Omega

So the announcement is not something that will excite lots of people. Except maybe Pat, who reads Mariner. But anyhoo...

The tentative synopsis for the first Star Trek: Mariner novel is ready!

Its power is unmatched by any technology known to the Federation. Thousands, galaxy-wide, have tried to harness its power, and failed. Most have died in the attempt.
But now, its almost boundless power has been captured, and the fate of the entire universe rests on one man's shoulders...

En route to join a Starfleet task force heading for Romulus, Captain Simon Anthony and the crew of the starship Mariner are drawn into a decades-long cold war on a planet not yet ready for first contact. Someone has discovered the secret to something the Federation has sworn to suppress, and Anthony, with the help of the USS Nautilus, is ordered to stop them. But how do you resolve a shameful legacy that a race will stop at nothing to correct? Faced with hostile natives, an uncooperative Starfleet compatriot, the forsaking of the Prime Directive, and the locked torpedoes of a Romulan commander determined to fight, Anthony and his crew must use all their skill and intelligence, before they too fall victim to
THE OMEGA PARADOX.

Expect The Omega Paradox to be ready for reading in early January.

Power to burn

I just thought I would regale you with some coolness, before an announcement later tonight...

McLaren Mercedes-Benz SLR
High performance super grand tourer
Engine: 5.5 litre dry sumped 90-degree V8, generating 466.8kW at 6,500rpm
Power: 617 bhp
Top Speed: 208mph (334.74kph)
Zero to 100kph: 3.8 seconds
Maximum Range at Top Speed: 65.86 miles (106 kilometres); endurance of 19 minutes
Passengers: 2

SAAB JAS-39 Gripen
High performance air supremacy fighter
Engine: One Volvo Aero RM12 afterburning turbofan
Power: 54 kN dry, 80 kN with afterburner
Top Speed: Mach 2 (approx. 2,160 kph)
Maximum Take-Off Weight: 14,000 kg
Dimensions: length 14.1 metres, wingspan 8.4 metres, height 4.5 metres
Maximum Range at Top Speed: 1,200 km; endurance of 33 minutes
Crew: 1

RMS Queen Mary II
Luxury ocean liner
Engines: Four Rolls Royce Mermaid 21.5 MW electric propulsor pods, powered by CODAG (Coal Or Diesel And Gas) powerplants
Power: 117 MW (157,000 horsepower)
Top Speed: 30 knots (55.56 kph)
Tonnage: 151,400 tons (137,327.76 tonnes)
Displacement: 76,000 tonnes (approx.)
Dimensions: length 345 metres, beam 45 metres, height 72 metres
Complement: 3,873, including 2,620 passengers and 1,253 officers and crew

USS Mariner, NCC-77301
Federation Sovereign-class starship
Engines: One cochrane Matter/Antimatter Reaction Assembly warp core feeding two nacelles, two subatomic unified energy impulse reactors, thirty-five Reaction Control System thruster assembly booster packs
Top Speed: Maximum cruising speed warp factor 9.75 (1.00031562 × 10¹² kph), maximum emergency speed warp factor 9.975 (1.07117867 × 10¹² kph) for 12 hours
Mass: 3,260,000 tonnes
Dimensions: length 680 metres, beam 240 metres, height 93 metres
Maximum Range at Top Speed: 1.359 light years (1.28541441 × 10¹³ km) at warp 9.975, otherwise theoretically unlimited
Complement: 855 officers and crew, maximum capacity 6,800

So what is the announcement? Stay tuned for later this evening...

Um...

Well, that was peculiar. Blogger decided that I was "forbidden" from viewing my blog. But only for a short time; Blowing Up Space is back on the air! Glee.

But what do I really have to say? Well, a few things, but only short points for today.

Firstly, to the plane crash in Kentucky, in which 49 passengers and crew died, and the copilot survived. According to BBC News, the aircraft, a Canadair CRJ-100 of Comair, took off from the wrong runway, which was too short for the plane to gain enough speed for V1, Rotation and V2 (or, in non-aeronautical terms, V1=takeoff decision speed, Rotation=time at which the aircraft has enough speed for the nose to be safely raised to its climb-out angle, and V2=speed at which the aircraft, with its nose raised to its climbing angle, can leave the ground and fly under its own power).
Why is this so strange? For a few reasons.

• The Canadair CRJ-100 requires at least 1,350 metres for its twin General Electric turbofans, generating 38.84kN of thrust, to accelerate the plane to a its safe V2 speed. The runway it attempted to take off from is 1,050 metres long.
• The flight (Comair Flight 5191) was departing at approximately 6.10am local time from Blue Grass Airport, Lexington, Kentucky. At this time, it is still dark, and the runway in service should be lit like a Christmas tree. The runway that Flight 5191 was supposed to use was indeed lit. The runway that it did use was dark.
• The runway in question was not certified for use by jet airliners.
  
• Blue Grass ground controllers should have been aware of the requirements of the CRJ-100, and definitely would have known that the CRJ-100 is a jet-powered aircraft, and thus directed it to the jetliner-certified runway.
  
• The crew of the CRJ-100, under aviation regulations, are required to be familiar with their departure airport and their arrival airport, and for this reason handbooks and directories are readily accessable on the flight-deck. The pilots, knowing the limitations of their aeroplane, should have been aware that the runway they were taxying too was too short to conduct a safe takeoff.

So how on Earth did this crash happen? How does a trained air traffic controller mistake a CRJ-100 for anything other than a jet aircraft? How does the trained crew of Comair 5191 mistake an unlit and inadequate runway for a fully lit one that intersects it and is twice as long? This crash, horrible as it is, can only be explained by human incompetence and stupidity, both on the part of the air traffic controllers, and the flight crew of Comair Flight 5191.

As Caitlin predicted, the charges against John Mark Karr pertaining to the murder of JonBenet Ramsey have been dropped, as there is no evidence to suggest he was involved. Another unsolved mystery remains...

Student elections are on again. Damn. Do what I do, and hurl abuse at the candidates. They shy away quite quickly.

Oh, and don't forget poker night!

Spiced Ham contains Turkey, and ample supplies of Greece

I love spam. By which I mean, of the e-mail variety, rather than the tinned pseudomeat. Many of you will remember the so-called Miller & Morgans "like to offer you vacancy" e-mail that I posted on this blog a little while back. That, believe it or not, was a clever spam-scam, which seems to have sucked many people worldwide into its web of utter nonsense. Besides which, it did, at the outset, seem reasonably legitimate, until you opened it. Well done, whoever came up with it, it was an impressive attempt.

On his Dilbert Blog, Scott Adams recently pondered spam e-mails, and the fact that they're just so obviously crap that it's a wonder anyone could be fooled by them. And that's even with regards the sender's name or the subject heading.

Gmail is lovely, as it usually filters out a good deal of spam without me having to worry about it. But sometimes some gets through, and in checking my inbox today, I was greeted with this:
says theyre--Gallery Cheats Codes-computer enter green love itSee Similar photos bio.px file
Honestly, who is going to open that? Especially as it came with an attached file. But who do you know called "says theyre"? Why would you want "cheats codes" for a gallery? And why does my computer want to "enter green love"?
Intrigued, I examined Gmail's spam folder.
Katee Busch--Re: RXziko-Hi. Go d od news for you. PHA y RMAC h Yd
chloroform--alphonse-Watch out!
tabbie gaspar--some cash... duffy-yours free $900 are waiting for you! Dont go to veges
to.Royal--end-BIDDING ONCRACK
Crystal Marion--Order Status, nonappropriate servitude
Not to mention several peculiar porn e-mails (one which was hilariously entitled "Two lesbians do one dick"...um, I'm sorry, but do I have to point out the sexual preference of lesbians?) by people with equally peculiar names. "Chastity Unreasonable" is probably my favourite, but "Kevin Undulation" ranks up there too.

The whole point of spam e-mails and spam-scams is to make the target believe that the e-mail is legitimate. To do this, of course, you need to:

• be able to spell
• have a reasonable sending name
• have a reasonable subject heading

No one is going to believe that you are in a position to sell or provide pharmaceutical drugs if you can't spell "pharmacy" (or "good", for that matter), if you have a name that is obviously stolen from that of a music star (Katee Busch...hillbilly German rock singer, perhaps?), or if your subject doesn't make any sense whatsoever. The "Crystal Marion" e-mail was a clever idea--in this day and age, chances are if you send an e-mail with the subject heading of "Order Status", someone will have recently bought something online, and will open that e-mail--but how such an order is in "nonappropriate servitude" is beyond me. "Chloroform" is evidently worried for my health (but WATCH OUT for what?), and the delightfully named "tabby gaspar" is being very kind and giving me $900 to spend, but only if my name is duffy and only if I don't spend it on vegetables. Or something.

Spam e-mails are a phenomenon that will not go away any time soon. You are always going to get messages from someone trying to convince you that they're a Nigerian businessman who wants to give you $1,000,000, if you let them use your savings account for a short time. Someone will always want to convince you that you've won a car in a competition you never entered, and someone will always be trying to get you to go to a dodgy site advertising "strap on femdoms". It's a fact of life now that the world-wide web has become the easiest way to communicate. You get used to the flood of spam after a while.
But the terrifying thing is that, out of a hundred people who get a spam e-mail as dubious as the ones listed above, probably five people will for some reason open them, and follow the instructions. And these five people won't for a moment even consider that the e-mail from Barry Appendicitis about rFxZorga isn't legit, they'll just follow the prompts and wonder when their cheque for a hundred grand is going to arrive in the mail. And just maybe, they'll briefly ponder why the nice man from Honduras needed a copy of their birth certificate and passport.

On an unrelated topic, I just finished watching Top Gear. The announcer at the end proudly proclaims that "You can find Top Gear books at Dymocks, and Top Gear DVDs at Dymocks and JB Hi-Fi." As Father's Day is approaching (remember guys, 3 September for your daddies!) I decided that I would get my dad a copy of Jeremy Clarkson's Clarkson on Cars, and one of the Top Gear DVDs currently available. Clarkson on Cars was easy to find, at both Dymocks and Borders. But Top Gear DVD?
Dymocks Rundle Mall: "Sorry, we're out of stock and we don't know when we're getting more."
JB Hi-Fi: "So that's High Gear? Pardon? Oh sorry, Top Gear...nooo, can't seem to find it on the system...we can check if it's out the back...noooo not there either..."
So where did I find the DVD of this SBS series?
Wait for it...
The ABC Shop. Go figure.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I just got an e-mail. Someone wants to sell me "VALfIUM". Whatever that may be...

Third Gear

As some of you know, I'm a fan of the British motor show Top Gear, and given their propensity for peculiar races (the last being the ferry from Newcastle to Norway, vs a McLaren Mercedes SLR driving there from Heathrow), I decided that it was my turn to give it a try. But what do you call a show based on Top Gear, where the contestants are driving on streets that have a speed limit of 50kph? I've got it!

THIRD GEAR

Since Jeremy Clarkson is the one with the dodgy hip, and brags "No one in the business is taller", I bags his role. James May (the sensible one) has never had an accident or speeding ticket in his life, which sounds for all the world like Stevo. And as for Richard Hammond...well, Raf's short enough.
Okay, now for some background...

For the past two days, I've found myself walking out on to Duthy Street, to find that my bus is stuck at the lights, and there's a car coming around the corner. My aim is to get to my bus stop faster than it takes the car coming around the corner to get there, with the additional, and obvious, aim of beating the bus. Or, in graphic terms:


There are advantages and disadvantages for each competitor. Firstly, the car is starting about 100m behind where I am, and given that it's only about 250 metres or so for me to run, that's a heavy penalty. Also, the speed limit on Duthy Street is a lowly 50kph, meaning that, unless they are driving a Mitsubishi Magna, the driver can't floor it to try and beat me. Another disadvantage for the driver is that they don't actually know they're competing with me.
But there is a catch for me, and that is that, speed limit or no, there is no chance of me running at 50kph. So speedwise the car should always have me pegged.
You would think.

Thursday saw me miss my first bus due to oversleeping. No matter, I walked down to Duthy Street for the second bus, and found it at the lights. Coming round the corner was a 1988-model cream-coloured Ford Falcon XF stationwagon. This is not it.

Now, this old Falcon is not a car I would like to drive. Beyond the fact I have an aversion to Fords in general, it is old, ugly and somewhat clunky. Assuming that my adversary was driving the five-speed manual version, the Falcon tops out at 175kph, and can go from 0-100kph in 12.5 seconds...not exactly awe-inspiring performance. As he was halfway through the corner, I sprinted.
What I hadn't counted on is that most of these cars are driven by people who should under no circumstances be behind the wheel of an automobile. This one had a shaved head and was listening to Cold Chisel at eardrum-bursting volume. You know, the type who ignore 50kph speed limits because it's "too bloody slow". The end result was that I was soundly beaten by a bogan in a clapped out stationwagon. Luckily, my bus was somewhat more accommodating, and I got to my stop in time. And even though I was a coughing, wheezing mess, as a result of some residual sinus infection, I consoled myself in the fact that I was not dead. And, let's face it, if I'd been in a Jaguar instead of on foot, that's exactly what the Jag would've been. And if I'd been driving an Alfa Romeo instead, it would be on fire.
Bodie: 0
Motor: 1

Friday found me again in a diabolical rush to catch my bus. And again, the same situation as the day before.
Today, though, it seemed that luck was against me. For my quarry was not a clapped out Ford. It was this baby:

The 2006 Mercedes Benz CLK is not a car to be trifled with.
We all know that the Germans make the best cars in the world. For technical sophistication, you cannot beat an Audi, while BMW and Mercedes win hands down for driver comfort and style, Porsche's styling is as timeless as it is impressive, and Volkswagen are the affordable but stylish option. Who else but a German company could take a car built to the specifications of a maniac dictator during the most awful period of human history, and successfully remarket it to become the most recognisable car ever, and the status symbol of the 1960s and 1970s? The Beetle may have been rubbish, but it got you places and it got you there cheaply. And in hippie style, which was all the rage and is now loved for retro charm. Not bad for a car designed to be the cheap option for those under the jackboot of the Third Reich.
But the CLK is a whole different kettle of Wienerschnitzel.
Depending on the model, the CLK boasts between 268 and 302 horsepower, can accelerate to 60mph (that's approximately 100kph for all us metrics) in between 6.4 to a groin-grabbingly decent 5.7 seconds, and maxes out at an electronically-limited 250kph. The CLK oozes classy power. I imagined the driver was listening to some suitably warlike Wagner piece on their superdooper interior stereo system. I had my work cut out for me.

But I had two secret weapons.
The first was my own bit of masterful German engineering. The Merc driver didn't know it, but, just as they were riding on the classic perfection of German-built suspension, so was I.
You see, I was wearing my adidas Dragons.

These great running shoes were still not going to win the race by themselves, though. I needed another ace up my sleeve. And I got it, albeit unexpectedly.
The driver of the Mercedes was a woman. Which in itself would not mean much, except she was one of these doddery middle-aged women of the Melbourne Street latte set, who act like old dames far before their time. And, as she pottered around the corner, I began my sprint. The race was on.
Except, it was over fairly quickly, because friend Merc driver also ignored the speed limit, insofar that she decided to drive at no more than a placid 20kph. Which not only meant I beat her to the bus stop, but that I was able to stroll most of the way there, because she was holding up my trusty 172.
Bodie: 1
Motor: 1

So there you have it. If you want to drive faster than a still-unwell uni student running to his bus stop, become a bogan, buy an old Ford Falcon and listen to Khe Sanh so loud that everyone in the surrounding neighbourhood will think they're in Vietnam. If you, however, want to drive so comfortably that you're oblivious to several tonnes of public transport bearing down on you, the CLK is perfect. Just find fifty grand, and let the good times roll. Slow or fast, it's up to you, really.

And on that breathtaking bombshell, it's goodbye for now!

I feel like I've just jumped the Berlin Wall

I got an email from ColesMyer today:

After reviewing your application for a position and taking into account a number of aspects, I regret to advise that your application has not been successful.

Translation: "We sat around, drinking coffee and picking names out of a hat, and then decided that you suck."
Getting this email made me realise that I haven't yet blogged my experience with this apparently well-respected company. So let me give you a run-down.

As many of you would know, I have been actively looking for a job for these Christmas holidays. So far, David Jones has been quite promising. They have a good system for prospective jobhunters:

1. if you want a job with David Jones, you attend a one-on-one interview, on a day in July. You bring your resume, they look through it, they ask you questions.
2. if they like the look of you and your resume, they ask you to attend another interview, this time a group process. Mine is in September.
3. if you do well in this, they offer you a job.

ColesMyer is a little different:

1. if you want a job with ColesMyer, you must submit a general online application (ie. one just for "a job" with any branch of the company.
2. a couple of months later, they ask you to complete an aptitude test.
3. a couple of months later, if they like your application and test results, they put you in a "talent pool".
4. a couple of months later, if they still like your results, they invite you to a group interview, where you don't actually get interviewed.
5. if they are impressed with you there, you are invited to apply for a specific position within ColesMyer (ie. "store assistant, Myer, Adelaide").
6. if they like this application, you are invited to a one-on-one interview.
7. if they are impressed with this, they will invite you to resubmit an application.
8. having done this, they may offer you a job, and you must submit an acceptance of this offer.

This seems just a bit like bureaucracy gone haywire. The mystery of these redundant processes was solved, though, when I discovered that ColesMyer actually outsource their Human Resources things to a subcontracting firm. It seems quite likely that they're dragging it out so that they can get paid flipping great wodges of cash for getting applicants to do thrice the amount of work that DJs applicants are forced to, with the end benefit being a resounding naff all.
I can imagine the conversation now...
ColesMyer Exec (CME): "Wait...are you sure they need to complete four separate applications for the one job?"
HR Subcontractor (HRSC): "Oh, sure...it's all the rage in the US at the moment."
CME: "And what about the aptitude test? Do you use the marks for anything?"
HRSC: "Not completely, but it is vital for ascertaining the durable work ethic of certain subgroups of career-minded applicants, while optimising our eventual response quotients."
CME: "I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded impressive. How much more do you need?"
HRSC: "About $50,000 per month."
CME: "Deal."

So what actually happened at this so-called "group interview"? Well, about fifty of us turned up for it, and you would've expected that these Myer interviews would be conducted at Myer, like David Jones do theirs at David Jones, Rundle Mall. So I was a little bemused when I found that I was to be interviewed at...the German Club. So I trudged off to there, resplendant in shiny black shoes, new black pants, a mauve shirt and a white, brown and purple tie that Tom called "schmick" and Fod said was "very impressive". I was feeling a million bucks, especially seeing some of the other applicants, who had (naturally) assumed that, when ColesMyer say "Dress appropriately for a job interview", they actually mean "Dress in trackies and/or ugg-boots". But anyway, I got into the German Club, and followed a sign that said COLES MYER INTERVIEW, THIS WAY -->, and directed me into what is usually the German Club restaurant, where others had also congregated. It had obviously been set up for the purpose, but five minutes after I got there, a subcontractor came in and asked us to move upstairs, to a room where there were not enough seats for everyone. This seemed to throw the HR people for a loop, despite the fact that they knew exactly how many people would be there, and thus how many seats they'd need. So far, then, we'd been told to go to a room where we weren't supposed to go, and then some people were made to stand while the subcontractors found more chairs. Grand start.
It didn't get much better. After filling out paperwork that we had already done on our online applications, we were provided with a piece of paper each, face-down on the table, and instructed to write four numbers, from one to twenty-four, on the back. Once that was done, we were told to turn over the sheet. This we did. We found twenty-four numbered characteristics on the front, with a line next to each for a signature. These ranged from the banal (ie. "Was born in Adelaide"), to the ridiculous (ie. "Has lived in Japan"). We had to get one signature from a different person in the room for each of the four characteristics that corresponded to our four chosen numbers. Which was all well and good if, like some people, you chose 1, 2, 3 and 4, which were:

1. Was born in Adelaide
2. Has been interstate
3. Has worked before
4. Likes cricket

...but not so good if, like me, you chose random numbers:
8. Is wearing a Pulsar watch
16. Has worked overseas
20. Is wearing aftershave
22. Owns a dog, a cat and a bird

Also, it didn't help if the first person you asked was a forty-something year-old drip named Adam who talked endlessly about nothing.
Bodie: "Hi. Are you wearing a Pulsar watch?"
Adam: "I've never actually ever worn a watch in my life, although there was a considerable period where I considered buying a watch. Now, as for Pulsar, I'm afraid I've never heard of them. If I were to get a watch, I'd like a Lorus or something like that...inexpensive, but reliable. I've heard good things about them."
B: "Okay...have you ever worked overseas?"
A: "I've never been overseas, although I have worked in Western Australia before. Interesting place, Perth. Right on a river, you know. I guess that's like most Australian cities, actually. So maybe it's not all that interesting."
B: "No...are you wearing aftershave?"
A: "Funny thing...I put on aftershave when I left to come to the interview, but I can't smell it anymore. Maybe it's worn off. I don't know...maybe I'm wearing a bit of aftershave, not that much though..."
B: "Well, you're still wearing aftershave. So could you please sign there? Oh, and the last question: do you own a dog, cat and bird?"
A: "Who, me? No, but I did once have a fish. I called him Mike. Goldfish. They don't live all that long, so..."
B: "Thanks!"
Did I mention that we only had 90 seconds to get all four signatures? Adam the Drip took up a good 70 of them, and it wasn't easy to find anyone with the others. So I only had one signature. Incidentally, we determined later that I was the only person in the room who owned a dog, a cat and a bird, and we weren't allowed to sign our own sheets. And they took note of how many signatures we got, so I did badly in that.

Next up, business ethics...sorta. We were provided with a list of twelve practices, and asked to pick the two most important to us; for example, I chose "present and tidy shelf stock" and "expand knowledge of products offered by department/store". Then, we had to tell the people on our table, in 30 seconds, why we'd picked those two items. Afterwards, it was drilled into us that there were "no wrong answers", but I swear that one woman, who answered "Get someone to do your shift on the weekend, because I don't wanna work on weekends", should not have scored well with that.

Finally, we were provided with a jigsaw puzzle, and 3 minutes for our table to put it all together. This, we were told, was a task to test our communication skills. Anyone who thinks this is likely the same sort of person who thinks that the Pope is a salamander, or that the key ingredient in chow mein is love.
Actual communication was:
"Here's a corner piece!"
"Aww...the puzzle picture is a bunny!"
In the event, my table finished this task first. It was not difficult, and we only took 90 seconds to do it. One table did not complete it at all.

After the interview, I reflected on those I had observed who most likely would not get the job. These included:

• Two boys, neither of whom could have been older than 14, one of whom was accompanied by his mother, and held her hand throughout the process. Given that they had to complete online applications (including a date of birth) before being invited to a group interview, you would've thought they'd have been disqualified due to lack of age. But no!
• The aforementioned mother, who was also the woman who was averse to weekend work.
• The aforementioned Adam the Drip, who would bore customers to death.
• Two Greek guys, dressed in Kappa and Adidas tracksuits and sporting rat-tails. Inside the interview room, just after we'd finished, all and sundry could hear their conversation:
  #1: "Whaddidya think o' the puzzle, mate?"
  #2: "Nah man, total fuckin' shit mate!"
• The girl sitting next to me. A quiet sort, with the exceptionally cheery email address of depressio_suicide@hotmail.com (or very similar)

Actually, thinking over that now, I wouldn't be surprised if any of them got the job, because then Myer could diddle them out of money.
ColesMyer Exec (CME):"We're willing to pay you $0.23 per day."
Clueless Applicant (CA):"Er...is that good?"
CME: "Um...yes, yes it is. In fact, people in Mongolia get much less than that. Sometimes."
CA: "Fuckin' sick! Where do I sign?"
CME: "Right under the paragraph that says that, in the event of accidental injury, death or dissatisfaction, you have no right to sue us, and in fact you default your car to ColesMyer."
CA: "Wha?"
CME: "Oh, never mind. It's just some fine print."
CA: "Fuckin' hate that shit man. Will an 'X' do for a signature?"

Well, I didn't end up getting an offer anyway. But all I know is, if I'm in Myer over Christmas, and some Greek guy in the Menswear department tells me that Nautica is "fat fuckin' shit man", murder will be done to money-hungry subcontractors.

I need a new hope, a new dream, another part in a different scene

As many of you know, I am a Dilbert fan. So I was glad when Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, began his own blog. In it, he talks about...well, whatever anyone talks about in their blogs. One post, from April this year, I found quite interesting. It's about Occam's razor, the famous logical premise that holds that the explanation of any phenomenon should make as few assumptions as possible, eliminating those that make no difference in the observable predictions of the explanatory hypothesis or theory. Or, as it has been bastardised down to, "the simplest explanation is the right one."

This, unfortunately, leads to a whole can of worms, as Scott explains. But there are two general problems to this, as I see it.

1. Occam's razor, or at least, how it is applied, is a lovely justification for religion, even if there is no real scientific basis.
   ie. "Why does the Earth exist?"
   EITHER: "After the Big Bang, trillions of particles of superheated gases and blah blah blah", an explanation which goes on for a fortnight,
   OR: "God." Although this can be turned on its head a bit:
   "Why is there suffering in the world?"
   "God."
   *Religious person splutters in the background.*
2. What is necessarily simple? Is a simple-sounding answer necessarily simple? Does simplicity change according to who says it?

Let me give an example of this second point. With apologies to Caitlin, who posted earlier about JonBenet Ramsey on Evil Creates Greatness...but the case caught my attention too.
Recently a man has been arrested in Thailand in connection with the murder of child beauty queen JonBenet Ramsey. I won't go into the particulars of the case (visit Evil Creates Greatness for an exceptional discussion on that), but suffice to say, there are irregularities. This man, John Mark Karr, was apparently arrested because he knew a detail of the crime that was withheld from the public, that (theoretically) only law enforcement authorities and the killer himself would know. Looking good for him as the murderer so far...
But then, there are also problems. Firstly, his relatives insist that he was never in Boulder, Colorado, and especially not at the time of JonBenet's murder. Secondly, he has been adamant in his claim that JonBenet's death was "an accident". The girl was garrotted to death with wire and half a paintbrush, which was certainly no accident. Is he withholding information? It seems unlikely, given that he has been so forthcoming so far with authorities. It's as if he wants everyone to know that he killed Ramsey. So why would he not tell the truth about her death?

So here's the problem. The simplest explanation could well be different from person to person. Let's ask the question:
Why does John Karr's family insist he wasn't in Boulder on the day of the murder, thus ruling him out as a suspect?
Person 1: Because he was not in Boulder on the day of the murder.
Person 2: Because they're wrong.
Now, both of these answers are simple answers in themselves. Either Karr's family members are right or they are wrong. But the reasons behind the answers are altogether more complex.
If Person 1 is correct, then Mark Karr is lying, or wrong. But why would he lie? The man has just confessed to a murder that rent all of the US asunder, and such an admission could well get him executed. It seems altogether unlikely that he'd be mistaken about the events, as you'd probably remember murdering a child. Person 1, in order to justify this, may claim that Karr has some form of mental disorder, or some other psychological compulsion. Not only has he so far shown no sign of this, but this then becomes a far more complex proposition. This is by no means a simple explanation, but to Person 1, at least, it may seem more simple than the alternative...
If Person 2 is correct, then Karr's family is lying, or mistaken. Throwing aside the fact that they, as family to Karr, have familial ties to him that may oblige them to lie for their family member, the simple fact is that three people (Karr's ex-wife, Karr's brother and Karr's father) have vouched for him not being in Colorado. In addition, Karr's ex-wife, Lara, has stated that he was abusive towards her, and holds no love for her ex-husband. It is unlikely that she would thus lie to provide an alibi for him, and even more likely that three sources would be so adamant, and yet wrong, that he was not in Boulder, Colorado, at the time.

So neither case is particularly simple. But one further question must be answered. Karr has stated that he drugged JonBenet, that he picked her up from school, and that her death was an accident. However, no drugs or medications were found in the post mortem analysis of JonBenet, she did not have school that day as it was Boxing Day, and thus she was on holidays, and, as mentioned before, there is nothing about her death that can be construed as "accidental". So...
What about the inconsistencies between Karr's statement and the facts of the case?
Person 1: They indicate his innocence.
Person 2: They are irrelevant.
In Person 1's case, these glaring irregularities show conclusively that Karr could not have murdered JonBenet. These basic particulars of the crime should not have been mistaken by her killer, of all people. Yet how do we then account for the information that Karr had about the murder, that was otherwise unknown to the public?
For Person 2, there has to also be a leap of faith. It has, after all, been a decade since Ramsey's murder. Time does dull the memory. But to the extent where her killer can't even remember how he killed her?

And finally, the big question:
Did John Mark Karr kill JonBenet Ramsey?
Person 1: No.
Person 2: Yes.
Both of these answers are simple in themselves, but are based on complex reasoning and, to some extent, pure guesswork. If we think that Karr did not kill Ramsey, we base this on the fact that he knows little of the basic facts of the case, and was not actually in Boulder at the time of the murder. His knowledge of privileged information may be a coincidence, a lucky guess, or somehow there may have been a leak from one of the authorities at the time, or afterwards. Maybe he just confessed because he craves attention, or maybe because he is psychologically imbalanced. There could be a million and one reasons why he confessed, and any attempt to determine why is, for the moment, pure conjecture.
If we think that he did kill her, though, then we must assume that he remembered one lone fact of the murder, which just happened to be the one piece of evidence that was withheld with the aim of trapping the killer, and yet for some reason he can't remember that he did not pick her up from school, that he did not drug her, and that he garrotted her to death. We must then believe that three people, one of whom has more reason than most to want him behind bars, are all mistaken or lying when they say he was never in Boulder, and we will also ignore the fact that, so far, no evidence has turned up to indicate that he ever, at any point in time, knew or had anything to do with the Ramsey family or JonBenet in particular. So by some miracle, he discovered a girl who was a child beauty queen, took her to her own basement without alerting her parents (which police at the time thought impossible), murdered her, again without alerting anyone, and then escaping, all without being seen.
And yet for some, answer 2 is simpler and works better than answer 1, and vice-versa. Did Karr kill Ramsey? I for one do not know, but I think there are some peculiar irregularities that need solving before we jump to any more conclusions.

In other news, there is a very annoying woman in my German class, who I shall, for reasons of brevity and anonymity, name C. C is one of these mature-age students at uni, who think they know everything because they've been there and done that. C has actually lived in Germany for a good many years...which does not explain how she is still clueless about genitive case or subordinate clauses. But oh well...
Anyway, the other week, I did my German oral presentation. I was feeling like crap, because I had tonsilitis and my throat was red raw. So I apologised to begin with, telling everyone that I was quite sick, and "deswegen klinge ich heute ganz schlecht" ("therefore I sound horrible today"). C replied with a laugh and "Na, wie immer, Bodie!" ("Yeah, yeah, like always, Bodie!") Now, had Jacob or Tomek or someone of that ilk said that, I'd laugh it off as a joke. After all, I know them, and that's what they're like. But this from a woman who does not know me and I do not know...I found it quite offensive.
Furthermore, my topic was "Creativity in Germany and Australia". Which is a stupid topic, really. So I boilled it down a little. Instead, I spoke about literary themes of German and Australian authors. My conclusions were that German writers, on the whole, write about the legacy of the Second World War, while the majority of successful Australian writers are expatriates, and write about countries other than Australia. As examples I used Bryce Courtenay and DBC Pierre. Anyhoo, afterwards, probably trying to make me look stupid, C said, "But what about who wrote in the 1930s about Australia? And what about Thomas Keneally?"
Me: "I'm not familiar with the first author, and Keneally is best known for Schindler's Ark, which is about Germany."
C: "Well, if you're going to talk about something, you need to know your subject matter!"

Well, sucks to be you, bitch known as C, because I got 90% for that oral presentation. So there!
And maybe that's a bit of bragging, but yeah...I really don't like her.

And that's the end of this entry!

Call it performance, call it art. I call it disaster if the tapes don't start

I'm finally over tonsilitis. Stupid thing. And boo to the antibiotics that made me ill. Oh well.

The Blue Devils' unbeaten run is at an end, in a match that showed Tang's ability to turn up late and fall over. Simon was a gun keeper, as was Thuc, but sadly it wasn't quite enough to stop a very good team. In the later game, LET ran away winners, and I managed to get three minutes on field, my first touch setting up a Pat goal (yay for us!). Everyone, check the Soccer Team Sheets asap for this week's matches.

For those of you who haven't yet done so, there is a petition to turn John Marsden's "Tomorrow" series of novels into a movie/series of movies. Many people loved the "Tomorrow" books, so just click on the link, and go sign!

Uni is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo boring...

Devils in disguise

So, in case you didn't know, we now have a second soccer team at Unley: the revamped Blue Devils, who are logically dressed in white. They had their second game today, the first being a 4-2 win to a team that, this week, lost 24-0. Hm.
But anyhoo, now our goal tally looks kinda strange...
Patrick: 1 goal from 1 game
Kadds: 1 goal from 2 games
Bodie: 1 goal from 2 games
Jacob: 1 goal from 2 games
Denley: 2 goals from 2 games
Angus: 6 goals from 1 game

Yes, that's right. Angus scored 6 on debut for the Devils. And Denley got two today, in a match dominated by...well, Angus, but also by Raf shouting (hehe), Denley's nosebleed, Kadds aiming for the spectators' heads, and Thuc getting poleaxed by Tang (traitorously playing for the opposition) and some other guy from the other team. Oh, and Simon's keeping. Good work Simey! The final score was 9-4, our goals being scored by Angus, Denley, and the other team for being late. I was awful.

And I'm sick. Whoop-de-freaking-doo.

That's really all I have to say. Bye!

Let's talk about men.

Well, why not? In an age where that paragon of manliness, Tom "T-Bag" Gieroba, insists that the most masculine pursuit is to drink cocktails and talk about your feelings, and almost-as-masculine man Dangerous Tom "Th-Rush" Woodward speaks in more reverend tones about a strawberry and ice coffee milkshake than "a shiela with a top rack", being a man has again become an interesting discussion point.
Joking aside, men have travelled half-circle since the start of this century, when being a man meant being strong, brave, courageous, and always having a stiff upper lip. If you didn't want to go to war and shoot other men, who strangely weren't as manly as those from your country, expect a white feather in your mailbox, and shunning by society. These days, however, men with these characteristics are generally reviled. Chances are, so the idea goes, that the strongly-built guy in the corner beats his girlfriend or wife every night. Chances are that the guy at the bar gets so drunk that he habitually rapes any females he comes across. Chances are every man you meet has the intelligence of pond scum, and given the chance, will get stuck into a fight about nothing, served with a side of slapping the nearest lady around. Women would run the world better; they're peaceful, logical, kindly, &c. &c.

Don't get me wrong. I am a great fan of feminism, providing it adheres to its own raison d'etre. Feminism, as I understand it, should be about equality of the sexes (and for that matter, everyone in general), rather than the lambasting of any one sex. Feminism should not mean that men are terrible terrible people who are forever in the wrong, because this simply is not true. Feminism should not mean that it is okay to spread untruths about the male sex, and it certainly shouldn't mean that, when someone stands up and points out that there is a great big lie being perpetrated, that person is heckled for being a rapist/wife-beater apologist.

I want to introduce you to what I think is possibly the bravest literary undertaking of the decade. I do not in any way mean that facetiously, because I believe it wholeheartedly. Most of you know Jason O'Conal, our sheep-fleeced grammar crusader, who believes in dotting every 'i', crossing every 't', and differentiating between a relative and conditional clause. What you may not know is that Jason has been, for a fair while, penning a book for (hopefully) eventual publication. Entitled The War Against Men (Has Been Declared), Jason investigates the little-examined (and even less understood) notion of an anti-male bias in society. Stop. I can hear you snickering. But Jason, undaunted by constant ridicule by many people who became aware of his work, has forged ahead, meticulously researching his chosen topic. What he has uncovered is, to put it mildly, surprising.

• In studies published between 1986 and the present day, the level of domestic violence perpetrated by men towards women was reported to be roughly even or lower than that perpetrated by women towards men.
• According to a 1997 report, in 17% of couples surveyed, the woman was designated as the more aggressive of the two, as opposed to only 4% for men.
  
• At high school level, girls are approximately three times more likely to be violent than boys during dating.
• A 1997 survey asserts that 19% of women who perpetrate violence against men do so because they do not fear reprisal, as men of today's society have been "trained" not to become aggressive against women.
• Domestic violence crimes perpetrated by women against men are publicised only in exceptional circumstances (ie. the amputation by Lorena Bobbitt of her husband's penis), despite the prevalence of it in society.
• Many support groups, such as the Women's Resource Information and Support Centre, blatantly misrepresent the facts and/or lie outright. One prime example is the claim that "97% of domestic violence offenders are male", despite a litany of academic evidence to the contrary.
• Comparatively few resources are earmarked for men's support groups, when compared to their female counterparts.

The great irony of the anti-male bias within society and the media is that it utilises the stereotypical view of men as idiotic, warlike and violent, to its advantage in two completely opposite ways. Firstly, it is used to assert that men and only men are to blame for domestic violence (Jason succinctly, if pithily, comes to the conclusion that it is "not acceptable to be a man"). Secondly, in the case of the woman being the perpetrator, the man is seen as somehow unmanly if he then complains to the police, or otherwise requires support. The general view therefore seems that violence by men against women is tantamount to a capital crime, while violence by women against men is all a bit of fun, completely harmless, and if he protests, then he's a wimp.
Wrong.
As I said before, I believe that the feminist revolution stands for equality of the sexes. I also believe that violence against women is a horrendous crime that should be punishable to the full extent of the law. Yet, if this is so, then women must also be held accountable for their violent actions against men. To deny this is to deny the emotional and/or physical impact of this abuse upon men, as if to say that men can take a belting because they are men, and never require counselling because men don't actually have feelings. In which case, what are we, other than walking meat machines?

As Jason says in his article "Quick Facts about Domestic Violence":

Almost without fail, whenever I talk about men being the victims of domestic violence I am met with disbelief and sometimes laughter (which is worse). People are not taking this issue seriously and I am running out of ideas. People see me as befriending the perpetrators rather than the victims. This is not the case at all. I am merely showing that men can be victimised just as much as women can. (O'Conal 06)

Disagreement is one thing. Outright ridicule is another. Jason O'Conal has delved into a subject many would fear to even consider, and uncovered some very interesting and pertinent facts. Has society in general become so enamored with the "fight for equality" for women, that it is willing to turn a blind eye to a clear case of reverse sexism? In a sense, you can argue that what has happened in Australia (and indeed, the world) is analogous to the fall of Ian Smith's white rule government in Rhodesia, and the rise of Mugabe's black Zimbabwean regime, and the subsequent persecution of whites in that country. Neither the Caucasians nor the Africans are inherently superior, both should be equal. Yet the subjugation of one race because of its past sins is the real-life illustration of the cliched "two wrongs don't make a right" situation. Similarly, men of today should not be declared fair game because of the lack of women's rights in past generations.

In our society today, "discrimination" is one of the dirtiest accusations that can be levelled against a person or body, and we as a people strive to stamp out discrimination. So let's do it again. Men and women are equal. Or do we have to continue suffering the slings and arrows?

Well tell me baby, oh how does it feel? I know you like the roll of the limousine wheel...

Last night, we played soccer against Raf's other team. Was an interesting game; must apologise to Ron for the most atrocious backpass ever. Right at the end of the game, the ball broke for me, and I made a run for their goal. One-on-one with their keeper, though I knew if I took the shot I would run full pelt into the brick wall at the end of the pitch. But we were at 6-6, I had to take the shot. In the event, I did, though the keeper saved it. Nothing saved me from the wall, though. The result was one injured hip. So I'm in just a bit of pain right now.

So, what's playing on my Zen Neeon?

• The Libertines, Vertigo
• The Libertines, Boys in the Band
• The Libertines, Up the Bracket
• The Libertines, Tell the King
• The Libertines, The Boy Looked at Johnny
• The Libertines, Begging
• The Libertines, The Good Old Days
• The Kooks, Ooh La
• The Kooks, See the World
• Motion City Soundtrack, Everything is Alright
• Motion City Soundtrack, Shiver
• Nortec Collective, Tijuana Makes Me Happy
• Idlewild, You Held the World in Your Arms
• Idlewild, American English
• Sportfreunde Stiller, Unser Freund is aus Leder

Lots of Libertines in there; I can't believe I haven't listened to them earlier. Stupid me. I think JAmes suggested I listen to the Kooks...my verdict: They're good. But not great. Nothing new, but what they have is listenable. Which I suppose is much better than trying new stuff and thoroughly sucking. The Grates, for instance. And for once, I'd agree with Pat regarding the Grates; I'd rather go to a Simple Plan concert than listen to one Grates song. Enough said.
Otherwise, Idlewild are very cool, and Sportfreunde Stiller have some cool, though sport-inspired, tunes. Only a peculiar German band could come up with the song Die Frisur von Björn Borg (The Haircut of Björn Borg). And then, of course, Motion City Soundtrack are just BRILLIANT.

A webcomic I've known about for quite a while is Little Gamers, by Christian Fundin and Pontus Madsen in Sweden. There's a link to them in the sidebar, if you didn't notice, but I thought I might give them a bit of a plug on the main page, so if you like computers/games/comics/characters that look like the bastard children of Bomberman and Hello Kitty, Little Gamers is for you. And it's good for an ego boost too...hell, even I'm 13373r than Marcus! =P So what are you waiting for? Click the link on the side, the pic of Mr Madsen just above this little description, or this URL: www.little-gamers.com Because it's all about Hot Swedish Love and pwntendo!

How cute is Tatty Teddy! =D

Okay, so a story of stupidity: Pat was chatting with someone who, for the sake of anonymity we shall call J. J was recalling her day, including a shopping exploit of the day.
J: "the salesgirl and leah (the girl who implied i was fat by giving me the 12 - grrr) intimidated me into buying the $150 coat so i mite take it back "
So first of all, although I don't know much about the sizes of girls' clothing, a 12 doesn't seem that big. Secondly, how do you get intimidated into buying a coat? "Buy from us...or the kitten gets it!"
But in cooler news, Dangerfield has just opened in Adelaide. It's on Rundle Street, and Courtney was sweet enough to buy me an ultracool wallet! =D Thank you SO MUCH honey, I love it!

What is it about graphic advertising these days? The anti-smoking lobby makes us look at a rotted-out mouth on primetime television, the State Government shows us a young boy and a young woman being run over by trains. Ah well, the Coke ads are usually good.

I'm working on the very first full-length Mariner novel at the moment, entitled The Omega Paradox. Stay tuned for more news.

And finally in MeNews, even though it's not news, but most importantly of all,

COURTNEY IS THE BEST!!!

And now for some lyrics...

THE LIBERTINES - The Good Old Days
Queen Boadicea is long dead and gone.
Still now the sprit in her children’s children’s children lives on.

And if you've lost your faith and love of music oh the end wont be long.
Because if its come then I too may loose it and that would be wrong.

I've tried so hard to keep myself from falling back to my bad old ways,
and it chars my heart to always hear you calling,
calling for the good old days,
'cos there were no good old days,
these are the good old days.

It’s not about tenements and needles,
or all the evils in the eyes and the backs of their minds

Daisy chains and schoolyard games, and a list of things we said we'd do tomorrow,
a list of things we said we'd do tomorrow.

The Arcadian dream, so fallen through
But the Albion sails on course
Let's man the decks and hoist the rigging.
Because the pig mans found the source,
And there’s twelve rude boys on the oars.
They’re singing "row row row"

Well, I have an early start tomorrow, so I guess I'll hobble to bed soon. Night all.
PS. It is now one month, two hours, eighteen minutes until my 20th birthday...scary.