Say Something...

I have to say, it's pretty satisfying finally getting to read good press about your football team. In a petty stupid way it's an endorsement of your own beliefs, much in the same way talkback radio hosts berate their callers just for having a slightly different opinion, or how religious zealots keep insisting we non believers are all going to hell so that they feel better about their own conflicted existence. Okay, that may have been off topic somewhat but the feeling still stands. To an extent you could argue supporting a sporting team is a lot like choosing a religion - it feels pretty good for the most part but in the end it probably counts for very little. Collingwood supporters are certainly not the chosen ones, that's for sure. Heaven for one thing would certainly have more stringent dental and personal hygiene requirements, that's all I'm trying to say. Here endeth the lesson.

Regardless, all blasphemy aside this bout of press is quite fun to read and reread. While I certainly know how much maligned people see our chances in September and how we're just making up the numbers, this is all old hat material I have come to expect to read in the media. At least with this Monday's post mortem editorials the bigwigs Sheahan and Connelly have taken a small portion of their spiels to let everyone know that we're not as bad as we used to be, certainly better than last year at the very least. Though really everyone knows that at the end of September chances are one team of a felinesque moniker will hold that flag up high, no one really seems to mind as they go about preparing for their own finals campaigns. Having said that, I'm not sure how much finals experience we need to make more than two weeks of finals. Clearly the year before we were outclassed by sides more experienced at this kind of action. Hopefully we can go a bit further this time round.

In other football related news, I was watching Seven News for some reason and heard that Nathan Buckley's tips for the year to date totalled 101 or so. Well I am pleased to say I am tipping better than Nathan-freaking-Buckley right now on 109, so where's my personal football tipping segment on the evening news? Introducing Justin's tips for the round... "Who?"

Tumbling back through the archives as part of my ongoing procrastination quota for the day, I realised that it has been a year (and a day) since I first started this shambolic excuse for a blog. It feels great being the proud parent of an overly wordy, smart alecky, heavily backdated, net leeching blog with the vocabulary of almost 70 posts. Writing each post leads me to pour a bit of myself into each sentence, even if most of them are incoherently written or full of smut. 

In today's Age:

Just a quick one for today that I might actually deliver upon. Today was 'Sorry Day' and the Rudd government finally did what so many governments before them failed to bring themselves to do. Many might argue that the move is largely useless as it happened such a long time ago and we are not directly responsible for the actions of those before us. But really the move is symbolic of the present day to acknowledge the mistakes and sins of the past in order to allow everyone to move on and attempt to rectify the awful situation the Aboriginal population are in compared to the rest of the population. Saying sorry does not make it all better right away, but at least it's the first step in the right direction.

The only reason I felt compelled to write something is because of the reaction the apology got in certain quarters. Listening to Nova at work, I was led to their site (don't know how long this page will be up for... look for post 154. It summarises what's wrong with everyone there) where they had a forum going on. Reading the reaction of people there made me think there are too many bogans with access to a computer. Bigoted comments from people with a stereotypical impression of the Aboriginal community as lazy drunk dole bludgers really make me wonder if we've suddenly gone back to a less inclusive society over the course of the Howard years.

Are people that selfish that they shudder at the thought of using "our taxpayer dollars" to fund projects that improve their way of life? Someone there even cited the "upward turn on inflation" any compensation or addition funding for projects might have. Obviously nothing else matters when you're overextending your budget to pay off your mortgages, plasma TVs and private school fees. If I was a hyper aggressive person I'd tell one of these forum posters to take their next tax cut and shove it up their arse. The black man won't get your precious money as long as it's up there. Oh look, I've resorted to generalising too. Hush, while no one else is looking...

Strangely looking at the comments made on The Age, the comments are largely in favour of the apology, regardless of its merits. I'd look up the Herald Sun page but I'm afraid I have a good idea of what I'd be getting there.

If nothing else, today we should be sorry for people who think like the typical Nova listener.

Love stupid pointless videos with nonsensical titles? Then click here to try a little something from a documentary that screened on Seven a while back named "The Man Whose Arms Exploded". No, this is not something I've made up in order to make you click that link but a genuine programme with an awesome title. His arms weren't exactly filled with sticks of C4 or anything, he just worked out on steroids a lot.

(In case I've managed to triple post this - the embedded player fucked this site about a fair bit, but not after I failed to put the correct year into the box which sent this post flying back through time. Talk about reliving the past. The link to the video can be found here.)

In terms of backdating posts this one goes back a fair while due to obvious reasons such as my laziness when it comes to blogging. So in order to make this feel more timely, I suggest you party like its the 8th of September, 2007. I'm sure that's why Prince changed the title of his famous song from December 31st, 2000 to the far catchier and rhymable 1999... no cut-through or recall at all.

Yes, times were very different back then. I was still unemployed, and hence the explosion in useless blog posts. The economy was still in good shape (it's true - look at those interest rates), and every other half bit columnist starved for material was writing about Facebook. Ooh, look at me! I'm in my 40s and I'm on my child's friends list! How hurtful and embarrassing for him/her! Watch them squirm uncomfortably in front of their computers as I write friendly hellos on their walls! Watch them squirm some more as you talk about their friends at the dinner table! Break down those intergenerational borders for the sake of a slight chuckle? Sure, count me in! But it sure is fun and entertaining for me, all while filling up my word count for the week too! Is that too many exclamation marks for one paragraph?!

Phew, where was I? It seems all so confusing all of a sudden. Though in all seriousness, Facebook no longer has the grip it once had on me. It's pretty cool for keeping up with friends you might not otherwise be able to keep in touch with, especially those overseas in my case. But once you get over the constant checking of updated statuses and new photos from the 21st you just dragged yourself in from, there isn't as much to do afterwards. For a while the only thing keeping me there was Scrabble, and even then I needed a break from the bad habit of dictionary combing for obscure Welsh spellings that are supposedly used today. I guess I could try and set up a ten step type program to rid you of Facebook addiction by creating a group on Faceb~... oh, nevermind then. It's a bit like trying to cure alcoholism by taking someone to Oktoberfest.

Until next time, try and write about a part of your anatomy that exploded. Obvious answers will not be accepted.

And now for the most superfluous segment to hit publication since the "Rudds v Howards" segment in The Age, which polls the electorate for indecisive people who share the names of our political leaders on who will win the upcoming election. It's a wonder why they didn't come up with this sooner... cos everyone knows people with similar names are more in touch with each other... right? Last week the Rudds and Howards were in Rudd's favour 5 - 3. With bated breath, I wonder what will happen this week. You can smell the enthusiasm from my feet a mile away. What do you say to that, Mister Rudd?

Well that was uncalled for... how rude!


Anyway, I was promising a segment of sorts for all you loyal readers out there, and I shall not renege on said promise like a politician flipping the bird. It's now time for another of my random photos from the life of such and such and the weird world I view them from. Before I begin, firstly I have to ask the following question: how do you know you've become dependant on caffeine in your daily existence?


Originally I was hoping to have the cups fill up to the top of the bin, but then recycling day hit two days later so alas it was not to be. That exposes a harsh reality that us photobloggers face from time to time, do we bother doctoring the photo or not? I mean it'd definitely look funnier if it was completely full... so do I go and line the bottom with chunks of polystyrene spray painted to look like coffee cups? Do I go and steal used cups from other people so it fills up quicker? Or do I go out and get a life?

Speaking of a life, don't go about judging me about that Diet Coke in the bin. It was being given away at the station or something, plus I was performing my very own Coke test where I compared Diet Coke, Coke Zero and that weird drink from Singapore I got in a show bag at Uni open day 4 years ago (Go Sursi!). It can only get better with age, right? I find it odd how they can market two lines of product that are effectively the same thing but in different packaging. It's like one is targeted towards women who are health conscious and the other is orientated towards guys who want to drink Diet Coke but are scared their mates will accuse them of being so very in touch with their feminine side. I bet they both come out of the same pipe too...

So stop badgering me about the Diet Coke. This isn't the segment where you go and critique the contents of my workplace bin, though that post will be coming along later when I go raid the trash of the rich and famous on bin night. First stop: Mel and Kochie. They can't look that happy all the time without some sort of illicit drug or the essence of several small children before each broadcast. After all the children are our future, and then breakfast, lunch and tea.


I may have missed my train to work and was subsequently ten minutes late for work, but it was all worth it in my opinion. Clever (or funny) graffiti is hard to come by these days and this piece of work made me smile for some odd reason. As usual I take the wording down to its literal level and imagine some guy just loitering about (that's illegal too mind you) on the staircase staring you down, hurling abuse from above as you try and make the train for that urgent appointment. There may as well have been someone standing there heckling me after missing that train, but luckily no one else was there to celebrate my idiocy.

At this point I may as well go and take another pot shot at the state of public transport in this city. When that new fancy timetable of theirs was put into place last month the people running the joint were so out of sync that they apparently didn't know what to do and everyone was left stranded in stationary carriages in the rail yards outside Flinders Street for minutes on end. They eventually worked things out after a week or so, but really if they can't handle a few additional trains here and there, what makes them think they'll be able to handle the new trains due to show up in the next few years? For shame. I'm Alan Jones.**



*May not be real headline. Though I did say it was from the Sun, so you would've been well within your rights to believe it was true. The Rudds and Howards out there would not have been impressed.
**May not be real name. For the record I have no interest in coaching a rugby side or cavorting about in public toilets. I will take sponsorships any day though, for I am a sellout and would like a shiny new car to avoid the public transport I so sorely deride.

Good news, or at least something worth writing about today, dear readers. I am working again, or at least temporarily. For the next week, I'll be trying out this drafting job using AutoCAD, hopefully it'll be a long termer. I know it's been a fair while since I left the old place but it really hasn't felt that long to be honest. It's hard to describe my general mood right now, cos I'm typing on impulse here but it's good to know I can still offer something with my minuscule skill base.

And thus began a loosely related string of job searching stories... 'CUES FLASHBACK MUSIC'



PART ONE - SENSIBLE NARRATIVE, REASONABLY READABLE
The entire job search saga began about a week before I left the old place. I've heard some workplaces block job searching sites but I didn't appear to have a problem in this regard. I went about searching for positions in companies with a more commercial background, as I felt my best chance was to get a similar position where my past experience would be better appreciated.

At first I went and sent out cold applications to a few well known construction companies in the hope that something would pop up mid-year. One of them was nice enough to send me a rejection letter written in the nicest language possible. I like those ones that try and spare your feelings, they're so much better than the ones that criticise your lack of talent and personal hygiene.

Next I turned to the recruitment agencies. Now, my experience with agencies may differ from your own, but being perceived as a human resource is really not where I want to be. Being flogged around by human cattle wranglers is an odd feeling in the least, especially when they don't give you any form of response in weeks. They say they do the best for you but sometimes you really have to wonder, given they have a list of hundreds of available candidates, all almost definitely better than you. But unfortunately they do control half the jobs put out there by the big players in the industry, so in certain times you do what you have to do.

Eventually I did get an interview with a construction company on the upperish end of town, St Kilda Road. Still quite close to the city, right before the hookers take charge of public safety. (Imagine if you got pulled over by a traffic cop. I don't suppose you could screw your way out of that one.) Since it was in a big fancy office building I thought it was appropriate to suit up for the occasion. I still don't completely feel comfortable in those things, especially when my sister mocks me every time I don the outfit.

Here's the part of the story which I have been holding back for some time now. The only reason for that was the off chance that I could actually get the job, but since I haven't heard from them in a while, I figure my chances there are kinda slim, don't you think? Okay, here goes. Time for a slight shift in narrative, hope it reads like a cheap suspense novel.

The office reception looked perfectly fine when I exited the elevator. I spoke to the receptionist and quietly waited. I inspected the premises. A very bright sunlit location for business. The usual hum of fluorescent lights held its presence in the background, a noise I had become accustomed to over time. I walked over to the window to take a look outside. We were moderately high up on the 14th Floor, and I casually surveyed the world outside to the building next door.

My attention was suddenly drawn to a series of books lying by the window sill. I went in for a closer look. The leather bound book spine featured a name I never expected to see in a place of work. The name - L. Ron Hubbard. I still did the interview and I could see books by the author in the background, weirding me out all the way through. Would I have had to have been a Scientologist in order to get the job? I'd do many things for work, but I don't think I'd do that. Afterwards, I fled the premises in confusion. At least they didn't try and administer an auditing test on me.


And that brings to an end the descriptive part of my little story for today. The rest of what you read here is something that came from a very weird place, I have to say. I thought about deleting it or moving it to another post to be filed away forever, but it seems a shame to waste all that effort, especially since I was up until half past twelve ranting away. Needless to say you don't have to read it unless you really have nothing better to do... though I've recently been accused of being in the same state with my accelerated blogging and scrabbling...



PART TWO - RANT CITY, ENTER AT CAUTION
But after a while I got to thinking about my plans for the long term and what I really wanted. I had taken my previous job mostly because my education at the time did not really arm me for the job I wanted, and that was mostly because I was looking for the wrong position. Someday I hope to be an architect and I needed to be taking the first steps in that direction. Sure I had sat through many years of both high school and university, stressing over ENTER scores and mid semesters, but it was all for this final purpose. Now the next step in the grand scheme of things: actually going out and getting a job.

People at school tend to think they'll be right once they get into the course of their dreams. They reckon the course material and the lecturers will take care of them in the end, and then they can go and specialise in the field of their choosing for the rest of their lives. The truth is far from this little mirage. Many people will have told you this before, and I may as well try and sink the boot in a little further - working life is nothing like what they tell you at school. Once you get out there, there is nothing that can prepare you for what lies ahead. Half of what you learn gets throw out the window and soon you'll be too busy keeping up with work to remember how pointless the majority of those classes were. Fortunately, this transition is not overly traumatic, but it certainly is a tough slog until you adapt.

And so this is the state of play with me firmly in the midst of it all, a student trying to get his foot in the door and somehow get someone who is willing to hire an untested risk when they have so much else to do. Employers for the most part cannot be stuffed teaching you every little thing. They understand you're fresh out of uni, but the bottom line is they cannot afford to watch your every move and guide you along. I was fortunate at my old job in that there was a whole array of people I could ask. I guess that's a benefit of working at a smaller company.

Searching for graduate level employment is a pain due to the fact there's so little of it going around, and of those that are, the scope is so specific that it limits your choices even further. Once I had determined my efforts were best dedicated to finding work in the architectural sector I had to narrow things down, so much so that I would only be able to apply for one or two jobs in a week. I was hoping to cast the net a bit further, but there was no point applying for stuff I wasn't interested in.

It is strange how it has taken me so long to return to what got me interested in architecture in the first place - computer aided design. I have always kind of liked tinkering with design programs both 2D and 3D, and generating new ideas in realistic forms inevitably led to where I am (or where I wish I was) today. Of course the only spanner in that works is when my ENTER just failed to get me into architecture. Academics aren't exactly my strongest point I'm afraid. The past few years have been very much a detour, albeit a pleasant one. Taking three years of construction has definitely exposed me to many different things I would not have seen had I jumped straight into architecture.

But now it is time to head back to my original calling. It is time to put an end to all this sidetracking and do what I've been wanting to do for so long. I am certainly looking forward to the next three years.

No, Not That Awful Show, but something a lot less annoying. Unless you find overly long posts annoying... Well, it's been a very long time between posts from this author, I certainly apologize for whatever you may have been missing out on while I was away. How do I explain my long absence from the blogosphere? The only thing I can say is that I've had a lot for my small mind to process over the past few weeks. I guess the best way to explain it would be to chronicle it for the ages on the Internet for all to see, or at least those who will care to click this link.



Friendship Pyramids
Approximately four weeks ago, I randomly ran into a friend I hadn't seen for ages. I won't give any clues as to who that might be, but if he is reading this, I'm sure he'll know. Things were pleasant at said encounter, and we decided to catch up again in the following weeks.

Sounds all innocuous at this stage, doesn't it? I thought so too, but the truth was still to come. We met up a few times after work to have a bite to eat and talk about what was going on in our lives, you know the usual kind of banter. At one of these meetings he mentioned he was starting some sort of business. I was intrigued. A business at our age? That was certainly something different and remarkable when taken in at that sentence alone. So I asked him what it was about, but he would not give me any more information at that stage. Fair enough, I thought.

And so the next few catch ups (there's that phrase again) went on well enough, until he finally decided to let me in on his little enterprise. This all happened at a nice little bar in the city where all these other partners gathered to have drinks and chat the night away. All in all, a very nice looking arrangement going on. I wanted to know more about how it all worked, despite the feeling that it was all too good to be true. The guys were more than happy to make an appointment to see what they could offer me.

When that night came, I didn't quite know what to expect but the way things had been built up over the past few weeks, I knew I would finally learn something tonight. So there we were, the four of us including my old friend, his two business partners and myself. As they explained how the business worked, I came to the realisation that this bore a strange resemblance to a pyramid scheme. All these diagrams converging towards the one point at the top of the tree, promising exponentially exorbitant amounts of growth for all those who could sell enough to get there. And here I was, to start at the bottom and climb that ladder to wealth and glory.

For all the potential profit and cashflow to be had, they had the uncanny knack of deemphasising how much it would all cost me. Of course I could just sign up enough friends to join the business, or just offload enough stock to promote myself up that mighty organisational chart. I don't know about you, but I have a really hard time trying to justify recommending anything to anyone, especially when I have all the reasons in the world for doing so. Pushing products onto my family and friends is not something I could do in good conscious.

The worst part was not finding out how the machine worked. No, that was all well and fine, but the hard part was trying to get out of something you had gotten yourself so deep that you could not extract yourself without resorting to loud noises or rude insults. Like a telemarketer trained in his job, they are reminded to never take no for an answer. And so it went on for what seemed like an eternity, trading questions and uneasy answers back and forth. I should really learn how to say no properly.

And so I emerged from that little encounter after almost an hour all argued out and hungry (I thought dinner would be involved!), and wondering how a friend could use someone like that for his own means. I dunno, maybe I was wrong about their intentions for all I know. But being cynical finally came in handy for once.



The End of a Beginning
Another reason for my lack of blogging was my decision to leave work. Well really, the mutual decision between my boss and I. Perhaps I should explain. I have been working at a building company for the past six months in a job I have no real intention of carrying on in the future. I happen to be studying construction when really my dreams lie in architecture, especially in design.

So here I was in the wrong degree doing something I knew I would not be doing after this year. While that is alright for the most part, I suppose ideally I should be doing something more relevant. That's not to say I didn't learn a lot from being there though. Through my estimating role, I came into contact with a lot of methods and practices I did not come across at uni. I also learnt a lot about the building process in a way I'm sure I would not have at an architectural firm. It was especially interesting to find out how a design and build company handles a job from start to finish. It certainly made me think that a setup like that could appeal to me someday. For all that I am eternally grateful.

But the fact remains that I was not really in a position that I truly loved. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but that was mostly because of the people there and how they weren't jerks and all. Occasionally I'd have the rough day but there was nothing to really complain about. At the end of the day, there was no real point in staying when I could be spending the remaining six months looking for something I really wanted to do. And my boss knew that too, so he approached me about it first. It was a tough conversation, but at the end I knew what I had to do.

And so here I am, without a job. Though the timing isn't too bad, as the holiday is much needed. Working full time for the first time was a lot to take in, and near the end I was starting to lose a lot of coherence trying to wake up each morning, just surviving til the end of the week where it could all start again. Frankly I'm amazed I went for so long without having a job of any type. I'm not sure if I should be congratulating myself or giving myself a good kick up the backside, but that's just how it's panned out.

It's nice to know my last week there wasn't all in vain. I managed to tie up most of the loose ends and say most of my goodbyes before I departed, but I have this feeling I may have a few more things before I am truly done there. But in the meantime, I managed to conjure life out of office stationary. Behold!


In case you were wondering, the thing on the left is a humanoid clip based lifeform that happens to be doing the splits. The thing on the right is a stapler remover (or destapler/counterstapler) with crazy eye ridges again made of clips. Too much time on my hands? Never!


Oh, I had another story prepared after this, but this is getting way too long, even for me. More in subsequent posts.

It's odd how things can just happen for no reason at all, especially when you least suspect. It may be a chance encounter with someone you haven't seen in years, or events beyond your awareness spiraling together to form a surprising conclusion. This is probably none of those things really, but I like to think it has something to do with forces beyond our control. No, I'm not talking about invisible deities or increasingly unstable weather patterns, I'm talking about The Secret. For you see, for no real reason at all our family finally has a gaming console.

I guess I should explain myself before I continue. Most normal families have a couple of things that would be considered 'fun' lying around the house for us kids to enjoy. Not us though. Sure, we had the usual toys and all that, but we didn't have anything in the way of board games or video games, save my antique original Game Boy. That's right, I'm sitting on a cash cow here folks. None of that new fancy DS stuff, real Tetris is played on monochromatic screens in 8-Bit sound.

In any case, you may think Nintendo has nothing to do with this narrative. But you thought wrong. So how do you feel now? You see, mum just decided one day to go out and buy a Wii. I'm not completely sure why, but I heard it had something to do with her seeing some old people on the TV playing Wii. Not to be outdone by a bunch of geriatrics I suppose she pulled out a random catalogue to discover it was actually quite cheap. But really anything is cheap when compared to the heavy duty strength of the PS3 or XBox-whatever-random-integer.

While this may have all been a bit of good luck for the family, I choose to believe it was due to my reading of a little thing known as The Secret. Many of you may have already heard of it, especially if you have seen that episode of The Chaser's War On Everything where they take the piss out of it. Here it is if you haven't seen it, or just want to relive classic comedy in pirated Internet video form. Either way, it helps to give the impression that I've typed more.



So without me having to describe too much, the power of positive thinking attracts material objects to you like a real magnet would. And the best part, is you don't really have to do anything, just visualise it all day and you shall receive. But it's not really a secret if you think about it. Men and women have been cuing up outside Centrelink for millenia doing the exact same thing. You don't need to buy a book or watch a dodgily produced film to know that.

While I'm still barely on topic, I may as well throw in another video for you to ignore at your peril. For more 'Secret' inspired humour I've found a clip from Boston Legal, one of my favourite shows going around at the moment. Currently sitting in the real prime time slot of 10.30pm on Monday nights, this 'legal dramedy' is a strange mixture of satire on much of American culture, visual gags and some of the best dialogue you can ask of in a TV show. It also helps that the cast is top notch, especially when it comes to the chemistry between James Spader and William Shatner's characters. The following clip is a small example of what I'm on about.



I couldn't find the outcome of that little plotline online but I can tell you that Denny's plan works... up to an extent. I'll try not to spoil it too much, but it is pure gold.

Returning from our little detour in a full circle kind of way, getting a Wii is probably a mixed blessing. Sure it may be excellent fun the entire family can enjoy (except my dad, who refuses electronic fun in all forms) but it does involve a lot more physical input than that required from traditional controllers. Playing Wii Boxing is one of my favourites cos it lets me let off some steam and get a half decent workout, but the other week I boxed my way through 6 waves of opponents before I managed to break out into a sweat. That was all well and fine, but the morning after I woke to find both my arms were sore... it took me until lunch to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.

And I'm not the only one. When the Wii first came out, it wasn't too long before the first wave of Wii-induced injuries emerged. Things like boxing matches becoming a bit too physical, hands slamming into tables, walls and windows created entire websites cataloging accidents like these. Some of them might be a tad too graphic for your liking, so don't say I didn't warn you. The worst ones might not involve a trip to the hospital, but a hit to your wallet when you don't secure the Wiimote strap properly and the sweaty hands of an overenthused gamer sends the Wiimote flying across the room into a priceless Ming vase or that brand new wide screen TV you bought not so long ago. Just watch for the day when insurance agencies refuse to pay out of 'Acts of Wii'.

And thus brings us to the end of an epically lengthy post. If you're still here, congratulations on making it this far. Just remember it took me twice as long to write this as you took to read it (just an educated guess, you may not even be able to read in which case, why are you here in the first place?). Catch you next time, and think about donating some cash so that people without fantastic games for their Wii may now play in peace.

So much for the weatherman. That's the last time I'll be wearing my hail proof rain jacket outdoors for a while...

I'm not sure how people who are paid to predict the weather actually do their jobs without copping a lot of flak from their family and friends. Either way you see it, you can't really win. You wouldn't really win any prizes for getting it right, since it is your job and anyone with eyes or any functioning sense of touch or smell could be able to predict what the weather might be tomorrow and have a half decent chance of getting it right. Or if you get it wrong, you would most likely be derided for not being able to do your job even with all that fancy equipment and lab coats that make you seem to know a lot more than you actually do. I should try doing my job wearing a lab coat, and see if my estimating becomes any more accurate. At the very least people would take me more seriously...

But then again, it's not like you need to be a certified genius to tell the weather. As soon as the lovely Livinia Nixon shows me her degree in meteorology, I'd be more than happy to let her tell me who had the $20 on the celebrity wall. Mike Larkan would normally beg to differ, but he's too busy being shot out of a cannon while trying to deliver the 7 day forecast. And that guy on Channel 7 is just too plain boring to even justify rendering an insult. I'd rather go after that Sandy Roberts, who I can't take seriously anymore ever since he delivered the immortal lines, "Who is the league's sexiest player?" in a viewer opinion poll. That one never gets old.

There are no winners when it comes to telling the weather, it's merely a case of who predicts the least ridiculous sounding 48 day forecast (killer blizzards from dusk til dawn, better turn that heater up!). May the best man win.

Ah, the pains of catching public transport, or the "pleb mobile" as a friend once described it. With more and more people catching the train to work, the system is barely able to keep up. Case in point: this morning, my train was canceled. And of course, everyone who missed the that particular train tried to cram themselves onto the very next train... you can imagine how that looked.

It's always funny how it pans out. At the start, people still have space to well, have space I guess. The carriage would be considered crowded, but just wait til the train makes a few more stops. As more and more people get on, those already on board defend their personal space until it is absolutely necessary to move closer together. This is usually forced when someone from the outside decides to force their way in, and people start pleading for oxygen with their last gasps before they are engulfed by the mob, another casualty of the public transport system.

Of course, an overloaded carriage is always preferable to the alternative outcome. At least in this case, another train eventually shows up. When one train is forced to stop because say, someone feels like their life isn't worth living anymore, and the best way to tell the world is to make sure no one else gets to work on time, that really fucks up your day. Now that might sound insensitive (I just read it back out aloud, it sure does...), but standing on the street waiting for a replacement bus for the best part of 40 minutes doesn't exactly do wonders for your sanity. And yes, did this happen to me once... fun times indeed.

Of course, many of these inconveniences are not always the fault of the operator. Random things like signal failures and the situation I described above happen from time to time, and a certain degree of patience is required. But clearly something can be done to improve things if such an event is to occur. It is clear that staff are not always properly trained to deal with extraordinary situations, and one would suggest some sort of crisis management training would be in order. The procedure to take may also need revising and made more clear to help staff understand what to do.

*Just so you know, this was not the actual train I had to catch... there was a perfectly good train arriving 3 minutes after I took this photo, and this train was not late at all. The train in this picture did not appear to be running late when I looked at my watch, it just happened to be scheduled to arrive in an hour. Sorry to get your hopes up if you were looking for proof of super inefficient public transport...