Geez . . . a week on the Gold Coast?



Or a week in Hamilton?



No brainer, really. Hamilton IS a dump!

It's time to be afraid

I sit squarely in the middle of the school who thinks this, while amusing at one level, is terrifying at almost every other level.

Forget that I once considered God, well . . . God. Forget that this kind of BLASPHEMY would, until only a few decades ago, have elicited certain damnation. Forget that this article, perhaps correctly, makes a complete mockery of the institution of religion. But in the midst of this convenient amnesia, try to think about the implications of what is surely the truth behind this article. And be afraid. Be very afraid.

The theory behind a couple of pretty popular movies . . . Terminator, and I, Robot . . . is simple. One day computer driven machines will rise up and overthrow the human race.

George Orwell thought that the rise of humans was humanity’s greatest danger. In the post-Orwell world, we’ve moved past that. While humans are still the greatest threat to humans (or perhaps viruses are – the non-electronic kind), and while twenty years ago (Terminator time) the idea that machines overthrowing humans was entertainingly ludicrous, now . . . NOW the one real thing lacking then – a realistic, possible vehicle for bringing the machines together, and to life – seems to be here. It’s not knocking on the door, it’s already in our lounge. It’s in our kitchen, preparing meals; it’s teaching our children; it’s a better friend to them than most parents can ever be. It’s controlling our businesses; facilitating our banking processes.

It is slowly and surely making us more and more and more dependent on it. It is addicting us. It is controlling us.

Google’s motto is “Do no evil.” As if it could. You don’t purport to NOT do something that you cannot do.

Information is good. But isn’t it also power? Whoever owns the information, or perhaps more importantly, access to it, surely has a significant amount of power.

The military already has the technology to send machines into battle by remote control. Sure, it’s in infancy. But it’s real. The field of robotics, now decades old, has grown exponentially in the last few years. And if we’re not already completely dependent on computer technology . . . well, we are. There’s no doubt. What would happen if “computers” went down for a week. NO computers.

Most computers are connected to some kind of network. So it’s not impossible to imagine a virus big enough, and far-reaching enough to paralyse the entire electronic grid. The trillion dollar electronic security industry knows all too well the real possibility of such an attack.

NO computers, anywhere, for a week. For 60% of the population, that is incomprehensible. It is impossible. Government, financial institutions, tertiary institutions, border control, hospitals, traffic control, AIR traffic control, shipping, communications infrastructure (phones and, of course, internet).

For one week. Can you imagine it? What about a month? What about indefinitely. The human race would sink to new lows before it could spring back from that kind of chaos.

“Do no evil.”

Well, that’s nice as long as two good ole boys with altruistic intentions are in charge of Google. The world is safe while philanthropist Bill Gates is at the helm of the most powerful operating system in the universe. But what happens when the real life version of VICKI decides the human race can no longer look after itself? What happens when a SKYNET lookalike pulls together the world’s military might and decides on it’s own what the real threat to the universe is?

Didn’t we giggle a bit at the Terminator? Even twenty five years later we watched I, Robot with an amount of scepticism. That could never really happen.

Well, only six years after that, I’m not giggling any more. I’m not even smirking. When the Sydney Morning Herald can proclaim, only mildly tongue in cheek, that Google might be worthy of the title GOD, I think it’s time to be a little bit afraid.

Nothing Unusual?

David Bain wants the rifle back, the one that killed his family. Joe Karam says there's nothing unusual in the request.

Nothing unusual? NOTHING UNUSUAL?? OMG!

Everything about the Bain saga could arguably be called unusual, stating with the man's ears, his jerseys, and Karam's obsessive pursuit of Bain's aquittal.

Now he wants some of the exhibits back. Well, fair enough, I guess. But the rifle? It's his gun, says Karam, so he should be allowed it back.

Well, okay. But I think it's a bit much to suggest there's nothing "unusual" about such a request. It's be like OJ wanting the gloves back, or Timothy McVeigh claiming the insurance on the U-Haul.

Rules for the Pretty

I never thought Chapelle Corby should have gone to prison. She's way too pretty to have gone to prison. Pretty people should not go to prison. There should be different rules for pretty people.

Good on you Rodney Hide

Good on Rodney Hide for standing up for his principles.


It is so foreign to the mainstream media to consider any politician would do such a thing that, in order to beat it up as much as possible, they have to accuse Hide of “blackmailing” the Government, “holding the Government to ransom” and to quote the interim Labour party leader Phil cry-baby Goff saying it will “de-stabilise” the Government.

Of course, Goff would consider a politician standing up for a principle as de-stabilising, so infrequently is it ever done. If Labour had let its members stand up for their principles rather than being pressured to toe the party line – anti-smacking, for example – their government would have been de-stabilised long before they got dumped.

Good on Rodney Hide.

And here’s where the MSM comes across as so pathetic. Hide has not “threatened” the government. With all due respect, Hide doesn't have such power. National does not need Rodney Hide. Rodney Hide does not have that much sway over the National Party. And as such, he has nothing to “threaten” them with. He knows that, and any casual observer knows it. So the MSM journalists should know it. There is nothing in this for Rodney Hide, except being able to hold his head up high and say he stood up for what he believed was right.

Of course, he’s a politician, so I won’t be holding my breath on him following through. I hope he does. I don’t really have a lot of respect for any of them, but if he follows through, I will certainly give him his due respect.

Unfortunately, I think John Key will side with Hide, not because of Hide’s current position, but because it’s the right thing to do. We cannot allow special interest groups to hijack the tenuous democratic process we have in this country. Unfortunately then, the MSM and the whinging Labour Party do-nothings will hoe into the decision, play the race card, and try to score as many political points from it as they can to help their plummeting popularity (can it go any lower?). Hide’s integrity will be overshadowed.

Never thought I’d say something like that about a politician.

Corruption

The thing that surprises me most about the Phillip Field fiasco is the expressions of shock and horror from PF's fellow politicians and (predictably) the media in this country.

While it may be true that PF is the first MP to be convicted of corruption, do the politicians, the media, or any other New Zealanders with more than a few brain cells think for one second that he is the only MP to ever be guilty of corruption?

The Unremitting Intensity of the Irritation

I have heard it said (by a conservative Christian nonetheless) that the human body is the apex of God’s creation. I’ve heard it described as a miracle of human evolution. More recently I’ve decided the human body is the most pathetic, impractical, infuriatingly sissified weak organism in the Universe.

There are countless examples. Who has not wished they had another pair of hands? Or even one more hand. Those of a feminine structure could, no doubt, easily think up a better mechanism for bringing children into the world (I’m talking about the “birth” part, not necessarily the “procreation” part, though I have some serious questions about that, too!). Relative to our size we are one of the slowest animals. We can’t climb trees very well and for every disease we eradicate it seems another five are immediately born to replace it. We’re living longer only to be brought down by a catalogue of ailments that specifically target the aged human carcass.

Let’s face it. We’re pussies. In the grand scheme of things, the human animal – whether evolved or created – is pathetic.

For all our “knowledge”, our “advances”, our “innovation”, for all the advantages morality, speech, intuition, and sentience supposedly afford us, we’re pretty useless. Like the Martians who were brought down by the smallest of (known then) living things, bacteria, who hasn’t been totally and utterly debilitated by something incredibly small and irrelevant. Who’s had a splinter that’s turned infected? Did you try to do normal things like type, wash dishes or pick your nose with the infected finger? Who’s cut their finger and felt like you’re bleeding to death? Who’s had a cold, or in these flu-packed days had even the regular non-bird, non-swine, non-hedgehog flu?

My present humbleness is undoubtedly caused by something equally inconsequential. Well, inconsequential until the little mongrel showed up in my space. I don’t know what it is, but I guarantee it’s small (either pollen, a virus, or some bacteria) and IT’S. DRIVING. ME. NUTS!


Truly. At the risk of being dramatic, and trivialising the real problems humans encounter, for a short time there I really felt like I was going nuts. The whole upper half of my face felt like it was on fire, and it was like there was one completely elusive grit of sand (another small entity that can cause all kinds of trouble) hiding somewhere under my eyelid. And did I say it was DRIVING. ME. NUTS!?

I’m serious. It was relentless and I felt like smashing my head through a pane of glass just to relieve the persistent hostility of whatever was crawling around in my eye. There was nothing rational that could be done to relieve the unremitting intensity of the irritation, so I really felt the need to do something irrational, something dramatic.

Luckily, the grit of sand must have fallen out – or something. Suddenly, it wasn’t so bad.

Which may be cause for even more frustration. WHY? Why drive me to the point of smashing something, like my head, then just up and leave? Gone. What’s that about?

Of course, the whole ordeal wasn’t over. There’s still the weeping and the blurred vision. So I’m off to the doc tomorrow. Of course, even with the wonders of modern medicine – yeah right – I’m sure I won’t be feeling much better by this time tomorrow.

Lynx not "shocking" at all

I don’t mind some advertising. Unfortunately, the good ads are usually surrounded by the cheaply thrown together, poorly scripted and appallingly executed promotions that are only a smidgeon short of insulting.

When it comes to products, I will generally go with the one that is the best colour.

I was in the shower the other day (TMI Warning!!), feeling pretty sluggish. Another long day ahead. I could do with a pick-me-up. Given Geri Halliwell didn’t magically appear to provide one, it was incredibly fortunate that on hand was a crisp, clear bottle of blue Lynx “Shock” Refreshing Shower Gel.Apparently it’s made with glacier water and deep sea mint. My god. It MUST be good for me. And the best part? It will “really” revive me.

Great. Just the ticket.

So I smear liberal amounts of the blue gunge with the small gritty bits in it (presumably the sea mint). Mmmm . . feels . . . well, like any other shower gel actually. Smells . . . yep, like any other shower gel.

I felt aggrieved. Where’s the SHOCK? The revival? When, Lynx people, does the “bringing me back to life” kick in? Perhaps I’m not doing it right. Perhaps the bringing back to life requires a whole new method of utilisation of this shower gel.

So I take a long deep swig of the stuff. Perhaps it needs to work from the inside out.

Nope. Gag. Definitely not something to be taken internally.

Apparently all the “revival” and “bringing back to life” Lynx “Shock” is going to give me, I have already experienced.

What a let down.

Now my observation is this. How STOOPID do these marketing people think I am? Their arrogance borders on a condescension Jane Austen could write a book about. Do they think I am a MORON? (I didn’t really take a swig of it, and I certainly didn’t expect to feel “revived.”)

“Shock”? “Really revives you”? “Brings you back to life”?

This is not true. It’s a lie. It’s not even feasible. I’m sure a team of lawyers have guaranteed it does not contravene the Consumer guarantees Act, but that doesn’t touch the simple academics of the arrogance behind the whole concept. The marketing people assume we’re idiots and that the possibility of pretty blue gunge spread over your body making you feel better will somehow induce you to buy their product.

I wish this were an isolated incident.

I’ve seen it a million times, but what really struck it home to me recently was this:


Are they kidding me? Interactive? The mammoth’s head moves three millimetres side to side. That’s what they call “interactive”?

“Interactive” generally gives the impression that it’s educational and therefore beneficial to a child’s development. Hello! It’s head moves three millimetres. How can that possibly qualify as “interactive”?

These things are dumbing down at its worst. If marketing people think that even one person will buy these products because they believe these outrageous claims, they are seriously undermining the entire Western civilisation. Perhaps they believe that if they spout enough of this shite, we as a public we will start to slowly believe it a culture of stupidity will be slowly created.

Sadly, they may be correct.

Stains

Hugh and I are driving responsibly down a suburban street. It's 9:30 in the morning. It's a clear day.

Up ahead a beat-up white Mazda is obviously about to do a u-turn. Hugh sees it and slows accordingly, cautiously. Nowadays, you know what idiots there are on the road, he's just as likely to pull out in front of us. Surely not. He's seen us.

He pulls out anyway. Hugh veers to the right. Mazda guy keeps on coming. Hugh veers more to the right. Both cars are travelling pretty slow, so with Hugh's veering and Mazda guy's pulling, we grind to an over-emphasised halt across the centre-line, and wait for the crunch.

Thankfully, it doesn't come. Mazda guy looks me full in the face (I was in the passenger's seat and only five feet from Mazda guy's face). His roll-your-own cigarette is dangling from his menacingly grinning mouth. And I begin to get a picture of who we're dealing with.

The tattoos on his neck are obvious. Spikey haircut. Nothing . . . and I mean nothing but anger in his eyes. As he backs up I can see him mouthing off at us. His rotten teeth are clenched.

Hugh backs up as well, and swings in to the curb. At this point we're pretty sure he didn't hit us, but it wouldn't hurt to check would it? Cars are backing up behind us.

Mazda guy swerves his car into a sort of parked position, too far out from the curb, the back of the car sticking out even further. He's getting out of the car. His missus gets out too. She's got her own rollie cigarette, peroxided hair with black roots. Her face is gaunt, her eyes dead. She's butt ugly. She's wearing a pink hoodie and white track pants, and her face, too, is contorted with contempt.

Hugh's going to check if there's any damage at all. We don't think so, but why not check?

And this is where our initial judgement of Mr and Mrs Mazda is validated. They're both mouthing off at Hugh for stopping, for getting out of the car. No need to get our of the car! Mazda guy is huffing like a wounded gorilla who's been challenged to a duel. Gaunt woman is backing her man with a verbal tirade.

To be honest, we think they're on something. Or drunk. Both?

And if you'll permit me to take my judgmentalness up a notch, I'm thinking these people don't even reach the high standard set by regular white trash. They give white trash a bad name. They are the black sheeps of a white trash family. They saunter across the road, off to where ever they are going, drunk/stoned, at this time of the morning. Coming home from a party? Going to the next one? Who knows?

And, as Hugh pointed out, this is kind of representative of a larger phenomenon. Mongrels like this are taking over.

Why be belligerent towards us? He was so clearly in the wrong, so obviously a menace on the road. What have we done to warrant such aggression? Apparently, just being there is our crime. Being in his way. He gets abusive towards us. No apology. No hint of responsibility. No hint of shame. He abuses us.

Don't we meet people like this every day? People with so little regard for others, or humanity in general - social contract, common courtesy and decency. They're everywhere. They walk in the malls; at the pubs (not that I ever go to a pub); in the street. They're a stain on society. And like a stain, they make the place look ugly, they serve no purpose whatsoever except to identify mistakes, and they should be eliminated.

But you can't say that. You can't even think that. The liberals tut-tut you and the thought police come knocking.

Middle class, responsible, law-abiding citizens just have to swallow, accept that that's the way it is. Those people have as much right to be here as we do.

We just have to continue to feel intimidated. Bullied. Afraid to go out, even during the day now, let alone at night. We're the ones in prison.

No truer adage is relevant to me right now than the one about lunatics taking over the asylum.

Intergenerational abuse

Not since Bindy Irwin was thrust into the limelight in the wake of her father's death have I seen such a cringe-worthy example of tasteless self-promotion as the spectacle that was Paris Jackson "speaking" at her father's sideshow.

I'd love to have been a fly on the wall during the planning, and I could be wrong, but I'd be willing to bet that it wasn't her idea to speak, or even be on the stage. If I am wrong, then it was at the very least an inauspicious coming out for someone who, very deliberately by her father, had been kept out of the spotlight.

The family jostling her and giving her instructions in front of a billion people hardly gave any respect to the occasion. But was that the intention at all?

What better way, in the face of a looming custody battle, to show such "family" solidarity? What better way to quell leftover whispering than to have the children validate the quality of Jackson's interaction with the younger set?

Personally, I never thought him guilty of anything other than being incredibly naive. When the local parish priest comes out as a pedophile, there follows a landslide of victims willing to testify to his sexual proclivities. Who came out of the woodwork when it was suggested Jackson was molesting children? No one. Well, a few with obvious agendas, but no one credible.

The abuse that is confirmed within the Jackson clan was that perpetrated by father Joe - and silently condoned by the mother? But would forcing a heretofore reclusive child in front of a billion people for purposes more political than personal be another form of abuse? At the very least manipulative and demeaning, the bastard love-children of abuse?

Celebrate Michael Jackson's life, music, and positive aspects, by all means. But leave the children out of the politicking.