May 30, 2009

Workplace

I hate these. I'm not six. Don't feed me sloppy rhymes.

May 25, 2009

ABC News Article link.

To view on a PC/Mac please use this link

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/05/25/2579583.htm

To view on a mobile please use this link

http://m.abc.net.au/browse?page=11144&articleid=2579583&cat=Top Stories

Something's missing from the above article: superannuation. These tradie dudes turn some seriously comfortable coin. I even know someone who's done a masters on the cashed up bogan. They're becoming our ruling class majority. So why the fuck can't they save up in their super plans appropriately to set themselves up for when they fall apart? I thought it was blue collar conservatives who hated it when kids dole bludged? Why is supporting old broken people who didn't take advantage of their relative job security (working in the industry 20 years is pretty good these days) and comfy wage any different? The government isn't there to nanny us any more than it is there to sort out our personal finances. This is only bad for old dudes who didn't sort their shit out. I'd kill for the equivalent of 50 years in my chosen field. If the Rudd decides to reduce the effectiveness of super, then maybe these old tradies can kick up a stink.

May 21, 2009

GTA Ballet

The coolest thing happened during a bit of GTA IV on my XBOX last night. I was at that point you get to sometimes where you simply ignore missions and start shooting all passersby and blowing up cars with an array of weapons. As I watched with glee a victim of a grenade get tossed off a cliff in Alderney's south, I spotted a utilities worker at the top of a power line pole. I marveled at such a mundane but reality-enhancing touch, and to celebrate, locked my reticule, pulled the pin of a grenade and arced it at him. With perfect timing (I've long been an excellent grenadier), the explosion occurred right at the poor chap's feet. He soared high into the foggy air and I cheered loudly, my girlfriend shaking her head at my gratification. He floated over my head and then smashed into the crooked surface of rock that the road was cut into. I was so excited and proud I had a nerdgasm. If only I could've recorded such an event to share with you fine people. Oh well, my description will have to suffice. Hope you enjoyed it half as much as I did executing it.
Click the pic below for a bit o' fun.



May 17, 2009

The Vine of Thievery!

Disclaimer (to protect me!): The following information is speculative and includes interpretations made by me. I'm no lawyer, so be aware I may be wrong. The excerpts are from The Vine and were copied without permission insofar as I don't believe I needed to seek it. If I'm wrong, tell me and I'll take it down - I'd rather not be sued thanks.

The Vine is an odd thing.
It's a website that is owned by Fairfax Digital, right. The site is all about Web 2.0. For those many out there that have heard that phrase a million times but secretly have no idea what it is, Web 2.0 basically means the site owner sets up the framework for the site but instead of the owner and their writing team coming up with content, you the regular public fill it up with goodies. Facebook is an example. The Vine is too.

The Vine is supposed to be a news and info site that dishes up reviews, rants and news about entertainment - eating, drinking, movies, music, fashion, books... only any old Joe can sign up and blog away about their chosen field. That's not a bad way to stay up to date while keeping it grass roots, is it? No one seems to get paid, of course. You're donating your words and time. There may be staffers, but the site has no obvious links to them.

Here's where it gets a little sticky.

When you sign up, there are three different sets of terms and conditions you need to agree to. Two are for the site, the other is for Fairfax Digital, because you're signing up to their entire online network. That's a bit yucky right there, because Fairfax privacy terms can be construed as being impolite (to put it mildly) with information they collect from users and the organisation has been accused of using dubious tactics in the past. If Trent Reznor is on one side of the privacy and security viewpoint, Fairfax are on the exact opposite. What does that mean? It means you really have no idea who your email or credit card information will go to and as a result, your inbox is very likely to be filled with emails you'd rather not have and don't recall asking for. Oh, and people you don't know may have your credit card details if you've entered them.

If you read the terms and conditions, you'll see where it gets stickier still. The Vine and Fairfax own EVERYTHING you contribute to their site. By agreeing, you give up all moral and legal rights to your words and are not allowed to claim anything back. It specifies very clearly that The Vine are allowed to reprint your work in any other format, even as a published hard copy book to sell or give out in any location worldwide and that you aren't entitled to a single cent.

I'm going to come right out and say it: The Vine is bullshit.
If you don't care about the above, go nuts, but if you like owning your own words and hope to make a name for yourself, don't write for them. You'll be giving up any smarts you put down and the chance of getting your name out there are rubbish when you look at what you are giving up, which is essentially anything you give them.
There are many other paid or at least fair opportunities for writers out there. Hell, anything's better than the disrespectful and horrid terms laid out by Fairfax Digital.



Below are some chunks from the privacy policy (full version linked here) and conditions (linked here) that illustrate my point.

Excerpts:
What they do with user information is laid out below.
What information we collect
In general, the personal information we collect includes (but is not limited to) name, contact details and possibly financial information, including credit card information.
We also collect information about you that is not personal information. For example, we may collect anonymous data relating to your activity on our website (including IP addresses),


How we disclose it
We may disclose personal information, and you consent to us disclosing your personal information, to other members of the Fairfax Group.
We may also disclose your personal information, and you consent to us disclosing your personal information, to third parties:
- including our shareholders, Fairfax Digital Limited and Lifelounge Pty Ltd;
- engaged by us to perform functions or provide products and services on our behalf, such as newsagents, processing credit card information, mailouts, debt collection, marketing, research and advertising;
- that sponsor or promote any competition that we conduct or promote via our services;
- as required or authorised by any law;
- as part of a sale of all or part of our business.
What happens when you put anything onto the site.
By uploading, transmitting, posting or otherwise making available any Material via the Site, you:
(a) grant us a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, licence to use, reproduce, edit and exploit the Material in any form or on any medium and for any purpose;
(b) also grant each user of the Site a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, licence to use, reproduce, edit and exploit the Material for any purpose subject to the Conditions;
(e) unconditionally waive all moral rights (as defined by the Copyright Act 1968) which you may have in respect of the Material.
The conditions then go on to say:
Intellectual Property
Except where expressly provided otherwise in the Conditions, you do not have any right, title or interest in or to any proprietary rights relating to the Site.

The Site contains Material that is protected by copyright, trade mark and other laws. Except where expressly provided otherwise in the Conditions, you may only reproduce and display the Material on the Site for your own personal, non-commercial use only. Except for the temporary copy held in your computer's cache and a single permanent copy for your personal reference, the material may not otherwise be used, stored, reproduced, published, altered or transmitted in any form or by any means in whole or part (except where such use constitutes fair dealing under the Copyright Act) without our prior written approval or the written approval of our licensor.

In particular, you may not use any Material on the Site to establish, maintain or provide, or assist in establishing, maintaining or providing your own publications, Internet site or other means of distribution.
If Material is defined as "text, illustrations, photos, audio, video or other material" on the site, and your works, as soon as they are submitted, become property of The Vine, then doesn't that mean that as soon as you put your work up, you aren't allowed to use it for anything else, ever? Or at least that you have to ask permission from The Vine to use it? That, my friends, is very wrong or at least very unprofessional, especially in light of the fact that you are not paid and thus it isn't even a commission work.

If you know of other sites that use a similar model, please let me know in the comments section. Yuck!

May 14, 2009

Save The Empire

Before I start I must point out that the following is purely anecdotal and speculative, as with almost all blogs. It may come to pass that it is speculative fiction. If so, lemme know.

I lament the loss of independent retailers who sell music, movies and video games in Australia. I'm a nerd, so I have a self-righteous notion that I know everything there is to know about cult entertainment. That's just how nerds work. It's fairly well documented in the memories of anyone over 20 that there used to be way more cool little shops in and around the city. Little shops that sold one or a combination of the following: weird Japanese music; strange Faces of Death type VHS tapes; imported games for console systems that never came out in Oz; and bongs. Lots and lots of bongs.

They're still around, but in ever decreasing numbers. They totter on the brink like endangered animals. My heavily nostalgic generation pop in whenever we can, paying about the same or a little extra to keep the indy alive. Obsessed greenies and zoo keepers who force pandas to mate because we'd hate to see them go. In Melbourne, they're still around. Polyester Records and Books. Missing Link. Radical Records out in Dandenong.

Some of them are no longer with us.

For me, the big hit was Gaslight Records. It used to sit on Bourke Street until the wide garage doors were locked shut forever (or until some handbag place took over). This was the first time I noticed the indy was slowly disappearing. iPods were just starting to build momentum and the idea of buying MP3s online was starting to become a reality. Napster had been killed but Kazaa was still untouched. Ridiculous panic hadn't blurted out of the majors yet, but it was starting to bubble at the lips. JB HiFi and Sanity were everywhere. This was before Virgin bought both Sanity and HMV, but after Brashs left and JB took over. Gaslight was closed down, out of business. I spoke to the owner of another little indy and he told me it was because of a combination of city rent, online music and the majors squeezing out all the little guys. This grizzled dude who I completely forget now predicted all his ilk would go down eventually. Globalisation and giant conglomerates, blah blah. I was surprised. I'd always thought majors and minors could co-exist. Then Games Rush at Highpoint got beaten down after a vicious gang-banging by Electronics Boutique (now EB Games) and JB, both offering video games either cheaper or with better advertising, irrespectively. We loved Games Rush! They had a massive range of second-hand N64 cartridges, cool rewards programs through the card you signed up for and they let you trade in for credit. Games Trader filled the void and they're pretty good, but their blinding, heavenly-white-lit chains aren't the same as that one dingy, poorly decorated place I miss so much.

Why? The culture. The atmosphere. The sense that these people around me - the manager behind the desk with hair grey before his time, his geeky employee with a Zerg t-shirt, the black clad metal head with knee length shorts, the snooty chick in the beret - wankers though we are, these people and I know what we're looking at, talking about, buying. We care about these silly records, these dumb DVDs, these buggy cartridges.

I liked that the people at these stores knew more than me. I was educated. I was shown new things not because they wanted to sell the latest shipment, but because the product was exciting, suited me or was damn cool. Coming back and telling the same guy his recommendation was awesome. The ability to browse without feeling pressure to buy. Getting to know the people behind the counter, maybe even the regular customers. Tarantino and Randall both loved what they did because they got to do what they loved - watch movies all day. I still daydream about owning a record store, a DVD shop, a video games emporium. Knowing what they love made them people in the know.

On the flip side are the majors, the Great Evil that arrives every 5000 years to extinguish life. This time, Leeloo never made it past the building dive and we're stuck with JB, Virgin and EB. Inside are employees, morons who know everything about anything except games, movies and music. I get frustrated when I ask for the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles live action and get given the TMNT animated flick. I get annoyed when they've never heard of the Criterion Collection. Elliot Smith being nominated for an Oscar but his music missing from JB, HMV and Sanity's "massive range" when one of my friends went in to buy one of his albums for a birthday present.

OK. These employees are just doing it for the money. They need work. I can't be too hard on them for not knowing their shit (though I do secretly expect them to). They aren't hired for that. That's why these companies buy computer databases. But that's the point: these companies simply aren't what the indy can be and the majors never intended to be. They are large capitalist machines that do what they need to do to to meet mass demand. If I want in-depth knowledge I should go to an indy. But what happens if those guys can't afford to go on or are bought out and when we blink, the endangered species are extinct? In this environment, there's really no way an indy can spring back once it's gone. The atmosphere of community is a beautiful thing and I hope upon hope that we can somehow retain it, rather than becoming obese consumers floating around on couch TVs and interacting through screens.

Support your local. Go buy something from them.
And for bonus points, remember: any money made off of a second-hand sale goes 100% to the store. EB mark up a shit load as it is. They don't need the money. The little Games Trader in Moonee Ponds does, so buy a second-hander from him instead.
Buy your second-hand purchases from indy folk. They need the gorgonzola.

[I must admit that Games Trader are pretty good. They represent the shining hope that larger chains can retain product knowledge and community respect. On a side note, have you noticed Time Zone and Intencity arcades seem to be shrinking while independent arcade places continue on in shopping centres? Apparently its more common that independent arcade games providers (who are notoriously cut-throat and ruthless) supply sole spaces with games. Maybe this is the one industry where the reverse is true.]


SPECIAL FEATURE: While looking up info for this blog, I found this series of awesome ads for various consoles, games and accessories of the past.
http://www.gametraders.com.au/#retro
My faves were the Power Glove and Super Smash Bros.

Postscript: I don't like the film Empire Records (except for LaPaglia's drumming). I couldn't help but use it for the title of this post because it's so damn fitting. Sorry.

May 8, 2009

A Short Vacation

I'm going away for a week. It's exciting and leads me to the stunning realisation that I have never taken a holiday for myself. I've taken sickies or just spent a few days doing whatever I want that isn't work, but I've never booked a location and gone on a little trip somewhere. Isn't that amazing? I don't mind, overall. It is the by-product of a hard working man.

So a few bits of house keeping before I depart:
  1. Please click on the two videos you'll be delighted to discover are on the right there. They're ads for Doritos that our company created, and Christ on a bike, they are very, very good.
  2. Enjoy the new layout I've popped in, with thanks to Callan, our Creative Director, for the fab logo and design.
  3. The Herald Sun is disgusting. Their front page report on the torture of the Melbourne CBD Shooter was sadistic in how much it relished the fact he had a tattoo burnt off with a blow torch. They actually dared to phrase the suffering as justice. I don't care what the guy did, it is NOT the job nor is it appropriate or responsible for a national newspaper to condone corporal punishment and even vigilante justice like that. When I get back, I'm launching a slagging tirade at that dreadful rag. I'll call it Bullshit Watch or something similarly snappy and intelligent.
Now, I get to turn on that sweet auto-reply on my email that says I'll be away until the 14th. I've never got to turn that on before. Awesome!
Download Birdbrain podcasts by Steve Abbot on iTunes.
BAI!

May 6, 2009

This'll Make Your Eyeballs Water Or Your Nipples Hard

It all started when I heard Ben Harper and his new band Relentless7 perform a cover of Queen and David Bowie's Under Pressure. It was an acoustic performance on Triple J's Like A Version.

Some background: My favourite song in the entire world is Queen and David Bowie's Under Pressure. It is singable, danceable, resonates deeply with its dual hopefulness that love can save the world and the stinging understanding that it never will. It soars majestically at its climax. It's a fantastic fucking song by two brilliant sorts with magical voices and intimidating skills and presence.

I didn't really have an opinion on Ben Harper aside from the fact that Diamonds on the Inside drove me crazy with its oppressive prevalence in 2003.

Harper's cover of Under Pressure has resulted in my complete and utter conversion. I don't care - one song can a believer make. It's a true and faithful cover. It honours the spirit of the original. It is beautiful. It made me cry.
Follow the link, click the little box in the top right of the header (or search for Like a Version, JTV or the juke box). Watch it. If you like the song like I do, I hope you'll love it.

I love David Bowie. Anyone who knows me knows that, or should if they want to claim they know me. If you have a car battery clamped to someone who claims to know me's delicate parts and you ask them whether I like Bowie or not, if they reply no, fry 'em. Fuck, fry 'em anyway, 'cuz who doesn't like Bowie? Wankers, that's who.

Queen formed the backbone of my appreciation for Rock. I humbly and faithfully prostrate myself in the traditional goat-horned prayer at the altar of Rock. I pray to the Gods nightly. My dad played us Queen from an early age. We headbanged to Bohemian Rhapsody in the back of his big red Volvo station wagon. We listened eagerly to the slow build of bike bells that Dad informed us was "mag-nificent" in Bicycle Race and giggled to Fat Bottomed Girls (a song I now consider one of the best). My sisters and I danced on the sheep skin rug like teeny tiny maniacs while Don't Stop Me Now blasted from the stack speakers and record player. When I grew up, I came to appreciate the nostalgia of Radio Ga Ga. With my personal discovery of Bowie came the deepest respect for Under Pressure, cemented forever when Taylor Hawkins admitted immediately, without even thinking, that the same song was his all time favourite when asked on some TV interview. Along with Deep Purple, Queen started the hellacious fire of Rock in my heart that tore down to my loins and was never extinguished.

With that in mind and because Freddie Mercury was one awesome, voice-shreddin', hip-swaggerin', cock-suckin' mother fucker, I give you these links:
Now go forth and look up the original and the best Queen clips and songs.

UPDATE of AWESOMENESS: For the video to Bicycle Race, "Queen staged a bicycle race with 65 naked women... The song is famed for its 'bicycle bell solo', which fans would often replicate live at Queen concerts with their own such bells." - wiki

May 5, 2009

Paying for Parking? Fuck Off!

Of all the insipid, horrendous things we are made to pay for in this world, there is one I hate above all others: parking. Australia is a country that is its own continent, with wide expanses of unused land and incredible urban sprawl. The landmass of Japan could fit into Australia 20 times, yet their population is 16 times bigger than ours. All this space and most of our population live in 5 major cities, none of them peopled over 4.5 million. This ridiculously big, stupidly under-populated country thinks we should pay for spaces to park our cars. What a load of horse shit.

"But Simon," you might whiny. "Paid parking ensures the fair flow of traffic so that I can get a spot!" To this I would reply RUBBISH and deliver a swift and accurate kick between your thighs. We only need time-limited parking to ensure a fair and steady flow. If people don't leave when they're supposed to, they cop a fine. The systems and rules in place for free, time-limited parking work - Christ knows the parking inspectors that police these rules are vigilant enough. The money a council rake in from naughty parkers is substantial (the links I provide most likely embellish, because journalists always do). $40 million is a good haul and I think is enough to take from motorists as is, especially when you consider the moolah you're handing over when getting a car on the road in the first place.

Thousands go into your new vroom vroom. Extra goes to the government in tax, even more if it's brand new. Hundreds go to the Government once again when you register your car. More hundreds get forked out for insurance. You pay VicRoads again for your L then P then permanent license that must be renewed and repaid after every few years. Finally, you get onto the road, skint as all buggery but free to enjoy freedom. The wind whips through the hair you have left after selling locks to wigmakers for extra bucks to pay $70 for petrol for the week. Then you have to pay another $50 to park at Nana's. That parking fee is the slap in the face that drives me crazy and makes me wonder why motorists don't take to the streets smashing window shopfronts and burning multi-levels. And when you look at all the different fees, charges and fines council and government rip out of us, honestly, do you think it's fair to charge for space? It's so unnecessary.

In the city, you can pay up to $70 for a day in a multi-storey. People get charged for parking in their place of business. You have to park there, but are expected to pay. I work at Channel 10 in South Yarra, an area you'd expect to charge out the rear end. I have to park in the undercover spots. I get charged $10 flat rate because there's a stamp they give me at the desk. If I didn't get that stamp, I'd be paying $40 a day. Lots of you suffer this stupidity. I'm getting paid, yet it's coming out of my wage. What foolishness! Simply don't make me pay for parking when I have to park there!

I can't really complain about the privately owned multi-storeys. If people are willing to pay for such things, Wilsons and their lazy, exploitative ilk are clever to take advantage of it. I rage and rue that the streets we pay for - the roads our taxes pave - are then rented back to us at higher rates the more we need them, the closer to the city we get.

Don't get me started on the infuriating situations where supermarkets are selling off once-free car parks to private bastards.

Think about it. Think about it really hard. Why should we pay for parking? Is there any other reason aside from the council making money?

May 4, 2009

It's Often About Getting to Know People

Hello and welcome - as warm a welcome as I can provide through a flat or, for those still using CRT, slightly rounded screen. I'm capitalising on the wonderful opportunities the internet provides, just like many fine folk before me, by taking advantage of The Blog. I want you to get to know me not as the powerhouse of a Producer you may have had the good fortune to encounter, but as a writer.

Too many people don't know that my most engrossing personal hobby and consuming passion is the written word. I love language. I love grammatical Nazis and poetic dialogue. I love realistically portrayed exchanges and vitriolic satire. I love all there is to love about words that much more talented people before me have loved and wrought into their own expression and art. I also love a great fart joke.

An appauling segue for a terrible topic, I know. I think it's important though. If you're to get to know me through my writing, I want you to know me as deeply as your best friend. That includes my good and bad qualities. A great fart and/or shit joke (oh yes, I'll never sink so low as to ignore the fart's unwelcome senior) has left me giggling euphorically long after the sharpest stab of satrical wit has poked my side. I don't often employ them in my work as they aren't for everyone, but a fart joke applied to a topic in a thoughtful way is gold. Just the idea of Matt and Trey working out the most artful way to include the word 'dookie' in a spray against some political adversary makes me chuckle.

The fart joke is much maligned for the exact same reasons I love them. They're crude, juvenile and cheap. My word aren't they just! Isn't it nice every now and then to let yourself enjoy something silly and childish? What is it about a fart that makes you laugh? It's a funny sound, isn't it? And they're woefully inappropriate in almost all refined or simply mundane situations. That's just it. It's that little dig at the pompous, pretentious bloat one gets when spending too much time focussing on high art. I certainly don't encourage the use of farts like a machine gun in Vietnam. I recall one god awful sketch on Skithouse (a long forgotten whale of a turd that beached itself on Channel 10 years ago). In it, we were subjected to a parody of Fight Club called - *cringe* - Fart Club. The Durdenesque leader explained the rules and then a clubroom of members proceeded to lift cheek and juicily expel wind. That's an example of fail.

South Park and anything Trey and Matt are behind is an example of FTW. I mention them twice because they use use anus to hit more often than miss and for that, I love them.

So there you are; a ramble about one particular predeliction I have that unfortunately comes from the back of your pants. Maybe my future posts will take you on slightly more scenic routes - but then maybe you enjoyed it? Either way, you now know me and my writing a little better.