No. That’s what’s known as a pre-existing condition.
Student who electrocuted his nipples sues teacher and school for not warning him it was dangerous
Your gene pool needs a little chlorine…
Category: Stupidy (of Others)
Today we all steal animals…
Machines! We are taking to the sky!
B Mashina by scary Slovenian industrial meisters Laibach is a truly epic track, redolent of all kind of weird, Reichian flying machines and apocalyptic calamities. As such I consider it extremely unlikely (no matter how much the aforelinked YouTube poster would like it to be true) that the lyrics include the phrase today we all steal animals.
It seems much more likely to me that the lines in question are today we are still, animals we are.
Of course maybe I’m wrong and the song’s really about black helicopters and cattle mutilation…
Airstrip One
It just keeps getting worse…
You know, Big Media’s attack on democracy just keeps getting worse. Not content with “three strike laws” that allow a media conglomerate to cut off someone’s internet access by merely accusing them of copyright infringement (yes, that’s right, under these laws if Time-Warner or someone wants to throw you off the net all they have to do is say you’ve infringed their copyright three times, and you’re off – no trial, no burden of proof, no appeal) they’re now getting the UK government to set up a system where the Secretary of State can just make up and enforce laws about copyright without debate or approval by any other part of government.
Or to put it plainly…
What that means is that an unelected official would have the power to do anything without Parliamentary oversight or debate, provided it was done in the name of protecting copyright. — Cory Doctorow
You can read the full details from the link above, including some pretty disturbing things the new powers are intended to do.
If you live in the UK and care about either democracy or the future of the net, get in touch with your MP now!
Can on a String
Bah!
I’d just like to say that Vodafone suck.
Well OK, maybe I suck a bit as well. But the end result is a big ball of suck which is rather pissing me off, and as Vodafone are the bigger target I’m going to blame them.
A while back, after a dinner date with a friend was almost totally screwed up by the fact that I wasn’t contactable, I reluctantly bought a mobile phone. I went with Vodafone for reasons that I can’t quite remember, but seemed sensible at the time, and until recently have had absolutely no problems with them. But a while back my credit card expired, and a couple of weeks after that my phone ran out of prepaid credit…
To use a credit card to top up your Vodafone prepaid credit, the card has to be registered with Vodafone. No problem, except that it’s apparently impossible to register a new credit card when you’re out of credit. Making a call – even one to a Vodafone support number – on a creditless handset diverts you into Vodafone’s recharge system, from which it is completely impossible to get to any option allowing you to register a new credit card. Attempts to do so throw you into an endless loop of account options, the only way to break out of which is to admit defeat and hang up.
After dealing with this nightmare a few times I had the bright idea of calling customer support from my landline. This worked up to a point – the point where I was put through to an operator with an accent so thick I could barely understand a word he said (I think he might have been a Romanian who was taught English by a native Irish Gaelic speaker who learnt the language from Billy Conolly DVDs).
He asked me a series of questions, starting with the basic name, date of birth and address. Then he asked me for my PIN number. Now, sure, this is something I really should know, but I don’t – which is the reason I was calling up customer support rather than going online to register my credit card number in the first place.
This wasn’t a problem, because there were a bunch of other questions he could ask to confirm that I’m who I said I was. For instance what “fodo-eyed” did I use to register the sim card? After some backing and forthing I figured out he meant “photo id” and told him I used my passport.
He checked his computer and said sorry but I didn’t use my passport – which came as quite a surprise to me since it’s the only photo id I possess.
But that was OK, because there were other questions he could ask. Like what were the last three numbers I called? I checked my handset and discovered they were to my parents, and to Vodafone’s support number. He checked his computer.
No, apparently those weren’t the last three numbers I called.
But that was OK, because he could instead ask me what plan I was on. I said I had no idea but it was the basic prepaid one. How much did I pay the last time I recharged? I said I thought it was about $30. How much credit did I get from that? I said about $100. And when did I last recharge? I said I thought it was some time in August.
Apparently none of that matched with my account. But that was OK because there was one more question he could ask. He brought it up on his computer…
…and then couldn’t ask it because the computer wouldn’t tell him what it was.
Having exhausted all his options he said the only thing I could do was to take the handset and some photo ID into a Vodafone shop and they could register my new credit card there.
Fantastic. So I now have to drag myself in to a Vodafone store and produce identification just so I can pay them money. Hooray!
Honestly. I’d be better off with a can on a string.
Things you don’t want to hear…
It’s things like this that make you ashamed of your entire gender…
So I go to bed last night at a reasonable hour and (I must admit for the first time in ages) am kept awake by the guy in the apartment downstairs. Rather than his usual schick of wandering around his yard yelling into his mobile phone about building cupboards, this time he and a friend sat around loudly discussing their venereal diseases.
Yes, that’s what I said. Venereal diseases.
Specifically genital warts (although herpes was also mentioned). The main gist seemed to be that the friend had recently developed a very large wart in a particularly prominent position, and his new girlfriend was asking him questions about it.
My neighbour’s advice about this situation was to slather the offending growth with over-the-counter wart medication to burn it off. In the meantime he should tell his girlfriend that it was a birthmark and that he’d had it for years. This way he would not only avoid any awkward situations, but when she dumped him (I presume on discovering that he’s a deceptive, self serving bastard…) he’d have the satisfaction of knowing that she’d pass the infection on to her new boyfriend, which would serve them both right.
(Presumably if she developed cervical cancer later down the line it would also serve her right…)
They carried on discussing the subject for about an hour before heading back inside and letting me get to sleep.
I am seriously considering cutting out a stencil and spraying “DANGER! GENITAL WARTS!” in large red letters on his door in the middle of the night. Or maybe doing a letter drop on the same subject across the whole complex…
Hey Hey it’s Bigotry!
We’re not all ignorant rednecks you know…
I thought I’d better weigh in on the whole Hey Hey it’s Saturday blackface incident since it seems to be getting a lot of international attention and I don’t particularly want to be tarred with the same brush (oh man, that sounds like a really bad pun, sorry) that so many of my fellow Australians seem to be being tarred with.
(If you don’t know what it’s all about, just Google it)
The important facts that a lot of commentators seem ignorant of are as follow…
1: Blackface doesn’t have the same notoriety here in Australia as it does overseas. We have a different culture here to the United States and don’t have the long and shameful history of blackface on the stage and cinema. Sadly a lot of Australians are completely ignorant of this history and are hence unaware of the pain and offence it can cause.
2: The performance on Hey Hey was a recreation of an act originally staged 20 years ago. Idiotic football celebrities aside it’s a rare and notable thing to see anyone done up in blackface in modern Australia for any reason (and if it does occur it’s met with disapproval and severe criticism).
3: The performers are of various racial backgrounds, including Indians and Asians. It’s not a simple case of a bunch of white Anglo Saxons blacking up.
4: Hey Hey is (God knows why) a treasured and well loved piece of Australian culture, attacks on which by ‘foreigners’ seems to trigger a strange and disproportionate form of ‘my country right or wrong’ defence from some sectors of the community.
Basically the act was not intended to cause offence, or reference the blackface stereotype. It was just a bit of really badly thought out idiocy that never should have gone to air if anyone at Channel Nine had actually stopped and used their brains for a few seconds. The fact that it did go to air, and that it did cause offence is something that should be unreservedly apologised for.
Now, onto the reactions. While the innocent (albeit thoroughly stupid) intent of the performers can be defended, the resulting act and the offence caused cannot. There seems to be a certain sector of the Australian population (many of them members of the anti ‘political correctness’ brigade) who are leaping up and down over some perceived right to slather boot polish on their faces and go around loudly eating watermelon on the basis that “it’s just a joke” and “people shouldn’t be so sensitive”. A lot of these people are hitting on two particular points in their arguments, which I shall now address.
1: Harry Connick Junior once took part in a sketch parodying a black preacher, and used makeup to darken his skin. Hence he’s a hypocrite.
2: Robert Downey Junior was made up as an African American man in Tropic Thunder and no one complained.
Neither of these points is particularly valid. Yes, Harry Connick Junior was made up with darkened skin for that sketch, but there’s a difference between the slight darkening employed there, and the wholesale boot polish job employed on Hey Hey. Similarly in Tropic Thunder the make up and prosthetics employed actually make Robert Downey Junior look African American – as opposed to a white man painted black – and much of the humour in the movie is based around the inappropriateness of using make up (and plastic surgery) to make a white actor look black. This subtlety seems to be lost of a lot of people defending the Hey Hey act.
So that’s my two cents. I guess what I’m trying to say is that there’s plenty of Australians – such as myself – who were outraged, disgusted and embarrassed by the fact that such a performance should be put to air in modern day Australia, and who are just as outraged, disgusted and embarrassed by the ignorant loudmouths trying to defend it. Insomuch as I can personally apologise for the actions of my fellow Australians I do so, completely and unreservedly. Sorry.
Hotel
Venting my frustrations…
I have completely failed to make any blog entries while I’ve been here in the UK haven’t I? This is mainly because I’ve been having too much fun to spend time sitting in front of a computer typing away, but since this is my last day with regular internet access I suppose I’d better make some kind of effort, lest everyone thinks I’ve died. So I though I’d write a review of my hotel.
For reasons that will become obvious I’m not going to name the hotel. I’d also like to state that overall my experience there has been good. There are just a few things that got on my nerves…
So let’s begin.
The staff at the “Mystery Hotel” are well organised and friendly. Check in and out are quick and efficient – if on arrival however you are allocated to rooms 114 or 115 it’s best to ask for a map. These are placed far away from the rest of the first floor, requiring extensive navigation to locate. There are signs, but these peter out before you hit the first of several staircases. Be careful – one wrong turn and you could end up battling a snow-witch in a land where it’s always winter but never Christmas.
Your room will be clean with a wardrobe, a dresser, tea/coffee making facilties, a television, a phone and a safe. If you’re shelling out enough cash there may also be room to swing a cat – this is however London so a lack of space is only to be expected. You will have an onsuite bathroom, which is just the perfect size for you to brush your teeth without difficulty while sitting on the toilet. Hot water is both hot, wet and plentiful – in an unusual twist however cold water is in short supply, your tap producing just a half hearted trickle which refuses to alter in volume no matter how far you turn it.
Your toilet is a source of unending wonder – you will wonder for all eternity how it manages to produce noises akin to the base stop of a major pipe organ for several minutes after being flushed.
A continental breakfast buffet is provided in the basement restaurant. This is clean, well organised and packed to the gills with Spaniards by 8:00am, so get in early. The selection of food, drinks and condiments is perfectly adequate. The restaurant may be open for other meals – I’m honestly not sure. I did go down to check it out one evening but it was like the Mary Celeste down there, so I fled.
Eating options in the immediate area include the Pride of Paddington pub which does a very nice grilled chicken, three separate Italian restaurants in the space of about twenty metres of road, and a diner named Garfunkle’s just past Paddington station. I can recommend the gnocchi at Bizarro (perhaps that should be ‘me can recommends tasty potato dumpaling things’?) which comes with a free floor show from the serving staff who race around the place without break like their pants are on fire. Garfunkle’s is also very nice, but beware of the tendancy of the waitstaff to assume that any change they owe you is intended as a tip.
But back to the hotel. It offers a laundry service where you place your dirty clothes in the bag provided and leave them in your room. By the time you get back from your day’s activities the maid will have tidied your room, made your bed and neatly left the bag of still-dirty clothes on top of it. I found the best laundry option was to haul your clothes one block along the street towards Paddington Station to the Harlequin laundrette where a nice Muslim lady will have them washed, folded and ready to pick up by 5:00 that evening for about ten pounds.
Your hotel room includes a phone. This will not work. The procedure to get it working involves heading down to reception where they’ll explain that you need to pay a deposit of either 40 or 50 pounds (depending on who you’re talking to) before they’ll switch it on. It’s best to do this before you head out in the morning, as it gives them the full day to do absolutely nothing about it. On your return in the evening confirm that the phone is still not working. Head back down to reception and query this. They will express puzzlement and poke at a computer for a while before stating with confidence that they have no idea what’s going on. Ask them to look into it again, and with any luck your phone line will be sorted out by the time you return to the hotel the next day. Probably.
Transport connections are excellent with the hotel only two blocks from Paddington station. Busses charge up and down the street at all hours, and if you feel lucky you can try to catch one of the wildly bucking black cabs that hurtle around the Hilton in the nightly running of the taxis.
There is an internet terminal in the bar. You’re probably better off heading down the street to the Reload internet cafe. A weekly or monthly membership is fairly cheap and you not only get decent hardware and speeds, but you can enjoy the sound of the Underground trains as they whiz back and forth only a few metres through the wall from where you sit.
So, that pretty much sums up my hotel experience here in London. Tomorrow I’ll be heading to Southampton for a few days before flying home mid next week…
PS: The wedding was excellent! I’ve put some photos (note that “some” – I’ve got heaps more) up on my Flickr Stream
Camels, which are very human like when you see them in person…
Well known camel expert Erin Burnett speaks out!
The madness begins at 3:15….
I am… speechless…
Wacky Train Adventures
The wonders of public transport
The scene – the train to work this morning, stopped at Perth station. I’ve taken a seat towards the end of one of the carriages, reading a book while waiting for the service to get on its way again. Seated at the end of the carriage is a slightly scruffy yet basically normal looking man with a pair of crutches. Numerous other folk are sitting and standing around the carriage, minding their own business.
The automated voice thingie in the carriage comes on. “This train runs from Perth to Shenton Park, stopping all stations. Rail replacement buses to Fremantle are available at Shenton Park. Transperth apologises for any inconvenience”.
The fellow with the crutches looks up, startled, and opens his mouth…
“F***ING C****S!! F***ING C*** TRAINS!! F***!! F***ING C***S!! F***!!” he literally screams at the top of his lungs. He gets to his feet and charges down the carriage to the door, continuing to screech obscenities as loud as he can, and carrying his crutches. “F***!!! F***ING C***S!! F***ING F***!!!”.
On the platform he screams more obscenities at a rail guard before (apparently somewhat mollified) reboarding the train and proceeding back to his seat, muttering under his breath. “F***ing c*** train f***ing stupid c*** country, f***ing f***!“.
He was actually pretty quiet for the rest of the trip.
Wrong!
Just do some goddamed research!
2007 – Chinese year of the Chicken – Bird Flu Pandemic devastates parts of Asia
2008 – Chinese year of the Horse – Equine Influenza decimates Australian racing
2009 – Chinese year of the Pig – Swine Flu Pandemic kills hundreds of pigs around the globe.
Has any one else noticed this?
It gets worse………next year……
2010 – Chinese year of the Cock – what could possibly go wrong?
For those who don’t realise that this much circulated meme is a joke, I would like to point out the following…
2007 was actually the Chinese year of the Boar
2008 was the Chinese year of the Rat
2009 is the Chinese year of the Ox
2010 will be the Chinese year of the Tiger
So unless you happen to be a tiger and your oxen are suddenly coughing up a lung, I wouldn’t worry too much.
