Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Norm MacDonald
In case you haven't heard, Norm's been gathering some votes for most underrated comedian of the last 20 years. Here's an ooold stand up clip, and it's part hilarious, part unintentionally funny and part unfunny. Thing is, I think the unintentionally funny stuff might be funny on purpose.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Can you believe what those crazy scientists are up to?
Another round of the latest research headlines, delivered sizzling to your door. Ow, the sizzle landed on my arm!
Monday, February 04, 2008
Yes, I Am
A few days ago, I started writing a post under the title, "Am I a man of hate?" Sadly, I have come to the conclusion that I am. My post, which was scrapped for operational reasons, revolved just how irritating I found the two champions of the Australian Open tennis this year - let's call them Djokapova for short. So much shrieking, so much pre-serve ball bouncing, so little good will engendered.
I mention all of this only by way of introduction. For tonight I have once more discovered the ugly, fiery, hate-filled side of me. I had planned to watch the Superbowl tonight, for a few reasons - it is a spectacle, it is sport, it had a decent story line (one of the teams was undefeated heading into it), and perhaps most of all, I planned on winding down from a stressful day by becoming a zombie in front of the telly, as is the fashion in our society.
SBS screened the Superbowl live this morning, but they were replaying it at 10:30pm. I steadfastly avoided the media during the day so as not to hear the result. Aussie media doesn't give a rats about gridiron, but they're guaranteed to report on the Superbowl, it's just the way it is (Mike and the Mechanics).
I watched a bit of South Park (still paper-cut sharp) and Drawn Together (underrated, by me) and even saw ads promoting the replay during them. Then I turned the telly off, and returned to the Joy Luck Club, which I am reading as part of PBC committments. My TV and internet-warped attention span and inability to delay gratification saw me turn the telly on to check the news headlines on SBS. In the news today: carnage, carnage, carnage and Giants win.
What the?! They're about to show the game, which probably 95% of their viewers won't have seen yet owing to the fact that they don't, and will never in their life, watch SBS on a Monday morning at 10am, and they announce the result! No warning, no suggestion to look away or leave the room. Nothing. Just a few words, a picture, and in case you weren't sure, GIANTS WIN in caps. This never would have happened on Channel 10. Sports Tonight would have been all over this.
I make three obervations. Firstly, I hate myself for turning the telly on unnecessarily. Secondly, this hate is quickly and satisfyingly shifted to SBS, the most stupid and inept of sports broadcasters I have ever had the misfortune of viewing. Thirdly, I am ashamed at myself for my non-zero care factor in all of this.
Is this what my life has come to? Emotional slavery to professional sports? I need help. *help you* *help me*.
I mention all of this only by way of introduction. For tonight I have once more discovered the ugly, fiery, hate-filled side of me. I had planned to watch the Superbowl tonight, for a few reasons - it is a spectacle, it is sport, it had a decent story line (one of the teams was undefeated heading into it), and perhaps most of all, I planned on winding down from a stressful day by becoming a zombie in front of the telly, as is the fashion in our society.
SBS screened the Superbowl live this morning, but they were replaying it at 10:30pm. I steadfastly avoided the media during the day so as not to hear the result. Aussie media doesn't give a rats about gridiron, but they're guaranteed to report on the Superbowl, it's just the way it is (Mike and the Mechanics).
I watched a bit of South Park (still paper-cut sharp) and Drawn Together (underrated, by me) and even saw ads promoting the replay during them. Then I turned the telly off, and returned to the Joy Luck Club, which I am reading as part of PBC committments. My TV and internet-warped attention span and inability to delay gratification saw me turn the telly on to check the news headlines on SBS. In the news today: carnage, carnage, carnage and Giants win.
What the?! They're about to show the game, which probably 95% of their viewers won't have seen yet owing to the fact that they don't, and will never in their life, watch SBS on a Monday morning at 10am, and they announce the result! No warning, no suggestion to look away or leave the room. Nothing. Just a few words, a picture, and in case you weren't sure, GIANTS WIN in caps. This never would have happened on Channel 10. Sports Tonight would have been all over this.
I make three obervations. Firstly, I hate myself for turning the telly on unnecessarily. Secondly, this hate is quickly and satisfyingly shifted to SBS, the most stupid and inept of sports broadcasters I have ever had the misfortune of viewing. Thirdly, I am ashamed at myself for my non-zero care factor in all of this.
Is this what my life has come to? Emotional slavery to professional sports? I need help. *help you* *help me*.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Anyone interested in nanotechnology?
If so, check out artmus scientist's latest expose on the scandalous world of nanotech.
Monday, January 28, 2008
The many shades of... Darth Vader
Retrieved from ol' dependable (The) Sports Guy. It's a little long, and slow in parts, but it got me real good a few times.
"I quit on you when you ran outta Dee-troit with Willie The Pimp!" - Get This worthy.
"I quit on you when you ran outta Dee-troit with Willie The Pimp!" - Get This worthy.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Spilling the beans on edge
There’s a bit in the Spectrum section of the Sydney Morning Herald on Saturdays called Big Questions. I really hate it, because it’s often used to ask where certain proverbs come from. Gee, I wonder who coined the term ‘to coin a term’? Talk about boring!
That’s why today I’m going to talk about where the phrase “to spill the beans” comes from.
Once upon a time Maria Bevilaqua was sitting by the local watering hole, cooling her heels. She had just been given a recipe by her grandfather, Louie, for bean lasagne. She should have had the recipe months ago. “I don’t care what it’s been, what is it now?”, she had said at the time. Louie spat on the ground in disgust and walked away, and it took him a full 7 months to invite her once more to receive the recipe.
This recipe had been in the family for 12 generations, and was a closely guarded secret. Once it was leaked to a neighbouring village, and Old Vinnie Bevilaqua was forced to doorknock the whole village, getting them to sign affidavits saying they would never use or pass on the recipe.
Maria, who’d always had a sharp tongue, was now just enjoying the moment. A carp swam past her foot. She pulled out a bb gun and shot it in the groin. Receiving the recipe was like being admitted into the family proper. She held her head high, her face a picture of serenity now. She’d already memorised the recipe, including the optional inclusion of a sprig of sparrowbane for when the moon was full – La Luna Spumante was what the old folk called it.
Slowly Maria picked up her things and headed off to market. She knew precisely which ingredients she needed, and picked them all up without a hitch, although the Spanish onions were a little dull. She shot the vendor in the groin with her bb gun and returned home with 6 full envirobags worth of fresh produce.
When Maria got home, Louie was waiting for her. “Maria, you little s.o.b., the family tradition is that the first time you learn the recipe, you gotta cook it for someone else. And not just anyone else. Us Bevilaquas is well connected. You gonna cook the recipe for the Countess of Guidonia and her family.”
“What?! That’s ridiculous.”
“The hell it is! You gonna cook for her, you gonna cook it well, and you gonna come back and tell us all about it. Off you go.”
With that he pushed her out the door before she could even put her bags down. He stuffed the address into her skirt pocket, and ignored her incredibly obscene protestations. When she finally turned around and started trudging off, he called out.
“Maria! You’ll pass the Sfaggis of Lago Maggiore on the way. Those pricks have been trying to get this recipe for 145 years. They don’t know you’re coming, but don’t raise any attention anyway. Keep your head down and your palms pointed outwards for good luck. Now do what I say and off you go.”
By now Maria was in a sour mood, but knew she’d better heed Louie’s instructions. Ingredients in hand, she hopped onto Angelo the family mule and headed off.
It was a beautiful road that she rode down, and her mood soon lightened. What was the countess’ family like?, she wondered. How many were there? Surely gramps wouldn’t send me away with insufficient ingredients? She was genuinely excited about the possibilities of the evening. She pulled out a hipflask and knocked back a fifth of vodka. Onward she rode.
Occasionally she passed villagers going about their daily business. Some said hello, others ignored her. She remembered Louie’s warning about the Sfaggis, but was unconcerned. She pulled up beside a massive baobab, and reckoned there was another 15 minutes of riding before she got there. She hopped off Angelo to stretch her legs. The shopping bags were secured tightly behind the saddle. Just as she was about to hop back on, someone spoke to her.
“Excuse me madam, where are you going?” said a friendly middle aged woman.
“I’m off to Guidonia. If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.”
The woman smiled politely, and continued on her way. Maria rode off, but glanced back. The middle aged woman had broken into a sprint and was running in the direction of a homestead just off the road. Maria thought this unusual, but kept riding. A moment later she looked back again, and she could now see the lady talking to some other people, gesticulating frantically and pointing down the road towards… Maria!
Maria brought Angelo to a trot, and was beginning to feel very uneasy. She looked around again, and saw several people running towards her. There was a young man out in front, followed by some children.
Maria decided she would not look back again, and she rode Angelo as fast as he could go. The people didn’t seem to be catching up with her, and within a few minutes she saw Guidonia castle looming in front of her. She was confident now of making it, but still somewhat anxious. Sweat covered her entire body and she had saddle sores. Finally she reached the castle gates, and she hopped off Angelo and looked around. No one seemed to be following her, so she allowed herself a smile. She was here!
She was greeted at the gate by a portly doorman in fantastic garb. “You must be Maria. Let me help you with your bags.”
She unfastened the bags from Angelo and slapped the mule on the butt. With that Angelo rode away in the direction of home. She handed five of the six bags over to the doorman, but hesitated when it came to the all-important sixth – the home of the beans. There were green beans, red beans, white beans – you name it. She peeked inside to confirm the contents, and turned to the gate.
“Madam? There is a sixth bag. Please let me take it for you.”
“Umm, well – actually if it’s okay, I’ll hang onto it.”
“Madam, you don’t understand. Let me take it for you, it’s no problem.”
“Thank you, really, but I’d like to carry it. My wallet’s in here too.”
“Listen, I get paid by the bag. That bag is worth a lot of money to me. Please?”
“Alright! Crissakes.” She handed the bag to the doorman, but kept a watchful eye on him.
As the huge gate swung open, she stepped forward – and tripped over a cobble stone. She cried out: “Fatherf*cker!” An elderly couple standing nearby glared at her and shook their heads. Maria’s only thought was: thank God I wasn’t carrying the bag! It’s contents would have been revealed to all the world – although the Sfaggis were nowhere in sight.
As she pulled herself up the doorman rushed over to help. In doing so, he switched hands, moved the bags around and lost his grip. A single bag fell to the ground. Time seemed to slow down. The beans spilled everywhere. Maria cursed audibly and bent over to collect the beans. As she did so, she heard a high-pitched, whiny laugh. She turned around, and the laughter continued.
It was the man from the road, who had been chasing her.
“Ha ha ha! I’ve done it! I’ve discovered the secret ingredient to the Bevilaqua Lasagne. It’s beans! BEANS!!!”
He shouted it out, again and again, and walked away, still shouting.
“You idiot!,” she said to the doorman. “Do you realise what you’ve just done?”
“There there, Madam,” said the doorman. “It’s okay, we wash the beans.”
Maria felt sick. She had to act quick. She raced after the man, who was still laughing, and tapped him on the left shoulder. As he turned around, she produced an affidavit. “What’s this?” he said quizzically. Ah screw it, she thought to herself, and she pulled a knife out of her skirt pocket and stabbed the man in the chest. He dropped to the ground, and sputtered the word ‘Beans’ one last time before carking it.
Maria went on to cook the most wonderful bean lasagne for the Countess, and she lived to pass on the tale to her grandchildren, and later her children, about the fateful day she spilled the beans.
***
Of course, all of this is by the by. What I’m spilling the beans about is Edge. Edge is a science website (and notfer profit) created by literary agent John Brockman. I wouldn’t mind working for him. It contains articles, essays, videos and more, with an impressive range of regular contributors. Prominent are zoologist-cum-atheist flagbearer Richard Dawkins, maverick* molecular biologist Craig Venter, author Ian McEwan and astronomer Paul Davies. Sadly no Hofstadter there, but I like to think he just hasn’t sold out. I have to admit, there’s something a little wanky about being on the list of Edge contributors, but to be fair, if you have to be on a list it might as well be this one.
Anyway, there’s always something stimulating to read there, whether it’s about the definition of life, the end of the universe, or the vagaries of human nature. Even better, it’s meant for a lay audience but never dumbs down, there’s conflict a plenty but it’s usually respectful and with justification, and it celebrates life’s big questions.
Speaking of questions, what prompted me to make this post was the annual question and answer frenzy from Edge’s World Question Centre. Questions are posed and heaps and heaps of insightful, amusing or controversial answers are provided by the aforementioned range of contributors. This year’s question is: What have you changed your mind about? Why? Hey wait a minute, that’s two questions!
There’s always a few writers whose answers I look for – Judith Rich Harris, (she of the “peers are more influential than parents in determining our behaviour” theory), Simon Baron Cohen (similar name to Ali G’s creator), Susan Blackmore (author of the Meme Machine and a cool user’s guide to consciousness book. Am I present?), Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Daniel Goleman (of emotional intelligence fame), Jaron Lanier (who once proposed a more useful question like: What’s the single most effective thing we could do to make the world a better place, or something like that), John Allen Paulos (wrote Innumeracy and I Think Therefore I Laugh) and Robert Trivers.
But you never know who will write something that makes you think. So far this year I like Karl Sabbagh’s response, that he used to think experts knew better than he, but now realises they may be knowledgeable but that doesn’t make them wise. So except for their field of expertise (I would argue even in their field of expertise sometimes), you’re just as likely as them to be right about any given issue.
Here’s a list of all the questions, one per year starting in 2008 and working backwards. Sorry about the caps and underline - I abhor them. The last few have been turned into books – a great Christmas or Birthday gift for the whole family, nerds and idiots alike.
WHAT HAVE YOU CHANGED YOUR MIND ABOUT? WHY?
WHAT ARE YOU OPTIMISTIC ABOUT?
WHAT IS YOUR DANGEROUS IDEA?
"WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IS TRUE EVEN THOUGH YOU CANNOT PROVE IT?"
"WHAT'S YOUR LAW?"
"WHAT ARE THE PRESSING SCIENTIFIC ISSUES FOR THE NATION AND THE WORLD, AND WHAT IS YOUR ADVICE ON HOW I CAN BEGIN TO DEAL WITH THEM?" —GWB
"WHAT'S YOUR QUESTION?"
"WHAT NOW?"
"WHAT QUESTIONS HAVE DISAPPEARED?"
"WHAT IS TODAY'S MOST IMPORTANT UNREPORTED STORY?"
"WHAT QUESTIONS ARE YOU ASKING YOURSELF?"
* this word is always used to describe him in the media. I prefer Word’s thesaurus alternatives: unconventional person, odd one out
That’s why today I’m going to talk about where the phrase “to spill the beans” comes from.
Once upon a time Maria Bevilaqua was sitting by the local watering hole, cooling her heels. She had just been given a recipe by her grandfather, Louie, for bean lasagne. She should have had the recipe months ago. “I don’t care what it’s been, what is it now?”, she had said at the time. Louie spat on the ground in disgust and walked away, and it took him a full 7 months to invite her once more to receive the recipe.
This recipe had been in the family for 12 generations, and was a closely guarded secret. Once it was leaked to a neighbouring village, and Old Vinnie Bevilaqua was forced to doorknock the whole village, getting them to sign affidavits saying they would never use or pass on the recipe.
Maria, who’d always had a sharp tongue, was now just enjoying the moment. A carp swam past her foot. She pulled out a bb gun and shot it in the groin. Receiving the recipe was like being admitted into the family proper. She held her head high, her face a picture of serenity now. She’d already memorised the recipe, including the optional inclusion of a sprig of sparrowbane for when the moon was full – La Luna Spumante was what the old folk called it.
Slowly Maria picked up her things and headed off to market. She knew precisely which ingredients she needed, and picked them all up without a hitch, although the Spanish onions were a little dull. She shot the vendor in the groin with her bb gun and returned home with 6 full envirobags worth of fresh produce.
When Maria got home, Louie was waiting for her. “Maria, you little s.o.b., the family tradition is that the first time you learn the recipe, you gotta cook it for someone else. And not just anyone else. Us Bevilaquas is well connected. You gonna cook the recipe for the Countess of Guidonia and her family.”
“What?! That’s ridiculous.”
“The hell it is! You gonna cook for her, you gonna cook it well, and you gonna come back and tell us all about it. Off you go.”
With that he pushed her out the door before she could even put her bags down. He stuffed the address into her skirt pocket, and ignored her incredibly obscene protestations. When she finally turned around and started trudging off, he called out.
“Maria! You’ll pass the Sfaggis of Lago Maggiore on the way. Those pricks have been trying to get this recipe for 145 years. They don’t know you’re coming, but don’t raise any attention anyway. Keep your head down and your palms pointed outwards for good luck. Now do what I say and off you go.”
By now Maria was in a sour mood, but knew she’d better heed Louie’s instructions. Ingredients in hand, she hopped onto Angelo the family mule and headed off.
It was a beautiful road that she rode down, and her mood soon lightened. What was the countess’ family like?, she wondered. How many were there? Surely gramps wouldn’t send me away with insufficient ingredients? She was genuinely excited about the possibilities of the evening. She pulled out a hipflask and knocked back a fifth of vodka. Onward she rode.
Occasionally she passed villagers going about their daily business. Some said hello, others ignored her. She remembered Louie’s warning about the Sfaggis, but was unconcerned. She pulled up beside a massive baobab, and reckoned there was another 15 minutes of riding before she got there. She hopped off Angelo to stretch her legs. The shopping bags were secured tightly behind the saddle. Just as she was about to hop back on, someone spoke to her.
“Excuse me madam, where are you going?” said a friendly middle aged woman.
“I’m off to Guidonia. If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.”
The woman smiled politely, and continued on her way. Maria rode off, but glanced back. The middle aged woman had broken into a sprint and was running in the direction of a homestead just off the road. Maria thought this unusual, but kept riding. A moment later she looked back again, and she could now see the lady talking to some other people, gesticulating frantically and pointing down the road towards… Maria!
Maria brought Angelo to a trot, and was beginning to feel very uneasy. She looked around again, and saw several people running towards her. There was a young man out in front, followed by some children.
Maria decided she would not look back again, and she rode Angelo as fast as he could go. The people didn’t seem to be catching up with her, and within a few minutes she saw Guidonia castle looming in front of her. She was confident now of making it, but still somewhat anxious. Sweat covered her entire body and she had saddle sores. Finally she reached the castle gates, and she hopped off Angelo and looked around. No one seemed to be following her, so she allowed herself a smile. She was here!
She was greeted at the gate by a portly doorman in fantastic garb. “You must be Maria. Let me help you with your bags.”
She unfastened the bags from Angelo and slapped the mule on the butt. With that Angelo rode away in the direction of home. She handed five of the six bags over to the doorman, but hesitated when it came to the all-important sixth – the home of the beans. There were green beans, red beans, white beans – you name it. She peeked inside to confirm the contents, and turned to the gate.
“Madam? There is a sixth bag. Please let me take it for you.”
“Umm, well – actually if it’s okay, I’ll hang onto it.”
“Madam, you don’t understand. Let me take it for you, it’s no problem.”
“Thank you, really, but I’d like to carry it. My wallet’s in here too.”
“Listen, I get paid by the bag. That bag is worth a lot of money to me. Please?”
“Alright! Crissakes.” She handed the bag to the doorman, but kept a watchful eye on him.
As the huge gate swung open, she stepped forward – and tripped over a cobble stone. She cried out: “Fatherf*cker!” An elderly couple standing nearby glared at her and shook their heads. Maria’s only thought was: thank God I wasn’t carrying the bag! It’s contents would have been revealed to all the world – although the Sfaggis were nowhere in sight.
As she pulled herself up the doorman rushed over to help. In doing so, he switched hands, moved the bags around and lost his grip. A single bag fell to the ground. Time seemed to slow down. The beans spilled everywhere. Maria cursed audibly and bent over to collect the beans. As she did so, she heard a high-pitched, whiny laugh. She turned around, and the laughter continued.
It was the man from the road, who had been chasing her.
“Ha ha ha! I’ve done it! I’ve discovered the secret ingredient to the Bevilaqua Lasagne. It’s beans! BEANS!!!”
He shouted it out, again and again, and walked away, still shouting.
“You idiot!,” she said to the doorman. “Do you realise what you’ve just done?”
“There there, Madam,” said the doorman. “It’s okay, we wash the beans.”
Maria felt sick. She had to act quick. She raced after the man, who was still laughing, and tapped him on the left shoulder. As he turned around, she produced an affidavit. “What’s this?” he said quizzically. Ah screw it, she thought to herself, and she pulled a knife out of her skirt pocket and stabbed the man in the chest. He dropped to the ground, and sputtered the word ‘Beans’ one last time before carking it.
Maria went on to cook the most wonderful bean lasagne for the Countess, and she lived to pass on the tale to her grandchildren, and later her children, about the fateful day she spilled the beans.
***
Of course, all of this is by the by. What I’m spilling the beans about is Edge. Edge is a science website (and notfer profit) created by literary agent John Brockman. I wouldn’t mind working for him. It contains articles, essays, videos and more, with an impressive range of regular contributors. Prominent are zoologist-cum-atheist flagbearer Richard Dawkins, maverick* molecular biologist Craig Venter, author Ian McEwan and astronomer Paul Davies. Sadly no Hofstadter there, but I like to think he just hasn’t sold out. I have to admit, there’s something a little wanky about being on the list of Edge contributors, but to be fair, if you have to be on a list it might as well be this one.
Anyway, there’s always something stimulating to read there, whether it’s about the definition of life, the end of the universe, or the vagaries of human nature. Even better, it’s meant for a lay audience but never dumbs down, there’s conflict a plenty but it’s usually respectful and with justification, and it celebrates life’s big questions.
Speaking of questions, what prompted me to make this post was the annual question and answer frenzy from Edge’s World Question Centre. Questions are posed and heaps and heaps of insightful, amusing or controversial answers are provided by the aforementioned range of contributors. This year’s question is: What have you changed your mind about? Why? Hey wait a minute, that’s two questions!
There’s always a few writers whose answers I look for – Judith Rich Harris, (she of the “peers are more influential than parents in determining our behaviour” theory), Simon Baron Cohen (similar name to Ali G’s creator), Susan Blackmore (author of the Meme Machine and a cool user’s guide to consciousness book. Am I present?), Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Daniel Goleman (of emotional intelligence fame), Jaron Lanier (who once proposed a more useful question like: What’s the single most effective thing we could do to make the world a better place, or something like that), John Allen Paulos (wrote Innumeracy and I Think Therefore I Laugh) and Robert Trivers.
But you never know who will write something that makes you think. So far this year I like Karl Sabbagh’s response, that he used to think experts knew better than he, but now realises they may be knowledgeable but that doesn’t make them wise. So except for their field of expertise (I would argue even in their field of expertise sometimes), you’re just as likely as them to be right about any given issue.
Here’s a list of all the questions, one per year starting in 2008 and working backwards. Sorry about the caps and underline - I abhor them. The last few have been turned into books – a great Christmas or Birthday gift for the whole family, nerds and idiots alike.
WHAT HAVE YOU CHANGED YOUR MIND ABOUT? WHY?
WHAT ARE YOU OPTIMISTIC ABOUT?
WHAT IS YOUR DANGEROUS IDEA?
"WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IS TRUE EVEN THOUGH YOU CANNOT PROVE IT?"
"WHAT'S YOUR LAW?"
"WHAT ARE THE PRESSING SCIENTIFIC ISSUES FOR THE NATION AND THE WORLD, AND WHAT IS YOUR ADVICE ON HOW I CAN BEGIN TO DEAL WITH THEM?" —GWB
"WHAT'S YOUR QUESTION?"
"WHAT NOW?"
"WHAT QUESTIONS HAVE DISAPPEARED?"
"WHAT IS TODAY'S MOST IMPORTANT UNREPORTED STORY?"
"WHAT QUESTIONS ARE YOU ASKING YOURSELF?"
* this word is always used to describe him in the media. I prefer Word’s thesaurus alternatives: unconventional person, odd one out
Monday, January 14, 2008
Free Will, research taken in vain, googly brains
Over at Ye Artful Science, there's
- chatter about free will. Insightful, yet humiliating.
- a ridiculous take on some research reported in the Herald today
- a superb analysis of the pitfalls of brain research
Surely it's just a matter of time before the Artful Sciencer is snapped up, by something.
- chatter about free will. Insightful, yet humiliating.
- a ridiculous take on some research reported in the Herald today
- a superb analysis of the pitfalls of brain research
Surely it's just a matter of time before the Artful Sciencer is snapped up, by something.
A Sports Guy - Monday, January 14
KISS AND MAKE UP
Australia and India are on the road to cordiality with the opposing captains engaging in a passionate kiss at a press conference today. The kiss was initiated by Australian captain Ricky Ponting, who said afterwards "Anil and I go way back. Way, way back. F*ck!"
FEDERER RECOVERS FROM ILLNESS
Ominously for the Australian Open field, Roger Federer is no longer feeling the effects of a flu that had him sidelined for the Kooyong Classic. At least one seed was reported to withdraw from the Open on hearing the news. "It's a tough call to make," said Dmitry Tursonov. "But it's not really worth playing if Roger is feeling well. I miss my home."
MOTHER LODE DRAWS DAVENPORT BACK AGAIN
New mother Lindsay Davenport has declared the reason behind returning from induced-pregnancy-induced retirement to play at this year's Australian Open: money. "I'm gonna get me some cash, my diggers," said Davenport. "That's what it's about now. I have a child to feed."
Australia and India are on the road to cordiality with the opposing captains engaging in a passionate kiss at a press conference today. The kiss was initiated by Australian captain Ricky Ponting, who said afterwards "Anil and I go way back. Way, way back. F*ck!"
FEDERER RECOVERS FROM ILLNESS
Ominously for the Australian Open field, Roger Federer is no longer feeling the effects of a flu that had him sidelined for the Kooyong Classic. At least one seed was reported to withdraw from the Open on hearing the news. "It's a tough call to make," said Dmitry Tursonov. "But it's not really worth playing if Roger is feeling well. I miss my home."
MOTHER LODE DRAWS DAVENPORT BACK AGAIN
New mother Lindsay Davenport has declared the reason behind returning from induced-pregnancy-induced retirement to play at this year's Australian Open: money. "I'm gonna get me some cash, my diggers," said Davenport. "That's what it's about now. I have a child to feed."
Above: Davenport was gracious in victory, allowing her opponent to share the spoils. (Photo: AP). Davenport was criticised for scheduling overmatched opponents in her return to competitive tennis.
Warwick Capper
I hate to build things up, but this really made me laugh a lot. Once again, credit goes to Tony Martin, although to be fair I think the sea lion's share of the credit actually goes to his accomplice Richard Marsland.
Wait on, let me build it down for a sec. This is an audio file, so the footage is at best distracting. Do yourself a favour and look away. Also, the sound quality could be better. Shop around at YouTube though, you might find a better one. The original file was located at Triple M's Get This page, but for some reason they've taken it down! You can still get it from the podcasts page, along with their final episode and others. While we're here, there's also some high quality ringtones up for grabs. My favourite: Brian Boyd and David Dickinson (tie). There's also a decent summary of capers at Wikipedia.
Wait on, let me build it down for a sec. This is an audio file, so the footage is at best distracting. Do yourself a favour and look away. Also, the sound quality could be better. Shop around at YouTube though, you might find a better one. The original file was located at Triple M's Get This page, but for some reason they've taken it down! You can still get it from the podcasts page, along with their final episode and others. While we're here, there's also some high quality ringtones up for grabs. My favourite: Brian Boyd and David Dickinson (tie). There's also a decent summary of capers at Wikipedia.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Diary of a Mad Man
Dear diary,
I am a sane woman. What you think about that? Pee pee.
Yours,
Sphagnum Bog
January 14, 2008
I am a sane woman. What you think about that? Pee pee.
Yours,
Sphagnum Bog
January 14, 2008
When you don’t understand why someone you like isn’t famous
I’m rereading I Am A Strange Loop by Douglas Hofstadter. I wouldn’t say it’s his best work, but it’s still damn good. It’s essentially a summary of his thoughts on how a self, an ‘I’, a ‘light on inside’, a mind’s eye can come from a lump of squishy grey stuff.
I’m only a couple chapters in, but I keep feeling compelled to write notes about what he’s written, on account of it triggers so many thoughts and ideas in mine head. In fact, if I go through with this audacious, yet bodacious plan, I’ll have a book by the end of it! It could be the first ever book written entirely in response to, and while reading, another book. At least I assume so. The working title is I Know You Are But What Am I: Reflections on DRH’s I Am A Strange Loop.
Look, what I’m trying to say is I get sick and sleepy with having to all the time explain who Douglas Hofstadter is. To my way of thinking, he’s one of the clearest, most perceptive, easy to read, riveting authors out there, and he’s written about many a topic that would interest many and many a person. Yet he just isn’t up there with the Richard Dawkinses, Carl Saganses and Tim Flanneryses of this world.
Likewise in music, there are phenomenal performers who go unheard of, unrewarded, and unsullied day in, day out. I must confess I make no claims to know and like any obscure but brilliant bands (but watch this space for Looking Glass). Though they are in an overall minority, I know there are thousands of others who, like me, really dig the Mars Volta, Crash Test Dummies, Split Enz and Ween (almost certainly not this combination though).
Anyhoo, I believe that each and every person that this sentence refers to could list several awesome authors, musicians and creative whoevers that have touched their lives, delicately and deeply, but that can’t seem to get no respect, or at least general public awareness. I challenge these people to make that list.
These days the situation isn’t so bad with the internet. F’cryin’ out loud, I can now find people with a mutual interest in my newly acquired, top 10 All Time Coolest book, Codex Seraphinianus. Without the internet, I challenge anyone, anywhere to have heard of this amazing book (yes, I know the challenge was issued using the internet, a’F’eh!).
I guess this is all about information – how we get it, who controls its flow, and what it smells like. It’s also about personal differences in the kinds of things that profoundly resonate with (in?) our minds and hearts.
One last thing, it’s interesting to note that there is no analogous situation in sports. The best basketballers, sprinters and football players aren’t competing in D-Leagues, mid-week suburban track meets and lower grade Auckland comps. Aside from the scouts’ mythical undiscovered sporting geniuses tending sheep in a field somewhere, this phenomena just doesn’t happen in sport.
I’m only a couple chapters in, but I keep feeling compelled to write notes about what he’s written, on account of it triggers so many thoughts and ideas in mine head. In fact, if I go through with this audacious, yet bodacious plan, I’ll have a book by the end of it! It could be the first ever book written entirely in response to, and while reading, another book. At least I assume so. The working title is I Know You Are But What Am I: Reflections on DRH’s I Am A Strange Loop.
Look, what I’m trying to say is I get sick and sleepy with having to all the time explain who Douglas Hofstadter is. To my way of thinking, he’s one of the clearest, most perceptive, easy to read, riveting authors out there, and he’s written about many a topic that would interest many and many a person. Yet he just isn’t up there with the Richard Dawkinses, Carl Saganses and Tim Flanneryses of this world.
Likewise in music, there are phenomenal performers who go unheard of, unrewarded, and unsullied day in, day out. I must confess I make no claims to know and like any obscure but brilliant bands (but watch this space for Looking Glass). Though they are in an overall minority, I know there are thousands of others who, like me, really dig the Mars Volta, Crash Test Dummies, Split Enz and Ween (almost certainly not this combination though).
Anyhoo, I believe that each and every person that this sentence refers to could list several awesome authors, musicians and creative whoevers that have touched their lives, delicately and deeply, but that can’t seem to get no respect, or at least general public awareness. I challenge these people to make that list.
These days the situation isn’t so bad with the internet. F’cryin’ out loud, I can now find people with a mutual interest in my newly acquired, top 10 All Time Coolest book, Codex Seraphinianus. Without the internet, I challenge anyone, anywhere to have heard of this amazing book (yes, I know the challenge was issued using the internet, a’F’eh!).
I guess this is all about information – how we get it, who controls its flow, and what it smells like. It’s also about personal differences in the kinds of things that profoundly resonate with (in?) our minds and hearts.
One last thing, it’s interesting to note that there is no analogous situation in sports. The best basketballers, sprinters and football players aren’t competing in D-Leagues, mid-week suburban track meets and lower grade Auckland comps. Aside from the scouts’ mythical undiscovered sporting geniuses tending sheep in a field somewhere, this phenomena just doesn’t happen in sport.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Alternative Lyrics - PJ Harvey's The Devil
As soon as I
turn left on a road
The Devil wanders
into my zone
And I pretend to myself...
Come, come, come here at one.
Come, come! On a day at 1pm
Because all of my being is now in Wyoming.
~~~
Welcome to lovesong dedications. This next song goes out to Jarryd in Bexley, and it's from his long time girlfriend Francene. Jarryd, Francene just wants to thank you for all the little things you do that make her life so special. This is for you Jarryd.
[ABBA's Money, Money, Money]
turn left on a road
The Devil wanders
into my zone
And I pretend to myself...
Come, come, come here at one.
Come, come! On a day at 1pm
Because all of my being is now in Wyoming.
~~~
Welcome to lovesong dedications. This next song goes out to Jarryd in Bexley, and it's from his long time girlfriend Francene. Jarryd, Francene just wants to thank you for all the little things you do that make her life so special. This is for you Jarryd.
[ABBA's Money, Money, Money]
Not starting, finishing
In the summer of 1982 I was sent to Thistlethwaite Finishing School for Tenn-aged Males. The postage cost over 350 dollars and I bruised my coccyx repeatedly in transit.
When I arrived I was quickly ushered into the ceremonial hall, where I witnessed the graduation rites of the class of '74. I personally considered 8 years of finishing school excessive, but my future employer insisted on it. Alas since that time standards have slipped at Chicken Wizard.
During the ceremony the graduands displayed an astonishing range of grooming, etiquette and posturing. More than one lecturer was brought to tears. It was two.
I never did complete my studies, my early withdrawal necessitated by the sudden release onto the market of an exciting and fresh new salted snack called Burger Rings. Still in my finishing school garb of flippers and old newspapers, I furtively thrust a twenty cent piece on the milkbar counter. For this I received a portion of 34 Burger Rings.
It was the best day of my life, even if the law courts saw it differently.
When I arrived I was quickly ushered into the ceremonial hall, where I witnessed the graduation rites of the class of '74. I personally considered 8 years of finishing school excessive, but my future employer insisted on it. Alas since that time standards have slipped at Chicken Wizard.
During the ceremony the graduands displayed an astonishing range of grooming, etiquette and posturing. More than one lecturer was brought to tears. It was two.
I never did complete my studies, my early withdrawal necessitated by the sudden release onto the market of an exciting and fresh new salted snack called Burger Rings. Still in my finishing school garb of flippers and old newspapers, I furtively thrust a twenty cent piece on the milkbar counter. For this I received a portion of 34 Burger Rings.
It was the best day of my life, even if the law courts saw it differently.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
AJ Ogilvy
Dammit! I just pour my heart and soul into talking up Patrick Mills, the Next Big Thing in Australian sport and what happens?
I decide to wet my feet and enter the strange and full on world of talent scouting men’s college basketball, and up and coming Aussies therein, and what happens?
I get slapped in the face with this. Freshman Ogilvy has Vandy poised for big season. The article's even got a bit about him wearing what I can only assume are ugg boots.
A.J. Ogilvy? C'mon! This is the kind of name I’d come up with as a joke with friends. And here is the fine specimen, fresh from the mean streets of Sydney (I wonder if I've ever walked past him, or dominated him in a game of street ball?). More than a passing resemblance to Milo Kerrigan, wouldn't you say?
There’s nothing to it but to merge the two into the single greatest dual prospects this nation is seeing at the moment. The Mills/Ogilvy Combine. They could dominate the NBA from 2010 to 2020.
It's be great if they were drafted onto the same team. I can just picture it now, the twentytens version of Stockton to Malone, in reverse colour, with a bastardised Aussie accent, making max money, wanting to play for Australia at the Olympics but not being released by their teams ...
Ah, college basketball, I love you even though I've never watched a single complete game in my whole life.
I decide to wet my feet and enter the strange and full on world of talent scouting men’s college basketball, and up and coming Aussies therein, and what happens?
I get slapped in the face with this. Freshman Ogilvy has Vandy poised for big season. The article's even got a bit about him wearing what I can only assume are ugg boots.
A.J. Ogilvy? C'mon! This is the kind of name I’d come up with as a joke with friends. And here is the fine specimen, fresh from the mean streets of Sydney (I wonder if I've ever walked past him, or dominated him in a game of street ball?). More than a passing resemblance to Milo Kerrigan, wouldn't you say?There’s nothing to it but to merge the two into the single greatest dual prospects this nation is seeing at the moment. The Mills/Ogilvy Combine. They could dominate the NBA from 2010 to 2020.
It's be great if they were drafted onto the same team. I can just picture it now, the twentytens version of Stockton to Malone, in reverse colour, with a bastardised Aussie accent, making max money, wanting to play for Australia at the Olympics but not being released by their teams ...
Ah, college basketball, I love you even though I've never watched a single complete game in my whole life.
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Previous Small Nothing!
Sorry, I mean the Next Big Thing!
Of course, you know and I know that I'm talking about upstart Aussie baller Patrick "Patty" Mills. From humble beginnings at the AIS, our national monument to sporting excellence at the cost of cultural necrosis, he's now the starting point guard for the small Californian St Mary's College. The team is affectionately, and just generally known as the Gaels, after hot young Mexican actor Gael Garcia Bernal (no relation to Sandra).
Patty garnered some U.S. press a coupla weeks ago after he torched a higher ranked team for 37 points and was compared to a fine NBA player, Tony Parker (the dude married Eva Longoria from Desperate Housewives).
I am now on the bandwagon, and while I may be behind the the Boomers, the Deadly's and Bill Simmons, I'ma still ahead of most Aussies. And Sports Illustrated, who may have beaten this post by 8 hours, but sadly lagged days behind my initial decision to hop on.
Here's Mills, looking rather Quattoesque.
Mills is part of a fine tradition of amazing Aboriginal athletes and has a chance to be a bona fide superstar in his home country, in a way that Andrew Bogut just plain doesn't. For those who don't know, Bogut was not only drafted straight into the NBA, but taken Number 1 – the same spot as Shaq, Magic Johnson and LeBron James. He reckons he could and should be the best basketballer to ever come out of Australia, and he may be right – but not yet. He’s playing decently in his third year with the Milwaukee Bucks.
Despite his relative success in the U.S., Bogut has been unable to pique, or even vaguely arouse the interest of a lot of Aussies back home. It could take a feelgood story like Mills (about whom I know virtually nothing) to ignite the country's passion, forests and interest in basketball. It’s early, early days yet, but I for one am excited, perhaps as excited as a fat kid who’s about to eat a cake he loves deeply but previously lost and believed would never be his again.
Of course, you know and I know that I'm talking about upstart Aussie baller Patrick "Patty" Mills. From humble beginnings at the AIS, our national monument to sporting excellence at the cost of cultural necrosis, he's now the starting point guard for the small Californian St Mary's College. The team is affectionately, and just generally known as the Gaels, after hot young Mexican actor Gael Garcia Bernal (no relation to Sandra).
Patty garnered some U.S. press a coupla weeks ago after he torched a higher ranked team for 37 points and was compared to a fine NBA player, Tony Parker (the dude married Eva Longoria from Desperate Housewives).
I am now on the bandwagon, and while I may be behind the the Boomers, the Deadly's and Bill Simmons, I'ma still ahead of most Aussies. And Sports Illustrated, who may have beaten this post by 8 hours, but sadly lagged days behind my initial decision to hop on.
Here's Mills, looking rather Quattoesque.
Mills is part of a fine tradition of amazing Aboriginal athletes and has a chance to be a bona fide superstar in his home country, in a way that Andrew Bogut just plain doesn't. For those who don't know, Bogut was not only drafted straight into the NBA, but taken Number 1 – the same spot as Shaq, Magic Johnson and LeBron James. He reckons he could and should be the best basketballer to ever come out of Australia, and he may be right – but not yet. He’s playing decently in his third year with the Milwaukee Bucks.
Despite his relative success in the U.S., Bogut has been unable to pique, or even vaguely arouse the interest of a lot of Aussies back home. It could take a feelgood story like Mills (about whom I know virtually nothing) to ignite the country's passion, forests and interest in basketball. It’s early, early days yet, but I for one am excited, perhaps as excited as a fat kid who’s about to eat a cake he loves deeply but previously lost and believed would never be his again.
The same person?
I was going through some papers while packing up for the big move. I came across something I'd come across a couple of years ago, probably when i was going through the same papers in a clean out. I'd kept it, but done nothing with it. Well, now I've done something with it, probably the worst thing a man can do with papers he finds while packing - publish them unedited on his brog. The mind reels at what this young (mid to late teens?) author was thinking. Best not go there.
This was on the reverse page, or alternately the first page.
~~~
AIRPORT
It was a normal day in New York. I was at the airport with a suitcase full of clothes in one hand and a one way ticket to Lamibia in the other. I was headed there on a basketball coaching clinic for their national team.
You see I used to coach for the Knicks: three Championship rings and 3 coach of the year awards in 5 years. I was on a roll, was being the operative word. 2 weeks after our last championship, 3 years ago, I got busted for using blood doping, human growth hormones, steroids, and panadol in illegal
~~~
There it ended. Who knows why, or where this tragic tale of hope ended up ending up? At the bottom of this page were the words:
boy – down – real
meets girl – goes up
On the reverse page was this, longer piece.
~~~
boy meets girl
I remember the day clearly now. 21st of February 1994, 3 days after my 23rd Birthday. The air was exceptionally cold but that was probably the air conditioning: I was in an airport. I was quite warm though, as for my birthday my brother gave me a duffelcoat and balaclava. The reason I was in an airport was another present – my parents + brother gave a plane ticket to Lamibia. It is a very serene place. Where foreigners are welcome. I was going for a holiday and was very excited. The 1st time on a plane ever and I was going overseas!
My plane left at 1:30pm and I was going through luggage, (not literally) I mean the luggage department and I had 2 carry-on bags. I never give the airline my luggage because I once won fifty million dollars in the lottery and had it in my luggage, in the form of gold bullion and it was “misplaced”. I suspect an airport employee that I didn’t tip burned the bag in vengeance. I never got a cent back.
Anyway I was passing through the metal detector when I got a beep. “That’s strange” I thought. “Please pass through machine again” the woman with the hand-metal detector said with an interesting accent. I passed through again. “Interesting accent” I said. She smiled at me, showing all her bottom teeth. “Interesting smile” I said, but just as the smile disappeared I said I was joking. She said “quit the B-S and double talk and hand over the knife. Or do you have a gun?” “I’m unarmed” I proclaimed. She ran the mini-metal detector around my body in a way that must have aroused us both. She finally pinpointed my front shirt pocket. I emptied it to which she replied “Aha! Metal nodules. I’m terribly sorry for the delay Sir, perhaps you’d like extra refreshments when it comes to afternoon tea. Here, this card entitles the bearer to 12 free peanuts. The peanut is the national food of Lamibia”
“Really?” I said, “I s’pose it’s your job to know those juicy tidbits of information”
“No – I just come from Lamibia”
~~~
Assuming I actually wrote these, they could be the finest words to have ever rolled out the ball of my pen.
This was on the reverse page, or alternately the first page.
~~~
AIRPORT
It was a normal day in New York. I was at the airport with a suitcase full of clothes in one hand and a one way ticket to Lamibia in the other. I was headed there on a basketball coaching clinic for their national team.
You see I used to coach for the Knicks: three Championship rings and 3 coach of the year awards in 5 years. I was on a roll, was being the operative word. 2 weeks after our last championship, 3 years ago, I got busted for using blood doping, human growth hormones, steroids, and panadol in illegal
~~~
There it ended. Who knows why, or where this tragic tale of hope ended up ending up? At the bottom of this page were the words:
boy – down – real
meets girl – goes up
On the reverse page was this, longer piece.
~~~
boy meets girl
I remember the day clearly now. 21st of February 1994, 3 days after my 23rd Birthday. The air was exceptionally cold but that was probably the air conditioning: I was in an airport. I was quite warm though, as for my birthday my brother gave me a duffelcoat and balaclava. The reason I was in an airport was another present – my parents + brother gave a plane ticket to Lamibia. It is a very serene place. Where foreigners are welcome. I was going for a holiday and was very excited. The 1st time on a plane ever and I was going overseas!
My plane left at 1:30pm and I was going through luggage, (not literally) I mean the luggage department and I had 2 carry-on bags. I never give the airline my luggage because I once won fifty million dollars in the lottery and had it in my luggage, in the form of gold bullion and it was “misplaced”. I suspect an airport employee that I didn’t tip burned the bag in vengeance. I never got a cent back.
Anyway I was passing through the metal detector when I got a beep. “That’s strange” I thought. “Please pass through machine again” the woman with the hand-metal detector said with an interesting accent. I passed through again. “Interesting accent” I said. She smiled at me, showing all her bottom teeth. “Interesting smile” I said, but just as the smile disappeared I said I was joking. She said “quit the B-S and double talk and hand over the knife. Or do you have a gun?” “I’m unarmed” I proclaimed. She ran the mini-metal detector around my body in a way that must have aroused us both. She finally pinpointed my front shirt pocket. I emptied it to which she replied “Aha! Metal nodules. I’m terribly sorry for the delay Sir, perhaps you’d like extra refreshments when it comes to afternoon tea. Here, this card entitles the bearer to 12 free peanuts. The peanut is the national food of Lamibia”
“Really?” I said, “I s’pose it’s your job to know those juicy tidbits of information”
“No – I just come from Lamibia”
~~~
Assuming I actually wrote these, they could be the finest words to have ever rolled out the ball of my pen.
Friday, December 07, 2007
A message to you, HsiDub
When your best friend jets into town unannounced and plays a sellout show on Tue 16 Oct, without telling you, and indeed without telling you that he's now the "Stone King", well let me tell you something for nothing, your head is spinning like a top. You can't comprehend how such a turn of events could ever turn around and slap you on the fannypack with a wet hammock. But it did. And this [pointing up] IS THE PROOF!
We had such good times together - together at that place. When I think Vanguard, I think a couple of things - good times, and Sime Nugent.
The only humane response to a situation like this? Inhale, exhale. Just got a mouse in the mail.
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