This might seem a little hypocritical, but what’s with the word meme anyway?!

Sure, it’s not like I don’t know what it is or where it came from, but the fact that you’re probably sitting there in a smug little voice going “He doesn’t know what it is or where it came from” is enough to make you think there’s something about the word meme, don’t you think? You can think about it, but don’t blog about it, propagation isn’t in my game plan here. I mean if I say what’s with the word “obstetrician”, you don’t sit there thinking “He doesn’t know what obstetrician means”, do you? Not that the dictionary is particularly helpful either.

Then there’s the hesitancy of people to use the word. You watch, whenever someone says “meme”, heads look up. “Did someone say meme?” And the expression on the person’s face, it’s obvious they’re embarrassed to say it. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever said the word meme, or even obstetrician for that matter.

In fact I’d thought up this amusing rant about how meme’s are so up themselves, but of course that’s already been done to death.

The concept of memes is itself a meme. Even the idea that the concepts of memes is itself a meme has become a widely spread meme. However, the idea that the idea that the concepts of memes is itself a meme, is not yet a meme.

I could always get on the I hate memes bandwagon, but again meme propagation somewhat defeats my purpose.

Instead, I learnt a new word today: absoloodle. Apparently you can’t use it on its own, you have to use it in conjunction with chicken noodle. i.e. absoloodle chicken noodle. First I thought it some strange Cairns term, but no, my nut bar sister made it up, and it supposedly means what you think it means: yes, that’s right!

The beauty of it is that absoloodle chicken noodle doesn’t even pop up in Google yet, which is scaring me, because that implies its a meme. Perhaps the dictionary should have that next to the definition “meme, n. Not yet in Google.”

So there you go, a veritable smorgasboard of memes. Do I hate memes? Absoloodle chicken noodle!

I don’t get the whole perfume thing. Never have. Probably never will. I mean, I like to smell nice, but I don’t like drowning in stench. Also, your olfactory sense adapts to constant smell, meaning any constant fragrance or stench around you, will soon be filtered out as if it were no longer there. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer 100% of my smelling ability, not some 90% filtered version of it.

Anyway, simple perfumes are made up of between 10 to 30 different chemicals, whereas more complex perfumes can contain between 50 to 100. Perfumers have about 500 natural aromatics to choose from, and about 1000 aroma chemicals. Check out the International Fragrance Association for more details on how they’re made, and the various codes of conduct.

The main point about perfumes, and I’m not just talking about womens’ perfumes, but mens’ aftershave and deodorant as well, is that you select the perfume you think will attract a partner, whether that be the opposite or same sex.

So regardless whether we actually like a particular scent, the idea is to pick the one the best improves our chances of getting laid. We sacrifice one of our five important senses, for the sake of a root. I’m not so sure that putting up with some putrid stench all day justifies the 5 seconds of elation that it ultimately leads to, but your mileage may vary. Perhaps a hand job would be more appropriate than olfactory torture.

So turning this on its head, are we saying that we could tell a good root by their inability to smell, and we should be looking for partners with terminally damaged olfactory nerve endings? I wonder why Darwin never spotted this. An inability to smell of course means that they’re not affected by our overtly sexual fragrance, which means the best roots are in fact the ones that don’t actually try to come on to us. Interesting. I can attest that this is certainly my experience, no good root has ever come on to me.

In theory then, because the fragrance is selected to attract an appropriate partner, you could probably also tell the sexuality of someone by sniffing them. Now there’s an interesting exercise for your Saturday night out on the town. Let me know how you went.

As many pop psychologists will tell you, it is easy to win friends and influence people, if you know how. At work, we play a game we like to call “how to win food and influence people”, where we try to outdo each other in getting the best deal we can for lunch. Usually this involves the local Bakers’ Delight, because they’re such nice yet gullible people.

Today the stakes were raised when I stupidly bragged that I could get a 1/2 BBQ chicken from the local chicken shop, but made up of two drumstick pieces. This came out of a comment I made a few days ago that the place always gives me a drumstick for my 1/4, and not the breast, and that they must have chickens with four legs if that’s the case, because what are the chances?

A 1/2 BBQ chicken though is of course cheaper than two 1/4 chickens, and theoretically two drumsticks is two quarters, even though they actually weigh less and have less bulk than a 1/2 chicken. However they are more popular, as a quick whip around the office shows, which of course raises their value somewhat. The defining characteristic though, seems to be the fact that a 1/2 chicken isn’t cut into 1/4 pieces. Pretty obvious, but so long as your chat with the shop keeper steers clear of this fact, you’re probably fine.

Anyway, not to refuse a challenge, today I duly walked out with a 1/2 chicken, consisting of two 1/4 drumsticks. The question of course is will they allow me to get away with it again tomorrow?

A guy walks into a coat shop and says…

RBF: A coat thanks, black, full length.

CSG: Ahh, you don’t want a full length.

Trust me to get the only mind reading Coat Shop Guy in Canberra.

RBF: Umm, yes I do.

CSG: They went out of fashion years ago, you don’t want one of those. How many people do you see walking around with full length coats? Almost full length is all you need.

RBF: Well, I see quite a few actually, and that’s what I’d like. I don’t think fashion consciousness should be a defining criteria in the search for a coat. I mean, it’s bloody cold outside, so for someone from Sydney, temperature is a fairly critical factor.

CSG: Look, a full coat comes to here [points to ankle] and gets pretty mucky, almost full length comes to here [points to middle of calf], no difference.

RBF: Wouldn’t a full length be warmer then?

CSG: Nup, no difference.

RBF: Right, well I’ll have that one then!

Of course I’ve prematurely ended the story, because while I’m sure you’re bored already, you’d be even more bored with the extra 20 minutes it took to try them all on. Although the following exchange was mildly amusing.

RBF: [trying on coat and looking in the mirror] So, tell me about this coat.

CSG: Well, like what? What it’s made of?

RBF: Sure, let’s start with that. [under my breath] Although I’m sure I could just look it up on the little ol’ tag here.

CSG: Well, it’s made of wool.

RBF: Uhuh.

CSG: And it’s a good looking coat.

RBF: Sure. Lucky I picked this one then, hey?

Anyway, I learnt a whole lot about coats today, the fact that the length of the coat for any particular season typically bares no immediately discernable relationship to temperature or weather for example, and is based almost entirely on the cut/style. Also, the fact that coats are designed to be worn on top of a suit or similar jacket, because there are no shoulder pads in a coat, and the suit jacket helps to maintain the shape and fit of the coat. And get this…

RBF: So what about rain, how does it handle small spits of rain or other mild forms of precipitation?

CSG: Well, you could always Scotch Guard it.

RBF: Sure. But how does it come? With any chemical type of coating, or is it just the pure wool?

CSG: Well, it’s a good quality coat, it will be fine.

I was resigned to assuming none, to save the frustration of having to press the issue further.

Anyway, I now have a new coat, which is supposedly a good looking and good quality coat, with a “Peter Pan” style collar. I baulked at this at first, images of flying to Never Never Land with Wendy in tow, going through my head, but it is oh so comfortable.

Coats. It’s not about Function, it’s about Fashion.

Hidden in the brick-a-brack facade of love, hung a thread of significance not unforseen for twix unobtuse. “A feather, a feather!” he shouted, as a duck sway asunder yon hedgerow, don’t be alarmed now. The spirits of flight adorned as such on high above frequented love abound and torn a wretch that was, and was, and was.

To say I’m full of rants would be an understatement, so here’s another. Many a year ago I had an argument with a fellow literian, if there is such a thing, about how the greatest poetry and novels of this and previous ages were mostly written under the influence of various illicit drugs. Ken Russell’s film Gothic exemplifies this with a supposed dramatisation of the night that Mary Shelley invented Frankenstein. This in itself perhaps the product of a chemically modified mind.

So the argument goes, should we revere the works of artists who created their works under the influence? Or is this basically cheating? Having created works under the influence, I can indeed attest that creativity is increased somewhat under such conditions, and because the majority of the population most likely do not partake in such pastimes, if they had, then there would be more works of greatness, and our current “great” artists would perhaps not be so great after all.

Is this cheating, and similar to athletes taking steroids? Is art a representation of what the human condition is capable of, not some chemically induced effluvium dragged kicking and screaming from the subconcious of people incapable of creating under more stable conditions?

Could you create a great work while under the influence of illicit drugs? How would it compare to the works of the great poets of history? Should we revere that which seems greater than it is?

I tend to be in an infinite loop at the moment, which is somewhat contradictory, but considering the current state of my head I could probably say anything and think it sounds correct. The loop however is the 3-4 days per week I spend in Canberra picking up cold and flu, then the 3-4 days back in Sydney that I spend recovering, so that I’m just well enough to head back to Canberra again, ad inifinitum.

Anyway, in such frustrating moments, when you feel that you have no weekend, just sick recovery time, you tend to watch a lot of moronic television or DVDs. I watched an elephant dump on a hidden video camera the other night, on some wildlife documentary. Man did I laugh, that’s the level I’ve descended to.

So I happened to catch Ali G The Movie on DVD. His recent series in the U.S. was hysterical, so I assumed the film would be somewhere near as good. Unfortunately not. However it was not the later 86 minutes that annoyed me, it was first minute that really pissed me off.

Not during the DVD load, but only once you select “Play” from the menu, does a 3 minutes mini-doco on piracy appear on the screen, and all the remote controls are disabled, so you have no choice but to watch it before the actual main feature begins. And the commentary over the top of this minute of what looks like a devilish blacksmith, working in the dark trying to heat up then cool down a bunch of branding irons, was this drivel (my highlighting):

The pirates are out to get you. Don’t let them brand you with their mark. Piracy funds organised crime and will destroy our film and video industry. Piracy costs jobs and will destroy our music and publishing industry. Piracy funds terrorism and will destroy our development and your future enjoyment. Don’t touch the hot stuff. Cool is copyright. Copyright is a matter of fact. Don’t let the pirates burn a hole in your pocket.

All that this crap incited me to do was take a copy of the rented DVD before I returned it, regardless of my dislike for the film in the first place, and regardless of the glistening Macrovision logo which flashes up after the credits.

So let us analyse this wonderous anti-piracy spiel shall we.

The pirates are out to get you.

Right, first cab off the rank, the pirates are out to get us. Are they really? And how are they supposed to do that? By selling us copies that are cheaper? Boy, that is really going to get me.

Don’t let them brand you with their mark.

Their mark? What mark would that be? A rather feeble attempt at a metaphor for receiving stolen goods perhaps? OK, fair enough.

Piracy funds organised crime and will destroy our film and video industry.

Organised crime? Are we talking about individuals taking a backup copy of a DVD they own? Or the next door neighbours taking a copy of a rental DVD for later use? Or are we talking about the small time DVD ripper down at the local markets selling copied DVDs? Perhaps we’re talking about the chain DVD rental stores like Blockbuster, who lock their franchisees into long 3 year contracts and then tell them what five or six DVDs they’re allowed to rent out, which is ultimately dictated by the deals they’ve struck with the motion picture companies. Or maybe we’re talking about the large publishing houses, who over the last 50 years have retroactively diluted the right to copy into a million dollar industry based on a flawed interpretation of rights.

Piracy costs jobs and will destroy our music and publishing industry.

Well, that depends upon the business model that these industries choose to base themselves upon. The flawed copyright exploitation model invented by them 50 years ago, in which case of course I can understand their concern, if I had such a gravy train, I’d never want to give it up either.

Piracy funds terrorism

Funnier even than the film itself, here it is again for comedic impact:

Piracy funds terrorism

What a crock of condescending rubbish. Although, the last time I saw Osama Bin Laden, he was down at the local Glebe markets, trying to sell me a copy of Mike Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11.

Don’t touch the hot stuff. Cool is copyright.

Gee, the marketers have been working overtime on this one. What better way to make copyright sound cool and hip.

Don’t let the pirates burn a hole in your pocket.

Nice contradiction. Piracy lowers prices, both of pirated goods and the real thing. This is what has happened in the music industry, and will happen in the film industry. This won’t dilute the pot of cash being spent and won’t send the studios broke. In much the same way as technology has facilitated the piracy of films, likewise technology has lowered the cost of film production, it just isn’t being passed on to the consumers. And as for the high salaries garnered by actors and technical people alike, time to get back to reality.

So, Universal Pictures, ironically started by actors almost 80 years ago, and sponsors of this ridiculous anti-piracy message, get with the times, and get a better marketing firm, because the one you’re using now is pretty clueless.

Yep, I pay everything I can online, who wouldn’t if they could? Each month I pay several bills with BPay through my bank. It’s easy, and to quote the BPay site:

making life easier_

Not sure if the underscore is a qualifier at all, but there you go, making life easier_.

With Internet banking, you’d like to have a BPay account set up and configured already, so that when a bill comes in, all you need to do is click on it and type in the dollar amount.

Of course it isn’t this easy, because the intelligent boffins at companies such as Telstra, decide to use a different 20 digit biller number for each new bill, even if it is the same account. In fact, successive Telstra bills have successive page numbers, meaning I can put all my printed bills together and have a 62 page book of Telstra bills. Not particularly useful reading material, but amusing and handy for looking for missing pages at tax time.

So even though you’ve set up an account to click on, you still need to enter the 20 digit reference number for each bill. The account, by the way, consists of a 4 digit biller number, and that’s it. Compared to 20 digits, it’s almost a waste defining the account in the first place.

However, there are companies who have done it right, so it is not like Telstra are limited by the BPay technology. My mobile phone carrier, for example, uses the same biller reference number for every bill, so I don’t need to type anything in except the dollar amount. Now that’s making life easier_.

Telstra? Well, maybe we should just sell them off, and see how long it takes them to go bankrupt. I guess they could always sell off all the copper to BHP!

Bit of a telco week so far. Firstly, my ISP calls me to say that my ADSL connection is finally up after my house move. Great! Although I already knew that a week ago, when I accidentally tripped over a power board and powered up my gateway machine.

Secondly, Telstra bills me for $59 for connecting my new phone line. Of course disconnecting the old one is free, which begs the question, how come their processes are so stuffed that it costs them $59 plus mark up to connect a line, but takes nothing to disconnect it? Whatever happened to penalising people for leaving a contract? Surely the same guy who pulled out my line at the exchange could simply plug it back in the new hole? This really shits me, either connection should also be free, or I should be charged for connection and disconnection!

When I went off and did a little research on this one, my first point of call was accidentally Kristy Kreme, which is a little unfortunate for Krispy Kreme considering I’ve now linked to her and raised her profile within the new untapped doughnut pr0n industry. Although if you look through the results, you’ll see that the mistake is fairly common, with several schools even accidentally using her for fundraising in their school newsletter.

Strange that the Krispies haven’t taken any legal action, considering they’ve been in business in the U.S. since 1937, and certainly Kristy isn’t looking anything like she’s been a pr0n star since before then. The benefits of special sugar coating, emphasised by both sites, seems to be the only thing they share, outside the name of course.

So, in business since 1937, the first store outside the U.S. in 2001, which was in Canada which probably doesn’t count, and the first outside North America is right here in Sydney, opened earlier this year.

So here I was walking past the new Krispy Kreme store in the city, and the queue is out the door and around the corner. What? It’s a bloody doughnut shop! We already have doughnut outlets in Sydney, you may be surprised to know, and somehow I doubt there’s anything overly special or innovative about a U.S. based fast food franchise suddenly appearing in our fine city, aside of course from whatever marketing crap all the U.S. fawning and U.S. sitcom watching blinkered ignoramouses lining up outside their store today are willing to believe.

Coincidentally, the SMH had two recent articles about obesity in schools and Krispy Kreme’s involvement in fundraisers. The ploy of course is that fundraising in many peoples’ minds is synonymous with charity work, which it isn’t. A private school raising money by flogging doughnuts so they can buy a third indoor swimming pool, isn’t actually charity work.

Another thing from the Krispy Kreme web site, is:

We’ve developed our own coffee roasting and introduced our new Hot Doughnut Machine technology, which will allow us to bring the hot doughnut experience to more people.

Yeah, pretty ground breaking. You’d be a bit of an idiot if you opened a doughnut shop without a doughnut machine. Although 7.5 million doughnuts per day world wide is a pretty amazing statistic if you ever needed reasons why we’re becoming a planet full of fat fuckers.

But if they have anything going for them, at least they spell doughnut correctly!

I wish I had a dollar for every time I was asked that question today. Well, I wish I had a lot of dollars for every time, because it couldn’t have been any more than half a dozen, but still, that’s a lot, especially when I can think of quite a lot of more interesting opening lines. “Here’s 40 cents, call someone who cares.” for example.

Anyway, I have no idea how cold it was here in Canberra today, but it was certainly many degrees below both comfortable and tolerable.

Of course, being an old hand at predictable opening lines and come backs, today’s conversations typically went like this:

Canberran: What’s it like outside?

Richard BF: Cold — Damn cold — Fucking cold [depending on audience]

Canberran: Yeah, it was pretty cold this morning.

So let me get this right, we’re in Canberra, in the middle of winter, where it is currently 3 degrees, and everyone is walking around rugged up like they’re about to get on the next boat to Antarctica, yet for some reason they’re expecting it to suddenly be warm? These people are nuts, but I admire their optimism and tolerance for the pain and suffering of anything less than a moderatley crisp 23 degrees.