In the past 2 weeks, various social activities has propelled me down the slippery slope of doucheness. Hence, douchelanche.
I really think the photos can do all the talking here.
If I can make a rather spurious connection, each photo has had seen me after further alcohol consumption than the last. Make of it what you will…
Not much been happening lately. Just working, and drinking and video games. I found the perfect excuse to get around Christmas: work. So I took no time off from it. This has resulted in me being invited to several Christmas parties, which I have found to be very political.
Anyway, it is Christmas Eve, and wouldn’t you know it, people are jacked up about all sorts of stupid crap. The price of this is too high, the price of that is too…fucking sideways, who gives a shit.
A typical conversation goes like this…
Lee: “Retailers are free to set their prices however they wish”
Caller: “I’m aware of that, what I’m saying is that it’s too high”
I don’t think they do understand. Then we get the emails. They usually involved a lack of understanding and comparison of statistics that don’t mean anything. Let me demonstrate…
The lack of understanding I generally don’t get upset about, it is poorly reported by the media and there is a general lack of understanding. For reference this has nothing to do with the price of this, but this is the single most important factor in determining pricing.
Now, for the stats. “The number of books sold in Australia is 23 million, and 560 million litres of coffee is sold, therefore, the price of eggs should be $4, when taking into consideration that the US consumes 212 billion litres of coffee, a full 98.2% more coffee than Australia. Therefore, petrol is too expensive.”
See how it doesn’t make sense? It’s Petrol Maths.
This brings us to the dealing of these emails, complete with photos!
As I sit reading a report by the ACCC, and listening to a fantastic album, the world is in harmony.
This is the typical new email notification face.
This is where I enter the rage stage and spot “petrol maths”.
This is the typing a reply phase.
Merry Christmas!
I feel like complaining.
I love “The Bill”, but I am most aggrieved by the use of one word: “forensicate”.
Seriously, this is not a word. After they have received the forensicated evidence as a part of the forensication process are they going to charginate the bad guy with a view to gaolerising?
This does not embiggen the writers.
Things have been pretty quiet on the radius front for quite some time now. However, I have a little update on this marvel of social interaction.
About 3 weeks ago, I asked a girl out. She said no.
Then, about 2 weeks ago, I asked a different girl out. She also said no.
There are several common characteristics in these scenarios: females, in November, said no. I’m sure there are many more, but those are the ones that come to my head at the moment.
But, the biggest and most pleasant of all common elements is the complete lack of pain. Granted, I used the wonders of the modern era to ask, but this does not stop people from being douchebags and giving me the thrashing of a lifetime.
In the vein of radius interaction, I bring your attention to my flight home from Melbourne. I was a bit sad to be leaving, but these things just have to happen.
I am not a particularly tall fellow, but I am not the shortest guy, combine this with low-cost airline seating and my knees are quite frequently up against the seat in front. But for the sake of saving a few dollars, this can be tolerated.
During the flight, the guy in front reclined. I’ve noticed in the last few years, there is real rage towards recliners, this I do not particularly understand. We are all stuck in this metal tube for a few hours, you seriously fucking expect me to sit bolt upright? If you do, I have a bridge for sale!
But, if one does recline and the person behind has occupied his cubic meterage of space, and you try to encroach on that, you may find yourself in an uncomfortable spot.
As the douchebag in front of me found out.
We took off and as soon as he could, slammed the chair into my knees. I responded by digging my knees in as hard as I could. This went on for hours (it seems a 200km/h headwind will add to travel time), he would fling himself into his chair and I would bring the knees up to meet him.
I finally got “the glare”. The glare was accompanied by some unapproving mutterings, most likely about the youth of today.
I added him to my mental list of “People I wont be helping when the oxygen masks fall”. They tell you in the safety demonstration (which recline-o-douche ignored) to assist other people after you have got yours sorted. The problem is, in an emergency, a lot of people forget you need to give the mask a good yank before the air starts. Hence, one might be inclined to assist. Not me.
This list expanded during the flight to include the woman behind me who argued to the death that she asked for a window seat and that she wasn’t moving. She was in the wrong row. By the end of the flight, this list was including a good portion of the plane and my arbitrary conditions were becoming increasingly easy to pass.
Out of hunger, I bought a Mars from the cart. I noticed I got the shitty regular size for $2.50. My chocolate grift at work had the king size for $2.00. Next time I fly, I’m grifting. I got in trouble from the stewardess because I took only the Mars from the little tray thing. She asked if I wanted the paper towel, well I am certainly no master eater and Captain Rattle certainly was good at finding turbulence. So yep, good idea. She then said I had to take my reciept. I said I don’t need it, just chuck it. She said I had to take it because of commonwealth law. WTF is that?
I’ll stop complaining now.
I’ve been a little quiet lately. There is good reason for this. Well, there actually isn’t, but being lazy doesn’t really sound that cool. I have however been in Melbourne. Again.
This was a trip that was planned for no other reason than because Melbourne was there and I was a bit bored. I even applied for a permit to take photos of trains, after my previous problems. Still haven’t received it.
But, I shall get onto other parts of the trip later, as the Big Weekend is one which I think was pretty good.
I started off in the casino, where I was mercilessly cleaned out at the roulette table. I then got hopelessly and irretrievably lost. I picked the meanest looking pitboss to direct me outwards. I figured he wouldn’t want a closed wallet taking up precious square meterage and would give me a no bullshit way out. He did.
I took a tram back to my hotel. On the final walk I was stopped by a lady who gave me a ticket for free entry to a nightclub. This club had some electronic music act playing. I like this, Melbourne is the home of electronic music in Australia, it’s a great fit.
I head to the night club and drink some of their cheap, horrible shots while listening to the music. I start chatting to the three blokes sitting on the couch next to me. We decided to head off and find a place that had more going on.
This is where the story becomes…blurred.
There are a few definites on Sunday morning.
I can also remember wanting to enter into an argument over logic with a bouncer, but my desire for self-preservation won out over my desire to be right. We were denied entry because we had no girls with us, this therefore made us gay. I wanted to say to the bouncer that there were no girls with him and his bouncer friend, so he must be gay too. Because I am currently in one piece, I think I avoided this.
Based on all this, I think I had a good time!
Next: The Zoo.
I found myself in a unique situation with regards to the radius this week. One which throws rather a lot of questions into my head.
Along with the basic premise that I repel women comes the implicit assumption that there is a distinct lack of communication and understanding of social cues when it comes to this particular social occasion.
So it is with great amusement that I offer someone advise to help with his girl problems, and…it works. I don’t mean it works a bit, like the public service. I mean it works like Newton’s third law.
This kid lives a few houses down from the deli, I buy stuff from there and have spoken to this kid before, he goes to my old primary school and for reasons which I can’t quite remember, we got the talking one day.
He mentions that he wanted to ask some girl out to the school dance, but didn’t know if he should. Obviously, he picked the worst possible person for advice.
One of his friends who works at the deli told us he has no chance because she is friends with the askee and she was going to accept some other dude’s offer.
Judging by the long and confusing string of facts offered up by both parties, I said I reckon the askee was waiting for the dude who lives down the road from the deli to ask.
Lo and behold…I was right.
What does this hold for the radius? Does the possibility of understanding communication change the nature of the radius and it’s possible effects?
My first rotation of the grad program is now over and I have begun at the next branch of the Department. This one is significantly quieter which makes it hard for someone who is generally significantly louder. On the plus side, I don’t really have to answer the phone, ever, but I do get to write VB at some point, which blows. Mainly because I don’t know VB.
This floor houses all the bosses, and bigwigs. As such, it is nice. The dunny has piped in perfume, all day long. It is bliss. Unlike that crapshack I was at before. I also found out our legislation permits us of the following:
- Force people to give evidence
- Even if incriminating
- This evidence can be used against them
- Officers are immune from prosecution
- Can extend powers as needed
Nice!
In my weekly gripe about something, it will be the Bali Bombers. They are pricks, let me just get that out of the way. But, the thing that is pissing me off is the stock standard comment spat out by rather a lot of people. This usually goes along the lines of “if they are so happy to die, why mount appeals?”. It was insightful at the time, now it is just fucking lame. I get it, we get it, you are awesome.
Right, I bring your attention to “Test Tube Aliens“. These things are gross and disgusting. But most of all, they are awesome. You crack open the thing and fill it with water, it then fizzles away as your alien is “hatched”. You then put this “sloog” shit in there, and the bastard is “living”.
When it gets “hungry” you fill up with some water and when it’s “drowing”, you, obviously, tip some out.
The guy who made it wasn’t big on intuitive design either.
Drowning - Flashes green
Hungry - Flashes orange
Everything’s fine - Flashes red
See, just like traffic lights!
Apparently you can fuck with it once you’ve registered it online, which I so far have not been able to do.
I got this gift of the cornucopia of modern life at my bridal shower.
McNuggets for all!
(Oh yeah, I had a birthday and have survived a quarter of a century. I kind of forgot)
I’d post something, but to be honest, nothing much has happened. I go to work and then I come home and play GTA4.
In the interest of laughing at small children…
Exhibit 1: Funny Looking Kid
Exhibit 2: Creepiest little shit ever
Maybe next week.
Every so often something happens which just makes you happy to be alive. I don’t mean that “boy, it sure is a nice day today” crap. I mean where you are just so fucking pumped you can’t wait for the next thing to happen. This happened to me, not long back and at work. I work in a high rise building, so of course, I ride an elevator rather frequently.
There appears to be some sort of elevator etiquette in play most of the time. At the top of this list is the holding of doors open. Aside from any office-worker analysis minutia over when and where the doors should be held open, it’s just plain, common decency.
So last week, I was about 5m from the elevator doors and could see a group of people finish loading themselves…
Me: “Hey, hold the lift!”
I pick up the pace over the last few metres.
But instead of moving their finger one inch to the right to the door open button, they move it to the door close button. The door closes in my face and everyone in the elevator car is laughing.
That sucked.
A few days later is when I become so absolutely bursting with joy. I see them.
They are outside the building and approaching fast. I move my finger to the door open button. At this stage, I thought I would take the high ground and let them in. Then I remembered that vengeance and revenge are fantastic banquets, best enjoyed frequently and in quantity. I know the door takes a few seconds to close and if one of them nabs the elevator up button, I’m stuffed.
So I leave it a few more seconds, they round the corner into the building, eyeball the empty elevator and move towards it. I mash the close button and fill my lungs with air, ready for the gut busting guffaw that shall soon emanate from the tiny crack in between the doors.
My plan worked perfectly. Perfect timing led to the perfect execution. My hearty laugh being the last thing they heard as I was whisked away.
Life is grand.
I turned 25 last week. 25 years without being stabbed. In many ways, this has many positive aspects for me. I have made it a non-mediocre goal to avoid death and death-related symptoms as long as possible. Which is proving to be rather difficult, I feel the cold these days. Being cold to the touch is one of the death related symptoms.
Now, the radius is still a little dead. If someone makes cakes for you, would that indicate the radius is not particularly effective on that person? I haven’t seen any dickheads on the train or bus lately.
The Strategic Junk Food Reserve is coming along in leaps and bounds, it is working a treat (haha, get the pun!?). For example, I stocked up on “Chomps”, I shifted over a quarter of a box of 50 in the first day. However, it seems that there is some poor logic when it comes to the SJFR.
The big boss comes up to me and pulls out a Kit Kat Chunky and regular old Kit Kat.
Me: “Afternoon, looking for a fix?”
Boss: “Yes, but not the Chunky”
Me: “Not a fan?”
Boss: “Too chunky” (wtf?)
Me: “I see”
Boss: “The Kit Kat is 45g”
Me: “Ok”
Boss: “The Chunky is 78g”
Me: “Ok”
Boss: “The chunky is better value”
Me: “But you don’t like them”
Boss: “But you get more food for your money”
Me: “But you don’t like them”
He bought the chunky. I can’t stand mushrooms, but if they are $1 per truckload, I’m in.
