Category Archives: Gerard Oosterman

You’re nothing but a piece of shit Mr Sandilands

24 Thursday Nov 2011

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This is NOT my article but taken from my inbox:

Fat slag…you’re a piece of sh*t. You haven’t got that much t*tty to be wearing that low cut a blouse. Watch your mouth girl, or I will hunt you down.” [1]

This was Kyle Sandilands’ on-air response to a journalist after she reported poor viewer reactions to his new TV show on Monday night. News outlets are calling Sandilands “vile” and his comments “filthy” — but advertisers who fund his shows are standing by him and his offensive comments.

Emily Hehir has had enough of Sandilands’ sexist abuse. She’s started a petition demanding companies pull all advertising and sponsorship until Sandilands is dumped. Click here to join her.

Holden, Vodafone and the Good Guys have already pulled out — but others like Telstra, Harvey Norman, Mitsubishi and Medibank all fund Sandilands’ show through their regular advertisements. Some have even issued statements distancing themselves from Sandilands — they’re trying to get away with directly funding his radio show, without taking responsibility for the sexist and derogatory statements he makes.

The last thing any of them want is their brand to be associated with the community backlash over his behaviour. A huge show of public outrage at their support for him will force them to pull out of the show, and put pressure on the radio station to d! rop Sandi lands.

We know sponsors are incredibly sensitive to community outrage — this won’t be the first time they’ve ditched him. Just two years ago, a 14-year-old revealed she had been raped on his show, and he asked her if it had been her “only” sexual experience. He was immediately dropped from Australian Idol, and Optus withdrew online advertising [2].

Join Emily and tell sponsors to withdraw their support until Sandilands is dumped.

Add your voice to Emily’s now — you’ll convince them they need to withdraw or risk their brand being damaged in the huge community backlash. The station will have to listen, and drop him to keep their sponsors.

Voices in the media, on Twitter and across the community are unanimous — Sandilands has gone too far this time. Join Emily in sending a resounding message to sponsors that they need to withdraw their support for the show, or they’ll suffer the same backlash as Sandilands. 

Thanks for all you do,

! Nick and the Change.org team

[1] http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/celebrity/youre-a-fat-slag-i-will-hunt-you-down-kyle-sandilands-radio-rant-at-female-journalist-over-review-of-his-show/story-e6frfmqi-1226203165298

[2] http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/celebrity/youre-a-fat-slag-i-will-hunt-you-down-kyle-sandilands-radio-rant-at-female-journalist-over-review-of-his-sh! ow/story-e6frfmqi -1226203165298

Is this the Truth about Greece?

18 Friday Nov 2011

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This is not written by me, but by a very reputable Newspaper. “the New Yorker”. It still paints a rather grim picture about Greece…. Take what you believe and dump the rest.

 

by July 11, 2011

<:ARTICLE>

Greece is a fairly small country, but for the past year it has been causing an awfully big uproar. Burdened by a pile of government debt that could force it into default (and the European banking system into a meltdown), Greece has had to adopt ever more stringent austerity plans in order to secure a bailout from the European Union. Explanations of how Greece got in this mess typically focus on profligate public spending. But its fiscal woes are also due to a simple fact: tax evasion is the national pastime.

According to a remarkable presentation that a member of Greece’s central bank gave last fall, the gap between what Greek taxpayers owed last year and what they paid was about a third of total tax revenue, roughly the size of the country’s budget deficit. The “shadow economy”—business that’s legal but off the books—is larger in Greece than in almost any other European country, accounting for an estimated 27.5 per cent of its G.D.P. (In the United States, by contrast, that number is closer to nine per cent.) And the culture of evasion has negative consequences beyond the current crisis. It means that the revenue burden falls too heavily on honest taxpayers. It makes the system unduly regressive, since the rich cheat more. And it’s wasteful: it forces the government to spend extra money on collection (relative to G.D.P., Greece spends four times as much collecting income taxes as the U.S. does), even as evaders are devoting plenty of time and energy to hiding their income.

Greece, it seems, has struggled with the first rule of a healthy tax system: enforce the law. People are more likely to be honest if they feel there’s a reasonable chance that dishonesty will be detected and punished. But Greek tax officials were notoriously easy to bribe with a fakelaki (small envelope) of cash. There was little political pressure for tougher enforcement. On the contrary: a recent study showed that enforcement of the tax laws loosened in the months leading up to elections, because incumbents didn’t want to annoy voters and contributors. Even when the system did track down evaders, it was next to impossible to get them to pay up, because the tax courts typically took seven to ten years to resolve a case. As of last February, they had a backlog of three hundred thousand cases.

It isn’t just a matter of lax enforcement, though. Greek citizens also have what social scientists call very low “tax morale.” In most developed countries, tax-compliance rates are much higher than a calculation of risks would imply. We don’t pay our taxes just because we’re afraid of getting caught; we also feel a responsibility to contribute to the common good. But that sense of responsibility comes with conditions. We’re generally what the Swiss behavioral economist Benno Torgler calls “social taxpayers”: we’ll chip in as long as we have faith that our fellow-citizens are doing the same, and that our government is basically legitimate. Countries where people feel that they have some say in how the state acts, and where there are high levels of trust, tend to have high rates of tax compliance. That may be why Americans, despite being virulently anti-tax in their rhetoric, are notably compliant taxpayers.

Greeks, by contrast, see fraud and corruption as ubiquitous in business, in the tax system, and even in sports. And they’re right to: Transparency International recently put Greece in a three-way tie, with Bulgaria and Romania, as the most corrupt country in Europe. Greece’s parliamentary democracy was established fairly recently, and is of shaky legitimacy: it’s seen as a vehicle for special interests, and dedicated mainly to its own preservation. The tax system had long confirmed this view, since it was riddled with loopholes and exemptions: not only doctors but also singers and athletes were given favorable rates, while shipping tycoons paid no income tax at all, and members of other professions were legally allowed to underreport their income. Inevitably, if a hefty chunk of the population is cheating on its taxes, people who don’t (or can’t, because of the way their income is reported) feel that they’re being abused.

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/talk/financial/2011/07/11/110711ta_talk_surowiecki#ixzz1e3BrefzF

 

The Magic of Sri Lankan Salesman

17 Thursday Nov 2011

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I have done it again. There were clear warning signs more than a week ago. Helvi had a visit from a dark skinned young boy, doe eyed and very friendly. It was a plea for us to save money (again) on our gas and electricity bills. Only last year we did heed a similar request from similarly dark skinned and friendly door to door  salesmen with name tags, urging us to save money by changing our gas and electricity supplier. He too took his shoes off before getting past the front door taking out the paperwork for us to sign and save money. Five % reduction in both utilities he enthused then.

Not to be deterred by Helvi’s tactic in saying the boss wasn’t home, he returned yesterday afternoon during a rain squall. He put his AGL umbrella to rest outside and that should have sounded alarm bells. As you get older all those kinds of signals become somewhat a mute point as the afternoon weariness sets in, and the beckoning of a glass of red becomes more urgent. I had deviated from red into a crispy white instead (it was hot) when he knocked on our door. I had just taken that first vital sip.  It is not to be interfered with, ever. Besides that, the change from smoke to liquid is so much healthier.

Before the sip and the knock on the door I had peeled the potatoes and sliced the onion. Not just that, but also ‘infused’ the sliced potatoes with olive oil, turmeric, salt, cloves of clove and some chilli. Has anyone noticed that the word ‘infusion’ together with food has taken the culinary world by storm, not unlike the words ‘and stuff like that’?  The bouquet of spices filled the room and had certainly reached the front door, which after having opened to the dark skinned utility salesman must have been like a welcoming dream come true. Sri- Lankan heartstrings were being pulled all over again. Only the bonus of a signed customer would make the day even better.

The logic of changing the ‘utility’ once again was made overwhelming, the discount would be a mouth-watering 10% AND the pension discount on electricity would be maintained. ‘Not only that’, he said,” Energy Australia is now an ASIAN company”, hoping for a shift of loyalty to AGL by us, delightfully ironic when considering the background of both us and the Sri-Lankan salesman!

He pronounced Bowral ‘Booral’, indicating he wasn’t a local. Where did he come from? Did he travel all the way from Sydney? He too had not only taken his shoes off but socks as well. He spoke well and with conviction. The only spanner was that perusing our original contract with Energy Australia (Asian Company) was that little item of a penalty if the contract was terminated within 2 years. He glossed over it and calculated that the extra 5% discount on both gas and electricity by AGL (The Australian Company, he re-enforced once again) would be re-couped very quickly.

Anyway, we relented and signed a new contract after a few moments of reflection on Sri Lanka and Tamil Tigers. Was he a refugee? He makes a living going door to door selling Utilities and his bonus would evaporate if we remained sullenly opposed to the extra discount. Besides that, we wanted to continue sipping our clean skin crispy white. Helvi offered him an umbrella on his way not knowing he had his own from AGL, “The Australian Company.”

It had been a good day.

Rottterdam 1941

12 Saturday Nov 2011

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Some of us go through life insuring ourselves for any known or unknown eventuality. We do that so that nothing untoward will ever happen, forgetting that a life too secure might well end up with a life unlived. After all, one would not have once life pre-digested and miss out on the wonders of the unknown. Perhaps when there is an overwhelming surplus of the past and just snippets of a future left, we go digging about into the past. It’s a bad habit and a sure sign of ageing, desperately having a last fling at tidying up s unsolvable riddles.

The picture above shows a one year old and a two year old, both August babies and both are getting a tubbing on the balcony of our Rotterdam apartment. That the apartment is standing is remarkable seeing the picture was taken a year after the bombing of Rotterdam. It is even more remarkable that the picture is such a serenely domestic photo, belying the reality of the situation. The boy at the front with hair sticking up is Gerard and the other Frank. Frank turned out to be plagued by severe and chronic schizophrenia. He is still alive and only last week was taken on a holiday ito the South of Holland. He has a life of sorts as perhaps all of us do.  He collects stamps and watches soccer on his TV.

The thing about the picture is that, barely visible, my mum is wearing a rather pretty dress with shoulder pads that stick up, rather than those shoulder pads that went more sideways, which were all the fashion some years ago, sometimes making large women stand out like Sumo wrestlers. My mother is intent on the job of tubbing us. Both of her boys are sitting quite happy. It is a photo of reality. We are sitting there getting a wash and my mum looks on. It is also a photo of unreality. The V1’s and V2’s started to come down unexpectedly even though they were meant for London. The riddle is the shoulder pads and the tubbing; giving an image that must have been so unlike the real situation. On the other hand, a photo of the carnage that Rotterdam suffered and was still undergoing could not have included getting a ‘normal’ tubbing’, or would have included my mother’s shoulder pads.

Going back to insurances, we have none. I do worry about not having car insurance, especially after receiving a bill from GIO some time ago about damage to a car from a tow bar fitted to our car. The bill was, from memory over $1300.-. We did not admit liability as the car had backed into ours during a parking struggle. Since then we haven’t heard from GIO.  

We used to have insurances about all sorts of eventualities but lately I can’t for the life of me imagine what we could possibly gain from having them. If our house burns down, well, the body corporate fees include insurance for that. Our belongings are precious and the personal aspects of losing them can’t be insured against. We don’t have Harvey Norman featuring to any extent in our furniture which consists of bits and pieces from our previous farm-life in Holland and odds and ends scavenged from quasi antiques shops. I noticed a lot of TV ads for funeral insurances. What are they hinting at? Strangely enough, those ads feature a man feeling guilty of (again) not caring enough about dying before his partner has been well provided for. What about if she carks it before him?

This is it. Enjoy your week-end.

Hydrating Shampoo with endless Erections?

07 Monday Nov 2011

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It clearly has gone beyond the realm of fantasy when shampoo is being advertised with having hydrating qualities. I thought it insulting many years ago when shampoo selling, directed mainly at the mane of the female, had those pseudo scientific linguistics added.  VO5 or HO2 Carotene added for free and TO YOU. Now we have shampoo for curly hair, shampoo for straight hair, and even for baldness or ‘no-hair’, Shampoo for the bald? All this is now called ‘hair therapy.’  Are women taken in by all this? Perhaps they do? Advertisers now go through a lot of research before spending millions on ads. They understand that the word ‘therapy’ is immensely popular. Many are proud to admit they are in ‘therapy’, busy solving deep-seated and clear-sighted un-solvable problems, all clearly the fault of great uncle Herman with his sweaty feet. So, it seems logical and a short step to link shampoo with ‘therapy.’ Next time, I stand under the shower I’ll try and avoid ‘hydrating’ my hair. You just never know what damaging hydrating chemicals are in it.

Of course, stupid ads are even worse for the male. “Have women screaming in your bed, begging for more” is included in an ad for some Goat tablet. There are pills for penile enlargements with promises of a never ending erectile stamina with gigantic phalluses to make the ladies smile. “Make your love last longer” was on a gigantic bill board near Sydney’s airport some time ago advertising some inhalant taken through the nose. They should put that sign inside The Family Courts.

However, the blue ribbon for nonsensical advertising has to be awarded to the commercial TV channels. It was bad years ago. Now those channels just show ads with, if one is lucky, some short bits of film segments in between. There is no escape.

 In some countries, Holland included, TV and Radio had no advertising at all. It was simply banned. However, as a triumph of money over good sense, the captains of industry and money making started both commercial TV and Radio stations off shore in international waters on boats and a tsunami of junks has followed ever since.  The battle is lost now, but at least, they still have the sense in Holland, when we were there last, to show the ads in between programs.

Now, I hardly watch those moving pictures at all, ABC including. The modern way of making TV is to include hissing or amplified humming noises. Is this to make it real and to hide the lack of anything of substance? A kind of stupor inducing white noise with sometimes a few words intelligible but mainly a mixture of ssssssssssss…real cools…..zzzzzzzzz. Yeah…..love me…….. suck…..gggg nowrrrrrr……..fuck youhhhhhhhhhhh…………..wow, aaaaaaaaa……kind off…….yeh know…

It’s all so much Ennui, Weltschmerz, Malaise, and Accidie… How come English language is so poor in having words describing spiritual poverty?

More moronic TV is on ABC3. There is this irritating couple of pre-teens who can only think of fun by throwing buckets of paint over each other or rolling their eyes, twittering their eyelashes. It’s just bullying and the noise is unbearable. Who watches this stuff….?

There is one program that has a group of young people in a wild and dangerous jungle. At least, they try and overcome adversity by climbing trees, abseiling cliffs or roping across a river.  It might be an English production, but at least it tries to entertain by adventure and includes nature. All taken together though,  I find the fare for both young and old on TV clearly declining. Or, most likely,…… am I getting a bit passé?

‘Normal’, there is no such thing. ( only Abnormal Taps and Park Benches)

30 Sunday Oct 2011

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There is no such thing as ‘normal’, even amongst the world of public toilets and taps. I thought I had seen the end of abnormal taps when leaving Goulburn and moving to the Bowral environs. No such luck. Abnormal public toilet accessories might be rare but they still exist, even here in Bowral. I first encountered those strange taps in Goulburn and opposite the Court House. Perhaps as a reminder that punishment will be meted out to you no matter where you are or indeed, can be applied without a Judge or Court, as a result of merely washing your hands. Justice has many mysterious ways.

The fore mentioned abnormal taps are of the kind  that are totally useless for those with a single arm or one hand disabled or in a sling, broken, smashed or even without fingers. Those taps stubbornly refuse to give water as soon as you want to feel the wetness of it. There is some kind of mechanism that shuts the water off as soon as you need it.  No matter how fast you move your hands under the tap, not a drop will the tap surrender. I don’t know the hydrological engineer responsible for this wonder but it must have been his or hers life’s work. The Michael Angelo of taps.

You can only get water from the tap by one hand turning the tap and holding on to it for dear life and wet the other hand under its stream. You can’t rub hands together. You can only kind of rub fingers and rotate the wrist a bit. You can then do the same with the other hand. But the whole job becomes frustrating and it leaves the job of cleansing of hands almost hardly worth going on with it. You give up and hope the next public toilet will be less punishing.

Then there are those park benches, made to torture at best but more likely to have been designed not to be sat upon, ever. You still see them sometimes, especially at railway stations or bus stops and again as with the taps, outside Court Houses. They are made of two pre-cast concrete upright structures, bolted down (who would steal those?) which support sturdy wooden joists across. The hardwood timber supports are spaced too wide apart and it takes only those with generous bottoms to glean any comfort from them. For those with normal bums, those seats are best negotiated by constantly moving or shuffling backwards and forwards, relieving the cutting of blood supplies to thighs or vital organs including of course the male conjugal part(s). I am glad to say though, that they are now being replaced with far more ergonomically designed wooden structures that are comfortable and good looking as well.

One should always look out for the good things in life!

Toilet Talk and Walking days.

28 Friday Oct 2011

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With ageing comes the inevitable increase in both frequency and urgency to seek the friendly embrace and comfort of a toilet. We all know that, except of course to the foolish young, cavorting under strobe lights and indulgencies of frequencies of a different kind, but still involving bodily functions.

The first thing to do when changing address is to reconnoitre thoroughly the availability of public toilets. I did, and now can safely go for walks without the hand-held GPS for finding, just in case mind you, a nice toilet.  The first one is within coohey of our place at the hallowed grounds of The Bradman Oval, The International Hall of Cricket Fame. The toilets are utterly original, sparkling clean and with normal taps (thank God). I often relish the idea, that on the very seat I am squatting, Bradman might well have s(h)at as well. It always gives my day a pleasant tinge. A kind of good and wholesome, optimistic start, how can any day go wrong now, I ponder?

Between our house and the other side of Bowral runs a small river with a concrete footpath parallel with it. Even though it is just a few hundred metres from the main street, it could be miles away. It is a beautiful walk, the river alive with ducks and their ducklings.  I take this walk along the creek every day with of course the manic Milo, straining at the leash almost pulling me along to the other side of the creek, totally disregarding my endless urgings of ‘nice walking Milo’, ‘good boy Milo’ and above all ‘no pulling Milo’.

Yesterday, about half way and just after some rain I noticed an elderly man lying in the grass near the water, trying to get up. He also had a small dog, a poodle and a walking stick. He was struggling so I helped him up. He told me he had no feelings in the bottom halves of his legs but also told me ‘I walk for miles every day’. He spoke well and I inquired if he needed some help to get back to his house. ‘I’ll be alright, thank you kindly’, he said, so I left it at that. I thought he might have been in his eighties, perhaps a retired pilot. There seems to be a plethora of retired pilots living here. Perhaps they like to retire higher up. We are about 750 metres above sea level.

Anyway, on my return I noticed him still walking along slowly and on his mobile phone. With the previous feeling of optimism and the pleasant reflection on Bradman and the possibility of having shared the same toilet seat, the mood became somewhat more melancholic. Were the walking days of this elderly gentleman coming to an end? I still have an almost Emil Zátopek zeal in thinking my walking days will go on indefinitely but no doubt so did the elderly gent (without feelings in his lower legs). Was it seeping away from him now?

Sadly, I could not come up with a better solution than the idea that the ‘seeping away towards the end’  will come to all of us, even to those that are now hopping and shimmering around underneath strobe lights to wild tempestuous music.

 Enjoy the day. It might never end.

Good food born out of Poverty. (or so it seems)

27 Thursday Oct 2011

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We are all totally aware that good nutritional food doesn’t need to cost any more than rubbish food.  In fact it cost less.  However, the notion that it does (cost more) seems to doggedly persist. Here is a rebuttal but don’t take it as the gospel, even though the gospel tells some real furphies as well. Take what you like, ditch the rest as they say at AA.

Good tasty food was always the domain of the poor who had to make do with what grew in the wild, or in the case of farmers, managed to grow on small plots of land. So, in Italy it was pasta with garlic and herbs, for the lucky few some salted grated cheese on top.  In France it was much the same but there were the added bits of chicken or sometimes wild boar. To give taste, it was always the herbs that gave the helping hand, more so than the actual ingredients. In Greece, with olives and more, olives, fish and more fish, but always garnished with herbs and fragrant oils. The poor knew how to add flavour no matter in what country they resided in with the help of herbs.

In England, I don’t know but I suspect, the eating might well have been more punishment, although bread pudding is a dish I still remember with some joy. In Holland, raw salted herrings with mashed spuds with preserved cabbage (zuurkool) kept many alive. The Scandinavians got their vitamin intake during those long and dark sombre winters from berries found in the wild by bearded men clothed in reindeer skins (while watching The Seventh Seal. ‘Det sjunde inseglet’ directed by Ingmar Bergman with that forbidden (ing) character Max Von Sydow, playing chess).

I am amazed that despite all the cookery books and the TV Master-chefs shows and all the attention on food that more and more people seem to be overfed but undernourished. Perhaps it is ‘because’ of that attention on food. The poor ate out of hunger, a necessity to stay alive. Perhaps we eat in order to eat, a past-time or like a hobby. Has anyone noticed that we now eat and drink while in motion, walking the streets we are chewing away, driving a car we are chewing, shopping we are chewing. In the trains and busses we are chewing. Jaws going up and down everywhere now.

Do we need to get poor again? How can people claim it cost more to eat healthy food than unhealthy food?  How much the cost of pasta with garlic and a sprinkling of grated parmesan?  Or, chicken thighs with carrots and spuds, or Lebanese bread with sliced olives, tomatoes and some anchovies in the oven?  How much does it cost for some chuck steak stewed with potatoes, carrots, onions, capsicum with the help of a bit of turmeric, chilli, aniseed, a couple of cloves, cinnamon? You can cook those meals for a lot less than a night out at MacDonald’s or KFC’s and are tastier.

The main thing, it seems, might be to go back to when we ate out of hunger, not because of boredom or for lack of something to do. Or so it seems to me.

Just love those cows. (But not so much Boat People)

25 Tuesday Oct 2011

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 Careful, watch it! Here is another one. A controversial piece, whose words could easily cause dangerous empathy, or for some, irritating disdain or dismissal, no one is obliged to read any further.

The ABC 4 corners have come up with 2 sessions that I found to be somewhat related. A few months ago there was this exposure of the mistreatment of cattle. It resulted in a nation-wide outrage. Who can forget footage of the poor cows being beaten, their sad pleading eyes as they went into their final death throes. Of course, this was all done in a naughty overseas country. Our condemnation went instantly into automatic or overdrive. Within days the export of cattle was halted and reassuring footage was shown of thousands of cattle being put back into holding yards and given rich grains pouring from laden bins. Thousands flocked to the NT and even Queensland and stroked cows. Thank goodness for our humane treatment of all thing living. Tearstained faces on the telly and many cancelled their holidays to Bali or Java. How barbaric. At some stage old footage of sheep being loaded alive in boots of cars by white frocked men, again in an evil overseas country, was again dug up and dusted off, just in case we had forgotten. We all felt a warm glow of empathy. We were not like that. We are caring and full of humanness. We felt good about ourselves.

Now, I find all this love and sweetness for animals somewhat at odds with what we saw last night on the 4 Corner programme on boat-people. There were sad and pleading eyes as well. There were people being beaten, shot at. Some were driven into suicide. There were lip sewing, knife or razor cuts, self-harm percentages, children in jail without parents. Opioids medicated people suffering the torment of indefinite detention without having committed a crime. Those ghastly scenes of boat people running around the dark with tracer bullets lighting up the sky, something reminiscent of a Kristalnacht.

 This has been going on for years now. How odd, that we seem to accept that. Where is our indignation and love of humanity? I suspect that much of this lack of empathy can be squarely laid at the feet of the commercial TV and Radio world.  Last night on the ABC’s media watch, Jonathan Holmes pointed out about the way the commercial TV and Radio manipulate and hijack our national conscience and managed to change an entire nation into a kind Joseph Goebbels mentality. (Goebbels was Reich-minister of Propaganda for Hitler) There is a sizable portion of the Australian population who genuinely believe that boatpeople are being treated like royals. They are given red carpet treatment, palatial housing and benefits that other can only dream about. No matter how they are presented with facts or how often the UNHCR or Amnesty International points the finger at Australia, many persist in believing the gospel of Commercial Media.

I don’t know what the answer is. I haven’t got it. I am surprised that the Commercial media is so popular. I would not even know where our channel 9 or 7, 10 are. We haven’t watched those ever. The ads are too distracting. Perhaps, the freedom to corrupt and enslave us into Goebbels is not freedom at all. Should a Government be far stricter on the likes of Bolts, Ackermans, and Jones’ of this world?