isn’t on the menu in the New Zealand Parliament and New Zealand’s vice-regal representatives don't rip the hearts from baby seals. Oh, and moose are scarcer in New Zealand - at least, in the wild.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Sadness anticipated in the belly of a mountain
Sparklehorse may not have been my favourite musician but he was the only cure at certain times and this news has hit hard.
The gentle beauty of his music offered this listener the glimmer of first light, the fragility of a new day and an affirmation of the primacy of love.
But this was an illusion.
The songs of love were reflections of loss. Those suffused with the promise of morning, in truth, chased in vain the evanescent light of a dying day.
Listen when very late.
The gentle beauty of his music offered this listener the glimmer of first light, the fragility of a new day and an affirmation of the primacy of love.
But this was an illusion.
The songs of love were reflections of loss. Those suffused with the promise of morning, in truth, chased in vain the evanescent light of a dying day.
Listen when very late.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Australia sends in the big guns
In a sign of its anger at reports that forged Australian passports may have been used by suspects in the Dubai murder of Hamas leader, Mahmoud al-Mabhouh, the Ambassador of Israel has been spoken to, sternly, by the Foreign Minister, Stephen Smith.
“He really was quite firm with the Ambassador”, said a spokesman for the Foreign Minister. “We didn’t even offer him a cup of tea”.
“When we asked what arrangements we should make for the visit, Mr Smith said that we were only to provide water, on request. He said, ‘I’m not having them [the Israeli delegation] enjoying our yummy ginger snaps when I feeling as cranky as this’.”
“He [Smith] was quite quivery during the meeting”, said an insider.
In the face of the dressing down from the Australian Foreign Minister, the Israeli security agency, Mossad, was said to be reviewing its tactics and possibly renouncing the use of violence in the defence of Israel.
“We've had along hard look in the mirror and we're a bit ashamed at what we've been doing for the last sixty years”, said a senior Mossad commander.
“Good luck with the roofing insulation problems”, he added, “We can only imagine how tough it must be for the Australian people to cope with a threat to safety as serious as that”.
“He really was quite firm with the Ambassador”, said a spokesman for the Foreign Minister. “We didn’t even offer him a cup of tea”.
“When we asked what arrangements we should make for the visit, Mr Smith said that we were only to provide water, on request. He said, ‘I’m not having them [the Israeli delegation] enjoying our yummy ginger snaps when I feeling as cranky as this’.”
“He [Smith] was quite quivery during the meeting”, said an insider.
In the face of the dressing down from the Australian Foreign Minister, the Israeli security agency, Mossad, was said to be reviewing its tactics and possibly renouncing the use of violence in the defence of Israel.
“We've had along hard look in the mirror and we're a bit ashamed at what we've been doing for the last sixty years”, said a senior Mossad commander.
“Good luck with the roofing insulation problems”, he added, “We can only imagine how tough it must be for the Australian people to cope with a threat to safety as serious as that”.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Keeping down with Joneses
This is getting ridiculous. Now the Tories (yes, the Conservative Party) want to use social pressure to improve household energy efficiency.
Party leader David Cameron has said, "We need to apply gentle social pressure on people to bring down their energy use. So just as they're doing in California, we will make each energy bill come with an illustration of how much energy people's neighbours are using in comparison to their own usage, inspiring them to consume less in competition".
But what will the pious, smug, Prius driving little git who lives next door to you do when he learns that you’re using much more energy than he is? Leave helpful pamphlets your letterbox? Tsk as you walk past?
The ultimate outcome will be violence.
As J.S. Mill observed (and as noted here before), protection against the tyranny of authority is not enough, “there needs protection also against tyranny of prevailing opinion and feeling, against the tendency of society to impose, by other means than civil penalties, its own ideas and practices as rules of conduct”.
Party leader David Cameron has said, "We need to apply gentle social pressure on people to bring down their energy use. So just as they're doing in California, we will make each energy bill come with an illustration of how much energy people's neighbours are using in comparison to their own usage, inspiring them to consume less in competition".
But what will the pious, smug, Prius driving little git who lives next door to you do when he learns that you’re using much more energy than he is? Leave helpful pamphlets your letterbox? Tsk as you walk past?
The ultimate outcome will be violence.
As J.S. Mill observed (and as noted here before), protection against the tyranny of authority is not enough, “there needs protection also against tyranny of prevailing opinion and feeling, against the tendency of society to impose, by other means than civil penalties, its own ideas and practices as rules of conduct”.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Sooks, wimps and whingers
Uncharacteristically, I was at work very early. When the entry buzzer sounded for the door to the secured area I inhabited, I walked 25 meters from my office to answer it. Nobody was there and I returned to my work. Just as my bottom touched the chair, the buzzer sounded. I retraced my steps and found the invisible man. Annoyed, I opened the door, shoved my head into the corridor and called out. No reply.
The third time I tried to ignore the buzzing, but its insistence was irritating and distracting. I jogged (no mean feat) to the door. Nothing. I went outside into the corridor and walked around the nearest rooms calling out. Nothing.
The fourth buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz was infuriating. You might think that I’d discharged my duty. But as it was not uncommon for people (i.e. me) to forget their passes and in this desolate industrial estate there was little to pass the time until office hours, I again went to the door.
There stood a large, thickset and powerful air-conditioning repairman. Being a coward, one look at this monster caused me to abandon my plan to blast my tormentor’s chin whiskers off with a string of high volume invective. All I managed was an arms outstretched, “Mate, what the fuck are you doing? This is my fourth trip to the door and it’s the only time you’ve been here”. My delivery was exasperated but at normal volume.
He looked a bit surprised and said, illogically, “I didn’t think anybody was here”. I shook my head and returned to my office.
Two days later, following a complaint, I was summoned to explain my offensive language and aggressive and intimidating attitude. Naturally, my response was sarcastic. I refused to apologise, noting that I had received none for my inconvenience and, as for intimidation, it seemed unlikely that a labourer who stood at least 10 centimetres taller and whose muscular form outweighed my slope shouldered blancmange by 20kg could be intimidated by little, plump me.
My smug written report about the incident was informed by my contemporaneous reading of Theodore Dalrymple’s, In Praise of Prejudice. These days, I noted, quoting Dalrymple, the exercise of any authority exterior to that of the ego is a wound to personal sovereignty. My chastisement of the repairman was to me an exercise in social interaction, a not unreasonable request from one person to another to be more thoughtful. However, as I was an office worker and lacked a broad accent, the interaction was seen by the repairman as one of power. The repairman’s dignity as absolute sovereign of his soul had been infringed. For him life was a long series of acts of lese-majeste by others. His ego was “like a wound that is never allowed to heal, that is constantly reopened by reality, into which salt is ever rubbed by those [he thinks to be imbued]* with greater power and prestige than” himself (pp 61-62).
Recently a headmistress has been so intimidated by a petite female parent that she’s had the parent banned from school premises. There’s some dispute about whether there was touching but if the principal was assaulted why weren’t the police called? If not and there was only a verbal disagreement, even shouting, it sounds suspiciously like sookiness from the principal. Perhaps she was unhappy that her authority was challenged? The principal’s dignity as absolute sovereign of her soul had been infringed.
How many parents when reasonably chastising their children hear the modern line that the chastisement constitutes abuse? In the relativist world their teachers inhabit, all possess the right not to be disciplined (unless, of course, some right of the teacher has been infringed).
In the work place wimps abound. Workers cannot be disciplined or chastised or can be only in highly controlled circumstances. The incompetent survive, their behaviour and inept practices uncorrected.
Recently during tense negotiations, when the last of their specious arguments had been demolished by cold logic, our opponents accused us (me) of being overly aggressive and terminated the meeting. They could not distinguish the issues from their egos. Any effectual challenge to their arguments was interpreted as a challenge to them, to their legitimacy, to their essence. It was a violation of their rights. But, of which right? Their right for their wrongness to remain unidentified? Their right not to lose? Their right to be undisturbed wimps?
As for Prime Ministerial bullying, the point’s been well made that in the highest office in the land there’s bound to be bit of pressure and emotions could run high. Surely we want those associated with that office to possess a backbone and, if not, they’re not emotionally qualified to be there. I wonder if staff crumpled and ran from Churchill’s war room blubbering. Possibly. But I warrant they didn’t allege bullying.
So here’s the essential advice for many of you feeling pressure at home, at work or in school:
Harden the fuck up.
* Square brackets added.
The third time I tried to ignore the buzzing, but its insistence was irritating and distracting. I jogged (no mean feat) to the door. Nothing. I went outside into the corridor and walked around the nearest rooms calling out. Nothing.
The fourth buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz was infuriating. You might think that I’d discharged my duty. But as it was not uncommon for people (i.e. me) to forget their passes and in this desolate industrial estate there was little to pass the time until office hours, I again went to the door.
There stood a large, thickset and powerful air-conditioning repairman. Being a coward, one look at this monster caused me to abandon my plan to blast my tormentor’s chin whiskers off with a string of high volume invective. All I managed was an arms outstretched, “Mate, what the fuck are you doing? This is my fourth trip to the door and it’s the only time you’ve been here”. My delivery was exasperated but at normal volume.
He looked a bit surprised and said, illogically, “I didn’t think anybody was here”. I shook my head and returned to my office.
Two days later, following a complaint, I was summoned to explain my offensive language and aggressive and intimidating attitude. Naturally, my response was sarcastic. I refused to apologise, noting that I had received none for my inconvenience and, as for intimidation, it seemed unlikely that a labourer who stood at least 10 centimetres taller and whose muscular form outweighed my slope shouldered blancmange by 20kg could be intimidated by little, plump me.
My smug written report about the incident was informed by my contemporaneous reading of Theodore Dalrymple’s, In Praise of Prejudice. These days, I noted, quoting Dalrymple, the exercise of any authority exterior to that of the ego is a wound to personal sovereignty. My chastisement of the repairman was to me an exercise in social interaction, a not unreasonable request from one person to another to be more thoughtful. However, as I was an office worker and lacked a broad accent, the interaction was seen by the repairman as one of power. The repairman’s dignity as absolute sovereign of his soul had been infringed. For him life was a long series of acts of lese-majeste by others. His ego was “like a wound that is never allowed to heal, that is constantly reopened by reality, into which salt is ever rubbed by those [he thinks to be imbued]* with greater power and prestige than” himself (pp 61-62).
Recently a headmistress has been so intimidated by a petite female parent that she’s had the parent banned from school premises. There’s some dispute about whether there was touching but if the principal was assaulted why weren’t the police called? If not and there was only a verbal disagreement, even shouting, it sounds suspiciously like sookiness from the principal. Perhaps she was unhappy that her authority was challenged? The principal’s dignity as absolute sovereign of her soul had been infringed.
How many parents when reasonably chastising their children hear the modern line that the chastisement constitutes abuse? In the relativist world their teachers inhabit, all possess the right not to be disciplined (unless, of course, some right of the teacher has been infringed).
In the work place wimps abound. Workers cannot be disciplined or chastised or can be only in highly controlled circumstances. The incompetent survive, their behaviour and inept practices uncorrected.
Recently during tense negotiations, when the last of their specious arguments had been demolished by cold logic, our opponents accused us (me) of being overly aggressive and terminated the meeting. They could not distinguish the issues from their egos. Any effectual challenge to their arguments was interpreted as a challenge to them, to their legitimacy, to their essence. It was a violation of their rights. But, of which right? Their right for their wrongness to remain unidentified? Their right not to lose? Their right to be undisturbed wimps?
As for Prime Ministerial bullying, the point’s been well made that in the highest office in the land there’s bound to be bit of pressure and emotions could run high. Surely we want those associated with that office to possess a backbone and, if not, they’re not emotionally qualified to be there. I wonder if staff crumpled and ran from Churchill’s war room blubbering. Possibly. But I warrant they didn’t allege bullying.
So here’s the essential advice for many of you feeling pressure at home, at work or in school:
Harden the fuck up.
* Square brackets added.
Sunday, 14 February 2010
We don't like to brag, but...
Everyone digs it. Audi’s Superbowl advertisement featured the Green Police. The backing track is Cheap Trick’s Dream Police, with new lyrics. Of course, you saw it here first.
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Dear MB
Gliberty is not a well run organ. Correspondence is seldom answered. It’s time to put that right.
Merely,
I’ve just seen the wonderful Avatar. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live so close to nature?
Green with envy,
Bob
Dear Bob,
I didn’t notice a dentist, a fridge or a sit down flush toilet (or any bog roll, for that matter). And I’m not sure how subsistence tribes would deal with your lifestyle choice. Harshly, I suspect.
So, no, life there would be dangerous, painful and, particularly for you, very short.
Regards,
Merely
MB,
What did happen to you the night you went to see the Glibertine?
You owe us an ending.
A
Dear A,
Once I recover enough of my dignity and a little more memory, you’ll be the first to know.
Yours sincerely,
MB
Dear Merely Being,
Is Kevin Catholic or Anglican? After his flirtation with Rome members of my communion are asking awkward questions.
Yours sincerely,
Therese
Dear Ms Rein,
I’ve had many similar enquiries. Following his very public fancying of Mary MacK, some indignant Indians have asked me to confirm his Hinduism, others that he’s a Jainist. I’ve even had bewildered Buddhists saying he’s one of them.
As I told them all, Kevin’s one true calling is Ingratiatist.
With sympathy,
Merely
Merely,
I’ve just seen the wonderful Avatar. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live so close to nature?
Green with envy,
Bob
Dear Bob,
I didn’t notice a dentist, a fridge or a sit down flush toilet (or any bog roll, for that matter). And I’m not sure how subsistence tribes would deal with your lifestyle choice. Harshly, I suspect.
So, no, life there would be dangerous, painful and, particularly for you, very short.
Regards,
Merely
MB,
What did happen to you the night you went to see the Glibertine?
You owe us an ending.
A
Dear A,
Once I recover enough of my dignity and a little more memory, you’ll be the first to know.
Yours sincerely,
MB
Dear Merely Being,
Is Kevin Catholic or Anglican? After his flirtation with Rome members of my communion are asking awkward questions.
Yours sincerely,
Therese
Dear Ms Rein,
I’ve had many similar enquiries. Following his very public fancying of Mary MacK, some indignant Indians have asked me to confirm his Hinduism, others that he’s a Jainist. I’ve even had bewildered Buddhists saying he’s one of them.
As I told them all, Kevin’s one true calling is Ingratiatist.
With sympathy,
Merely
Sunday, 3 January 2010
Athlete has last vestiges of modesty surgically removed
Hot on the thrilling news that Yawna Rawlinson will remarry her coach, Yawna has told an edge of the seat nation that her breasts have been reduced in the national interest.
In news just in, Yawna’s once husband-to-be-again has cancelled the rewedding and was last seen drinking in the public bar of the Oxford Tavern.
In news just in, Yawna’s once husband-to-be-again has cancelled the rewedding and was last seen drinking in the public bar of the Oxford Tavern.
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