While My Guitar Gently Weeps
23 Friday Nov 2012
Posted in Bands at the Pig's Arms, Entertainment Upstairs
23 Friday Nov 2012
Posted in Bands at the Pig's Arms, Entertainment Upstairs
22 Thursday Nov 2012
Posted in Emmjay
Tags
humour, Julain, Julian Assange; Julian Assange Walks Free, Julian Assnage, satire, Wicked Leaks, WikiLeaks
It’s been an open secret in the Pig’s Arms for months that Julian Assnage is no longer in the Bolivian Embassy in London.
He was spirited away – literally – in an empty Chilean wine barrel on the eve of Simon Bolivar Day (1st of April) by Father O’Way who had temporarily managed to get Scotland Yard’s finest off their guard by changing the sign out the front to the People’s Embassy of Bulgaria. Bolivia, Bulgaria – it’s a perfectly understandable mistake – and a brilliant ruse – even if the good father said so himself – and he did.
By the time the police and paparazzi got back to the Bolivian Embassy, there was no Assnage, not that they are aware of that – even to this day.
Julian stopped off at the Pig’s Arms to pick up his things – a 12 pack of Thin Svens, a glass tumbler and a digital stethoscope, which Merv had thoughtfully stuffed under the bar so that Rosie could use his old room for overflow clients from her tattoo emporium and house of pain. The autumn carnival rush had passed and the room was vacant when Julian ambled in through the side door of the pub, drew up a stool and ordered himself a famous pink drink, and a handful of acolytes.
Merv looked shocked. “What the … ?” “Hi Merv”, said Julian. “How did you walk free, Jules?
“I have a body double, and AISO hacked the real me out through the Interweb Tubes” said Julian. “I’ve come to pick up certian classified objects”.
“You mean the Saturday Sydney Morning Herald ? No luck there, sport, Fairfux went belly up Ages ago”, said Merv.
“No. I mean certain classified documents dealing with the skull duggery perpetrated on a hapless group of would-be immigrants by their own government” said Julian.
“I’m talking about ….. cough…… cough …. urk …… gaarg”
“Gaarg?” said Merv, suddenly noticing that Julian was turning a cerulean blue.
“Quick, Piglets !”
Merv caught Julian well before he hit the floor, but just after he bounced off the stainless steel edge of the bar. It was an heroic leap. Sensing that Emmjay would debate whether it was “a” heroic leap, more than “an” heroic leap, Merv glowered at Emmjay and waited for Granny to administer the wedges of life.
It has been long known that Granny’s wedges were powerful magic and that many a Pig’s Arms patron had been brought back from the edge of the abyss (Emmjay was considering writing “the edge of the abbess”, but thought better of that). Julian was coming around but looked phased and Merv commanded Manne to assist Julian into the Bill Clinton Memorial Bedroom on the first floor.
It was the presidential suite as Merv described it on the Pig’s Arms web site. Apparently “presidential” meant that the resident head of state didn’t need to share the newly-renovated Mondrian Brothers (Tilers to the Abstract Classes) bathroom, with the other guests. This would later prove a distinct advantage in Julian’s defence.
Merv rang Rosie and gave her the drum. At least he tried to give her the drum, but Rosie was / is a woman of standards. High personal standards and she insisted on paying her way, drumwise.
Knowing Julian’s penchant for a blonde, Rosie took Hanna and Frida with her to attend to Merv’s patient guest patient.
“Hello Julian, darling. I arm Hanna and this arm Frida”, we are gveeks from Sveden who are admiring your wonderful hackles. Vee have always admired your high moral standards and self-promotion and your deep mistress mistrust of secrety bad government military type bad guys, heh ?”
“Just let me slip into something a liddle more comfortable”, said Frida, who was clearly the more graphic hacker of the two.
“Don’t, under any circumcision give Julian your passwords”, said Rosie, closing the door as she departed the bedroom”
“I think I’d like to consult my lawyer” said Julian.
“Vee don’t need to keep anything in chambers, Mr Julian. Vee have running water in the Presidential Suite”.
“A liddle potty humour, ha !” said Hanna, loosening Julian’s belt.
“Ah, look, that’s very kind” said Julian, “But I’ve had a bad experience with a couple of, um, arr, Swedish activists in the past”.
“Was they too rough, these hackers, Mr Julian ? asked Frida who by this time had slipped into something rather more comfortable, and apparently slipped right on out of the other side.
“Well, no” said Julian, “They accused me of non-consensual sex”.
“What kind of hackers were they ? Cannot be pros” said Hanna, removing Julian’s shoes. She peeled off his socks, one at a time pretending to not notice his protestantations.
“No, I think they were CIA plants”, said Julian.
“You was having non-constitutional intercourse with plants?” said Frida who appeared not only surprised, but a little green with envy. “My gourd!” she laughed. “No wonder it took you ages to get out of Bolivia”.
“Don’t worry, Mr Julian,” said Hanna. “We are more smooth than Agnetha and Annifrida. We are the finest hackers that they stock at holm. We are here to help teach you how to roll with the rollmops and to expose your more volvoable side”. She slipped off his Reuben Effs.
“Gaarg” said Julian.
“Oh, my goodness !” squealed, Frida “What’s that I see in your shorts Mr Julian ?”
“Wicked leaks” said Julian.
16 Friday Nov 2012
Posted in Algernon, Entertainment Upstairs
Tags
Playlist by Algernon
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O15x-B8PgeE
ET
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjMNNpIksaI
Star wars
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iteRKvRKFA
The Magnificent Seven
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbeXL6AXmi0
The Italian Job
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYSGOlfm1e4
Viva Las Vegas
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTGyeGgMpk8
Back to the future
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJun5ziotfw
The Dam Busters
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFa1-kciCb4
The Good the Bad and the Ugly
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbsuAbTTsV8
The Great Escape
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9We2XsVZfc
Ghostbusters
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97mSAAzwtv8
The Sting
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhHwnrlZRus
The Pink Panther
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bTpp8PQSog
Raiders of the lost Ark
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HI-mDTdeKR8
A Clockwork Orange
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY3XiM7oGj0
Chariots of Fire
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAuDyJhoabM
Babe
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbUGsbZWitw
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
16 Friday Nov 2012
Posted in Emmjay
Tags
Emmjay
It’s lonely
But less lonely
Than a crowded bar
With cocktail mixers colder and more hostile
Than a Pap smear.
She rolls the mouse
Two steps short of autopilot
And past her eyes fly the hopes and fears
And off-white lies
In their desperate dash to get to first base
Will she accept the phoney advertisements
Even when she sees them
For what they are ?
Look.
Thousands of tall, dark, handsome, fun-loving
Well-educated, athletic, well-travelled, literate, art-loving, rich men
Somehow still unattached and looking for…
What ?
Moonlight walks on long, deserted beaches ?
Swimming in crystal waters by sun drenched lagoons ?
Languid afternoons swinging in a double hammock under gently wafting palm trees ?
When is the point of no return ?
When the ache for companionship,
For connection,
For love to give and to receive
Gives way to the resignation
Of the doubtful blind date
The tasteless dinner
The tiresome cross examination
The loveless root
The regret.
The closing lie.
And the resolution that loneliness
Is better unshared.
15 Thursday Nov 2012
Posted in Warrigal Mirriyuula
Tags
Architecture, Barangaroo, Brickfield Hill, bricks, Broadway, Gehry, Sydney, Ultimo, UTS
Story by Warrigal Mirriyuula
You could say that Australians are known for their love of bricks and mortar. Indeed if we had a national building the way we have national birds, animals, flowers and the like, it would almost have to be a “triple fronted double brick with picture window”. We can argue about tiles or iron.
Indeed, the manifest for first fleet transport Scarborough sets out 5,000 bricks and molds to make more. No building tools though, which is an odd oversight on the part of the expedition quartermasters in England.
It was high summer when they landed. Stinking hot or thundering rain; a typical January. So no surprise that shortly after the Royal Marines barked at the convicts, to “get them tents up sharpish!”, Philip and the senior members of the colonial establishment noted that they better find a good source of brick making clay or the colony would be under canvas until such time as they’d determined which timbers where workable, or they’d imported a boatload of stone masons.
Given that even Philip would be under canvas, albeit a swanky prefab job costing well over a hundred quid back in blighty, and that this canvas didn’t fair all that well against the summer storms, there was something of an imperative in the search for suitable clay. Besides, building in brick would give this antipodean adventure a permanence it would otherwise lack.
The first suitable clay was found in what is now Sydney’s Chinatown and very soon several brick making enterprises where established in the area exploiting a resource that would eventually stretch from Elizabeth Street to Cockle Bay, Liverpool Street to Campbell Street.
The boss brickmaker was a convict called James Bloodworth and he’s come down to us as the chap that first recognised the potential value of the many clay lenses in what was to become known as Brickfield Hill. This area was to remain the centre for clay quarrying and brickmaking until the 1840’s when the expansion of Sydney to the south meant that the almost exhausted resource was abandoned to the developing city and brick making moved to other areas, including St Peters where the remains of the brickmaking enterprise are still visible today.
Note the two “Briqueteries” down by the stream. Also worth noting is the inclusion by the cartographer of the broken sandstone slope adjacent to the stream. These rough outcrops of weathered sandstone would have been common through out what is now the CBD. The road through the centre became George Street turning into Broadway. The area top centre is now the location of The Sydney Entertainment Centre.
Snap forward two hundred years and we find bricks again being used to construct one of the most interesting buildings going up anywhere in the world, The Chau Chak Wing Building at The University of Technology, designed by Frank Gehry.
With a budget of over $150million this striking building will take bricklayers to the very limits of their talent and experience. That folded façade, inspired Gehry says by the folds in the drapery of classical Greek statues, will be entirely composed of laid bricks and the building will have a view of what was the first source of brickmaking clay in the early colony.
A few hundred metres uphill to the south, on Broadway, a vast collection of old brick buildings has been removed to make way for another startling building.
This has gone.
This is coming.
This building will give an entirely new meaning to “green building”.
Yes that is “a hovering cantilever” that will contain 24 very ritzy penthouses for the very wealthiest tenants.
What’s more, there’s this from the developers website:
“Here too, is a jettying heliostat – a beguiling assemblage of motorized mirrors that captures sunlight and directs its rays down onto Central Park’s gardens year round. After dark, the cantilevering structure (a favoured Nouvel architectural device) is the canvas for leading light artist Yann Kersalé’s LED art installation that carves a shimmering firework of movement in the sky and brings a new architectural shape to One Central Park by starlight.”
I kid you not. That’s what it says. I particularly like “jettying”, I assume from the verb “to jetty”.
There is so much innovation, so many new ideas, new techniques and technologies in this building that I still haven’t had a chance to go through it all. Suffice it to say that it will be one of the most energy efficient and sustainable residential buildings in Sydney; and for mine, the hanging gardens, which are an integral part of the water capture and reuse system, promise a building that will turn its back on concrete, glass and steel and present itself to Broadway as a giant vertical garden, a modern day Babylon on Broadway.
And across Broadway, UTS isn’t sitting on its hands either.
The UTS tower* and podium are also slated for change.
UTS podium development visualisation. exterior above, interior below
At the moment only the podium is in design phase. The tower redesign will probably have to wait for braver souls to green light Chris Bosse’s radical reskinning of the UTS tower, perhaps the most depressing and intimidating building ever devised for the toture of students. (Did you know that the original design brief for the tower demanded that there be no spaces where students could congregate in large numbers. It was 1968 and the French students where tearing up the cobblestones. Local educators didn’t want to take the chance.)
The skin generates electricity, captures water, moderates insolation and most importantly, entirely covers that grotesque ‘turd’ of a tower.
Talk about “building an education revolution; UTS will spend over a billion dollars in the next few years building in the Ultimo campus precinct, including the upgrade of open spaces where students will be encouraged to congregate.
Somehow this bosky park doesn’t look the part as the location for a student revolution.
Adjacent to the Green will be the new Science Building designed by Durbach Block Jaggers and BVN Architecture.
And if that isn’t exciting enough for you, just down Broadway work is well progressed on the ITE Building which will house what UTS hopes will become an international centre for excellence in Information Technology and Engineering.
This “5 Star” green rated building will also have an active skin which the designers believe will deliver a 10 to 15% operational energy saving on its own. Oh, did I mention that the skin is laser cut with this really cool “binary” pattern? It is!
The interior is just as mind blowing.
Puts me in mind of that other great educational institution, Hogwarts, and all those moving stair cases.
There’s new student housing and a host of other building going on at UTS all slated for occupation between the end of this year and 2015. This program and others funded both publicly and privately will turn the top of Broadway into what one architectural pundit called, (Hyperbole Warning!), a “mecca”, a kind of stations of the cross for architectural innovation nerds.
It may not reach such exaltation but it won’t be for lack of trying.
If we add to the already mentioned building sites, the Ultimo Pedestrian Network or UPN, (You must watch the embedded video here, http://www.aspect.net.au/wps/wcm/connect/web/w/spotlight/featured+projects/upn) , which will join the UTS campus with the Gehry building and points north to the Powerhouse Museum, including all the plans the state government has for the Entertainment Centre, The Exhibition Centre and Darling Harbour proper, and then throw in Barangaroo you begin to see a huge urban area in the throws of vigorous reinvention.
Unfortunately we won’t see this one. It’s already been shelved in favour of “The Packer Plan”. I guess that’s a plan for Jamie’s retirement fund, or O’Farrell’s perhaps.
By 2020 there will be no doubt but that UTS will have stamped its presence all over the top end of Broadway and in time this will lead to redevelopment of the entire area as clinics, labs, and associated businesses snap up remaining real estate to get themselves closer to the “glow” of the campus.
High density, low to medium rise apartments will become more common and the rows of remaining terraces will become gentrified, their values exploding as academics, staff and students look for somewhere nearby to live.
No longer the suburb that dare not say its name, Ultimo will have become hip, progressive, with innovation at every turn. The “shock of the new” will have become commonplace as Ultimoans wonder why the rest of Sydney are still catching up to the twenty first century
But in amongst all this twenty first century building will remain some of the most beautiful brick buildings in Sydney, other brick piles will be adaptively reused, while others are demolished and their bricks recycled.
The humble brick was there at the beginning of the colony and is still with us at the cutting edge of architecture. You could say that the brick has been “a brick” down the years and there’s no end in sight to its utility.
Bricks as a proud and permanent statement of the value of learning.
Bricks as valued heritage adaptively reused as anchoring feature of these new upscale apartments. That brick façade was once The Sydney No. 2 Poultry Market.
The ubiquitous terrace survives into another century.
http://penultimo.tumblr.com/ This site is wonderful and rewards a wander through its many pages, including pictures of nearly every brick building in Ultimo, old and new, ugly and beautiful.
* Editor’s note: I so wanted to describe the current UTS Tower – wherein I once did a course on Assembler Programming – as “Plug Ugly”, but I didn’t think the term was strong enough. Nor was “nuclear-proof”.
14 Wednesday Nov 2012
Posted in Sandshoe
Tags
Illustration and Story By Sandshoe
A conceit of mine was once to establish great fame and riches on the strength of an iconic tale about a University professor with a rich inner life and loose grip on reality, obsessing with a search for a truth. As I doodled and coloured, he developed his anima and I acknowledge he lives in my head. Regardless I wondered how fond I could grow of an owner builder who chooses ivory for a grand design…
Once upon a time there was a professor of philosophy who lived in an ivory tower that he built himself, to keep himself warm in winter, cool in summer, dry when it rained, to stop the wind from blowing away his papers, the snow from melting in puddles around his feet. The professor’s mother, Abdhalla Rajhas, was a professor on some other once upon a time and his father, Katersha Rahjas-Heppleblume, was the son of the famous Castethene and Roga Heppleblume (the latter not so famous, but considered a very loyal and polite person). And as you can see they were a smart lot and it is no wonder the professor was smart too.
It was a beautiful ivory tower of course and The Tourists came to see it from miles around.
There was only one thing the professor would not let ANYBODY do. NOBODY was allowed to touch the professor’s ivory tower. NOBODY BUT NOBODY and the professor painted signs to tell EVERYBODY exactly that.
NOBODY BUT NOBODY is to touch my ivory tower he painted, again and again and again…and again. And put the signs outside, clustered like flowers in a flowerbed. Some real estate agents mistaking the signs for “For Sale” notices from a distance, being real estate agents did not hesitate to read them properly in their haste to be first up the path and were never heard of again…but were the only apparent casualties suspect of meeting disappearance by their own hands, goodness me. The signs were easy to read. They might just as well have read “Stand Clear”. The professor told the milko it was nice of her to suggest “Piss Off” would save paint and pondered over his cereal with dairy that morning. He converted to soy.
One day the professor built a fence around the edge of his property, to keep the agents out, the tourists on the verge. The professor found it necessary to adopt a disguise to collect his newspapers in the morning. People wanted the professor to stand beside his front gate and pose for photographs. Local dignitaries wanted to shake the professor’s hand-they said “because of your contributions” – which was reference the professor did not understand because he owned the tower, lock, stock and every barrel of vino.
The telephone rang a lot. Reporters from as far away as other once upon a times talked about ‘public accountability’ (among other things) which embarrassed the professor because he was a very shy and private person, someone called Bill said he always wanted to meet ‘a real nut’ (which made the professor feel quite angry when he thought about it), and pertinently every charity in the land wanted the professor to either give money or ask other people for it.
It was not before long the professor was thin (whereas he was fat), withdrew from his teaching duties at the nearby Institute of Philosophical Conundrums (which left some of the less gifted students in quandaries) and decided to pull up stakes. Where to go? What to do?
The professor (although not really a professor anymore) sold his ivory tower (for an undisclosed sum), packed his toothbrush (with other useful things like the left over plastic carrier for a carton of milk), settled his final soy milk and newspaper accounts, and went bush. No-one was more surprised than the professor’s mother. Poor Abdhalla naturally wondered where she’d gone wrong. Was it because her son was an only child born to parents of mixed beliefs who divorced in their son’s formative years yet with nary a concern for consulting the I Ching? Not that Professor Rahjas was all that poor speaking candidly about the relativities of the universe. And again speaking relatively single children in her once upon a time prospered (relatively ie measured alongside everything else given salient truth there is more of everything there ever will be).
He met a soul mate. The professor had all along dreamed of truest love, seen this enact out in fond imaginings, mooned through the window of his ivory tower when the sky clear, the stars out and bright, the moon at its finest silver. He wrote a proposal his lover come away with him to anywhere in a once upon a time they could find to call their own, signed it ‘Your neck is like an ivory tower’ and attributed it: Song of Solomon 7:4.
And the undisclosed sum of money from the sale of the professor’s ivory tower easily set the couple up in a mud brick home the professor really did build himself, to keep himself and his lover warm in winter, cool in summer, dry when it rained, to stop the wind from blowing away their papers, the snow from melting in puddles around their feet.
They lived happily ever after.
13 Tuesday Nov 2012
Posted in Emmjay
Story by Emmjay
One of the best things about being a cyber dinosaur is that it is easier for us to see the broad sweep of silicon history than it might be for say, our kids. These little tackers (well young adults, really) regard everything cyber as situation normal, nothing to see, part of the landscape.
It was always this way.
No, it wasn’t.
In the last 60 years we have seen at least six distinct eras;
We have seen the rise and fall – with a few notable exceptions of great dynasties and the incessant tinyfication and acceleration of everything.
These have been no mean technical feats. When I started to use computers in the late 1970s, I got to run one – or on a good day, two programs on a computer that cost millions of dollars. It involved booking a punch machine in advance, punching hundreds of cards and feeding them into an amazing high speed card reader so that the chunk of instructions and data could get Into another queue and shuffle its way towards the sacred CPU and then onto the hallowed line printer which would (nine times out of ten) cough up a message some time later that day.
I used to ride the departmental bicycle over to the computer centre and pick up the print out saying “error43178”. This was bad. I had to find the manual and learn what bone-headed mistake in my typing had wasted everyone’s precious time. Probably a comma out of place. Then find the offending card. Of course that was only the first offending card. Next trip across campus I would find the second one – and so on. So computing was really good for my calves but almost as good at teaching patience. Until some bastard stole the departmental bicycle.
Technological speed increases and miniaturisation go hand in hand with less power consumption and therefore less chip-killing heat. Fortunately the march of technology has been a catholic venture, spreading the benefits around. Our modest phones store volumes of data that were unimaginable in 1970. But more significant benefits have roared through what cyberists call the user interface. Older dinosaurs than me remember paper tape input – preceding cards, then, wonder of wonders, my own keyboard. Still in the hunt, the keyboard, still the annoying design born of speed-challenged typewriters, but wireless now and virtual (he said madly tapping his touchscreen iPad).
Then Apple popularised the mouse as a pointing device, invented some time earlier by Xerox. I remember fondly a Tennant cartoon of the first mainframe mouse*. It was a dodgem car linked to the computer by a cable as thick as your arm, and it was driven like rally cars – with a man sitting in the driver’s seat and a navigator saying “Whoa, bud, back it up ! Back it UP!”
Now for the patient, the point of this story. I have a lovely Apple MacBook Air. It’s a simple ultralight notebook computer with adequate performance, long battery life and a beautifully clear screen. It has a touchpad (which I have never liked…. On any notebook computer I have owned) so I use a cordless Bluetooth mouse.
This is but one of my tools of trade. I also use a smartphone with a delightful touch screens and lately an iPad.
I have become so used to using gestures on a touch screen that I found myself swiping the screen of the MacBook Air, wondering why the onscreen page didn’t turn like it does on the phone and the iPad. I have clearly turned the corner and fallen into an open grave. The patiently-waiting grave of the mouse.
Can you see the tombstone? Mouse, born in the 70s, grew up in the 80s, went to college in the 90s, worked hard in the noughties, retired in the twenty teens and passed away quietly in the bottom drawer in the 2020s.
There you have it. 2020 foresight.
Vale in advance, little rodent pointer.
* You can see and buy a copy of this little beauty of a cartoon – watermarked to death – unless you want to stump up $150 to use it for six months on a blog like this….
12 Monday Nov 2012
Story by Emmjay
It is or perhaps WAS said that travel broadens the mind. There is no information about whether the broad minds travel, or whether travel minds the broad. I suspect that the former might be answered in the negative. And the latter in the negative too, but there is clearly an underlying assumption that the mind could do with a spot of broadening -that it is somewhat narrow in the untraveled state.
But travel is more likely, according to G.K. Chesterton to achieve the reverse – bringing out our disapproval for places, people and practices that may differ from those with which we are familiar. He was suggesting that there may be no inherently inferior aspect, but that it is human nature to find fault on the basis of difference alone. We tend to regard the familiar as naturally better.
Chesterton went on to say some seriously non-PC things that shout national stereotyping. I won’t repeat them because to do so is to cast scorn upon a man for having lived in a different era where it was OK to spruik generalities about “the Turk” and contrast his personal and collective peccadillos with those of the long-held to be superior British character, particularly since we know that this chap was simultaneously responsible for the genocide of over a million Armenians at the same time the ANZAC diggers were lauding him as such a worthy foe.
We may think that travellers, far away from home for long periods might not be the most unbiased observers, and in fact may themselves display characteristics not typically seen amongst their countrymen at home. Chesterton cites the example of “the Americans”, we know as kind, polite and generous hosts in their own country curiously turning into loud dressers with even louder voices and outrageously insensitive ignorance of local manners when they are abroad.
I once met a family like that visiting Franz Joseph Glacier, South Island, NZ. It was 1973. They dragged along a teenage son who was painfully shy – well everyone looked shy next to Roger and Marjorie. I remember the poor lad’s name to this day. Marjorie was the photographer. She shrieked “Stand by the glayshure, WORREN”. Not such a difficult request since it was everywhere around us and underfoot to boot.
But I have to confess that when touring, I would have to be very homesick before I would gravitate towards many Aussie accents. As Englishmen have never caught on to how ridiculous they look in shorts, long socks and sandals, so many Australians cannot bear to leave their stubbies and thongs locked in the wardrobe at home. It’s as if the attire is taking the person on holidays and not the reverse. I suppose the payback for dressing like you’re at home in the rumpus room, when you are in fact travelling overseas, is that people who cover up and wear stout shoes are the ones who survive longest when the plane falls from the sky in a ball of fire.
Thankfully, if Chesterton is right, we’ll avoid narrowing of the mind by avoiding travel – and not giving oxygen to shock jocks. We can taste the cuisine of Tuscany at the local Italian and visit the Uffizi online. No queues. No deep vein thromboses. No beggars. No airport security. No jetlag or snappy customs officials. Toilet in the next room. Safe water in the tap and no ripoff money changers. Mind expanding ? You bet !
11 Sunday Nov 2012
Posted in Lehan Winifred Ramsay
Painting and Story by Lean Winifred Ramsay
Television that teaches us about Science
Mr Brain is a Japanese television drama that can teach us a lot about science. Not just ordinary science, but very difficult science and other challenging scientific theory and philosophy. Mr Brain is a Japanese drama from 2009 that is available with English Subtitles on Youtube and I recommend that you watch it for a profound insight into scientific things like neuroscience. Neuroscience has been around for more than a hundred years! But people didn’t know much about it.
An investigative team at the centre of criminal investigations? Already you might be thinking of Criminal Minds with its Science of thinking about crime. But Mr Brain works in a team, he never works alone. He works with the police, he works alongside the police, he works with a team of scientists with keen minds, and he does not work alone.
In a character widely attributed to world renowned scientists in brain science such as Dr Kenichi Mogi who works with Sony and other scientific research organisations, Mr Brain is an ex-bar host who wore very elegant clothes but suffered a catastrophic injury when the side of a building fell on him. Five years later he emerges as a star player in the Forensic Neurosciences. It’s all cutting edge, with robots roaming the corridors in search of cameras, and the cleaning is done by young women. Crimes are solved, problems are solved, sometimes through games, sometimes through insightful word play, but always satisfyingly.
Those of you who have become aware of Criminal Minds would by now be aware that staying ahead of the DSM is the name of the game. Mr Brain does not so much understand as embody it, and having one man in charge keeps it simple. American Procedural Dramas are in danger of becoming a little overwrought, such is the plethora of characters, motives, paybacks and crossovers, and loose threads. Mr Brain does not do this, and it’s good. Mr Brain is also a famous and handsome public figure called Mr Takuya Kimura, known throughout and in many other countries particularly for his hair and his charmingly eager way of speaking.
Unlike Criminal Minds Mr Brain never takes things too seriously, at times seems almost frivolously intent on making it seem simple. The science is diligent and yet offers a view into serious topics, thought provoking themes. Does what you have for breakfast really affect your decision-making? Yes, and that’s science at work. Will a hologram fill in the missing piece? You’ll have to watch it to find out. Nobody is left behind as the debate goes high and low and intuition and curiosity meld seamlessly with rigor and statistic. You can see Mr Brain on Youtube.
09 Friday Nov 2012
Posted in Emmjay
So the time to order a pizza is when you’ve had a long, difficult day at work and you feel too tired and hassled to bother cooking.
It was dark when I pulled into the council car park opposite the pizza place, blipped the central locking and was taking a few steps across the footpath when a small white missile zoomed right across my path. Inches away.
I was lucky. I caught it in my peripheral vision just in time to avoid becoming a hood ornament.
The driver sprang out, slammed his door without so much as a second thought. He sprinted across the road and disappeared into the pizza place, dangling his keep-it-hot bag.
I followed, stunned but unharmed, glad I was still upright.
I asked for the manager. He fronted. I was clearly agitated. I told him that one of his delivery people had almost run me over.
He asked me, “Which one?
“How do I know which one ?”
“What kind of car was he driving ?”
“A small white one.”
“I have several drivers with small white cars.”
“The one that just ran through your front door.”
“I’ll check,” he said disappearing inside – and not coming back out.
I was, by this time, ready to make a scene among the other customers but I could see this was going nowhere and so I paid for my pizza and decided a fair thing was to re-arrange the careless driver’s windscreen wiper, not seeing he was following me closely with his next delivery.
Now it was his turn to hit the roof, “What are you doing?!!”
“You almost ran me over.” I think I pointed out that he was careless, had unmarried parents and that he was lucky he was not explaining a downed pedestrian to the police as well.
“You vandalised my car. ”
“Let’s talk to your employer about your insurance and your driving record.”
We marched back into the shop.
I handed the manager the broken windscreen wiper, admitted my misdeed and asked him what he was going to do now. He refused to accept any responsibility for his employee and left us “to sort it out ourselves.”
I vaguely remember him asking me to not swear in front of the other customers.
By this time, the driver was really upset. He wanted all kinds of compensation from me. I flatly refused.
He chose more abuse as his preferred option and slammed his door. “I’ve got your number,”he yelled.
“I, have yours too” I said, taking his picture as an afterthought.
He screeched off – driving over the gutter and banging the front of his car on the road.
I wasn’t proud of myself, but I did learn some basic truths – the importance of accepting responsibility, the utility of a simple apology, how poorly some pizza chain managers understand customer service and the superior value of petty revenge.
And then, after cooling off, I felt a modicum of remorse for having taken my anger and frustration out on some poor bastard who relied on a crappy job rushing around, risking his life and mine too – delivering pizzas for a pittance for a manager who wasn’t worth feeding.
First published amazingly, over at the ABC – https://open.abc.net.au/projects/500-words-caught-out-28dn4ay/contributions/breaking-through-the-thin-crust-19nq5te