HarrangueMan

Domestic Minutia with Harrangueman

2009-11-21T10:21:00.004+11:00

TheWife and I came of age in the late 80s. Yes, puffy hair; denim; all-brown outfits of velvet, corduroy and desert boots were ours to have, music like the Fine Young Cannibals was ours to listen to and, for me at least, the seminal most oft-quoted movie of my high school years was Lethal Weapon II.

As for seminal teev, The Young Ones was our bread and butter. We may not have got alot of it, but man we quoted it.

Now, as adults, with a young squirmy boy, occasionally we pepper our parenting with lore from our past.

One such thing is Snot Patrol.

Snot Patrol is when theNoo has, as my older brother describes it "Housing Commission Nose", where thick goobs of snot are heading on a slow passage south, like pioneering snails striking out to settle the south west of the garden. When he is seen with snot a'hangin' we sing out to him 'Snot patrol, snot patrol' and he (hopefully) comes a runnin' - and, as he does, he counter sings back 'doo doo'.

Where is it from?

The theme to Nozin' Aroun' from The Young Ones.

The US national anthem -by Glee

2009-11-21T09:45:00.002+11:00

Say what you like about the US of A, but its anthem is one of the most kick ass, hairs on the back of your neck upstanding musical patriotism pieces on the planet.

PS Glee rawks.

Coolgardie head

2009-11-19T19:22:00.002+11:00

I sweat a bit - and I am balding. It's not an action-reaction otherwise sporty people would all be bald fuckers.

But, when I sweat, the few remaining hairs on my crown get drenched and spike up. They marinate under my hat.

My bodgy old car's AC is fucked - and it's worth more than the car's value to fix it. Which means when I drive home on hot days I have the windows down.

I had to take my hat off lest it blew away in the car.

So ... my sweaty head had window air rush over it ... and my scalp froze.

I'd inadvertently Coolgardie'd my noggin.

Chalk one up for thermodynamics.

Peter Cundall arrested in mill protest

2009-11-19T19:18:00.003+11:00

See the story here.

I can just imagine how that went down.

'Come on lads, let's sing! We shall not, we shall not be fooking moved. We shall not, we shall not be fooking moved.'

'Keep your fooking hands off me you plod fooker. Do not mess with me mate, I know how to break a body down in the ground with a simple solution of quick lime, ash, charcoal and the cuttings from a Gardinia boosh. That's it! You laid your hands on me fooking over-alls. You're doon me fookin sune. I will fook you up with a kick to your fooking fork and it's going to be fooking marvellous.'

Action figures - a gripe

2009-11-18T23:18:00.007+11:00

I played with action figures as a kid. Action figures were the shizzle. They were hard plastic, and about 10cm tall.

Starwars Figs - The first fig I had was Luke Skywalker from the swamp planet. He had a kewl safari like khaki suit and a holster. I played with him so much that by the time I put childish things away and became a man (but not really, sorry Corinthians) his neck was extended like a Burmese ring woman by about half a cm from the constant re-gluing of his head back on (it snapped off like a dozen times, usually because I'd stuck an action man head over his), and the top half of his left foot had been gnawed off by Patch 1#. The joins on his limbs were loose from constant play and he could no longer stand unassisted. He needed some sort of Zimmer frame accessory.

Eventually I collected about 60 Starwars figures and then, for some unknown reason I sold them to one of my brother's friends for $50. I kept my saggy Luke however, a Darth, and an Imperial no name.

The gripes.

One - the limbs were straight. They could only move in a motion that is best described as 20% of the ping pong paddle man at the airport's welcome routine. It kind of limited the "action".

Two - the vinyl capes some of the characters had shredded after 10 seconds. My fake granny had to make me new ones out of offcuts and they kind of looked like beyond-broadway attempts at Vanilla Jason and his plain one coloured Dreamunitard.

Three - the light sabers for relevant figs were stuck in a groove in their fucking arm with the tube protruding into their hand. Which meant when you lost the piece of plastic that represented said sabre it looked like the figure was now tooling around with a hollowed out fleshlight.

Four - When you tried to have the figures have sex - and disturbingly it was always Luke and one of the Leias - their legs would not part for Mr Man and his Man Part and you had to threaten the structural integrity of the Leila toy in the pelvic area as you forced Luke into her nethers.

GI Joe Figs - these belonged to my younger brother, but I appropriated them ... in year nine ... when I still played with action figures. Yep, I was having erotic dreams by night and making machine gun noises by day as I played with my figs, Dark Helmet style.

The GI Joes had articulated limbs (no kung fu grip on the 10cm figs however). They also came with kewl guns. I used to use Beachhead as my Luke in disguise when enjoying a bout of rigorous play given Luke's fragile condish.

The gripes

One - they had moulded guns on their hips - ie handles of pistols that were part of the fig. Which could not be removed. Which means they could never be disarmed. Which means when you're indulging in hard core fantasy play involving them being taken prisoner, then the suspension of disbelief was hampered by the fact they were STILL PACKING HEAT

Two - while their limbs were very advanced - with knee joints, hip joints, elbows and shit (no sex probs there) it meant that the then piece of plastic that served as their "groin" between their legs typically snapped off ... leaving them with the fig equiv of ... a woo hoo.

I think I kept the snapped off pelvis betweens and used them as currency in my fig play.

A Team Figs - These were about 15cm tall, and wide.

The gripe

They were shithouse. The limbs were like Starwars figs and only went straight out in a "me smash" double downward fist caveman manner. They were much bigger than the other figs in my "collection". Their weapons - machine guns - could only be held straight outward in one hand. It's almost like the designer didn't give a flying monkeys and the toy company was more concerned with the merchandising profits from flogging useless Krusty the Clown esq crappy merchandise than making a decent toy.

Masters of the Universe figs - These too were about 15 cm tall. The male figs were built like steroid raging greco-roman wrestlers. I didn't have any, but friends had them.

The gripe.

They could not stand up without angling their torso at about a 10 degree angle forward. It looked like they were pushing out a fart. It ruined the atmos. They too could only move their arms up and down - but at least they had a waist that could turn.

Now this is just figs - hard solid plastic. The "dolls", about the height of a barbie, were a different matter. I won't go into it here. But geez the Six Million Dollar man with its girder in his back shat me.

I eventually stopped playing with action figs at the end of year ten. No, it wasn't a Corinthians style road to Damascus realisation of impending manliness. It was because in my house up until the end of year 10 we had a kewl loft above the garage that was our "play room". I was the only one who played up there, and had my world all set up (typically it was a rebellion scenario against insert evil overlord here). With the action figs were standard Vietnam era toy soldiers (you know, each pack had four mine sweepers and three flame thrower guys), playmobil figs, assorted rubber plastic el-cheapie sword and sorcery type dolls and various others. It was my world and I loved it. I even named some of the soldier toys - my favourite was Sergeant McCoy, a British Paratrooper ... that was later KIA courtesy of my older brother and his air rifle - me finding McCoy's headless body outside by the big tree in the backyard that served as our backdrop to leaden air powered fun. I can remember dropping to my knees like Elias in Platoon and silently mourning his loss, my head upturned to the sky.

The loft was the most awesome playroom and I blame its location, location, location for my extended dalliance with toys.

In year 11 we moved out of town. I got the box room next to my parents. No play room in the house. I tried recreating the magic in my tiny room but it just wasn't the same. I finally became a man! Not because of that though. Because after two years of erections I finally learned how to make it go off.

Yee-ha. You see Corinthians doesn't mention the whole "put away childish things" is largely due to the fact that now you have some ready access to operable man meat of your own to play with, you don't need no stinkin' toys.

Unless of course ... you're a lady.

QED.

Dub Tee Eff (question mark)

2009-11-18T19:02:00.006+11:00

Today I was passing the lovely ladies on "the other side". So called because they work on the other bend of the horseshoe of the open plan work stations in my area (with the centre of the shoe being offices of people paid way more than more to go to way more meetings - the poor bastards).

Earlier that day they had accosted me on my not shaving off for Movember. I replied 'Someone has to stay bushy. Therefore call me Mr Bush.'

As I was passing this second time they called me over.

'We want you to come and sit down on the floor between us so we can pat your tummy like the fat Buddha'

Um ... yeah. I know we have a rapport and all - and the other day one of them accidentally named my junk, Esteban - but that's a big call to assume A) I am Dharmic in my outlook and B) I enjoy others making references to my weight.

So naturally I photo shopped up a statue of said semi-divine figure with a backwards baseball cap and a Pimp bling clock and sent it to them with the subject PHAT BUDDHA.

You know what. I ask for this.

Oh, later I worked out that with the power of my pseudonyms combined, I was now Esteban Bush.

I think there's something in that for all of us.

Australia post - adapting itself to the modern world

2009-11-16T18:51:00.004+11:00

Today I had to go to Oz Post. Recognising I wasn't going to make it it to a 5pm close, I hunted down a 6pm closing Post Office. I used the Oz Post website.

I turned up at 5.20. Where a sign greeted me saying it was closed. It was one of those sub post offices within a larger shop. So I said 'Um, the website said you close at 6.'

The woman responded. 'Er no ... it's now 5.'

As I left I snarled out 'well ... that was a huge pain in the arse.'

She responded with a cheery and likely sarcastic 'see ya!'

Yeah ... because as a white collar worker whose core hours are 830 - 5pm I am surely going to use their fucked service in the future.

Nursey's open mouth should be shut

2009-11-14T09:31:00.003+11:00

It's movember season in my office. For those not in the know movember is a recent charity innovation where men attempt to grow a mo for the month of November, sponsored by their colleagues, with money raised going to the fight against Prostate Cancer.

Hey, it was either that or trademark the colour brown and get it hashed across every product in the land like the Pink of Breast Cancer.

I am not participating as I could not be arsed (ho ho - prostate cancer - geddit).

Someone mentioned my full beard and mo and noted that it was not too late for me to join in with a quick shave.

Me?

'Yeah, that's true. If I shaved it all off now, I could probably still win. And, even if I was running behind, I could simply transplant the hair from my arse.'

I yelled that out across the work station corrals of my work-place. A second later, as bemused heads turned in my direction given the tumbleweed clanger just dropped, I added 'man, that was inappropriate'.

All agreed.

Later that day, at afternoon drinks, us younger types were playing celebrity guess with fantale wrappers. For some reason the topic of Hugh Jackman as a possible woman came up. We were making lady boy jokes, scrotal pouch references, then, later, discussed genital origami.

I think it's time for a refresher for Mikey as to his workplace EEO policies...

Testasquishaphobia

2009-11-14T09:28:00.003+11:00

The fear you have as a man that when you sit down on the toilet that you're accidentally going to park yourself on one of your balls.

I know for one that I re-arrange or even manually shield as I lower myself just in case.

Hey, when you have old balls*, this danger is a genuine threat.

*When your balls have descended well past your nob. As ably demonstrated by the extended descent of the balls of Cecil the Ram

Just batsht insane dribble

2009-11-08T11:34:00.004+11:00

I think Miranda Devine needs to be tested for Lysteria and other bat-borne diseases. It may go someway to explain her latest stringing together of words in a semi-coherent manner.

Devine starts off by telling the tale of Boris, the ruffle haired blonde slob Etonian mayor of Old London Town coming to the bike-borne rescue of a greenie besieged by armed girls. From there MD claims that anyone who doesn't see in black and white (like her and Boris) would have been paralyzed by indecision and not assisted said Greenie, and from there ... Rudd is like Howard in that he has refugee issues he's dealing with but, because TEH LEFT hated Howard they protested about it, and because Rudd is nominally of TEH LEFT, they don't.

???

It's just nutty.

Here's my fave bit

I would suggest that, when push comes to shove, it is muscular conservatives with the courage of their convictions, of either sex, who are of more use in dark alleys than wishy-washy leftists, or simply people who don't like to get their hands dirty, make a judgment call or risk unpopularity.

If you are worried that someone might think you are a violent, chauvinistic bully if you chase the girl gang, you're no use. If you want to examine the motives of the assailants to establish beyond a shadow of a doubt that they mean Franny Armstrong harm, and aren't just asking her to admire their big iron bar, you're no use. If you are a peacenik who avoids all confrontation, you're no use. If you are a post-modernist who believes there are multiple truths, you will be too confused to be of any use.

In this age of cowardly consensus, feigned reasonableness and radical tolerance, the middle ground has been sanctified, no matter how stark the choice between right and wrong. Few are willing to do the right thing because no one will agree what the right thing might be, because that would imply there is a wrong thing, which is supposedly the view only of right-wing extremists.

A) Muscular conservatives are needed in dark alleys. We need them in those alleys. Because TEH LEFT are no good in alleys.

B) TEH LEFT see armed girl gangs assaulting passers-by as just exhibiting their right to be female and packing heat apparently and TEH LEFT could not possibly step in.

C) Devine, who like the vast bulk of right wing themed writers in Oz, doesn't believe in Climate Change as being dangerously influenced by human activity. She has the fucking gall to whine about 'doing the right thing' when she, like the rest of her lamprey kin, advocate exactly the opposite when it comes to saving the planet.

Seriously Fairfax, why do you keep her on? Okay, the ratings, I get that. Fair-enough. Why is it then the righty types like her are allowed to present badly written illogical copy for print, while everyone else has to present balanced fact laden material? Just the ratings?

Sigh.

PS Miranda Devine is in her study googling herself. She sees the impact her latest screed has. She claps with glee and spins around on her chair. 'People are talking about me! I am validated'. Nice validation Devine. Nice.

Michele Bachmann Overdrive

2009-11-07T00:39:00.004+11:00

Michele Bachmann is the latest semi-fertile poster girl from guns'n'ammo on the righty right in the US of late. Recently lauded by George F Will, famed chicken-armed conservative baseball fan and neo-con, Bachmann famously questioned whether Obama and his crew were 'anti-american' during the 2008 election, and when an interviewer asked if is she'd support inquiries into their 'views', she thought it a great idea.

Lately she's become one of the many rusted on rigid right repubs that are shouting down anything the Dems put up on the grounds that if it's a Dem induced idea, ergo it's bad n'kay.

See her Dickipedia entry here.

When the Tea Party protests started up - and boy they didn't think that name through - naturally MB was front and centre. I'm surprised in fact she didn't turn up at the protests in a Davy Crockett coonskin cap with a tea bag tied to the tail, while sporting a flintlock. Despite receiving millions of dollars of free advertising on FOX, the tea party protests didn't amount to much more than a slight blip in bus ticket sales and a massive spike in packets of tea bags (the protesters encouraged to mail them to their congress person by means of indicating their disapproval at ... actually I'm not sure - let's say taxes).

With health-care reform being ludicrously protested against by the same hard nub of righties in the US, many of whom are still convinced Obama was grown in a Marxist test-tube in deepest darkest Africa, MB has too taken on this issue - calling on her com-padres to come to the Capitol and show those elected officials that we don't need no stinkin' government funded health-care.

Check out Dana Milbank's report on the protest for the Wash Post here.

Milbank dryly notes examples of home-made signage, which accuses the Obama white house of pretty much anything and everything (A few steps farther was the guy holding a sign announcing "Obama takes his orders from the Rothchilds" [sic], accusing Obama of being part of a Jewish plot to introduce the antichrist), and hilariously points out that the protest was not in fact a protest - at least officially.

Technically, Thursday's GOP-sponsored rally at the Capitol was a "press conference" (a Capitol Police spokeswoman explained that the lawmakers didn't have a permit for a demonstration). The speakers took no questions at this news conference, instead calling, at least a dozen times, for the Pelosi bill's death.

Milbank ends his report as follows;

By the time it was over, medics had administered government-run health care to at least five people in the crowd who were stricken as they denounced government-run health care. But Bachmann overlooked this irony as she said farewell to her recruits.

"You," she said, "are the most beautiful sight any of us freedom fighters have seen for a long time."

Oh dear sweet baby Jesus. Also, the fact that the right in the US have adopted the idea they are 'freedom fighters' when the vast bulk of FF's have been socialist in nature for the last 150 odd years is simply wonderful.

Amazing. Protesters protesting for the right to have over-priced unrepresentative health-care.

The Weekly World News Beans Diet

2009-11-06T13:49:00.003+11:00

Well ... turns out I have gummed up bowels. The rectal area - you know, the poop chute - is clear. But the upper tract is cemented in with lots and lots and lots of the brown stuff.

It's been building for weeks apparently. Since I had surgery back in 2007 I've eaten less vegies and grains - because they're harder to digest for me. Except, the knock on was less fibre. I took supplements for that - but I was taking them in a dumb way and making matters worse. So I stopped.

The result. Severe constipation. So severe in fact, I have what's known as "spurious diarrhea". That's where the only bits that can get past the blockage is liquidy stuff.

I'm not in serious medical danger from this. Except that it causes acute pain, nausea, and delirium - all of which has been experienced by me during our celebratory week (our birthdays and anniversary all fall within a seven day range).

So, the doc prescribed ... baked beans. Basically I have to chow down on fibrous foods only, and drink lots of fluid (laced with benefiber). If I do so then gradually the blockage will start to shift. Well, that's the theory.

Unfortunately what's coming out is still the spurious kind. I can't risk farting in case of follow through so I am stuck in the house and I have the door to the toilet open to cut down on time to get seated.

It's incredibly painful. Incredibly embarrassing and a reminder that eating properly is a very important part of your health.

All-bran should fuck off their comedic efforts with advertising. All they need to do is show a toilet door accompanied by the muted soft sounds of pain wracked weeping.

Not fun

2009-11-04T11:48:00.005+11:00

The other day I was suffering particularly bad gut pain. Towards the end of the night I started feeling feverish. As I tried to sleep I was wracked with delirium. Finally, after 6ish I woke theWife and suggested I might have to go to casualty. I was worried I had a bowel obstruction - aka the Gibb Killer.

TheWife suggested I use a microlax first, in case it was just a result of being bunged up. But post use and wait there was no movement at the station, and no word had passed around, off to casualty we went.

I was shaking from pain spasms I was being tested and, within 15 minutes, I was in a bed. The doc came around and took some blood and I got morphine for the pain. Which was kind of nice.

However, at that point the microlax I had prepared earlier (a microlax is a liquid that you shoot up your date), had its impact. My expected dry fart turned out to be a sopping great liquid filled one and I crapped myself. Highly embarrassing. So off I trotted to the toilet, keeping my arse squeezed together and thus taking chain-gang baby steps. I cleaned myself up best I could and went back to bed.

All I can say is thank god for the morphine. Because A) it took away about three steps of pain - from 'I wish I was unconscious' to 'hmmm, that's not pleasant, and B) it helped ameliorate what happened next.

In the doc's defence she did warn me upon her initial examination that this was going to happen. So I had some preparation. But perhaps it's one of those knowing its going to happen makes it worse things.

She had to stick her finger up inside me to make sure I didn't have trapped fecal matter up there.

I don't have a visually pleasing bum. It's hairy - and it had the added benefit of a thin patina of poo from my recent self-crapping. So needless to say I was apologizing muchly for presenting her a less than attractive target for her fingering.

Up went the finger.

Now, I've had a prostate exam before. Which was not pleasant. This took that prostate exam out and slapped it around like an unwanted stepchild. She had to reach a fair distance up to make sure no giant brown bears were a-lurking upstairs, and this involved a fair amount of internal poking around. I could swear I could feel her fingernail and I screamed out 'FINGERNAIL, FINGERNAIL, FINGERNAIL' - except it wasn't. I think it was the pressure she was applying. Indeed, upon withdrawal she noted that she kept her nails trimmed for just this sort of occasion.

Still, I did manage to crack out a crack while she was up my crack - I blithely stated 'so ... that's where my remote went' - which got a mild laugh from the male nurse who was distracting me from my head direction.

I finally got home about midday, suffered another bout of delirium from pain and no-sleep the night before, and effectively lapsed in and out of wakefulness over the next few hours. Plus I had another couple of pants incidences. I didn't really come back into full compos mentis until about 10 pm.

Feel okay now. I had to take more laxative (oral, thank god), and they landed again this morning with another misfired non dry fart.

Crapping yourself is like buses. Ages and ages pass, then you crap yourself four times in 48 hours.

Stupid arse.

PS Big ups to theWife who kept me hydrated and watched over me to make sure I wasn't going to wander off in a delirious state or anything, and for wrangling theNoo at the hospital - which are very exciting places for the hobbit sized - especially all the interesting activity that appears to be happening on the other side of the privacy curtain...

(Cue Musical Whistle)

2009-11-02T16:50:00.007+11:00

The Life of Brian is one of my all time favourite films. It helps to be Christianity-literate to get some of it, and it should be noted that true Christians - you know the ones that practice being Christian - actually get a kick out of it (and it doesn't slag off Jesus in my opinion).

Anyway, the ending song, featuring a merry mass singing of 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life' whilst the singers are in fact crucified, is particularly awesome. And, like the basic message of being Christian - do good, be just - it's pithy and sensible.

I haven't been travelling well of late. Pain wracked much of the time - think having a period 24/7 - means during some period I've been pretty low. Low in spirit, low in energy. It's a real effort sometimes to be happy and act happy. It's a shit to live with ... and it must be a shit to live with someone who's feeling that way.

Recently I had another birthday. Seems like it happens every year. Last year was fcked, for various reasons, this one less so. But I still didn't feel like celebrating this year because it seemed just another year gone. All that's really happened is the earth is passing the same-ish spot it did in space a year before this day.

And ... that's a stupid way to think. Life is not static. It's not the same. Things change - sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better - and how you adapt to this change influences the quality of your life. Of course it helps having a child. We have the most awesome little cheeky boy. I couldn't imagine life without him. And in the past year, he's gone from crawling baby to running toddler - complete with personality, quirks, habits, naughtiness, and a whole host of other kewl stuff.

Sure, things could have gone better in a bunch of other ways - they didn't, but so what? No skin off my nose. That's the past. It's not my future. It's time to gird the loins, saddle up, and (insert metaphor for preparedness here) and face life with a better attitude.

And, I'm making a Birthday Pledge, I am going to get off my ahnus (there, that's the metaphor I wanted), and actually finish the several projects I have going.

PS Fun fact from Life of Brian. The singers on crosses were seated on bicycle seats that jutted out of the cross's stem (you can't see them in shot). Apparently, between takes, there was a mad call for ladders so actors could get down and go to the toilet.

PPS TheWife got me the new Elton and Pratchett books. Aw, go theWife!

Oh Miranda

2009-10-31T00:37:00.005+11:00

Miranda Devine, one of Fairfax's resident rightists that they seemingly keep around for balance purposes (which is odd because the only one of the non rightists / centrists you could really say was fully avowedly leftist is David Marr - and he dangerously grounds his writing in logic), is a proud fan of speeding and cars and similar shit.

She also likes Top Gear (confession: so do I, but not so hardcore as to have an anatomically correct blow-up Stig doll).

Anyway, Miranda Devine fully gets off when people go her on the net. She does. She teasingly drops a hotmail account address at the end of her various knee-jerk righty screeds and encourages people to vent at her. Then, ignoring all the sensible emails where people pull her failed arguments apart like travelling side-show fairy floss, she will serve up the more deranged points made and indicate by sleight of hand it is the representative mean of her correspondence.

On Thursday, Devine opined about the recent case of an irate cyclist having a physical altercation with a bus driver - the cyclist claiming misbehaviour on the part of said public transport employee. I don't know the right or wrong of what happened in that incident (sounds like an assault to me), but to Miranda, well, that cyclist is merely the representative mean of cyclists.

Here's some choice snippets.

Roads are for cars, not Lycra louts [This was the header]

This is classic angry cyclist behaviour, as if it's up to the cycling fraternity to forcibly educate the motoring public and instil fear like jackbooted Soviets.

How aggressive do you have to be at 5am, anyway? You never hear of rowers, joggers, swimmers, yoga artists or other dawn fitness devotees attacking people.

It wasn't the first time bus drivers have had to contend with irrational cyclists.

The ideologues who have fostered the road-sharing lie must think a few dead cyclists and pedestrians are a small price to pay for getting cars off the road, because that is their ultimate aim: to make driving so unpleasant, slow, expensive and fraught with hazards that motorists give up.

So far, all they have done is create a dangerous sense of entitlement among other road users. Harold Scruby and his Pedestrian Council are much to blame for the attitude that far from sharing the road, cars are there under sufferance.

Needless to say, her views (which typically do), irked a few people. MD decided to have another crack at the topic, all the while exalting that she'd had an effect.

The intro read thusly: "You always know when you write about the battle for road supremacy between cyclists and motorists that you will touch a nerve. But the avalanche of email and online comments in response to Thursday's column shows an extraordinary new level of sensitivity."

The conclusion she reached was this;

The good news is that sensible cyclists are beginning to accept responsibility for their behaviour ... [snipped examples of cyclists apologizing for their bad behaviour] ... As with everything in life, courtesy goes a long way.

How freaking hilarious that she actually had the hide to say "As with everything in life, courtesy goes a long way" given her screeching missive - that she linked to - of the day before, in addition to pretty everything she's ever written, ever.

Miranda Devine, I suspect - even though you were sired by another Conservative screeder - that perhaps, deep down, you view your role of a righty as some sort of ironic performance art.

In the aftermath of the Victorian Bushfires, Devine at one point hilariously suggested that if anyone should be strung up for causing the fires, it was nasty pasty greenies and their anti-burn off stance.

Yes, indeed. Courtesy goes a long way. Especially when they're still pulling charred bodies out of houses.

Ah, the cubs ...

2009-10-30T23:15:00.008+11:00

When I was a kid, I was a cub. That seems an odd conflation of animalia doesn't it? Like some sort of Goat-Lion like you see in those split flip books where you can make up combinations of animals etc.

No, I mean that when I was younger - a child - I was a cub scout.

It seems an odd move for someone who loves leisure so much and whose idea of embracing a beautiful day is to possibly have the window open as I watch a DVD or play Warlords II.

But pre-puberty, before I swelled up like a someone with an acute allergy to bee-stings with puffy during and post puberty weight, I was a moderately active kid. Oh sure, I didn't like sport that much, but I still ran around, climbed trees, jumped puddles etc. And, I was a cub scout.

Cub scouting was, to put it mildly, a weird thing. There were some surreal moments. Standing around in a circle and chanting rhythmically before doing a squat and doing some more chanting is a little odd. Then there's the shorts, the hat, the woggle and so forth.

So here now are some brief cub memories from Harrangueman.

The kid who was in the circle where we did the "dib dib dib, dob dob dob" recitation who didn't want to let the side down and nick off for a wee, and during the ceremony proceed to wet himself, his shorts, his leg, his cub sock and the wooden boards of the cub hall.

Me lying about some made up person who had to be surgically removed from their dirty socks as part of my one minute speech about hygiene which was needed to get some sort of cleanliness related activity badge.

Me preferring being a seconder (2nd in charge of a gang, I forget the official name, in a cub group) to being a sixer (the boss) because I could order younger kids around but, ultimately, someone above me had to be responsible for actual results.

Having a sheep dung fight under shearing sheds where we were camping and copping a piece of shit to the face.

On the same camp, not using the Hessian sack screened tin an makeshift toilet for four days for number twos and badly turtle-necking during the mini-bus ride back home and barely making the safety of the proper lav when I got to my house before it all came out.

Washing up breakfast dishes on a camp and seeing dead bloated rice-bubbles swimming around the fetid wash-up water, then gagging when a bubble touched my precious smooth skin.

And, finally ... for some reason we all thought this was a good idea. During a period of free time we were walking along the banks of a wooded creek - cubs on each side of the creek. As a joke, someone threw a rock across the water near the other group. We then proceeded to have an all out rock throwing war - not aiming at each other but rather arcing the rocks high in the air so they came down like ballistic missiles - and we'd make various explosion noises and slow mo diving "nooooooo" sound effects etc as they were landing or in-bound. This giddy geology themed fun then ended abruptly when the inevitable rock hit the inevitable head and the wounded cub had to be driven to hospital for emergency stitches.

I'd like to see the badge for that!

I loved being a cub. But, I grew up. I aged. No more was cubs allowed for me. Instead I was upgraded, almost against my will, into the Scouts. A year later, as I recall, I got asked to leave because I was too disruptive. I think that was during the three years of "no sugar for Mikey", my parents putting me on Fructose instead - which, as irony would have it, is some kind of super sugar - so that's a fail for the 80's medical profession.

I like to tell people the reason I got asked to leave the scouts was ... that I wasn't prepared enough.

Dib Dib Dib, Dob, Dob, Dob indeed.

Road rant spoiled by cough

2009-10-28T22:41:00.002+11:00

By and large I am a safe driver. In that I stick to the speed limit and try to be considerate to other motorists - such as letting them in ahead of me so forth.

So it irks me when mofo fuckwits who are sharing the road with me break social conventions like not waving thanks when you let them in, or are speeding non indicating lane weaving sons of a motherless goat.

Like this fuckwit this morning. Weaving, speeding, not indicating. It got my gander up.

'YOU STUPID FUCKING DICKWAD MOTHER FUCK-'

At that point, my face slightly purpling with rage, my soliloquy was interrupted by a cough.

A great hunk of goob then sailed out of my mouth, turned like a half hearted tower diver, then landed on my seatbelt a'quivering.

Shame-faced, I had to scrape it onto my index finger and wipe it some place out of the way.

If only life was like TV where you could have another take.

Area man pwned by two year old son

2009-10-26T20:58:00.002+11:00

This morning theWife was wrangling theNoo, getting him ready to head out the door for daycare. I was on my way to the shower but I wanted to say goodbye. So I wrapped a towel around my nude bod and headed out to say adios.

Now I'm a dude. So really, only the nob and arse needs to be covered. So my towel began at stomach level and ended at my knees.

TheNoo looked up at me, then pointed.

'BOOBS!' he shouted, pointing at my chest.

Pwned.

European Carry-all actually spotted being used

2009-10-25T00:23:00.004+11:00

There's this Seinfeld ep where one of the story elements is that Jerry has a fancy European Carry-all, which sort of looks a bit like a handbag. It gets stolen in the episode and Jerry shrieks to a passing cop "Officer, that man took my European Carry-All". When the cop blank faces Jerry is forced to say "my handbag, he's got my hand bag."

Today I saw this dude at my local shops. A heavyset fellow with gray hair, and a mo, he had ... a European Carry-All. And indeed I wanted to shout 'Officer, that man took my European Carry-All.'

But I am older now, and too sensible for such things. I texted Beve RE my EC spottage and he admitted surprise that I didn't in fact shout out the line - or at least tell the cashier about it (she was like 18, so she'd have no frame of reference about Seinfeld anyway). Besides, so little faith in my growing as a person and learning stuff like tact.

Earlier today, while in Civic, I spotted an older man dressed in a T-Shirt. As irony would have it, his T-Shirt had been neck-holed - badly - the irony derived from the fact neck-holes were also covered in a previous Seinfeld episode.

He didn't have a European Carry-All. No, he had a fanny pack (aka bum bag). On his side? No. His rear, where the word 'bum bag' suggests it should be located?

No, he had it to the front. It looked like his scrotum had suffered a combination of necrosis and reverse gravity then burst from his pants like the alien baby from Alien.

Bum bags. Always a bad look. Like being a guy and being naked save for socks.

The bloats

2009-10-25T00:17:00.004+11:00

There's this flavoured milk ad that's been on the teev for the past few weeks of a bunch of 20 somethings cruising around on a hedonistic road trip and, in between adventures, sustaining themselves and their youth juices with said flavoured milk.

We laugh at the ad knowingly because when normal people down 600 mls of milk in a quick hit they get the dairy bloats and don't actually want to do much after that. Let alone jump into creeks, surf, horse riding, and other tampon packet territory activities I have failed to mention.

Anyway, tonight I suffered the bloats.

I don't know why it seemed like a good idea to have 300 mls of custard + ice cream + cream + banana for desert. Probably because the concept seemed fuck of delish. And it was. But it didn't settle on the old tummer so well.

But ... I'd had my heart set on a pie. A delish pie. So despite being groggy with custard bloat, I cooked up a pair of fruit pies.

I had one - with cream and ice-cream. It was also delish. But then it made me more full. Not painful full, but uncomfortable full. Like when you binge on Chinese food.

Ten minutes later, my stomach noticeably even more "protrudy", I ate the second pie.

Now I have severe custard and pie bloats. Big time. I'm farting like a farty mofo, and groaning from the pain of too much food ingested.

Stupid sexy pies singing their sweet shortcrust pastry siren song. Damn you! Damn you to your delicious pastry hell!

(shakes fist feebly at fat encrusted pie maker)

Early morning teev tells me "I will Zumba"

2009-10-24T01:33:00.003+11:00

No I won't ex-voiceover man from Australian Big Brother who is narrating this infomercial. Your excited tones have no impact on me when it comes to this "Zumba". It looks painful and sweaty.

And I literally shuddered at the mention of "Granny Zumba". Because that sounded like just a nasty, nasty p0rn site that even the internet would want to reject if it could.

Shouting from the roof tops

2009-10-24T01:19:00.003+11:00

Texas likes to pretend they're more American than America. So much so when the rest of America took a step back to sanity with Obama, Texas' governor actually muttered thoughts about secession.

Texas also executes more people in the US than any other state. They dislike people telling them not to do it - it's their lynching party and they'll cry if they want to - and as such they have put a number of hurdles in the way of any prisoner daring to challenge the sentence they've been handed down.

Recently the New Yorker had a long article about an executed Texan inmate - who went to the gurney protesting his innocence even while resigned to his fate - who received this penalty for the crime of immolating his three daughters in a house fire.

You can see the article here.

Essentially the broad thrust of the piece is that the man was likely innocent - and his was found guilty on forensic arson evidence and investigatory skill that was, as one of America's pre-eminent fire investigators stated when reviewing the evidence, akin to that of a psychic or mystic - using Fire behavior lore based not in science and empiricism, but learning at the knee of an old timer fire investigator.

Willingham, the con, unfortunately had his final appeal based on this scientific re-evaluation of the evidence, completely ignored by the panel in Texas that confirms whether an execution should stand.

Justice Scalia of the US Supreme Court, one of the rightist ideologue jurists shoe-horned by Bush into the court, and famed Death Penalty proponent, said recently there has not been "a single case - not one - in which it is clear that a person was executed for a crime he did not commit. If such an event had occurred in recent years, we would not have to hunt for it; the innocent's name would be shouted from the rooftops."

Isn't it great how the high and mighty have to eat crow.

So the US National Coalition Against the Death Penalty are indeed "shouting from the rooftop" about this case.

The US has seen numerous Death Row inmates found subsequently not guilty and released while on the journey from existing until death. How an intelligent first world country can still embrace the death penalty - from a moral, legal, or even logical viewpoint - is beyond me.

How awful must it have been for that man to be executed for the deaths of his daughters from a tragic accidental house fire. How just gut wrenchingly awful. That poor man and his poor family.

The Simpsons Generation

2009-10-22T19:06:00.008+11:00

I remember when Howard (former Australian Prime Minister) was in, for a brief (odd) moment he enjoyed a slight uptick in the positive feelings of "da youf". Conservative columnists claimed this starry eyed love of Howard was due to a love of country, because - you know - Mainstream Values etc - and something about loving money was a good thing. These kids were coined as South Park Conservatives.

This demographic bubble'o'love popped shortly afterwards. Probably when da kids, who in addition to loving money, worked out the earth they were to inherit was going to be left in a somewhat fucked condition by Howard's mine loving cronies.

Anyway, onto my topic. Assigning seminal shows to brand a generation with. For me, if I had to choose, I would be of the Simpsons generation. Because I hit late teens when it came out, and the show's goodness got better and better as the 90s rolled on (peaking - in my humble opinion - with the season with Homer goes to College and Burns' Casino).

During its rise all us youf of the 90s pretty much to a person watched it. We saw morality plays play out before us. We understood much of the layered high and low brow references within it. You could repeat a snatch of dialogue to a similarly aged peer, and chances are they'd know where it was from, and what it was about. Doing lines from the Simpsons could be used as a shorthand means of discussing issues. In summary it was us and we were it - the Simpsons Generation.

How this really came home to me was the other day when intereacting with someone not of the Simpson's generation - my boss.

My boss thinks I tend to waffle on a bit in the wordy form. When I write briefs I tend to have a lot of background - minuting every aspect of the topic so I cover my bases. I think it's because I write for an e-reader, where space isn't an issue, and he came from a world of paper minutes where space clearly was.

As he left my desk he said 'remember, small words.'

I responded by saying a Simpson's line - 'him card read good' - from the Ep where Bart is made Burns' heir. Shorthand - amongst us Simpsons types - for simple.

He misheard me. He in fact heard 'Him can't read good.' I know this because he (sort of) laughed and said that as he walked off. I think therefore he thought I was having a go at him.

Simpsons induced FAIL.

Still, if I had to choose between a world of No Simpson's and a miscommunication boss offending, then I would choose miscommunication boss offending.

Because I don't want to live in a world without Zinc.

Sharman Stone on Lateline

2009-10-21T23:03:00.006+11:00

The Coalition have been desperately screaming that the recent uptick in boat arrivals is due to pull factors - that our domestic refugee policy changes are responsible for it.

Sharman Stone was just on Lateline pushing this barrow.

One of her dot point reasonings?*

SHARMAN STONE: Leigh, there's always been global distress, sadly there probably always will be. If you read the UNHCR reports of the global trends and they publish these annually, you will see that in fact there's been a contraction of numbers around the globe, especially in places like Afghanistan where you in fact have had enormous resettlement in the last few years. This is something that we need to be very pleased about.

But if it's just about the push factors as this Government suggests, why haven't we got those Eritreans, the Sudanese, the Congolese all in these boats? Because that's where the biggest growth in numbers of asylum seekers are.

They're not on the boats because they can't afford the cash required by the criminals, the smugglers and they haven't got the contacts.

You know what, she's right. They're Africans. Hardly any Africans have the geographic ability to make a port, then travel thousands of miles by boat when they do to reach Oz, let alone the financial capability to do pretty much anything but survive day to day because they are, for the most part, extremely poor subsistence farmers that take it in the arse when the weather is not their friend - in addition to surviving roving bands of insert-warlord-here or rival claimants trying to drive them from their turf.

Tamils on the other hand live on a fucking island in our fucking region and can get on a mother fucking boat because they live on a mother fucking island and can sail said boat to Indon and then Oz, or escape to SEA then try from Oz there - on a mother fucking boat.

It doesn't make their plight or circumstances any less deserving of attempting to try for a safer or better life by their doing so. They're on the losing end of an unpleasant civil war where the losers are being treated in appalling circumstances. It's a big fucking der they're trying to get out.

The coalition make me sick. Again. Racist dog whistling tards.

*UPDATE: The transcript has been published, so I swapped out my approximation of SS's words - 'There are increases in Congolese and Sudanese refugees - yet they're not on the boats because they can't afford it and don't have the contacts.' - with what she said. Source is Lateline.

Breakfast FAIL

2009-10-20T13:03:00.001+11:00

I've had bad guts for a couple of days. So I am dosed up on pain killers and hoping the brown tide will soon be in.

So what did I have for breakfast?

Nachos.

FAIL.