More questions

- are North Queensland a two man team? And if so, isn’t this a flagrant breach of the requirement to field 13 players?
- Can the Bulldogs generate enough momentum to have one last shot at raising people’s expectations, before they return to the mean of a mediocre season?
- Why the heck are the third place team giving up a 6.5 pt start at home to the equal seventh place team?
- Can the Magpies besquirt the Knights? And if they do, how long will they stay in the top eight for?
- Will Souths choke against the Roosters? In recent years, the Bunnies have been crap, except against the Roosters. Their thinking seems to have been – it’s ok to lose 25 games, so long as we’re undefeated against the Roosters. Now that the tables have been turned upside down and around, will the Roosters empty their cloacas all over the Rabbits?
- Can anybody find me someone to care about the Sharks-Raiders game? Thing is, this will probably be an entertaining game. Sharks and Raiders are both teams on the rise, you would think, but who is going to fall next year to accommodate them? Not my Bulldogs, never!
- Now that the Panthers have finally found some form, can they conjure down a last minute loss to the Warriors?
- I don’t think the Dragons are playing well enough to fall into the Panthers’ trap – hence I see them pushing Manly all the way, possibly to 80 minutes.
- Eels and Broncos. This is the match of the round. Perhaps even the greatest game in the history of the rugby league. So much to play for. Will fear win? Who will choke first? Will Wayne Bennett punch a whole through the wall and get Michael Hagan in the head? Will Hages refuse to allow the Broncos to use the toilets in their dressing room, forcing the players to suffer severe urinomytosis? When the Eels win, will people rub it (their failure to even make the eight, let alone defend their title) in the Broncos’ faces enough? I hope so. I want to see everyone rubbing, people!
- Hopefully Melbourne will win in a tight one, so that people doubt them early in the semis, so they respond by absolutely pummeling someone in the late semis, so they will have a let down and lose the grand final.
- Will I listen to the commentary on Channel 9, ABC, or neither?

We can all do our part

Capturing & recycling most of the vapours from petrol stations across the Sydney Basin is equivalent to taking 370,000 cars off the road.
My car broke down on the weekend. This is the equivalent of taking one car off the road.

Agent Provocateur

When were you last provoked? And I don’t mean physically, I mean mentally, intellectually.

I like provocative ideas. Tell me where to find them!

I am not talking about ideas I already disagree with – I can find these anywhere! [Although if you can show them to me in a coherent, clear and well-argued form, I may take another look.] There’s a good chance I’ll disagree with the provocative ideas once I’ve found them…but the benefit comes from knowing them.

Where are the new ideas, the revolutionary ideas? The ideas no one’s talking about? The ideas we all know about but take for granted? The elephants (it’s a big room) in the room? The personal theories on life, the universe and everything?

Is there a book? A person? A theory? A brog? A mentor?

Maybe you were provoked by some incisive, insighful, incisor – I mean comment from a person that cut through to the very core of your being. It’s possible, right?

I’m talking about the ideas that are so provocative, so foreign, so jarring that they drag me so far away from my mind’s home that I am blessed with some sweet, sweet perspective on my and my society's and my species' beliefs.

Sometimes I wonder what I’ll do with all these ideas, and then I remember – nothing.

~~~

I best not introduce the topic without a recently encountered idea which I found provocative. It is, That children should have the same rights as adults.

Read Robert Fisk

Here he writes about Iraq. And yes, I know it's 'heavy', but it's worth it because Fisk is a good writer.

Questions (mostly)

This is the best time of the NRL season, because there are the most questions, and the least answers.

· Will the Storm atone for last year? Will Inglis and Slater break out of their slumps? (yes, slumps). What will defeat do to the Storm? My prediction: mental disintegration.
· Does Manly have the venom and past heartbreak necessary to win a GF? Note that ‘03 Panthers and ’05 Tigers somewhat mitigate this requirement. If the Storm crack, Manly could be the ones to pick up the goods. Will Jamie Lyon do anything in the finals except kick a couple of goals?
· Will the Cowboys get knocked out in the first or second week?
· Can the Dogs rediscover their mojo? Can they find the skill to match the arrogance? Who will Sonny Bill flatten with his shoulder and which one will it be – his left or right?
· At what point will the Eels fall apart? Because if they don’t (which they will) they could win the whole thing. Will Nathan Hindmarsh and Dallas Johnson combine for 200 tackles in a match?
· Are the Warriors really the dark horse/s? Will Steve Price crack 1000m in hitups in a single match?

I’d better reserve my next set of burgeoning questions for when the top eight is actually settled.

I really should read some Bertrand Russell

"I wish to propose ... a doctrine which may, I fear, appear wildly paradoxical and subversive. The doctrine in question is this: that it is undesirable to believe in a proposition when there is no ground whatsoever for supposing it true."

Amen to that!

Givin' my props to cracked

I've already linked 'em once in the form of 'Nilla Hail, but I'll out and out mention 'em now: the folk over at Cracked put together some funny lists.

Ever since I acquired the Book of Lists as a curious child, I've had a fascination and respect for good lists. [Incidentally, this book had a companion piece, whose name eludes me. The Book of Questions? Or was it the Book of Lists #2? At any rate, I believe it was the predecessor of this]

I've spoken before about my enjoyment of The Sports Guy, and my desire to emulate / imitate / jubilate him (Turns out my emulation was a one-off after all, but I still think A Sports Guy will return). What he and Cracked have in common is their ability to write about things we all think, but most writers ignore. That Seinfeldian world of day to day daydreaming, odd hypotheticals, subjunctive replays and pointless but amusing things. They tend to write in quite an informal, spoken style and are happy to coin words.

Cracked misses as often as it hits, but this is a trademark of any good comedy, or indeed art or any other creative venture. Some may get the hit to miss ratio higher than others, but you can never completely remove the lame joke gristle from the comedy steak, to paraphrase Douglas Hofstadter.

Recent Cracked lists I've enjoyed:
The ten most awesome movies Hollywood ever killed
The five biggest mismatches in movie fight history (for some reason, that picture of John Lithgow kills me)
The MILFiest 80s sitcom mums (ok, this one's a little crass)

You needn't actually agree with their lists, but they're still pretty entertaining.

What the hey

OK, so I'm probably the last to see these, but here's 'Nilla Hail, which I watched first and then realised was a response to Chocolate Rain.

In case you're unawares, they're riding the crest of Web 2.0 - the electronic tidal wave (not a tsunami mind you) of user-generated content. By the way, I am also riding this crest.

Last night I saw the shins

They were bony and easily bruised. Last night I saw The Shins. They were good. Perhaps sadly, they met expectations.

I was wondering whether they would be any different to their recordings. Turns out they’re not. The singer sings well – he has a great voice. The band played well. They’re very much into swapping instruments. Aside from the drummer and singer (who also played mostly rhythm guitar), the other three band members swapped roles as keyboardist, bassist, lead guitarist and other rhythm guitarist during the show.

Their slower songs were nice, although they played New Slang a little too slow for my liking. Their faster songs went down well. They played most of my favourite songs. My fellow attendees noted the Enmore often has poor sound quality. What’s up with that?

For me the highlight was the encore, during which they played Pink Floyd’s Bicycle. Such a surprising choice. Wait, sorry – they played Pink Floyd’s Breathe (slow intro - be patient). If only they’d added the 7 minute interlude of buzzing noises, clocks, mad laughter and alarms, they really could have made an impression. It was good to hear the Shins singing “Run, rabbit run.” Come to think of it, that could easily be a Shins lyric. Actually, the more I think of it, if the pace and melody were changed, the words of Breathe fit astonishingly (you heard me, astonishingly) well with known Shinsian output.

All of this a reminder of the Studio vs Stage Divide. It’s generally disappointing when the live performance echoes the recording. The important exception is when the performer/s are so damn good that you’d pay good money just to see someones do that in person. But if they’re that good, they’re probably going to make some changes anyway.

The other exception seems to be classical music, although my untrained ears may be missing something (incidentally, why do we lavish respect to musicians who note for note play something someone else has written, but ignore translators who have taken one masterpiece and faithfully converted it into an entirely new medium?).

Otherwise, you want your live performances to add something. It may be high quality banter, 45 costume changes, chaos or improvisation. I dunno, maybe if the lead singer’s really hot, it’s just worth it to see them in person. Last night there were plenty of frenzied fans, but I can’t find their reason, unless they were physically attracted to the band members. I just don’t understand them.

I wonder what it would take for me to frenzy… Maybe the older and smarter I get, the more likely I’ll be to frenzy.

The Shirt Tuck - Poor Posture Hypothesis

It started as a sneaking suspicion. Then the floodgates opened and it turned into a fully fledged bird - I mean hypothesis. The hypothesis is based on a metal solid foundation of reasonable premises and valid deductions.

1. Many people tuck in their shirt (or analogous upper body garment).
2. The majority of these people strive to maintain the tuck for as long as the shirt is worn.
3. When faced with activities that lead to untucking there are two choices: a) do the activity and then re-tuck (e.g. reaching up to the top shelf to grab something), or b) avoid the activity altogether (e.g. vigorous exercise).
4. Sitting and standing upright - in other words good posture - can often lead to untucking.
5. Good posture is therefore to be avoided. This needn't be a conscious decision, perhaps just a subtle shifting of the body's movement preferences towards stable, reassuring tuck maintenance.

Note that a premise for many is that good posture is to be maintained for as long as - nay longer than - any shirt is worn. This conflict could be tearing our backs, and society apart.

Now, I'm not the kind of person to come to you with a problem and not a solution. I propose longer and hence more untuck-resistant shirts in the short term (although this doesn't address the related issue of shirt overhang at the waist area), and greater societal tolerance of no-tucks in the long term.

Lucky Miles meets Stranger Than Fiction and something else

Lucky Miles is a damn good movie. It tells the story of a bunch of asylum people / boat seekers who arrive somewhere between Broome and Perth in the early 70s. There's a Basrati (seems like the logical name for someone from Basra), a Phnom Penhian and an Indonesian joins them later.

It says a lot about refugees, the mindset of Australians and the unmildness of the Australian outback. It manages to do all this in a very laid back, unassuming way. It may not be a triumph of filmmaking or acting, but it's a great story with important ideas and I enjoyed it. So did my wife, who for some reason thought one of the reservist army types (who were looking for them) was hot. Out of 5, I give it 5. Out of 10, I give it 5.

Stranger Than Fiction is Will Ferrell being a guy who starts hearing the voice of an author writing a story about him. She basically narrates his life, which is irritating and then consternating when she says "Little did he know, he was about to die". It's all rather circular, with the author living in the same city. File this under - post-modern humour, Being John Malkovich wanna-be.

I enjoyed it, but I pretty much hated every character except Ferrell. Emma Thompson was irritating, her assistant was pointless and Maggie Gyllenhaal was excruciatingly unbelievable and lame. I confess, after I saw Secretary I had a bit of a thing for her, but she's really doing her best to push me away with this role. Dustin Hoffman was reliable as ever as a literature professor helping Ferrell out.

I'd give it about a 7 out of 10. Just shows how far you can take a movie with a good idea and a great lead (Will Ferrell, is there anything you can't do?).

Remind me to talk about Big Love and The Circuit. Two high quality dramas ( I hate that word as a TV show descriptive) screening back to back on SBS on Sunday nights.

On Vinegar

Vinegar, I’ve loved you since
I was a carefree lad
I’m older and now understand
this was no boyhood fad

I know not how it started and
I’ll guess not how it ends
But on this fine libation
my joie de vivre depends

Oh vinegar, I’ll count the ways
You satisfy my palate
If only come election time
‘twere you upon the ballot

On potatoes
Baked or fried, steamed or broiled or crucified
Don’t forget potato chips
That sweetly sting the tongue and lips
(For burn & taste the best is Ruffles
In crisps world, they’re the truffles)

Be it from rock, a lab or the sea
Salt goes with vinegar like it goes with me
Mix it with chilli, apply it to Jiaozi
Or repeat step one and add it to Baozi

Use it to rug up naked salads
Or use it as fodder for catchy ballads

I hear the sour siren call,
but ‘fore I exit these four walls
It would be remiss of me
Not to add one think
Vinegar is unappreciated as a drink

Take this shining potable
And cram it down your gullet
Drink it, quaff it, swig it, sip it
Failing that just scull it

If you love vinegar
Then you’ll know this
like you know your name
Yet many haven’t done it yet
‘Tis such a weeping shame

Sorry

I love the function and form found in nature. Life is just so damned incredible, and we are inescapably [Indian accent] part of it all.

I was walking down my life last night, when I got to a fork in the road. You know, I’ve had that memory – of a fork in the road – e’er since I can remember.

It’s like starting to like a food that you hated as a child.

The firm texture of the snails.

You know? I have to say that the pie…This was definitely a first for me.

It’s always a chore on these.

If it’s difficult, use your hands to put in place.

It’s not overly dependent on the saurce. That’s where your professional skills come out.

I heard you say that a minute ago… but I can’t go back and redo this.

I’m the opposite. For me is just great.

Eye-popping escargot and frog leg stew with butter rice.

Sore wa. Sozo I joi. Ho ki chin.

Toe to toe with escargot. Whose cuisine reigns supreme? Beating the one time most creative chef in France 1995.

There’s something about the iron chef that really kicks ass. And the U.S. one, based singly on the single episode I’ve seen, is a pale, wan comparison. I rate the japanese as very fine conversationalists. They really have a way with ideas.

Y’see, as far as I see it, it’s all about… Dammit, I forgot what it was all about.

The thing about the singers is that they’re not often hitting the right notes. I found that foul fully f*ck.

Here’s the other thing that’s hardly recognised. Nonsense saves lives, from being lives.

I once fertilised - I mean put fertiliser on mine own egg. The bearers of scent drew sweetly past my door, flipping fragrant wafts like freshly baked croissants over their shoulders and into the doorways of the city’s finest women and men.

I want to start a business that will be contribute overwhelmingly to the economy and to the strengthening of Australia’s strategic base, especially in my core capabilities.

Dick Lovitz

Look, I really don't want to detract from the colourful very short story below, but I couldn't stop myself from commenting about the Dick - Lovitz run-in, also known as the War of the Clowns. I'm not proud to admit it, but probably the funniest thing in the story is the 'Phil Hartman hex'.

In other news, if Australia beats Japan at the Asian Football Cup, expect some bloggentary. I'm hoping for some great post-goal celebrations.

A cautionary tale

A bus. Somewhere in the suburbs.
An elderly man gets on.

He’s older than your average old man, but more sprightly too. The bus is half full. Normally this means that every seat is taken by one person, but there are a few free seats this time. Which makes it more surprising when he sits down next to a teenage boy. The teenager is unimpressed by the old man’s decision and displays his best nonchalant, aloof and cool face. It’s pretty good, too.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” No answer, but the old man goes on.
“I’ve seen my share of nice days – not more or less, mind you, just my fair share. I’m entitled to that aren’t I?”
The teenager could no longer pretend he was unaware of the old man’s existence.
“Who could deny that? Not you, that’s for sure.” The old man chuckled to himself, and he pulled a hamburger out of his jacket pocket. He took a bite into it, and used both hands to offer it to his fellow passenger. The teenager shook his head and politely smiled ‘no’. The old man leant into the burger, inhaled deeply and returned it to his pocket.
“Crikey, that’s a good burger! Better save it for later.”

The poor commuters on the bus involuntarily began salivating, such was the delightful burger scent that wafted through the bus. A middle aged woman sitting at the front of the bus, but facing the back and our protagonists (yes, plural), furrowed her eyebrows.
“Can’t you read the signs? No eating on the bus,” she called out.
The old man reached into his pocket, withdrew the burger, took a long, longing, loving bite and hurled the rest of the burger at the woman. It glanced off her shoulder and landed on the dash in front of the bus driver, amazingly still in one piece (this was probably due to sticky melted cheese). The driver, incensed, pounded his fist on the burger and flattened it.
Amazingly, the bus maintained its steady course along the road. The driver, obviously having second thoughts, picked up the burger, sniffed pensively at it and took a bite. He knew immediately that it was the right decision, and finished the burger in three bites.
Meanwhile, the woman was so outraged that she got off at the next stop, in between brushing her shoulder clean and muttering in the direction of the old man.

“Where you headed, sonny?” The old man was sitting down again. After almost deciding to get the hell out of there, the teenager somehow thought better of it and answered. For better or worse, his guard was now partly down.
“Just heading to work, actually.”
“Oh, gee, that’s a pity, lovely day like this.”
“I know. But you know what, I’m enjoying the ride, I’m enjoying the day so far, and I’ll try to enjoy work as well.”
“With an attitude like that, you’ll go far. Possibly all the way to the top.” The bus let on some more passengers, let off some others. “Where do you work, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I work for a coffee shop.”
“Ah, legal drugs. Nothing like them.”
“That’s right. Our customers are hooked, I tell you what.”
“Has it ever occurred to you the reason why some drugs are welcomed by the powers that be, and others are banished as though they were some kind of bane?”
“I suppose you gotta outlaw the dangerous ones,” said the teenager, without really thinking about the question.
“Hogwash! How many people do alcohol and cigarettes kill? And what about all the others that stay alive and cop the effects? Let me tell you, you make your own decisions about these things, sonny. You like to get high?”
“Umm, not really.” The teenager’s guard was not that far down.
The old man pulled out a massive joint, this time from his boots, and a box of matches. “Here, open the window, would you?”
“It is open.” The man thrust his arm out the window to check, inadvertently slapping the head of a man standing at the bus stop at which the bus was stopped.
“I see. Well, bottoms up.” He lit the joint, and it burned brightly as the old man inhaled deeply. A good 10 seconds later, he began coughing and spluttering, considerately over the aisle rather than the teenager.
“You want a hit?” The teenager was clearly deliberating over whether to take the proverbial red pill when the driver swerved, just missing a pothole. The joint flew out of the old man’s hands and landed squarely between the teenager’s lips. He could resist no more, so inhaled, tentatively at first. It was some fine, fine ganja. Carolina Bluegrass, if he wasn’t mistaken. Well into the moment now, the teenager inhaled deeply, for so long in fact that the joint burnt all the way up to his lips, causing him to cry out in pain, and exhaling smoke all throughout the bus.
“I said a hit, not the whole thing! Geez, whippersnappers these days. Look, you seem like a nice kid. I gotta get off here, but let me give you my number. I’m planning on starting a revolution this afternoon and you can get involved, if you like.”

The teenager was well into his ascent/descent into stonedom, and acquiesced more out of reflex than consideration. They swapped mobile numbers. The teenager gave the old man a fake name. “My name’s Wenslow.” Little did he know that the old man did too. “The name’s McGuire – Pat McGuire. I’ll be seeing you later. The old man removed the emergency red hammer from the bus window and was about to smash a hole in the window, but then thought better of it. He pocketed it instead, wisely realising that it could come in handy for the long journey he had ahead of him this afternoon.

Wenslow (we’ll call him this for now) decided to get off early and walk the rest of the way. The sun felt so gorgeous on his back. He pulled out his walkman and tuned in to the soundtrack to his life that morning. Everything seemed so…nice.

Movement at the Artful Science station

There has been a bit of action over at Artful Science. It's now a one stop shop for all the stories that have appeared in the august pages of Cosmos magazine since the birth of Artful Science. You'll also find full length feature stories on anti-global warming technologies, viruses and warzone ecology.

There's a handy search function, and it is indeed disturbing that the most common tag is "Scientists do the darndest things to animals."

Recent topics
- the shape of the internet (Is it an oblate spheroid? A samoan circle? Trapezoid?)
- wireless power transfer
- nano-imaging

Coming soon: volcano research, and a feature on indigenous knowledge and intellectual property.

Byron Bayou

I'm driving North until I reach Australia's most eastern point: Byron Bayou.

We're all set for the roadtrip:
- alternating iPods
- Salt & Vinegar Ruffles on sale for $1.60 for a 200g bag, a sensational saving
- numerous garments
- sense of adventure and relaxation
- tires inflated, oil checked, inflatable rubber bladder deflated

Can't wait!

On the tyranny of Times New Roman

Times. The times they are a'changin’. Well why aren’t the times new roman a changing? F*ck you! I INTEND you.

wanted to die, but I knew that I could, so I waited to come smell silverwood.

Beauty who’s your assface?

When it’s to do. Full of fall your you’ll all fall on your face. Then eat some eggs. Pregnant by now. Poignant

What is with the dominance of Times New Roman font, and size 12 at that? This monopoly sickens me. No matter how pleasant a font is, being repeated ad infinitum must drag it inexorably towards unpleasantness. Wouldn't we all be better off with a variety of fonts? This debate of course is intimately related to the present oligopsony of software. Still, it says something about the chutzpah of TNR that it can be in our face for so long without drawing undue attention to itself.

Does anybody know what Akimbo is?

Fonts I like: the one used by author Douglas Hofstadter. Honourable mention to the one used by author Daniel Dennett.

The Gentle Art of Impressions

Once again, I take my hat off to Frank Caliendo. He has good variety, and most importantly, he incorporates relevant jokes into his impressions e.g. Al Pacino's habit of turning kid's sayings into cool tough guy talk ('You sir, are a liar. Liar liar, your pants [beat] are on FIRE!').


It's really criminal to go to the trouble of learning the exquisitely fine details of someone's voice, cadence, facial expressions and body language if all you're going to do is repeat some famous catchphrase or line from a movie. You gotta take it to the next level.

When it comes to impression-worthy subjects, there's a predictable few that keep cropping up: Bobert De Niro, Cristobal Walken, Jack Nicholson, Arnold Schwarzenegger (though he doesn't really count). When you think about it, maybe this is the X factor for any aspiring young actor or actrix - acquire a distinctive or odd speech style.

While we're on the topic, we can't forget Hammertime's Brog favourite, New Zealand's own Tony Martin. He's been producing high quality impressions, along with a whole grab bag of champagne comedy, for over a decade now. He manages to do both locally relevant pollies and journos ('Peter Harvey, going down a slide') as well as international celebrities (Patrick Stewart at a McDonald's drive through comes to mind - towards the bottom of the page). He even combined Tony Soprano with Amanda Vanstone ("Amanda Vanstone is not herself", halfway down the page).

~~~

So I heard that Brett Whitely's The Olgas for Ernest Giles sold for $3.48 million the other day. This is considerably more than it cost to paint (to borrow a Micallef joke). Which brings me to my question for the day: surely art buyers should just invest, I don't know, $3.07 million in training themselves, saving a handsome $410,000 in the process, which they could then spend on Frank's Pizza. Alright, so it's not a question.

more YouTube

Funny Al Pacino impression from Frank Caliendo, about the 1:50 mark.

Another Pacino one from Aries Spears, with a few other good ones in there too.

Paula Abdul under the influence of something. I couldn't watch the whole thing.

More Caliendo.