Why Advertisers Should Fear Me

Dear Universe,

I have been told on occasion that I have an excellent memory. I forget who by. However, over the years I have noticed that, while it definately has its moments, at times it seems to be rather selective in its excellentness. For example, I cannot remember What I had for breakfast on the third wednesday in February. You could argue this is because this counts as unessential information not worth remembering, an admirable explanation that sadly falls flat when you consider the amount of childrens television show theme tunes I know by heart. But whatever else you can by say about my memory, it has always been good at remembering advertising, and my father, in his speech at my 21st, told with some relish (and a slice of cake) the story of how, as a child, I would always tell them which product they should buy and listed all the reasons why it was superior, quoting the ad word for word. I suppose it raises interesting questions about retained memories, and how memory is affected by perceived cultural significance, plus the effect of advertising on children and/or suspecptible personalities. Or maybe I just saw a weird ad this morning.

Allow me to elaborate.

As I walked out of the train station, listening to a rock band singing tragically about how nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy, I noticed an ad promoting 'The Biggest Aussie Pie Night', showing a lot of Typical Australians(tm) at the football, whooping and holloring at the sight of a meat pie with sauce. While I enjoy a meat pie as much as the next person, perhaps more so, it did seem an overly generous reaction to a baked meat and pastry product, even one with tomato sauce. However this soon was forgotten when I noticed that one of the men (who from the look on his face hadn't seen a pie in years) was yelling out at the top of his lungs: "Support kids with cancer!"

This struck me as possibly the oddest thing I had even seen someone yell at a meat pie. Leaving aside the fact that I've never understood how giving kids cancer could be considered supportive, there was the question of why he was shouting it at all. Was he perhaps so excited by the prospect of pie that his vocabularly had failed him and he merely shouted the first thing that came into this head? Is it a bizarre speech impediment that made him shout "Support kids with cancer! instead of, perhaps "Yay! A pie!"? Or was he ordering the pie to support them?

Then it occurred to me that perhaps he wasn't shouting at the pie, but rather to the footballers he had supposedly come there to watch. As far as sporting cries go it certainly ranks as one of the strangest, but there is a certain nobility to it. Instead of shouting "Caarn the Bombers!" or "The Eagles are a group who are indiscrimate in their choice of sexual partners, and in particuliar we are insinuating that their mothers may have been considered appropriate!" (or words to that effect...), instead this man decided to tell his team that he supported supporting children who are suffering from cancer.

What a kind man. If only more could follow his example. Imagine it. Football fields would be transformed from a cacophany of cheers, insults, and slurs into a place of social commentary and political debate. The place would come alive, fuelled by the passion of people's views and beliefs.

You could even change the names of the teams to causes. Instead of the 'Brisbane Bears' or the 'Essendon Bombers', you could have the 'Brisbane Save The Bears', or the 'Essendon Stop Bombing Iraq'. Their fans could support them by yelling their team names and creating banners. It'd be great television too. I'm excited about this.

Of course, things could get a bit ugly when West Coast Pro Life face off against Port Pro Choice...

In conclusion, don't have people shout slogans on your pie ads, or I will make fun of you.

Yours Sincerely,
Sam.

Welcome To Your Mid Year Review, Please Sit Down

Well, the first half of the year is over (or if you're financially minded, the first half of the year has only just begun, so well done on catching up to the rest of us). Summer has been and gone (and good riddance), winter has properly arrived (Hello Winter), tax returns are now submittable (yet despite the offer of free money, many won't bother to do them until the night before the deadline, proving once and for all that this is NOT just a student thing), and christmas is now only 180 days away. Not that we're counting. It's also six months since I took my first steps towards pursuing a future in writing, rather than just writing as much as I could around full time work ("as much as I could" = "not a lot"). So it's time for a review.

Allow me to elaborate.

Six months ago (not to scale) I begun looking for part time work, with the interest of pursuing side projects such as theatre, film, and video games (the making, not the attending, watching, and playing of, respectively). By the end of January I had moved into a new position away from my previous employer and begun my new part time work. At roughly the same time I began work on my writing projects. This was very much a test to see if a) I could get by on a part time income, and b) whether I could productive enough to continue to produce material on an expanded basis.

So here is a comparison and review for 2010 compared to 2009, to swell my ego with the helium of success and puncture it with the thumb tacks of failure.

2010 so far: A review and comparison. (Titles by Warren Zevon)

Lawyers, Guns and Money: The financial stuff.

Savings mid 2009: $5000.00
Expensive holidays to the UK: 1
Savings mid 2010: $0

Unfulfilling Full Time Jobs 2009: 1
Unfulfilling Part Time Jobs 2009: 0

Unfulfilling Full Time Jobs 2010: 0
Unfulfilling Part Time Jobs 2010: 1

Number of credit cards mid 2009: 2
Number of credit cards mid 2010: 0!

Expensive medical tests 2009: 0
Number of chronic back injuries: 1

Expensive medical tests 2010: 2
Number of congenitive heart diseases: 0!
Number of chronic back injuries: 1

Personal Loans 2009: 1
Personal Loans 2010: 1

Lottery wins: 0
Lottery entries: 0
Results: Inconclusive.

Non-essential purchases: Too many.

Comments: Great improvement in debt reduction, but poor saving results.
Goal for rest of 2010: Save some cash up for visiting Dad in Perth, laptop. Less debt = good.

Johnny Strikes Up The Band: The creative stuff.

Number of plays produced 2009: 0
Number of plays produced 2010: 1

Number of short films written 2009: 0
Number of short films written 2010: 1

Number of novels written 2009: 0
Number of novels written 2010: 0.1

Knowledge of computer prorgramming and level design 2009: None.
Knowledge of computer prorgramming and level design 2010: a bit.

Number of sword fights won with pens: 0
Number of sword fights lost with pens: 0
Results: Inconclusive.

Number of Fish in Black cartoons 2009: 0
Number of Fish in Black cartoons 2010: 0
Sighs: Many.

World Hunger ended through power of written word: Still none.

Comments: Undeniably a great improvement, but more could still have been done in the time available. Procrastination is a harsh mistress.
Goal for rest of 2010: Finish level design course, write additional films. Resume Fish In Black. Release website.

Excitable Boy: The Misc stuff.

New Years Eve spent 2009: Brunswick
New Years Eve spent 2010: York

Love of Beatles mid 2009: 0
Love of Beatles mid 2010: 9000

Xbox 360 Gamerscore end of 2009: 19850
Xbox 360 Gamescore mid 2010 30071.
Conclusions: Worrying.

Favourite Band: Barenaked Ladies
Favourite Game: Mass Effect 2
Favourite Film: Toy Story 3.
Favourite Pretzel: Don't really eat pretzels.


Outlook: Positive.

Movie Review Smorgasbord Round-up Extravaganza - The Complete Collection Part 9: Toy Story 3

It has previously been established that I am somewhat of a Pixar fan. Indeed, while there are other films that I consider a must see at the cinema (Tim Burton still manages to get me interested in his movies, though with decreasing optimism as the years go by, and I'll be first in line for the Sherlock Holmes sequel), Pixar movies are really the only movies that I would feel genuinely disappointed if I missed.

Allow me to elaborate.

Toy Story 3 is of some significance as far as Pixar goes since it is a) the sequel to the film that shot them to stardom and b) 11 years since Toy Story 2. It's quite the trend to do sequels or 'reboots' of decades old movies these days, (TMNT, Indiana Jones, and Predator, I'm looking squarely at you) which I assume means kicking something while it's down, and the quality of most reboots would seem to bear this theory out. I can't help but feel pity for the marketing executive who puts his hand up in the meeting and says "You know, I think the world is ready for another Friday the 13th..." I suppose it's only a matter of time before we see Rebel Without A Cause: The Next Generation starring the son of James Dean's character going through an surprisingly similiar situation (but with better hair), and Gone With The Wind II: The Quickening, but in the mean time I hope they're a long way off.

Nonetheless I was very excited to hear that Pixar had taken over the development of Toy Story 3 from Disney. Let me summarise in this one act play: (for a less abysmal rendition, check out the excellent "Pixar Story" documentary on the Wall-E special edition dvd)


John Lasseter: Yo Disney!(1) this whole 3d animation thing is pretty cool. We should try it.
The CEO of Disney: Is it faster?
John: No.
Disney: Is it cheaper?
John: No.
Disney: Then you're fired.
John: Oh no! What will I do now?
Steve Jobs: Hey John, I'm interested in new technologies, want to come work for me?
John: Do I have use a mac?
Steve: ...maybe.
John: Well, I guess so. Hey while you're there, I've got this great idea for a portable music device that you can carry around with you, but doesn't require any tapes. (2)
Steve: Now that's just crazy talk John.

YEARS GO BY.


Disney: Hey John! That Toy Story thing you're working on looks pretty sweet. We always knew this 3d animation thing was going to be huge. Want us to market it?
John: Sure! All is forgiven. But hey, you seem to be churning out all of these sequels lately, and we're really proud of our characters. Would you mind if we handled the sequels for our characters?
Disney: Johnny. Would I do a thing like that? Of course you can do the sequels! To show you how genuine I am, lets not worry about contracts or anything like that. We'll call it... a gentleman's agreement. Would I break a gentleman's agreement Johnny?
John: Well, no, I guess you wouldn't. Ok, let's shake on it.
Disney: Johnny, buddy! Business partners don't shake.
John: Oh.

YEARS GO BY.


Disney: Hey John? It's Disney! Those movies are doing great. Toy Story 2 was great! You're great! That's why we're so proud that Toy Story 3 is being made.
John: Thanks! But, um... we're not making Toy Story 3...
Disney: I didn't say you were.
John: Oh. But you said...
Disney: Is there a contract?
John: No, but you said...
Disney: Did we shake on it?
John: No, but there was a gentleman's agreement...
Disney: That doesn't sound like something I'd say.
John: Oh. Well, I'm sorry, but we probably need to find someone else to market our films then.
Disney: That's fine, we're better off without you anyway. Oh, and we're shutting down our 2d animation unit and focussing on 3d from now on.
John: ...WHAT?

YEARS GO BY.


New Disney CEO: Hey, um, John, it's the new CEO of Disney. Yeah we fired the old one for being stupid. Listen, we're kind of in a bind here, all of our 3d films have done really badly, people are going to see Pixar films. They seem to prefer smart, clever, well written movies instead of, you know, bad ones. And I was wondering, you know, if I took you out to dinner, maybe go see a show, if, well, maybe we could patch things up again.
John: Of course, lets see what we can do. But can we have Toy Story 3 back?
Disney: Done.
John: And, sorry, but you gotta open up the 2d animation unit again. That was really stupid.
Disney: ...ok, done.
John: Come on, lets go to dinner. Oh, and Disney?
Disney: Yeah?
John: Bring your cheque book.

Anyway, Toy Story 3 was released last week. The family are getting around to go and see it, but I decided that I would go and see it myself in the meantime and hoped that it'd be good enough to see again with the family. Fortunately my hopes were not in vain.

When you do a sequel 11 years later you have two options. You can pretend that no time has passed at all and just explain away the quaver in the actor's voices as a bad cough, and the lines under their eyes as battle scars. Or you can take the "Cystal Skull" approach and just pretend that everyone took desk jobs for the last ten years and only now has something interesting happened. With animation it's tempting to do the former as you can draw the characters the same way you always have but Pixar rather interestingly chosen the latter, with the toy's owner Andy now 17 and heading to college and the toy's locked away in a toy chest fearing their future. Themes of fear, abandonment, and being outgrown have always run rife through the Toy Story franchise (and is responsible for some of it's darker moments) so the new time period works wonderfully. There is a certain sadness to hear the toys talk about those who are no longer with them, and their plans for the future.

The film maintains the charm of the previous films with the same antics and silly humour just as prevalent. What was more surprising was the genuinely dark moments that enter the story. Partially is due to the story itself, with the sense of lonliness and loss that drives the action. All the toys really want is to be played with one more time. There are moments of horror when seeming wonderlands reveal their darker undersides, and a surprising moment near the end when for once everything genuinely seems lost, and you forget for a moment you're watching a bunch of toys.

It's not quite perfect, the opening sequence is rifed with "mystical" line repititions (Pirates of the Carribean I am blaming you. "Why is the rym gone?" was an amusing line in the first film. The end. You did not need to ensure it was repeated in every single sequel with a kind of mystical significance. The same goes for those sea turtles.) that are a bit of a detraction from immersion, and there is one (but only one is pretty good by most films standards) solution to a problem that feels a bit cheap, but these are small concerns compared to an excellent story, great humour, and superb visuals.

What was almost as interesting as the film itself was the audience. I caught a 4:30 afternoon session in the school holidays, and the adults out numbered the kids by about ten to one. There were people ranging from parents to older citizens, from businessmen to cool and hip teenagers in hoods and far, far too low pants. Most of these people went on their own, or with a few friends of the same age. Most didn't bring children to this arguably kids film. They all clapped, they all laughed. On the way out of the cinema I passed a line of five people on their mobiles calling their friends and family to tell them how great it was and how they had to go see it.

I ruminated as I walked home, rugged up against the cold and rain in jacket, scarf and hat (and enjoying this immensely) that evidently the films had had a much larger impact that I had imagined. I love the Pixar films, but I had always assumed that they were widely regarded as kids films.

Evidently I was (happily) wrong.

Rating 5 out of 6.



(1) As far as I'm aware, John Lasseter has never in his life said "Yo."
(2) Also never happened.

Movie Review Smorgasbord Round-up Extravaganza - The Complete Collection Part 8: Alice In Wonderland

Alice in Wonderland is one of those books that I've always read. Most books I can remember a time when I had not read it, and remember encountering it for the first time. for Alice in Wonderland, I can't. Presumably this means I read it at a very young age, or I have selectively blanked the memory, possibly due to some kind of traumatic experience (I dunno, maybe it gave me a papercut or something), or maybe it just is not remembered with no greater significance or sense, a fact that sits rather well with the nature of the text itself.

Allow me to elaborate.

I do remember not reading 'real' books until quite late, instead focussing on younger texts and stories. My teachers were concerned that this showed a lack of intelligence or learning and eagerly tried to press older texts upon me, and felt sadly their suspicions confirmed when I showed little interest in them. What they failed to work out is that I was not reading the books for 'young readers' they offered me not because I was unable to understand them, but because they were poorly written, with plots that simply didn't interest me. Why would I want to read about a 10 year old girl going snowboarding when I could read about giants and dragons? Now that I'm older, I still ask myself the same question.

But I eventually stumbled accross a Terry Pratchett book (thanks to my stepmother) and read it in about two days. After that, I always had a book with me, and that's never changed. It was an englightening experience to discover that there were fantastic stories outside of the childrens books, and that I didn't have to read texts that bored me simply because people my age group were meant to read them.

In any case, at some point, I read Alice in Wonderland. Overall it amused me, and featured many inconic moments and characters that have entered into popular culture and usage. Everyone knows the Mad Hatter, and everyone knows about rabbits in waistcoats being late for things (It is unsure at this point whether the waistcoat contributed to its lateness). Which begs the question, if a text is so memorable and so well known, why on Earth would you mess with it?

Which brings me to the recent Alice in Wonderland film by Tim Burton.

I have a soft spot for Tim Burton films (or at least, up until 5 years ago I did) as he frequently includes for want of a better word a type of pleasant surrealism in his films that I find quite appealing. Many times throughout each of his films the strange, the fantastic, the peculiar will occur, not to unsettle or frighten but rather to add a sense of awe or wonder to the proceedings. Or at least, that used to be the case, but the more recent of Burtons films have moved from the charmingly bizarre, to the ocassionally amusing but mostly just kind of strange. In some ways, rather than a story with weird visuals in it, the films now seem to be weird visuals with a story in it.

Alice in Wonderland is no exception. Rather than a straight up film adaptation of the novel, it is instead set as a sequel, except due to a rather unfortunate desire to create a sequel but still include all the iconic moments from the book, it manages to feel rather familiar. The visual effects are a treat to behold, but I'd recommend not watching the film in 3d as even at the short running length my eyes were left quite sore at the end (Avatar on the other hand ran for about three hours and my eyes were fine throughout. The headache I got from THAT film was in no way due to the 3d technology.)

Similiar to other recent adaptations like the Lord of the Rings and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the film features a cast of excellent performers, and also similiar to those films their behaviour in no way resembles the original characters. Some the minor characters sound ok but Stephen Fry as the Chesire Cat loses the manic joy and replaces it with a solemn (or perhaps bored) air, a surprise as he's more than capable of insanity, and Johnny Depp perhaps misdefined 'Mad' and thought rather than crazy it meant angry, as he spends a lot of the film wandering around in what appears to be a barely controlled rage, before ocassionally remembering he's meant to be crazy.

All in all it results in a film that manages to feel both entirely too familiar and yet wildly different, culminated in an out of left field final battle that feels thrown in because they felt they needed some kind of big finish.

If you want pretty visuals, go right ahead and see Alice in Wonderland. But beyond that, I can find little to recommend. If you're after a proper sequel to Alice in Wonderland, read the actual sequel, and then play American McGee's Alice, which takes Wonderland to some dark places and actually manages to make it feel new.

Rating 2 out of 6. (1 out of 6 in 3D)

Attack Of The Mini-Blog

From time to time I have ideas for a blog that can't be spun out to a full length blog, or feel bloated and swollen like they've eaten slightly too many chips (no such thing, but I digress). So this in attempt to use up some of those shorter blog ideas without needlessly extending them. Sort of a spring cleaning, but for blogs.

We'll ignore the fact that it's winter.


Diary Of A Mad Writer #7 - Trying To Find Time At Work To Do My Work

I recently made a rather odd discovery, which is that my most productive time for writing and planning creative work is when I'm at my day job.

Allow me to elaborate.

I started working for a new company earlier this year with the idea of working part time to pay the bills, and allow me more free time to rest and so I could focus more time on my writing work. And in all aspects I appear to have succeeded, but not in the way I expected. The plan was, work during the morning, creative stuff in the afternoon, evenings off, with a full day of creative work on Fridays. Unfortunately however, my afternoons and evenings have mostly ended being spent playing games, resting, and otherwise taking it easy, which has had the nice benefit of ensuring that for the first time in years I am not walking around in a general state of exhaustion. But it means I haven't spent my afternoons writing as planned.

But that's ok, because since moving to the new job I have written two blogs a week, a play, a short film, done planning for some tv episodes, and done a chunk of work on a novel.

Perhaps it's the structure, or the ready supply of tea, but it has been very easy to write between calls or on breaks at work, and after some tests, I appear to write much faster and produce more work in between other stuff than if I sit down and just power through it.

So say what you like about my job, at least it's helping me write!


I am your new leader! I'll be behind you all the way! Wait...

My friends facebook updates have been a blaze since late last night with the news, and show no sign of slowing nearly 24 hours later. There has been movement at the station, and the word has very much gotten around. Kevin Rudd, the PM who managed to oust the previous PM after 12 years, has stepped down, as an alternative to being dismissed. The news is full of debates on both side, those who signal this as the beginning of the end for the Labour leadership and those who are uncertain but hopeful for the future.

I'm honestly finding it hard to work up any enthusiasm.

Allow me to elaborate.

I have a rather unique (some would say naieve) view of politics. I vote, I pay a vague attention to who the candidates are, and I ensure I'm always up to date with the Australian Electoral Comission. Other than that, I have an agreement with them, being that I'll stay out of their way if they stay out of mine.

Back when the previous PM was starting his fourth term, I remember one of my parents saying that it would be near impossible for for the other party to win now, and they weren't sure how they were going to manage. Out of politeness I refrained from pointing out that we seemed to have survived ok for nine years so far, and that the past nine years didn't feel all that different from the six years before that.

In the end, will the new PM change anything? Probably not much. My coffee will still taste the same, my job will still be the same, the homeless will still be homeless. Labour lowered unemployment? They've previously raised it too. PMs come and go, but in the end life goes on, and I suppose it stops politicians from being... I don't know... serial killers. Hey, it could happen.
 
That Costello chap always struck me as suspicious...
 
 
A Short And Insightful Blog About Milo, By Sam.
 
I like Milo.



You have been reading A Short And Insightful Blog about Milo, By Sam.

It's all fun and games until somebody dies in a freak yachting accident.

I've never been a particuliarly sporty person. This is apparently odd for an Australian, as we are "The Sporting Nation", whatever that means. I gather it means that we're a nation that plays sport, but given the amount of farmers, office workers, politicians, clowns, street sweepers, telemarketers and pediatricians, I can assume that not every person in the nation does. It could also be argued that it's because we as a nation are very good at sports, but from the little I know of what's happening in the World Cup I assume that the people who argue that are not currently arguing it very loudly. I suppose it sounds better than "The We Used To be Convicts Nation" but nontheless it's not an association I can attribute myself to.

Allow me to elaborate.

I didn't enjoy sports when I was a child. This wasn't due to any particuliar dislike of the activty itself, but more to do with the fact that I didn't feel very good at it, and the combination of lack of self esteem and a general intolerance for this kind of hesitence in my schoolfellows ensured I never actually became good either. This, combined with my unfortunate dislike of vegetables and my enjoyment of computers, video games, and comic books ensured that I was living out the stereotype of the awkward nerdy child rather well, which was only further cemented at age 15 when I was prescribed glasses.

I never really enjoyed watching sport on tv either, to be honest I could never see the sense of watching a bunch of people get fit while sitting there eating chips and ice cream (not at the same time). On the whole I found it rather dull, and would much rather watch something with a story, as narrative always was (and always is, and always will be) very much my thing. But a few years ago my little brother was going to be part of a half time game at an AFL match, and as you're unable to buy half time only tickets, we went along to the game.

And I still don't get the rabid fascination, the screaming, the yelling, the anger and the despair when your chosen team loses. If you were out there playing I could certainly understand the emotion and commitment involved, but I find the reaction to simply watching other people do something quite baffling. This leads in to my confusion regarding sports based patriotism in general. If an Australian were to win a gold medal at the Olympics, my first reaction would not be "Wow! Australia won! We, as a country, are awesome! Bow before our sporting prowess, feeble lesser nations, for we are Australia!" My reaction would instead be "Good for her, she's won, she must feel very pleased." I don't see the connection between the achievements of an athlete, and the achievement of a nation, just as I don't see a connection between the quality of a film and the studio that signed the cheque. I believe in people, not in administration.

But I'm starting to understand, at least, a little of the interest in watching sport being played. I still don't really see the fascination of AFL as far as sports go, but when you're actually in the stadium rather than watching selectively what the camera has decided to film, you can actually see some of the strategy and tactics involved. In particuliar, one teams had developed the habit of passing the ball back behind them and then kicking forward, which the other team didn't quite know what to do with, and apparently neither did the rabid fan sitting in front of me, who would scream out "JUST ****ING KICK IT YOU ****S!!!!" despite the fact that this was largely the reason that their team was ahead by 12 goals. It's hardly amazing viewing by any means, but I started to see some of the strategy and rules involved, and this, at least, was quite intriguing.

Slightly as a result of this, late last year I got into a couple of the EA sports titles for Xbox 360, and was rather surprised by how fun they were. Given the last 'sports' game I had played was NBA Jam on my Super Nintendo back in 1994, I had missed out on a few advancements in genre since that time. Sports, like any other game has rules and tactics that are appealing, and allow for a large amount of strategy. In particuliar, the ability to play as just one player in a team, while a computer controlled team plays around you is rather enjoyable.

Last weekend a friend of mine was playing in her netball finals, so I went along to watch her play and cheer her on in the standing there silently watching the game kind of cheering on. I was very glad to be there, and they played very well and have secured a place in the grand final next week. Once again I found the tactics and rules involved rather intriguing, particularly as with netball you are unable to run with the ball, resulting in a very fast and fluid passing game as the ball generally travels much faster than anyone else does. Having a friend playing also meant that unlike the AFL I actually did rather want their team to win, at least for their sake.

So while sports fans certainly scare me, I'm starting to at least begin to understand some of the intrigue involved, and I'm certainly looking forward to watching my friend play in their final next week. I reckon they'll have a sporting chance.

*ducks*

Happy Birthday, Mrs Queen!

Yesterday was the Queen's birthday. Except that it wasn't. Before Queen Elizabeth it was the King's birthady. Except that it wasn't. The Queen's birthday is actually in April, but we 'celebrate' it on June 14th every year, for reasons that perhaps once make sense, but no longer really seem to.

Originally changing with the reigning monarch, along with coins, stamps, and souvenir mugs; it was decided some time ago that as monarchs are sadly fleeting but the calender is eternal, it was opted by many countries in the commonwealth to instead fix a single day to celebrate their birthday, allowing us to get on with our daily lives for the rest of the year without stressing that we may have forgotten the Queen's birthday, despite the fact that, as we no longer celebrate her birthday ON her birthday, we automatically have. In fact, I will be honest and say I have no actual idea when the Queen's birthday is, and had to look it up when writing this blog. That whole "Monarch's are fleeting" thing didn't really work out in practice either, as the current Queen has been around for 50+ years, thus rendering the point somewhat moot.

I sometimes wonder how I would actually feel if everyone in the country celebrated my birthday when it wasn't actually my birthday, like everyone in the office buying you a birthday cake and you haven't the heart to tell them they've got the wrong month. It was a kind thought and, in any case, free cake is not to sneezed at. Unless you're allergic to cake. In which case, I pity you.

About the only thing we can say with assurity is that her birthday isn't on June 14th. So while we don't know when the Queen's birthday is, at least we know when it isn't.

Because of this, or perhaps just because we're Australian and love an excuse for a day off, Whatever significance that was once held has long been lost, and now the Queen's Birthday is little more than a reason for either a day off or holiday pay. Actually this seems to apply to a lot of our public holidays. I do try to wish people a "Happy Queen's Birthday", but this is mainly for the odd looks I get when I do, more than a genuine wish to inspire joy at the Birthday of our reigning monarch. In truth there's only one person I would actually wish to say Happy Queen's birthday to and mean it.

But it's not their birthday.

Back to Basics

I have a sore back.

I don't mean it's a little bit sore, or that I slept on it the wrong way, or anything that could be described as temporary. When I saw I have a sore back, I unfortuantely mean permanently, and not anything that could be described as a little bit. What makes this more interesting is it was entirely my fault. Well, mostly.

Allow me to elaborate.

When I was born, well, I was rather distracted at the time, but as it turns out my spine wasn't entirely as a spine should be. At this point I could make jokes about being spineless and having no backbone, and look, I just did. But the issue in question was that one of the discs in the lumbar area of my spine (presumably where the logging industries work) wasn't quite as sturdy as it normally is.

This was not noticed at the time, I merely mention it now for chronology's sake. Fast forward 21 years, and I was now an adult, writing, among other things, short comedy plays for my local church. We had been doing this for about six months and it was great fun and our humour was being well received.

The latest script included, for reasons that now escape me (possibly as a result of ensuing concussion) a section where an actor portrayed the life of a tree. He started as a seed, then grew into a full tree, before facing off against strong winds, forest fires, before finally being chopped down by the logging industry, at which point he fell sideways to the floor I was that actor. I played that tree, and that floor was a rather sturdy wooden platform, which made a satisfying thump when I hit it.

The audience applauded at this display of violence, and I finished the play in good spirits. We took our bows, and I returned to my seat, whereupon I realised I was having a little trouble breathing, which didn't on the whole strike me as a good thing. The doctor (when I went, he wasn't sitting beside me at the time or anything) explained I had bruised some ribs, but that this would go away in time, and for the moment I should instead concentrate on not falling over in future. The pain went away and so I promptly forgot about it.

A few months later though, I noticed that my back was rather sore. The occasional sore back was nothing really new so I ignored it, but as the month wore on it didn't go away, so I realised something might be wrong, and desiring some medical opinions to back (ha!) that up, my doctor organised some tests to be done, that were a) extremely expensive, and b) a little bit weird

The first was an x-ray, which is not all that weird as I've had them before (once for a suspected broken ankle, and another time to check the airways in my lungs. X-rays generally seem to occur in dingy test labs, like they're slightly embarrassed to still be performing them in this day and age. The problem, as a nervous technician came in to tell me, was that they couldn't find my spine. I idly considered asking them if they'd tried looking in my back, but decided against it and merely assured them that it was there, and could they keep looking.

A couple of readjusted x-rays later and I was proved medically to not be spineless, and I was off to have a CT scan, which is a far newer (and more expensive) test, that scans the layers of muscle and tissue sliver by sliver, therefore giving the odd impression that I had had a nasty accident with a paper shredder. Unlike x-rays, the CT scan took place in a gleaming white spotless lab, and involves lying on a bed which is passed through a giant revolving white disc, and left me with the unerring impression that if they couldn't work out what was wrong with my back they could at least beam me up to the mothership.

My doctor spoke to me once the results had arrived, and informed me that my extremely expensive tests had not actually shown anything conclusive, so he was going to recommend me to a physiotherapist to see if he could do something about the back pain.

I explained all this to the physiotherapist who took at look at the tests and told me that in actual fact, as a result of my fall, I had managed to disloge on of the discs in my spine that has been more than usually fragile since birth.

So, by writing what seemed a midly amusing scene involving a tree, I had managed to give myself a permanent back injury.

On the whole this takes suffering for your art to an amusingly literal extreme.

Diary Of A Mad Writer #6, Now With Mad Organising Skill(z)

This morning I went to my slightly overdue haircut, so I went and caught the bus over to Northcote, where I've been getting my hair cut for the last five years. Some would argue (reasonably persuasively) that there are many hair dressers in my own suburb, and wouldn't it save time to get it cut there? Well, yes. But I like this hair dresser, he knows me and he knows how I cut my hair, which is good because I don't, other than "um, shorter than it is now" which really doesn't narrow it down all that much, especially when I haven't been in a few months.

Before I get my haircut I generally treat myself to a cooked breakfast at the cafe accross the road, a) because it's extremely nice, b) because I'm in the area anyway, and c) because I can. There's something quite relaxing about writing some notes for upcoming projects while sipping a coffee and idly munching on some leftover toast, and it's something I would do more often if my budget and health allowed.

The haircut itself was a little short for my liking, though unfortunately once that's occurred it's difficult to say "actually a bit longer would be great, thanks" since the 'damage' so to speak has already occurred, so there's not a terribly huge amount you can do. Unless you're Doctor Who/Marty McFly, as then you could go back in time and, say, prevent the hairdresser from being born. This wouldn't change your hair but it would create a paradox that would at least take your mind off it. In any case it's not terrible by any means, and it will grow into a length that I prefer. And then continue to grow, like the rebellious head of hair that it is.

Currently I am putting some work into a couple of different long form stories I am writing, after the realisation that though it seems slower, I actually am more productive when working on multiple things at once. Even though I achieve less in each project, I achieve more overall, and so in the long term this is beneficial, provided I keep staring into the distance, which is why I really should go back to the optometrist and get my glasses updated.

So there are two stories I am currently working on long term:

A fantasy novel about trying to wake someone in your own dreams.

A fantasy crime thriller about the mysterious descendants of the so called witches from the Middle Ages. I would call it Harry Potter with guns, except that's a terrible thing to call it, and besides, it's not. Anyway, Ender's Game is Harry Potter with guns.

What I've never really done before, but which seems to be helping, is keeping some notes (which I'm using some software on my computer for) on characters, locations, and events and plotting out a timeline to assist me with keeping events going correctly. This is stuff I normally do in my head, but it's definately helping having it all out visually in front of me. The software does go a little too far, asking me rather unhelpful questions like "What does this place smell like" to which I must resist the answer "your face", but otherwise it's good to have an indication of each area and character, meaning their design remains consistent, and chan be updated as needed.

So I'm enjoying working on both of these, as well the website, the game project, the film projects, the theatre project, and the tv projects. Oh, and my day job.

Yup, keeping myself busy...

Cold Season. Flu Season. Rabbit Season. Duck Season!

About two weeks ago I noticed I was getting a cold. Normally I just go "oh rats," lay up for a couple of days and hope it goes away quickly, which it invariably does. This time I decided to take proactive action, dosed myself up on cold and flu medication and hoped it could be crushed before the cold I noticed decided to notice me. What a clever person I am, I thought to myself. Well, actually, no I didn't, I just sort of got on with things, but in my heart I thought that. Which is odd, because you normally think things with your head. But I'm a little strange.

As it turns out, taking proactive action was not as smart an idea as doing nothing at all (a comforting revelation to procrastinaters everywhere), as rather than being laid up for two days, I was sick for two weeks and off work for a week. The more medically astute of you will point out that dosing up on cold and flu tablets probably held it in check better than if I hadn't, and in fact, the cold would have been much worse.

I'm an educated man and it's a sad day when I can think of no more apt retort than "So's your face," so today is indeed a sad day.

So's your face.

I went to the doctor last Wednesday (and remembered his name this time too, natch) and he put me on antibiotics, but a friend also recommended that I take garlic, vitamin c and ginger tablets to help combat some of the symptoms and boost the immune system so after the chemist I headed down to the supermarket. While browsing through I encountered a number of worrying labels affixed proudly to packets of cold and flu medication.

One packet told me in a confident sounding voice that their product "May reduce the duration of your cold by half!" Call me crazy (and so's your face), but when I purchase medication, I'd like to know that it WILL help me with my cold. If it only MAY help me, I'd rather buy a cupcake. That also MAY help me with my cold, and also it's a cupcake. Everybody wins.

Another packet was very pleased to inform me that their fruit extract had been "Clinically Trialled." Think about that for a moment. Clinically trialled. Not Clinically proven. Trialled. In other words, all they are confirming is that tests have been performed. They are not in any way confirming that the tests showed it actually worked. For all we know, it may have been shown that it was less useful than a red dead haddock, and I'm guessing that is in fact the case, as if it had been shown to be helpful, they probably would told us that.

So I passed on those two and instead selecting a packet that, while it made no promises, was at least not suggesting ambiguity. And as I am back at work today, it does seem to have been excellent.

So's your face.

Wait...

I'm afraid your leg needs to be amputated, although it could just be a mild sprain...

About a week ago they offered free health checks at work, so I signed up.

Given that a work based health check is by nature mostly non invasive, and given they can only provide basic recommendation advice (generally either "See your doctor" or "Perhaps see your doctor"), what they were basically offering was a chance to get stabbed in the finger.

Ow.

Anyhoo, they did a glucose/cholesterol test, a waistline measurement and the old "put a balloon round your arm and call it a medical examination" blood pressure tests that have intrigued me since childhood. Everything checked out for the most part, cholesterol and glucose levels were fine, waistline well within normal range, and F&V intake slightly low but easily rectified.

What was above average was my blood pressure. An anverage over three tests put me into the medium/high risk for future development of cardiovascular diseases. Which sounds fun.

Given that there were environmental factors that may have increased blood pressure over normal levels I (Firstly that I had been having a rather stressful week and not sleeping much, and secondly that you had just stabbed me in the finger) I decided to wait a week before visiting the doctor until the world was a bit calmer.

As I waited for my local medical group to answer the phone a couple of days ago I came to an unfortunate realisation.

I had forgotten my docter's name.

This on the whole was exceedingly embarrasing to me for some reason, like forgetting the name of your distant uncle. In my defence since the last time I had been to the doctor I had travelled halfway round the world (and then halfway back again to go home), explored three countries, changed jobs, written a play and a half and spent the last week memorising about twenty minutes of dialogue but none of this really accounts for being completely unable to remember the name of the person tells me to open wide and say "Ah".

The conversation ran something like this:

Reception: Welcome to Moreland Medical Group.
Me: Hi, I need to make an appointment.
Reception: Have you been here before?
Me: Yes.
Reception: Ok, certainly. Which Doctor do you usually see.
Me: Um, which Doctors do you have?

Pause.

Reception: You're sure you've been here before?
Me: Yes.
Reception: Ok, well, we have Drs Cameron, Lynch, and Teo.
Me: Ok, could I see Dr Cameron please.
Reception: Certainly we have -
Me: (Realising I had picked the wrong Dr) No, wait! Dr Lynch please.
Reception: Are you really sure you've been here before?
Me: Honestly I am.
Reception: You don't sound sure.
Me: Dr Lynch please.
Reception: Certainly.

What compounds the matter further is over the years I had seen all three of these Doctors before, because when you feel terribly sick and work and your concious is insisiting you get a medical certificate you don't tend to be particuliarly choosy. But I'm trying to stay with a regular Doctor because it just makes things much simpler so it helps if I can remember which one is which.

Dr Cameron and Dr Lynch are (other than that they both share last names with film directors, the latter one of the worst and most hideous directors ever to grace the silver screen, the former sadly fallen from former greatness into the seething bubbling mire of mediocrity.) unremarkable in their quite competence. Dr Teo on the other hand, while also extremely competent, has the rather amusing/alarming habit of worst case scenario diagnosis. Specifically, he will start at the worst possible thing my symptons could even vaguely possibly point towards, and then work his way down to whatever minor affliction you possibly have. I have been diagnosed with 'a bit of a cough' with the opening sentence "Well, people your age don't normally have heart attacks," and then proceeding down the list of possible symptons (Including strokes, crushed lungs, and oddly enough tuberculosis) before finally concluding that I should probably take some cold and flu tablets, and leaving me far more likely to have a stress related attack than before I went to to the doctor, which on the whole can probably be considered a step backwards.

As I sat in the waiting room and idly read the posters on the wall and wondered if I should be concerned about posters saying that 1 of every 2 women in the room could suffer an osteoporosis related fracture if I was the only one in the room, I realised with a growing realisation that I had in fact, made an appointment with the wrong doctor. But nontheless, apart from his nomenclature relation to a film director who's films fill me with the fiery hate that burns with the fury of a thousand suns, he was a very polite and helpful doctor especially as I hadn't seen him in about four years.

The end result is that I've got to go off to get a few (expensive) tests done, as my blood pressure while down still creeps into the med/hi risk area. This wasn't so surprising a couple of years ago when I was overweight, not exercising, and generally making a pig's ear of this whole health thing, but given I am now in the normal weight category, do watch what I eat, and while I can't claim to be the most voracious exerciser I do at least get a lot of walking in every day, my blood pressure remains high.

This most likely means nothing at all. But because with all medical things there is always a niggling small "but on the other hand" there is an extremely minor chance that this is a symptom/could lead to development of some form of heart disease, I need to go and get tested. Hopefully it will be a collosal waste of money, but the potential of heading something off at the pass justifies the cost.

So we shall see, we shall see. But being told you're almost entirely healthy is still a good thing.

Have you tried turning it off and on again?

The crumpet I'm currently eating (see previous post in regard to being most productive when all senses are engaged) advertises itself as "99% Fat Free" on the packet. This sounds all well good, and a jolly healthy snack to be having, until you consider that crumpets are dry and brittle and can only be rendered tasty if drowned in butter. So while factually true, it's a bit functionally misleading, rather like having a rifle with a special tag saying "100% Bullet Free!". Still, it's not as baffling as the sign on a packet of airplane peanuts that warns me that it "may contain traces of nuts." One would hope so.

To get back on point (or rather, to get on point, since I arguably haven't been on it in the first place), I have a reputation with computers at the office. Some people have a reputation where any piece of technology they pass will mysteriously break down. Mine works a little differently. Any piece of technology I walk past seems to mysteriously start working.

A common conversation at the office:

Agent: Sam, my login isn't working.

Sam: Ok, show me what you typed.

*agent does so*

Sam: Ok, let me try.

*Sam types in identical login. Computer loads perfectly.*

Sam: It seems to be working now.

*Pause*

Agent: I hate you.

This happens frequently enough to satisfy most criteria for scientific testing, and is a little unsettling but mostly amusing to me, but a little frustrating to the agents, particularly because I find it a little unsettling but mostly amusing.

When my mysterious powers fail me, or I'm too busy to be able to walk past their computer and have it spring back in to life, for most problems I offer the reliable but incredibly annoying advice: "Try restarting it, and see if it happens again."

Try restarting it, and see if it happens again.

This is by far the most baffling advice you could give for almost anything, and we seem to accept it for computers, when really we shouldn't. It doesn't apply to almost anything else. The book is missing a page? Close it, and open again and see if it's still missing. Your leg has broken? Lie down for a bit, then stand up and see if it's still broken. The milk gone sour? Put the cap back on, then take the cap off and see if it's still sour.

These are of course extremely ludicrous. The book will still be missing pages. Your leg will still be broken (unless the 'lie down for a bit' was six weeks). The milk will still be sour. Try them and you will feel silly, in pain, and sick, respectively. So why do we accept it for computers?

Because, damn it, it works!

It makes no logical sense, but it does. My more tech savvy older brother assures that there is indeed a logical reason for this, and goes into a detailed description of heating issues, airflow, and memory access and allocation, until I politely ask him to stop.

My less tech savvy younger brother hits the TV when it's not working. Unfortunately this, also, bafflingly, works. At least when he does it. It doesn't when I do, and I secretly think this is because I don't hit the TV hard enough.

Me even less tech savvy younger younger brother just wants to know when the tv will be working so he can watch my star wars DVDs again, and will tell us this multiple times, just to make sure we fully understand the gravity of the situation.

My friend uses this as an opportunity to point out why PCs are terrible, and why his Mac is ever so much better. This plan has slightly backfired as recently he's been screaming at iMovie and iWeb for not doing what he wants them too, and because the new OS update broke his brightness settings.

I just find the whole situation amusing, and decide to write up a blog entry about it and go and make another cup of tea.

Unfortunately the kettle doesn't always work properly, so sometime I have to turn it off and on again before it will boil.

Go figure.