Mr Obama I like you, but don't be such an arrogant fucker

One thing that really rips my knickers about this country is this myth that lives in the popular consciousness that somehow it is so unique and free and that the rest of the world sits around and goes "Gosh, that America is a bit fantastic isn't it?"
Yeah, its a pretty cool place, in so many ways. It does my fucking head in as well, in so many ways, but every country I've lived in, including my own, does that as well.

Obama, generally a pretty cool guy, does this amazing speech about race and justice and history and legacies and whoever writes his speeches should well be giving themselves a pat on the back right about now. But I couldn't let this one bit pass without comment.

In talking about the fact that he is the son of a white American woman and a black Kenyan man, that he has family of all colours all over the world, that he went to some of the best schools in America and is now running for office he says, and I quote "for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible"

You're kidding, right? Does he really believe that?
The implications of that phrase just do my fucking loaf, you know? That there is no other country in which the child of an immigrant can run for office, that nowhere else can a person of untraditional parentage can attend good schools and make a success of themselves, that the rest of the world lives in this time warp in which if one is born a chambermaid, one may never rise above the station of chambermaid no matter one's abilities.
That we still judge a person's suitability for office on the occupations of their parents and the residency of their grandparents. That one's success depends more on their parent's lineage than any other factor?
Sure, there are aspects of that the world over, and there might always be. Sure, where you are in life has a lot to do with your family, where you were born, the opportunities available to you because of your parent's wealth and your country's condition. I am living proof of that and won't dispute the fact that a significant proportion of my successes are due to the family I was born into.

But to imply that America is the only place in the world where it is possible for a man to overcome the conditions of his birth (if 'overcome' is even the right word, which I am not convinced it is) and run for public office (yes I know its a pretty significant office in the scheme of things, but its not like he's going to be president of the world) smacks of arrogance and insularity of the worst US-centric kind, and is exactly the kind of thing that, given the record of the last seven years, the US should be doing its utmost to avoid.

Mr Obama, please pull your head out of your arse, take a look around and get a realistic perspective on the world in which you are likely to become a very important part of.
Thank you, that will be all.

Normal inanity to resume presently.

Beyond a Joke

Things I hate about this town today include but are not limited to the following:
- the buildings
- the weather
- the locals
- the roads
- the post office
- the location
- the birds
- the laundromats
- the trees
- the mall
- the movie theatre
- the drivers
- the street signs
- the wind (yes I know it's technically classified as weather, but I have a special hatred for it so it merits a mention on its own)

Things I like about this town:
- the Chinese restaurant around the corner
- the cheap booze
- the presence of about 4 or 5 people who don't suck

t-minus 96 hours and counting

Dear American Movies and Television;

Its about time we talked about this Christmas nonsense.
Seriously, just cut it out.
I know how you love to promote the economy at this time of year, and that alone I could almost handle. People need to buy things so that other people can have jobs making and transporting and selling those things, and while I have several objections to that in principle, that's not what I'm here to talk to you about today.

My problem is the gooey, disgusting diabetic-coma-inducing cack that is shoved down everybody's throats in an attempt to promote some sort of meaning to this whole seasonal thing.
We KNOW that the early Christians shifted Jesus's birthday so that it fit in with the pagan winter festivals, they appropriated the Christmas tree and all!
We KNOW that the image of Santa in his red suit and shiny boots is owned by the Coca Cola corporation.
We KNOW that according to the laws of physics its not possible for a fat dude and his reindeer to make it around the world in one night.

So ENOUGH with this "spirit of Christmas", childhood wonder, you-must-believe, saccharine, have faith in miracles, red and green, syrupy, cavity-inducing, corporate sponsorship SHIT you continue to shove down our throats.
There is NO SUCH THING as a Christmas miracle, the whole festival is based on half-truths, appropriations and consumerism.
Its a Wonderful Life is a terrible movie, Tom Hanks is evil and must be destroyed, and if I EVER see little Cindy Lou Who I will be sure to not only tell her that Santa isn't real, but also that the Easter Bunny is a fake, that the Tooth Fairy is a ruse invented to condition her to free market economics, and that her parents lied when they said they loved her.

My blog: channelling Dennis Leary since 2004.

These eyes are the eyes of the old

So, what's been going on then?
Well.

Last night, as part of the "reduce insane car insurance premiums by obtaining a New York licence" campaign, I had to sit through probably the dullest evening of my life. At one point I caught myself considering bashing my head against the desk (built for 12 year old kids, btw, with comfort-free plastic chair attached and not remotely suitable for my nearly six feet leggy frame) as to render myself unconscious to make the boredom end.

This officious little man spend the better part of 4 hours saying about 3 things. One: don't lose your little certificate, cos it costs $20 to get a new one. Two: you can book your road test online or on the phone. Three: on your road test, you will have to stop at a stop sign.

Needless to say, the boredom was interrupted only by continuous insults to my intelligence and the nearly 17 years that I have been driving.

Once the pandering to the lowest common denominator was done, he showed us a video. That was probably the highlight of the whole thing.

It was a "don't drink and drive or bad things will happen to you" movie, filmed in an A&E in Baltimore and featured lots of cool gory stuff like some guy whose leg had snapped in half, and shots of brains with stuff leaking out of them. Cool.

Unfortunately, I believe the video achieved a purpose not quite in line with its intended one. I suspect we were supposed to feel sympathy for these teenagers who got pissed and drove their cars and crashed. Yeah.....not so much.

This one kid drank a case of beer and then drove a 4 wheel farm bike into a tree. He bashed his head and had to have loads of surgery and months of rehabilitation and it was all very sad etc. Then, once he had recovered, he was off out with his mates again, drinking beer and riding farm bikes.

Sympathy gauge stuck on zero.

Perhaps this is cruel, but if a person gets deliberately wasted, chooses to drive a car or a farm bike or other vehicle type thing, then fucks themself up, then that is natural selection at work. Right there is Darwin's thesis in action.

If drunk drivers only fucked themselves up, then there would be no problem.
It when they kill other people on the road that the problem arises, when they make driving unsafe for the rest of us.

I wasn't going to drink and drive before I watched the movie, and I still won't drink and drive.
The only thing it achieved was to further reduce my sympathy (what's less than zero?) for the idiots who endanger the rest of us.

When the whole ordeal was over and I had my little certificate in hand, I stopped off at the supermarket and purchased a six pack of Smithwicks (mmmm. delicious Irish beer. I drank some and I didn't drive my car. See? Its that easy.) and a copy of The Greatest Movie Ever Made to celebrate having survived yet another level of US bureaucracy in action.

Buckets of fun right here

The definition, in fact, of a box of fun?
Four chocolate labrador puppies in a box, having been taken to the vets for their puppy shots.

I believe I have mentioned these wee guys before, but having just found the cord that connects camera to computer it was finally time to share their little faces.







This wee guy REALLY wanted to come home with me, I could just tell.












The brothers Morris, at Monday's karaoke extravaganza.
Having met their parents a mere few days earlier, I can safely say that I like the entire family!!
How often does that happen?











Miss Tyra getting down with her bad self.

Turns out she really DOES rock the hizzouse.













Yep, I sang.
Me and Bobby McGee.
It was awesome. If by "awesome" you of course mean "prompted by beer and the lack of people in the bar". Yep.







In other news, I just responded to an email from Fuckhead McDickwad, and am happy to report that I employed the following phrase: "you over-estimate me. I am far from being too good-natured to remain unfriendly forever"
and restrained myself from telling him: "it may in fact be emotionally convenient to look for reasons to dislike you, but right now I don't need to look, seeing as how you are handing them out like condoms at Mardi Gras".

Have I mentioned recently how good it is to be me?

Its not paranoia if the universe really is out to get you

I think the suck knob is stuck on 11.
Seriously, just when I think I've got the hang of the last shitty thing that happened in my world, here comes another one!!!
Welcome to the Pity Party.

Thursday night, my girl Rebecca and I are out to dinner to celebrate the completion of her MA. Go her.
Burritos, followed by a trip over the road for an after dinner drink, then a quick stop off at the shop so I can buy some milk for my morning cuppa before we head back to mine so she can get in her car, evening finished.
Nice plan, don't you think? Thwarted plan, however.

Thwarted by two fucking little cunts who decided that it would be a really good idea to pull a gun on us and steal our stuff. Now where I come from, we don't really have many guns. The cops don't carry them, in general they are few and far between.

In this fine country however, its a person's constitutional right to carry a gun, thus enabling the scum of humanity to shove one in my face, steal my bag and scare seven shades of shit out of me and my friend.
The pro-gun people have clearly never had a punk arse kid point one at their face.

We went straight to the cops, and spent the next 3 & 1/2 hours at the cop shop downtown, making statements, identifying one of the little fuckers, and generally trying not to lose our shit.

I lost my purse, which a friend bought for me in Melbourne one birthday and my niece had stuck a Spongebob sticker on so I would think of her whenever I saw it.
I lost my cell phone, with God knows how many numbers on it, video from Coachella, and sweet text messages from the object of my affections.
I lost my Swiss Army knife which my best friend bought for me 6 years ago as a gift when I was off to Europe.
I lost my glasses, my fucking $450 Oakley glasses that I am completely fucked without given that reading is both my work and my play, and am now reduced to wearing my old ones that fall off my face and are of an old prescription, so I can't read for long before the headache comes.
I lost my sunglasses that were freaking awesome and suited me like no pair I'd found before.
I lost my super awesome stripy bag that I bought for Coachella and that was the perfect size.
I lost all the shit that was in my wallet, not only credit and bank cards, but the access to my NZ bank accounts, my health and prescripotion insurance cards, my AirNZ airpoints card and a free pass to the Koru Lounge for next time I'm stuck in an airpoint, my student ID, my social security card, my international student emergency card, my video rental cards, my library card, my NZ drivers licence.
I lost my keys including the key rings I had bought in Toronto and Costa Rica, my house keys for both old and new apartments, for my offices at the university and the filing cabinets.
I lost a set of keys belonging to the object of my affections, including his bike lock, keys to his house, his car, his offices at 2 universities.

Basically a whole list of shit that is absolutely worthless to anyone but me.

And now I'm sitting in my house too fucking scared to go anywhere cos right across the road is where I had a gun in my face. And I'm not scared of ANYTHING!!! (except submarines. And dolls. But nothing else)

The detective who took our statements was most apologetic that he wasn't allowed to give me ten minutes alone in the room with the guy we identified as the punk arse fucker with the gun. We like that detective.

I hope your weekend is better than mine.

Annoying much?

I'm sitting in my office at university rocking out to The Datsuns on my iPod and attempting to finish a presentation I have to deliver in a couple of hours, and some annoying cunt keeps opening the door and peeking in just enough so that I can't see who it is only the top of their head. Evidently they are are looking for someone who isn't here, but surely one look is enough?
I'm fairly certain none of my fellow residents of 027 are capable of pulling Star Trek type transport. Given that there are no windows in the basement, nobody is going to get in here via any route other than the door.

NOW FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
wanker.

edit......
I just got a paper accepted for a conference in South Africa.
Awesome.