The Big Pash

The Pasha Bulker? I think not. It's in our waters now. Therefore it is now The Big Pash. You could tour Australia and include it in your itinerary. The Big Pineapple, The Big Banana, The Big Pash, etc.
Thousands of lovely bogans lodged complaints over the weekend because the authorities had erected barriers to stop said bogans from getting too close to The Big Pash. It's fair enough though - if you lurk too near the Big Pash then pretty soon you've got the Big Belly and you're off to the Big Queue at Centrelink to claim the Big Baby Bonus. And you might want to save some of your happy snaps on your disposable camera to take of young Cody's first rat's tail, or whatever you've named the poor fucker.

Big shout outs to all roadies named Brian.

Why oh why are the hand wringers, peaceniks and the so-called, ahem, "champagne socialists" at it again?

I hate it when you write something and realise later that you've unwittingly made a Telegraphism - the practice of unnecessarily adding words to make your letter to the editor sound more convincing. "Decidedly," "so-called," and "ahem" are my favourite Telegraphisms. I made one the other week whilst blogging, starting off with "Just how much..." when I should have just said "How much..." Here is the entire blog the way it should have read:

how much truth is there in the refrain, taken from the 1995 smash hit "Greg! The Stop Sign!! "Hardwired into everyone's headIs the person they're gonna be -Growing up is not a matter of choice, It's a matter of wait and see. ?If personality is determined at birth, as the TISM song suggests, then why? And given that our brain gives rise to our mind and our personality, why can't we push the argument for predestination a little further and consider its application in other areas of genuine insight - physics, chemistry, geology, and scientology, for instance? If I have understood the implications of Newtonian mechanics correctly, the clockwork like movements of large bodies in the universe like planets, suns, and galaxies, were set in motion by the supreme watchmaker, God, at the moment of creation, and all matter within the universe follows a given path unless a force acts upon it. All atoms. Even the atoms within our heads, the ones that constitute our delicate little porridge-coloured brains. And by extension, the atoms within that give rise to our conscious experience - all of our love and our sorrow, happiness, fear and surprise, through to the concern and pity we feel when someone claims that they enjoy golf. All movements and events were set in motion and determined at year zero. The birth of Socratic philosophy - predetermined. Millions of men fighting and dying in WWI - predetermined. Me still giggling at the title for this post - predetermined. It was of course a matter for theologians throughout the centuries to determine just how much free will we have as bipedal, thinking, rational human beings. And their consensus, surprise surprise, seems to be that we have loads of free will because they think (my italics) that God wants to see us make the choice to live a life which would make Jesus proud. But we all work with a personality which binds us, which gives us certain strengths and weaknesses. I am not capable of many, many things, which, among many, many other things, proves that you just can't trust a theologian.I'm adhering to the TISM/Newtonian mechanics route: everything in my life was determined at conception, and I am one of many possible outcomes from a random expulsion of jism. Therefore, I renege all responsibility for everything in my life for the rest of my life, and until the aim of human evolution is attained, socialism, a system under which every man gets what he needs (Audrey Tautou materialising in this room and at this very moment) and contributes what he can (homebrew), I defend my right to swear, cheat, lie, drink, womanise, gamble, steal, dance the Macarena and force my neighbours to listen to U2 over and over and fucking over again.YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Thankyou for letting me air my thoughts a second time. If only Audrey would get the message...

Audrey Stood Me Up.

She didn't come. I'm devastated. I even took the flyscreen off and left a plate of bon-bons beside my bed. This birthday has been even worse than the time when I was given nothing but Gomez cds: the entire back catalogue, b-sides, magazine interviews, live albums, and that rare one that just has the vocal tracks on it. Eeeggghhh.

Peace+Love+Mung Beans = Spiritual Overload

I love books by hippies. I fucking love them. No, you're not listening...

Take The Alchemist for example. Nobody without drugs in their system could have written like that. To hold the reader in suspense (!) for a hundred pages and then suggest some bullshit conclusion like "that thing you seek is where you began the journey." (spoiler ends here). Fucking brilliant! I wish I could write like that. Anyone got any mescaline?
All I need, I reckon, is a rudimentary understanding of the original pop psychologist, C.G. Jung - maybe I could get that from the astrology pages of The Daily Telegraph - a dictionary of dreams or some shit, and an encyclopaedia of Celtic mythology. AND a shitload of cannabis and some time to "think." And a shitload of dim sims. Delivered by Jeremy Sims. Okay, now I'm getting picky - Audrey Tautou will do (I suppose).
I love books by hippies because they reduce the complexity and suffering of human beings into a beautifully woven, if ill-conceived paradigm of pagan discourse, eastern religion, and anything vaguely "spiritual." It's amazing what conclusions one can arrive at by dropping out of society and changing your name to "Tree."
Basically if it's not western and/or modern, throw it in! (Unless it's written by the grandaddy of pop psychology, C.G. Jung):

Jung is the master,
To understand faster,
The purpose of human existence.
Once you've done that,
Store your yoga mat,
In a cupboard and eat last night's couscous.

I copied down The Bhagavad-Gita,
And it is very much neater than yours.
You really shoulda written it calmly
Like the Buddha woulda, measured and dharmly.
But then, but then -
Don't forget Zen!
Zen is for you, 'less you'd prefer Hindu

For all of my cares about ontology
I'll go and bone up on Pagan mythology.

Bachelor Wishes

BK turns 27 this week! Yay! So with celebrating another revolution of our middle-aged rocky sphere around our similarly middle-aged and decaying star (and my corresponding survival on said rocky sphere), BK will not be posting for at least a week! He's also got some stuff to do regarding smethics and a looming assignment, which you are distracting him from completing. Stop leaving comments and sending fan mail!!! Please! I would like to respond to you all but I've run out of stamps!

I know you're meant to wait until you're actually cutting the cake before you do this but (clenches teeth, squeezes eyes shut) I wish for Audrey Tautou to fly through my bedroom window on Wednesday night.

Pray for me, readers.

Ethics Shmethics

What to do? What to do? What would Jesus, the Buddha, Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny do?
Everyone asks the question at some stage in their lives: do we stock the Harry Potter book or not? Do we go for profits or do we placate the noisy minority of St. Augustine wannabees and concede that Daniel Radcliffe is in fact the devil in disguise? I don't care, and neither should you. So I'd stock it in the interests of materialism, if nothing else. Oh yeah, and free speech, the right to information, the courtesy of giving people the opportunity to make their own minds up, and the fact that we shouldn't actually take fiction seriously unless it's a John Grisham thriller! Ooooh, this one's a "real page-turner." No, wait, now it's "unputdownable."

So which horsy do I back? The tried-and-tested, if a little quaint, Aristotelian virtue-based approach? "What on earth's a virtue?" I hear you say. Some ancient Greek thing? Or, the Kantian doctrine of the categorical imperative; a duty based theory? OR, the "whatever makes most people the happiest" approach of JS Mill and the Utilitarians? I've certainly considered Kant; in fact I spent the better part of this afternoon considering it, in between the hourly news broadcasts on the ABC. That Peta Collins... phwoaar!

Happy weekend readers.

She's In Control

This is the new sound
We came to get down
Our name is Chromeo
And we are in control.

I have a few issues with the opening lines of Chromeo's 2004 debut record. I don't believe that they are entirely accurate in their assertions.

This is the new sound

That's debateable. The digitised vocal effect was made popular years ago by Daft Punk - most of Discovery contains a digitised vocal track - and furthermore The Buggles mastered it years before that in Video Killed the Radio Star. In fact, there was a digital effect in The Beatles' Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds (cellophane flowers of yellow and green anyone?). So what exactly is new about She's In Control? The shuffling dance beat is reminiscent of the house music at its peak in the late 90s, and the melody is staid and boring - and there's nothing new in that. If I wanted staid and boring I'd go and buy something by Gomez. The new sound? I think not. We'll move on.

We came to get down

You may well have done so fellas. I won't stop you from trying. I can recommend Underworld or New Order circa 1986 to help you "get down."

Our name is Chromeo

I know! I know that because it says so on the album cover and again on the CD itself. I've always been suspiscous of bands that tell you who they are in the opening lines of their first track. Between the time that one closes the CD player and the time that the first track begins, I bet that 9 out of 10 people remember the name of the group that they've chosen to put on, and I reckon a fair swathe of them could give you the name of the album as well. The keen amongst us will give you the name of the first track and true believers will even remember how many minutes and seconds it goes for.

And we are in control

Now that I don't believe. Don't try your Jedi mind games on me. You can't just say that you're in control and expect to take the reins just like that. I thought "she" was in control anyway. Now you're telling me you are? I'm confused! Who do I report to if I cut my finger?

When I wrote a review of a cd for the student newspaper in 1999, readers wanted to know two things - who is this new writer and will you please please please promise to never ever let him near your publication again. Some correspondents even said "please" a fourth time. Everyone's a critic...

The album referred to is a good listen. 3 stars. The name "Chromeo" had stuck in my mind for almost 3 years as I'd heard them on the radio back in 2 double 0 4 and, like a good nerd, wrote their name down in my shiny new student diary. (10am - 2094 lecture, 11am - one hour's "fitness appreciation" on library lawn - phwooooaaaaaarrr! Note to self: wear tracksuit pants.) Years later I retrieved said diary and bought the CD just like that! Comme ca!!!
Anyway, it's good music to paint a house to. Needy Girl is a catchy little ditty with cool electronic beats. All of the tracks have electronic beats, it's just that Needy Girl's is cooler than the rest. That's why it was the single. Maybe that's why I'm single? That's enough out of me. Bye, readers.

Jism, TISM, and socialism

Just how much truth is there in the refrain, taken from the 1995 smash hit "Greg! The Stop Sign!! "

Hardwired into everyone's head
Is the person they're gonna be -
Growing up is not a matter of choice,
It's a matter of wait and see. ?

If personality is determined at birth, as the TISM song suggests, then why? And given that our brain gives rise to our mind and our personality, why can't we push the argument for predestination a little further and consider its application in other areas of genuine insight - physics, chemistry, geology, and scientology, for instance? If I have understood the implications of Newtonian mechanics correctly, the clockwork like movements of large bodies in the universe like planets, suns, and galaxies, were set in motion by the supreme watchmaker, God, at the moment of creation, and all matter within the universe follows a given path unless a force acts upon it. All atoms. Even the atoms within our heads, the ones that constitute our delicate little porridge-coloured brains. And by extension, the atoms within that give rise to our conscious experience - all of our love and our sorrow, happiness, fear and surprise, through to the concern and pity we feel when someone claims that they enjoy golf. All movements and events were set in motion and determined at year zero. The birth of Socratic philosophy - predetermined. Millions of men fighting and dying in WWI - predetermined. Me still giggling at the title for this post - predetermined. It was of course a matter for theologians throughout the centuries to determine just how much free will we have as bipedal, thinking, rational human beings. And their consensus, surprise surprise, seems to be that we have loads of free will because they think (my italics) that God wants to see us make the choice to live a life which would make Jesus proud. But we all work with a personality which binds us, which gives us certain strengths and weaknesses. I am not capable of many, many things, which, among many, many other things, proves that you just can't trust a theologian.

I'm adhering to the TISM/Newtonian mechanics route: everything in my life was determined at conception, and I am one of many possible outcomes from a random expulsion of jism. Therefore, I renege all responsibility for everything in my life for the rest of my life, and until the aim of human evolution is attained, socialism, a system under which every man gets what he needs (Audrey Tautou materialising in this room and at this very moment) and contributes what he can (homebrew), I defend my right to swear, cheat, lie, drink, womanise, gamble, steal, dance the Macarena and force my neighbours to listen to U2 over and over and fucking over again.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Baroque 'n' Roll

At what age does someone like Angry Anderson admit that he's no longer pissed off about stuff and change his name? "Xanax Anderson" doesn't quite have the same ring to it, but surely it can't be too long before he's browsing the Naxos collection down at Sanity for some lovely Vivaldi and/or J.S. Bach. I can foresee a day not too far off when he calls a press conference to announce that he's "no longer Angry," as it requires far too much effort: Thinking of cynical comebacks and other witty retorts all the time gets in the way of your mental health and in the end it is untenable. Sometimes you just feel like letting the crap deliveries go through to the 'keeper after all.

I can see that he'll be at barbeques where people will ask him what his name is and what he does, and it will no longer require the refrain "I'm angry" to account for both questions. In the future, Angry will have a real interest in learning about the people he meets and hope that his past as an angry rocker doesn't harm his chances of getting to play Santa Claus at Westfield.

As for Peter Garrett, well, his dancing routine in parliament the other day made for the best question time I've seen in years! And he would make a really bloody scary Santa Claus, by the way.

A Wedding March In Early April

Sarah gets married tonight. Bachelor Kisses sends a big shout-out to the bride and groom, and their families and friends.
Getting to know people with whom you have something in common besides gravity is one of life's most satisfying pleasures. Have you ever met someone and wasted no time before getting to the things that really matter? What matters to you? To me, it's knowing that the Tigers have an injury-free bench for the coming weekend, and having enough cash in my wallet to pick up some fags and a case of tinnies for the Friday night fixture. No, that's a joke, and you fell for it.
I'm thinking about the kinds of people with whom conversations about the everyday take on an aura of interest, because you've already established the groundwork by discussing the big issues. To me, that's knowing that the Swans have an injury-free bench and a kick-arse banner to run through before the start of the match. No, that's another joke. And you fell for it.
C. and A. and I began swapping stories and music and videos when I began shuffling about in their garden 4 weeks ago in preparation for the lovely Sarah's wedding. There was an instant bond: I didn't see the point in concealing anything from them; they responded in kind with total acceptance. I haven't worn my heart on my sleeve for years; the last time I did she kindly explained that her boyfriend earned shitloads more than I did and didn't live in "a crappy flat" either (my italics). My flat was lovely of course, situated underneath a flat number 15, occupied by the entire Scottish front row pack (substitutes included) whose hobbies included fighting, drinking and shouting shit out, and humping poor lassies on really bloody squeaky mattresses. The next day, bleary eyed at work, I had to answer loads of questions by explaining that it was not in my nature to discourage people from amorousness, particularly when the people in question were so bloody big. I couldn't very well knock on their door and request that they "shag with less enthusiasm." Could I?
Anyway, here's to more people with stuff in common with each other. Like the hope that the Wolves are currently injury-free...

Balls To That

Tonight SBS gave birth to a new genre of television program, that of the Extreme Lifestyle Show. Cooking In The Danger Zone, screened at 7:30 takes the relatively safe practice of cooking and puts it in a context of fire and brimstone. Given that the original "reality program," Big Brother, had about 500 000 spin offs, where do we go next with the ELS? Knitting In The Danger Zone? Bocce In The Danger Zone? The worst case scenario is that some earnest young whipper snapper produces an hour long documentary on that rubbish song from Top Gun, Highway To The Danger Zone, for that would cause much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

CITDZ kicks off with a visit to a Kabul market, where one chappie with a fixation for ovine genitalia is selling a massive sheep's arse and loads of testicles too! When Stefan, the host, asks how they compare with the popular anti-impotence drug Viagra in restoring performance, he is told "this beats 1000 of your pills." Maybe so, but I ain't eating balls. I consider it kind of, well, gay.

Then it's off to the "Hindu Kush" mountains which in Afghani means "death to Hindus," the Hindus in question being the ones who live just over the other side of them. Lovely! I then wished that Koszciusko could be renamed "Kiwi Kush." I hate New Zealanders with their funny accents and connections with Lord of the Rings and that bloody Nathan Astle retiring and stuff. Everything that is not Australian makes me uncomfortable and when it's as foreign as something from New Zealand, I get really bloody scared, though I don't tell anyone. The sight of the Southern Cross at night used to make me feel bloody proud to be Australian, but then someone told me you could see it in New Zealand too and I went and had a big bloody panic attack.

Anyway, Stefan then ventures off to the "best kebab shop in the world." I think the good folks at Coogee Yeeros might have something to say about that, before rounding off the night with some more grilled testicles. He gets the girl and the US restores liberty and freedom to the Middle East, in the form of a Starbucks on every corner.

Easy Company

I've been keeping easy company lately: languid trips to the beach on the weekend; an employer who provides lunch and a zillion cups of coffee a day; the end of the barbeque season; the continuation of the business end of the television season.

Spicks & Specks has become a Wednesday night staple. After months of deciding which side to barrack for, I've thrown in my lot for the package deal and just wish they'd both pop out one of these nights. The quiz is quite good too; the adept Adam Hills is a great host and it flows along nicely courtesy of his captaincy.

Extras is piss funny. Watch it.

Band of Brothers is not on television at the moment; it was on a few years ago and fell into the "meant to watch it" category. I have on loan the entire series, which is going along brilliantly at present; it looks as though we may defeat the Nazis before too long.

I actually can't be bothered writing on this fucking thing any longer. If I come back to it, well and good, but it's bye for now.

Live Search Images: Ricky Gervais

Live Search Images: Ricky Gervais

Rewiring Neurons

Nabha if you are still reading this I must apologise for never having gotten around to posting on that book on consciousness research. The thing is, I borrowed it from the library, but was trying to do some personal writing at around the same time as when I had it, and therefore wasn't able to give it too much attention. I did read a recent issue of Time Magazine which focused on the brain, January 29 was the publication date if you'd care to check it out. It appears that the "new" orthodoxy is attempting to overturn the suggestion of duality between mind and body in a sharp departure from Western practice since Descartes. There was an article about "neuroplasticity" - the ability of the brain to rewire itself after injury. This is where thought (generated by the brain) alters the physicality of the "instrument" from which it comes. Amazing. I think there's an Escher engraving in that idea.

The Wandering Bean

I have had thoughts of renaming my blog "The Wandering Bean" and documenting the explosion of local coffee shops, but no.

On Tuesday I had a visit from an old friend who taught me all sorts of things about hydrogen and oxygen etc, like why we can't solve the water crisis by just mixing the two together, not that I asked that particular question...

And that stars are different colours because they are burning at different temperatures, not that I know exactly what one is yet. A big light in the sky perhaps?

My degree has begun now, which is good so far, ie after a week.

Big shout outs to Ailsa and Emma. xxoo

Never Ever

Just to refer back to a previous post, I would never, ever record over Radiohead's OK Computer. Having finally listened to it, I feel I can make a judgement on it now.

Val Templeton was implied in the fire that burned Brother Justin's church but there is a nice twist to it in the end, to refer back to an even older post.

LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL

Wouldn't it be a lovely headline? On the New York Times?

Rufus Wainwright's modern paean to the beautiful life a la John Lennon's Imagine suggests we take stock and look at what is around us: men reading fashion magazines - straight men - planes and fast trains; oh what a world, for instance.

It's an invitation well received. Since Christmas I have been regrouping and readying myself for the year ahead - hoping to stay on top of things until next Christmas, which in this family of atheists is truly a time to think prudently about what gifts have been bought and what food has been ordered - and nothing more. In our family we have Christ-less Christmases. There is no divine birth; we don't ponder creation. We merely take a few days off of work and stuff ourselves silly. Come Christmas afternoon 4pm, you wake with a 4 year old niece looking over you, carefully determining just what a half-pissed sleeping adult looks like.

Well I was bloody happy with the way Christmas went and I'd have to say it was the best one I've had in years, in fact that's a certainty. Friends came down; some came back from overseas, and suddenly my schedule was full of catch-ups and "piss-ups" (primarily due to homebrewed ginger beer, which seemed to go down well), instead of chasing down books at the local library which aren't all that obscure after all. (Isn't Camus a philosophical giant?).
I look forward to chronicling 2007. The cricket world cup is looking good - but I'm not thinking too far ahead: don't wan't to miss too much of the world my parents gave me.