Archive for the ‘Good News Week’ Category

Things I’ve been puzzled by during the current Olympiad:

1. There is an Australian BMX rider called Kamikaze. Not Joe Kamikaze, Joe ‘Kamikaze’ Blogs or even Kamikaze Blogs. Just Kamikaze: one word, no waiting. Since when could Olympians make like rappers or the Pope and get by with just a handle?

2. A Latvian politician has represented his country in the heavy weightlifting. I’m not quite sure how to respond to this. Awe? Sarcasm? Laughter? A socio-political diatribe on the consequences of an elected official missing most sessions of parliament in order to lift weights? I just don’t know.

OK, so maybe it’s only those two things. But they’re an intriguing two, dammit!

I’m thoroughly fed up with the deluge of patriotic, nationalistic advertising during the Olympics coverage. Top offenders include Telstra, with their motifs of manufacturedly-diverse Australians clustered around mobile phones to watch the Games; Qantas, with their children’s choir singing in the shape of a kangaroo about which island continent they call home; and Panasonic, who have shamelessly co-opted almost the entire swim team in order to sell more cameras. The Commonwealth Bank also rates a mention, not so much due to patriotism, but because their bizarre series of forcedly-post-modern, let’s-mock-American-marketeers-while-simultaneously-selling-home-loans commercials are currently broadcast on Channel 7 at the rate of approximately ten to the half hour.

When it comes to bafflement, however, Red Rooster takes the cake. Their most recent campaign slogan, ‘it’s gotta be red’, has been frotting around the airwaves for most of 2008, but has been quixotically altered in honour of the Olympics.  ‘Notice how well red goes with China?’ their ads ask – and for the life of me, I cannot tell whether irony is intended, or if the fact that red is traditionally synonymous with communism has managed to completely escape the marketing gurus of a giant American – that is to say, capitalist – corporation. Surely, a part of me thinks, this can’t be the case. Someone, somewhere must have pointed out that China’s flag is red for a reason. But if that be so, then the irony is unintended, and therefore equally perturbing in its implications: that a capitalist company has, on the one hand, publicly commented on how well communism suits China; and on the other, is now using this fact to sell chicken.

Truly, the mind boggles.

In what is probably my favourite headline ever, an environmental protestor has glued himself to the British Prime Minister.

Take a moment to process that.

Gordon Brown, despite the startlement this must have initially caused, managed to see the humour in the situation and laugh, so good on him. There could be an article all by itself explaining the train of thought which lead Dan Glass to think up this cunning plan – my imagined version involves alcohol, a rogue swan, bad kebabs, at least two strippers and John Cleese, but that could just be the crazy talking.

In real life, it was probably Michael Palin.

Keen observers of this blog may have noticed my penchant for quoting that Douglas Adams masterpiece, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, in reference to real-world events. Today, I will take the time-honoured sentiment that ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ and amend it ever so. Because sometimes, truth is exactly as strange as fiction.

In the Hitchhiker’s Guide, a ship from Golgafrincham – containing an entire useless third of that planet’s population – crash lands on prehistoric Earth. Being composed of morons, the crew adopts the leaf as currency, but as mass availability means that three major deciduous forests purchase one ship’s biscuit, they take steps to combat inflation. Bold, visionary steps, viz: burning down all the forests.

Fast forward to Zimbabwe and today’s news: the paper company on which Robert Mugabe has been printing his ever-rising currency denominations has severed its ties to the government. Which means, in practical terms, that in addition to being worthless – the largest note is $50 billion, with a street value of one American dollar – the money will now be scarce. So scarce, in fact, that within two weeks, printing more will be impossible. Mugabe won’t be able to pay his thugs. In all probability, the country will collapse. And Fidelity Printers, whose principled withdrawal over the recent election has precipitated the crisis, will effectively become the first corporation to deliberately and visibly destroy a government.    

It’s almost on par with Morgan Robertson’s 1898 novella Futility, or Wreck of the Titan – published fourteen years prior to the sinking of the Titanic – in which the world’s largest, unsinkable ocean liner hits an iceberg and sinks in the North Atlantic. Seriously.

Which, on many levels, is just plain weird – but arguably no weirder than a beer that costs $150 billion and isn’t brewed from unicorn giggles.

Truth and fiction? Let’s blur dem lines.

Ah, life. In today’s news, we have:

Free condoms for Catholic World Youth Day pilgrims.

Randomly decapitated rabbits in Germany.

Woman finds bat in her bra.

Wife kills husband with folding couch.

Cat adopts rejected red panda cub.

And, of course:

Burglar trapped in chimney for 10 hours.

TGIF!

When I grow up, I want to be Julian Assange.

On and off, I experience a strong desire to go out, throw off the shackles of oppression and join the Glorious Revolution – which is a problem, given that (a) I’m a white, well-off, middle class Australian with very few shackles, comparatively speaking, and (b) there’s no revolution – at least, not in the sense my psyche tends to mean, and even if there were, the full reality of it would probably snap me like a carrot stick. But the concept of Wikileaks is just so wonderfully, powerfully, beautifully subversive – in the best possible sense – that it makes me want to sing.

There is a revolution, after all. And damned if I’m not glad to hear it.

Oh, human race. Let me bask in your eccentric foibles! Today we have:

Man sells his soul in Ebay, buys suit.

Texan sentenced to 4,060 years jail.

Man gives birth to baby girl.

Battle-ready robot soldiers.

70-year-old grandmother gives birth to twins.

Happy Friday, people!

Yes, oh yes – it’s Friday and the Brisbane Times, that paragon of journalistic flair, is at it again. Behold today’s top stories:

1. Mother injects baby with faeces water

2. ‘Disrespectful son’ locked in room for 12 years

3. Glamour girl cops a serve

4. Marriage ‘won’t last six months’

5. Pregnant 11yo seeks abortion

Personally, I feel the devotion of multiple news articles to Maria Sharapova’s shirt marks a new low in reporting standards. To quote Xander of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame: and on the day the words ‘flimsy excuse’ were redefined, we sat and watched in awe.

Well, sat and read, anyway. You get the idea.

Architects of the world, I have two words for you: Revolving. Skyscraper.

I honestly don’t know whether to be awed or frightened. The whole thing spins around a central pivot, and by whole thing, I mean that each individual apartment rotates independantly of the others. Presumably, there’s some very good, rooted-in-physics reason why it won’t come tumbling down in a fiery wall of doom, but still, my brain keeps screaming: centrifugal force!

So I guess we have moving houses now, although the concept of flying cars has, presumably, been sublimated by the need to build any car, flying or otherwise, that viably runs on something other than petrol, because despite what Reuters says, there can physically be no such thing as a car that runs on water. If there was, it would rewrite the laws of thermodynamics. Just FYI. (For those interested in a musical explanation of the laws of thermodynamics, Messrs Flanders and Swan are happy to oblige.)

Still, if asked to choose, I’d prefer Howl’s Moving Castle to a glass Jenga statue any day. At least it comes with Christian Bale.

 

Among other things, I’m getting well and truly fed up with celebrities, politicians, organisations and newsworthy individuals blasting one another. The term is becoming so rabid with overuse that, were it Old Yeller, we’d already have taken it quietly out back and done the decent thing, only without remorse.

Just witness:

PETA has blasted Jessica Simpson for wearing a T-shirt.

Mel B has blasted Eddie Murphy in a new song.

The AMA has blasted the Rudd government.

U.N. blasts celebrity drug use.

Pope blasts Europeans.

Kevin Rudd blasts the Chaser.

Anthony Albanese blasts Brendon Nelson.

A quick Google reveals blasting headlines as far back as 2000, but in the past year or so, there seems to have been an explosion. From memory, it feels like blasting began as a common gossip-mag headline, the kind of sensationalist claim that implies a killing verbal tirade without actually necessitating one. For instance, a headline like Shirely Temple Black blasts Paris Hilton gives a cozy, familiar sense that the next story over will be something equally vacuous, like teen ‘pregnancy pact’ has 17 girls expecting. You know. Trash, of the morbidly curious, staring-at-a-trainwreck ouevre.

But when did blasting go mainstream? Did I miss the memo? Was there a memo? And can I slap whoever was responsible?

In other news, the sixth human foot to wash ashore in British Colombia has been found, on closer examination, to be an animal paw. Which is all very well, but I’m still none too happy wondering where the other five came from.

Who knows? Maybe they’ve been blasted.