All Men Are Potential Paedophiles ...

… According to Qantas and Air New Zealand.

It seems the malicious beasts that are political correctness and moral panic have sucked the common sense from the grey matter of those who run the two aforementioned airlines.

The airlines have a policy of moving men away from unaccompanied children on flights. The airlines contend that the policy reflects the concerns of parents and addresses child safety issues. Air New Zealand has even said they make ‘no apology’ for the policy, and argue that it's in line with ‘international best practice’.

Some critics of the policy suggest the airlines could be in breach of the Human Rights Act. As far as I can tell, there is no ‘could’ about it: the policy is a violation of the HRA.

The policy presupposes that any male on their flights is a paedophile, and therefore the airlines will take a pre-emptive measure to move any male from sitting next to an unaccompanied child. In order to protect the child from the big, bad man.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought it was unlawful to discriminate on the ground of gender in any areas of public life.

It is this sense of societal consternation that has driven male teachers from the classrooms, and attracted moral crusaders of dubious repute and agenda to make a pariah of the male gender. It’s a fuckin’ joke.

Just the idea of the policy is abhorrent. If the unfortunate human who was asked to move seats was a female, and the airlines had a policy that discriminated against the female gender by presupposing that all females were potential paedophiles, no Qantas or Air New Zealand flight would ever get off the tarmac until the airlines rescinded the policy.

But because there is now a perpetual open season on males in society, we’re all gonna be cool little Fonzies about it.

I suspect the rabid subverting of the male gender will have some spin-offs. Some entrepreneur could come up with a line of male-looking facemasks for Hallowe'en. These would go down a treat, and would undoubtedly be welcomed by all those who seek to supplant ghosts and ghouls with men as the number one monster in society.

Link to Stuff story.

Link to NZ Herald story.

iQaeda iPod

It's amazing what one can dig up when trawling through GKKO.COM. Classic.

Donuts

It's been a long time since I had a donut. I tend to keep as far away from them as possible, because even the smell of a freshly-baked donut will add half a size to my waistline.

However, my Dad is quite fond of donuts, and in honour of his visiting next month, I thought Krispy Kreme would be just the place to take him one afternoon. I'll try and time it for when the Krispy Kreme sign is on, signifying the imminent release of a hot donut from its oven penitentiary. Mmm, donuts ...

Just look at the variety!

And only 12g of fat in an original glazed donut! [Granted, the donut only weighs 52g, which if I use my almost non-existent mathamatitional skills equals a whopping 23% of fat!!].

It's the fat that makes it good. Don't let anyone tell you different.

Gold Five to Red Leader

So I was reading through the Star Wars [Episode IV: A New Hope, if you must] entry at the IMDB today, and I decided to click on the Memorable Quotes link. Yeah.

Anyway, this 'memorable quote' struck me as hilarious:

Gold Five: [responding to Red Leader] 'Lost Tiree ... lost Dutch ... They dropped in behind us, and we couldn't maneuver in the trench. Sorry; it's your baby now. So long, Dave ...'. [crashes].

Hmm. Now I'm a bit of a geek, so I'm quite sure all Gold Five says before biting the big one [courtesy of Darth] is this:

Gold Five: 'Gold Five to Red Leader. Lost Tiree ... lost Dutch.'
Red Leader: 'I copy, Gold Leader.'
Gold Five: 'They came from ... behind!' [Gold Five explodes in a rather violent fireball].

Naturally, the 'so long, Dave' line could have been from one of the early drafts of Star Wars. We have the annotated screenplays around here somewhere, which contains a little info from the early drafts, iirc.

However, I thought anything in the IMDB memorable quotes sections should contain quotes from the filmed screenplays, not drafts or specs.

Meh, I just thought the [mis]quote tickled my funny bone. I could email the IMDB and inform them of the dubious entry; but as Wil Wheaton posted on his blog, the IMDB are a little slow on the re-ply.

Going Down the Memory Hole with HarperCollins

HarperCollins, the publishers, have taken a little bit of stick of late over a silly piece of revisionist history.

The publishers digitally removed the cigarette from the hand of Clement Hurd, illustrator of the classic children's book, Goodnight Moon.

What makes this so asinine is that the offending photograph is over 50 years old. If HarperCollins were so offended by Hurd's smoking that it moved them to alter an historical record to conform to the political and social climate of today, they could have saved themselves some bother by finding a picture of Hurd in a non-smoking pose.

But that would have been too simple.

Not only does the erasure look silly on the part of HarperCollins; the picture just looks plain silly. I mean, what is Hurd doing in the altered photo? Is he about to scratch his chin and ponder the future?

Kate Morgan Jackson, the editor-in-chief of HarperCollins Children's Books, defends the decision. Jackson is quoted in the Kansas City Star as saying, 'One of our responsibilities is to make sure we are publishing ... the right way throughout the ages and making it healthy for every generation.'

Sorry, dear -- HarperCollins's responsibility begins and ends with publishing books. Your place is not to defend the ages and promote good health; your place is to print, bind, and then market books.

The End.

Story links:

Kansas City Star story.

Michelle Malkin's post.

Goodnight Reality, online vote: smoke in or smoke out?

Too ... Much ... Turkey.

Massive Thanksgiving feast yesterday. I didn't think I could stuff any more turkey into my straining gut.

Er, did I say turkey? What I meant to say, for the PETA readers out there, is that I stuffed my belly with wholesome tofurkey!

Mmm, yeah, gotta love that processed turkey-flavoured tofu. Mmm, so full of tofuie goodness. Love it.

China's Cryptomorphic Condom

This reminds me of a Ben Elton book I read, oh, about 11 years ago. I seem to recall a man in the book using a spray-on condom, only to find he was all out of the solvent he required to be rid of it.

Naturally, the man also needed to urinate, so the poor bastard [being unable or unwilling to pinch it off] was saddled with a bulbous bag of pee that dangled from his bell end. At least I think that's how it went.

It would seem, then, that Elton was ahead of his time, for the Chinese have come through with the spray-on condom. However, this version was designed with a woman in mind, and is not intended to be applied to a man's rammelstecken.

Personally, I'd wait for several years of independent clinical studies before trying this one out, kids ...

Link.

Snakes on a Dirigible

Some of you have probably heard about the forthcoming Samuel L. Jackson film, Snakes on a Plane.

Where am I going with this post? Well, I was kinda bored for a few minutes earlier today, so I decided to come up with a prequel to Snakes on a Plane. I even have a bit of an outline, with a few snippets of the script. Yep. Anyway, it's called ...

Snakes on a Dirigible.

Samuel L. Jackson will star in the feature, and will play the progenitor of his character from Snakes on a Plane.

The year is 1938 and Jackson is Butch Flynn, a former NYPD detective who was wrongfully stripped of his badge for a crime he did not commit. The US State Department offers him a chance to clear his name and regain his family honor. What is the task they have for him? Infiltrate one of the Nazi dirigibles docked at the Empire State Building, and currently taking on passengers for the return journey across the Atlantic to Nazi Germany.

The US State Department knows that there is a Nazi spy on board who has stolen the plans for a Super Weapon that could change the balance of power in the world. They cannot ID the agent [who is a master of disguise], so Butch’s job is to whittle away suspects on board the dirigible and then ‘retrieve’ the plans, by whatever means necessary. He is then tasked with returning to the US by whichever way necessary. In the event that he fails, the US State Department will disavow all knowledge of his existence, such is the sensitive nature of these plans.

Unbeknownst to all except the viewer [dramatic irony] is the addition of a third player in the game: a beautiful Brazilian secret service agent called Lula Xiachantos [played by Eva Longoria] who has been sent by her government to kill the Nazi spy. The motivation for this assassination is not revealed, but to help her complete the task she has brought along a cargo of several crates ostensibly labeled, ‘Gerbils. Destination: Berlin Zoo and Nazi Family Fun Park.’

However, it is not harmless gerbils in the crates. Oh no. The crates are actually full of the most deadly snakes in the known world: The King Cobra; the Mongolian Slipper Python; the Alpaca’s Bane Adder; the King of the Brazilian rainforest, the Anaconda; et al.

The dirigible leaves its New York mooring, and flies on an eastern course across the Atlantic toward Europe. The viewers see on this eastern horizon storms forming, which is wonderful imagery and quite profound in its connotative meaning, signifying the great armed struggle still before these characters whose yearning for the simple life is like the sudden surfacing of a submarine in danger, the sea of their soul in turmoil, and the cargo of their hearts spilling overboard.

The snakes are released just as Butch has, by way of his master plan, solved the mystery of the spy [who was impersonating Bob Hope]. He beats the spy like a bitch, and just as he retrieves the data tapes from the spy’s ass, the anaconda swoops down from the overhead luggage compartment and devours the spy, whose screams and splintering bones generate no sympathy from a stoic Butch. All Butch offers by way of an epitaph is spoken directly to the snake: ‘That muthafucker’s gonna give you one shit load of acidosis, dawg.’

Butch and the distraught Lula manage to fight off the snakes, but only after the hungry reptiles devour all of the other passengers and crew, including the pilot who was killed by the Alpaca’s Bane. Butch bursts into the cabin in time to see the snake plotting a suicide course right into the heart of Nazi Germany’s capital, Berlin. Butch shoots the snake, and tries desperately to regain control of the dirigible, which is plummeting earthwards at its top speed of 25 mph.

Luckily for him, Lula is also a pilot. She fixes the controls, and begins to slide into the pilot’s seat. Unfortunately, her clothes get snagged on the bells and whistles and she has no choice but to strip down to her brassiere and panties in order to fly the craft. Butch eyes up that delicious trim hungrily, but being a man of action knows he can tap that bitch later, after he’s won the day.

The Reichstag is hosting the daily burning of books by non-Aryan authors, so the smoke obscures the dirigible’s approach. When it is close enough, Butch leaps to the rooftop, declaring: ‘Who’s punk ass do I get to kick?’

In order to fully appreciate this moment, the studio has granted me permission to include the first draft of the scripted scene in parts:

A LONE MAN REPLIES: ‘American. Fight me.’

BUTCH: [Looking bemused]. ‘What the fuck?’

THE LONE MAN: ‘I must break you.’

The Lone Man is Adolph Hitler himself. But unbeknownst to Butch, he’s actually one of Hitler’s super clones with super strength.

BUTCH: ‘Fuckin’ Hitler. I’m gonna bust your one remaining nut, bitch.’

HITLER: ‘Nein, not Hitler: You will call me … the Fuhrernator!’

BUTCH: ‘I’m as serious as a heart attack when I say, let’s do this.’

They fight atop the Reichstag. It is brutal, and not at all a clean fight. The playground scrap has both of the combatants resorting to hair pulling, pinching, Indian burns, and purple nurples. Butch is about to fall from the rooftop when he ducks between the Fuhrernator’s legs, and then punches his nut from behind. This drops the Fuhrernator to his knees, swaying back and forth precariously. The burning books below him beckon like the heart of Mt. Doom, calling for its One Ring like a twisted siren singing like a seductress.

FUHRERNATOR: ‘Achtung, mein ballbee!’

BUTCH: ‘'Why you trying to fuck FDR like a bitch?’

FUHRERNATOR: ‘Nein! FDR will fall, and the Third Reich shall live for a thousand years!’

BUTCH: ‘Since I’m not in a transitional period, your ass is as dead as fried fuckin’ chicken. This is for Pearl Harbour!’

Butch kicks the Fuhrernator in the back, sending the little bitch screaming over the edge. He lands in the middle of the conflagration, and erupts in a ball of flames and wind like the Emperor did when Darth Vader threw him down the reactor shaft of the second Death Star.

Lula runs up in her panties, and holds tightly to Butch, who only stares down at the fireball that was his foe.

BUTCH: ‘Fuhrernator? More like incinerator!’

Lula leads him back to the dirigible where they take off, heading towards England. As the credits start to roll we hear:

BUTCH: ‘This thing got an auto-pilot?’

LULA: ‘OH! Oh my! Shaft.’

BUTCH: ‘You’re damn right I’m the sex machine to all them chicks!’

The music starts over the credits, and it’s Isaac Haye’s famous score for Shaft, remixed by Oingo Boingo, who have come out of retirement just for the film.

Coming Summer 2008.

Bush Spares Marshmellow and Yam

Thanksgiving Day is this Thursday, in case some of you might not have realised.

And, as per tradition, President Bush has spared two turkeys from a certain death.

The lucky recipients of the Bush Pardon, named Marshmellow and Yam, will now see out their days as grand marshals in the Disneyland Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Link.

You Hug, You Die!

Or at the very least you get threatened with detention.

Pupils were told not to hug each other at an Upper Hutt school in New Zealand, so they responded with a planned huggathon in defiance of the Hug Ban.

The school in question, Fergusson Intermediate, was trying to 'encourage appropriate behaviour' in its students. And hugging is not appropriate. Next on their agenda is the banning of high fives, secret handshakes, winking, and Pat A Cake.

That's right, no Bakers man or men will be baking a cake as fast as they can; no rolling it and patting it and marking it with a B; and no putting it in the oven for baby and me. Not on Principal Paul Patterson's watch, mister.

Er, unfortuantely a sharp-eyed teacher spotted one of the blueprints for the huggathon operation, and a sting was put in place by the principal. The huggathon was thwarted.

Yet out of conflict came conciliation, and once the adults explained to the children why they should not hug one another, everyone went home happy and hugless.

Link.

Selling War

There's a fascinating article, written by James Bamford, in Rolling Stone. The article is on John Rendon, head of the Rendon Group, and one of the key architects of the Bush Administration's propaganda campaign that pushed for the current Iraq War.

Link.

Sidebar Spring Cleaning

Added a few links to the humble sidebar located to your right. Mainly because I had a few links I had been meaning to throw up there, including a long-overdue LitStuff section.

I also deleted Scifi.com's link, in solidarity with SCI FICTION's demise. I'm sure with the millions of dollars the SCI FI channel are going to save will allow them to push forward with such spectacular SCI FI channel productions like Mansquito II, and Alpacagator Girl ...

Cruise, Lauer, Aliens, Rant

Some of you might remember Tom Cruise's meltdown on the Today Show a few months back, when he dumped on psychiatry while telling the host, Matt Lauer, how he knew the secret history of psychiatry. And the secret history of the Stonecutters. And stuff.

Well, zefrank.com have taken the transcript of that interview, and re-enacted it using cartoon aliens as the participants. I'm not sure if the aliens are supposed to represent the Snu-snu, or whatever it is that Scientologists call them, but they are cool aliens.

It's bizarre, but very entertaining.

Link, via Boing Boing.

All Blacks Win, Infuriate British Hacks

An excellent win yesterday for the All Blacks over England.

I'm keen to hear how the Irish referee, Alan Lewis, enjoyed his first game for England, though. It seemed to me he did everything in his power to ensure the All Blacks lost, at one stage reducing them to 13 men in the second half.

I'm all for referees keeping a handle on cynical play, but the England team were just as culpable of cynical play, yet we found the law book only extended to the team in black.

So despite England's home ground advantage, and the help the referee, they could not beat a team bereft of possession and men for most of the second half. This says many things about both teams.

Naturally the English media trumped up their side's performance, which was very admirable, but does not hide the fact they lost. A close loss of 19-23 is hardly the stuff legends are made of. Ask any former sportsmen and they will say a close loss might as well as be a thrashing, for it does not change the bottom line: they lost.

However, asking a British rugby journalist to be objective is like asking a shark to become a vegan. By far the worst of a sorry bunch is the Sunday Times's Stephen Jones. Paranoid and bitter are two adjectives that do not go close to describing this sorry hack. In several years of reading his articles I'm of the conclusion that he could not write an objective piece on any New Zealand rugby side if he tried. I'm almost certain now that he checks under his bed before bedtime to make sure there is not an All Black lying under there, waiting to torment him in his sleep.

It was the Times that also led the barrage against the haka, the traditional Maori challenge to the opposition that has been a feature of rugby grounds the world over for a century. The Times took to this agenda of mocking the haka like a pig takes to shit, and it was the style of agenda that can only have come from Supreme Overlord Rupert's department. A joke is a joke, and we all have a sense of humour, but some times one cannot help but think that this humour crosses a line and enters into xenophobia.

I'm not going to play that card, though, as that would be an over-reaction to something that shouldn't be given the time of day.

British journalists, unsurprisingly, led the furor over New Zealand winning the right to host the 2011 World Cup. They preferred Japan, arguing that Asia has 60% of the world's population; that Japan has the world's second largest economy; and that their stadiums dwarf any New Zealand have or can build. All well and dandy, but what do those factors have to do with hosting a successful World Cup?

Japan has only won a single match in five tournaments, and its population is far more interested in football and baseball than rugby. The tournament would have played in half-empty stadiums, and would have struggled to attract any attention until the knockout phases. In New Zealand every game will be a sell out, whether it's England against South Africa, or Tonga against Italy. A stadium of 40,000 seats and sold out looks better to international advertisers than a stadium of 90,000 seats and half full.

The media argue that they want to 'globalise' the game, which is why they plumped for the Japanese bid. If this is so, then I look forward to the English Rugby Union voting for Japan when bidding for the 2015 tournament begins. That is unless England tries to bid for it, of course. Then we'll see how many of their journalists argue in favour of 'globalisation.' Somehow I think their pens will be quiet if Twickenham becomes the venue for the 2015 final.

The collective schizophrenia of the British media is actually flattering. If the All Blacks were a run of the mill international team, sitting midtable and losing more than they win, then they would not receive half the attention they do.

But they don't sit middle of the table. They win a great deal more than they lose [10-1 in 2005]. And in 100 years of games against the New Zealand All Blacks, the results are that Wales, Ireland, Scotland, and England have won a grand total of nine games between them.

In plain language it is our old friend the Green-Eyed Monster that is the Puppet master pulling on the marrionet strings of the British media. That's why heroic losses are practically revered as wins, something that warms the cockles of their hearts during a bitter northern winter. That's why whenever an All Blacks side wins, they could only have won because they cheated. In a way it's patronising, and you can draw all manner of conclusions from such a mindset -- Empire-hangover being the foremost in this writer's mind.

However, in a way it's also very sad.

Remember, it's only a game. Civilizations do not ride on the result, and the world remains just as it was when a game is finished and the stadium emptied. Some writers take things far too seriously when writing about sport, when there are far more serious and important events taking place on the planet. Some places of the world have people that have never seen a rugby ball, let alone had the dubious pleasure of reading an article from the Times.

Time for a reality check, hacks.

Link to match report.

Link to some of Stephen Jones's finest examples of journalism.

Link to Times venting their spleen over the haka.

Piss Off, Gamma

That timeshare option on Living Island is looking more attractive by the day. Sure, there is the danger of a certain Witchiepoo lurking about, trying to steal my golden flute from me and the missus, so it's not without its peril.

But once our crazy pals help us to negate the threat of Witchiepoo, we can all sit back and take a toke on a phatty bo-blatty blunt. And then sing a song.

You know they got some good shit on Living Island, man.

Link, via Warren Ellis.

The Goblet of Fire

Spent a thoroughly wonderful late-afternoon in Boca Raton watching the fourth instalment of the Harry Potter series.

It was most excellent, and I consider it to be the best of the four films thus far.

The narrative was not as compact as the previous film, but that owes more to the size of Rowling's novel and what must have clearly been a Herculean task by Steve Kloves in adapting it.

In case you haven't read The Goblet of Fire, it's a frickin' tome. Plus it's by far the best of the released novels, imo. Essentially it's pure, unadulterated story from page 1 to page 734, and written with such verve that it fairly rockets along; so much so that I was able to finish it in two days. It must have been fun to write.

Clearly, a novel of that size cannot have all of its machinations transplated to celluloid, so some of its chapters have gone, along with minor characters. However, none of the quality has been sacrificed, and what we watched tonight was one of the finest cinema experiences this year. It's the duck's nuts, by a long shot.

I've read some interesting reviews, and some of these have touched on what I consider to be one of my pet peeves when I read reviews. I'll try and be brief ...

Ahem. I find it vexing when a reviewer takes issue over a film beginning without either re-introducing established characters, or offering some type of recap on a preceding film.

The reviewer tends to adopt the lofty spokesperson role, and goes all out to lend a hand to the supposed masses who even now are trundling through the doors of this country's cinemas whilst having no fuckin' clue as to what they're going to see. We must help them, says the helpful reviewer. Rescue these cinema-goers from their ignorance and show them The Way.

It's a patronising attitude for one to adopt, especially from a reviewer who is paid to review a film, not think for us. It's the same type of attitude that was blustered about before the release of The Two Towers, in 2002. Some of these nincompoops gave sterling renditions of nincompoopery as they blubbered to the heavens that Peter Jackson was making a monumental mistake by not including a Last Week on The Fellowship of the Ring style of prologue.

Unbelievable.

Take the Cinescape review as an example. It's a middling review, punctuated with the usual well-intentioned, but mislaid, fear for the minds of children about to be exposed to the scary pictures on the screen.

It's in my experience that children are more sophisticated than adults give them credit for when it comes to scary images in fantasy films. After all, these are the same children who have devoured the stories and used their own vast imaginations to form fantastic images.

Anyway, I found the review bookended by one outstandingly obtuse paragraph; and one painfully obvious paragraph. Example of the latter:


It’s very entertaining, but for good and ill, it feels like what it is – part of a series rather than a standalone feature.

Yes, it is part of a series, how perceptive of you to note this. As it's part of a clearly-defined sequential narrative in seven instalments, the fourth instalment will feel like the fourth instalment and not a standalone feature. Thanks for pointing that out.


So that's one of my pet peeves. It's not much of a peeve, but I feel so much better for sharing that with you all today.

Good night, and good luck.

Even If Gary Glitter Goes to Indo-China ...

Police are searching for Glitter over in 'Nam. They're wanting to speak to the 1970s Glam Rock star over an alleged relationship with a Vietnamese teenager whom may or may not be of legal age.

Of course there's always the whole innocent until proven guilty thing, so we can't leap to any conclusions. But if any, er, naughtiness has transpired with the youth, and if she's under the legal age of consent, then kiddy-fiddling is, in some cases, punishable by death in Vietnam.

Link.

Yes, Dr. BadVibes

What is the most annoying sound? We all tend to have our favourites, whether it's a baby crying, a powerdrill, a dog barking, or even the unappealing sound of ugly people fucking.

Point is, what's annoying to one may not be annoying to another. I think they call it ... subjectiveness, although I could be wrong.

However, I think we can all agree that the sound of ugly people fucking, or fiddling with each others nasties, or getting in the odd spot of frottage is unbelievably annoying.

Yes, I have issues.

Er, luckily for us Salford University, via their website, BadVibes, is trying to find out exactly what is the World's Most Annoying Sound.

The website has a list of sounds that you can listen to, and then place in a category ranging from Not Horrible, all the way to Horrible and all points inbetween.

It's actually quite interesting, so I'd check it out if I were you.

Link to press release.

Link to BadVibes homepage.

I'm Walking on Broken Glass, wooah

and don't it feel good!

Actually, it's David G. Willey who is walking on broken glass, as the accompanying picture shows.

Willey has also dipped his hand in molten lead; picked up a piece of orange-hot space shuttle tile; and performed the person on a bed of nails smashed brick trick.

The story is from a 1999 back issue of Skeptical Inquirer, and is titled The Physics Behind Four Amazing Demonstrations.

Link.

Ants Eat Woman's Eye

This is so gross.

Link.

Scum Arrested In Austria

British revisionist historian, David Irving, has been arrested in Austria under charges of denying the Holocaust, which is a criminal offence in that country.

It shall be interesting to see how this plays out, and whether he ends up in prison. If he is thrown in the slammer, maybe he can write his own version of Mein Kampf?

Link.

Rugby World Cup Returns to NZ

Excellent.

I do have to admit that I didn't think NZ would win the bid for the 2011 tournament. I figured Japan would have been the favourite, followed by South Africa. Guess I thought wrong.

I'm pleased NZ won, and even more pleased South Africa didn't. It's only been ten years since they last hosted, so tough luck, try again and put that in your cheeseburger and eat it.

This writer is also not surprised Australia voted against NZ in both rounds of voting, so their rugby union can go fuck themselves.

I would like to see Japan host the tournament, as they'd most likely do a fantastic job of hosting if the 2002 soccer world cup was anything to go by.

But for now it's coming back to the Shakey Isles for the first time since 1987, and that's great news all round.

I think I'll book one of our holidays to NZ right around the time the tournament will be starting ...

Link.

An Excellent Feast

Most of last week was spent devouring the fourth instalment of George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series. As you can see in the title, it was most excellent.

However, it did feel like half a book to this reader, even if the author says it was a whole book for half the characters [to be followed by A Dance With Dragons, filled with the whole story for the remaining characters that were not in Feast].

I think some of the POV characters were a little two-dimensional in this instalmant, though. This is actually unlike Martin, as his characters always seem to 'live' as if they were real, and are often propelled by more substantial complexeties and motivation than, say, your average Darth Sideous.

Take Victarion Greyjoy, and his brother, Euron Crow's Eye. They're rather cookie-cutteresque, and far less-appealing as characters than their brother the Damphair, or their niece, Asha.

Of course, that could be the point, with the whole 'bind the dragons with ancient horn then marry Daenerys and claim Westeros because we want to' plot being served to illustrate the narrow-minds of the two characters. I certainly hope so, because their storyline made the Iron Isles machinations boring to this reader, and were an annoying distraction from the other storylines.

I seriously hope the plot to court Daenerys ends badly for them, in much the same way Cersei's plot to have one of the Kettleblacks murder Jon at the Wall came crashing down on her. Having to sit through so many of Cersei's chapters made me feel unwell, such was the loathing her character brought out in me. Most people knew Cersei was mad as a hatter without getting inside her head to prove it; 10 or so chapters of her insane scheming and unlimited hubris was pushing things. However, to see her self-inflicted fall from grace was well worth it. She's such a bitch.

Anyway, apart from those few minor complaints [complaints with very-small C's], I was very satisfied to finally get the next book after a three year wait since I read A Storm of Swords.

Plus I have to give a super big and appreciative thank-you to my lovely wife for buying the hardcover for me, since I am but a poor immigrant.

PS-- The cover shown in this post was eventually unused. I'm not sure why, because I thought the HarperCollins run of illustrations by Jim Burns were very cool, as were the covers on the Bantam novels by Stephen Youll. Now all of the new covers [plus reprints] seem to have generic fantasy items, like a crown or a chalice.

In case you wonder why I care, it's because I'm a big fan of cover illustrations and would like to see more artwork inside novels as well, with full colour plates at the start of each chapter. A guy can dream, I guess.

Sarah Connor?

I was snooping through AICN the other day, and I came across a story about the WB and FOX producing a TV series titled, The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

Naturally, being somewhat of a fan of the Terminator series, I checked it out. It seems the series will be set between the second and third films, and will flesh out the relationship between John Connor and his mother.

Now I do not wish to quibble, but I would have thought not much happens between film two and film three to warrant a full television series. As John Connor himself recalled in the third film, he and his mother lived off the grid for some time after T2, and Sarah eventually succumbed to a terminal illness [but not before stashing a shit load of guns in her coffin].

So unless this is going to be somewhat of a science fiction version of The Gilmore Girls, I really cannot see enough material in the canon between the two films to craft a weekly serial from. Except, that is, if the series drifts away from canon.

For my money, I would think a series that chronicles John Connor and Kate Brewster's story as they emerge from the bunker and set about rescuing humanity's survivors and forming them into the resistance against Skynet would have made a much more interesting story. But that's just me.

Still, if the creators of this series can make it fly, then good luck to them. I'll definitely be sucking that particular flavour of milk from the glass teat when it's available.

Link.

Borat

It seems Borat, a character on Da Ali G Show, is not as popular in his native Kazakhstan as he is elsewhere in the world.

Borat has pissed off one too many people in the central Asian country, and the Kazakhstan Foreign Ministry has threatened legal action.

High five!

Link.

Who Wants to Date My Daughter?

A British woman has launched a newspaper appeal in order to find a suitable date for her daughter.

The men not only have to submit a pic of their mugs, but also write a 500-word essay expressing why they should be the lucky suitor.

Link.

The Ministry of Truth

It's possible that the above picture is a fake. It would be easy for a person to make, with a little help from Photoshop.

However, if it's not a fake, the caption, 'Why the fuss about torturing people who want us dead?', is quite apt for FOX NEWS. It is a perfect example of the systemic mentality of ultra-nationalism that permeates through that channel. To put it kindly, FOX is the bete noire of news channels. If you didn't already know.

In moments such as these, I would like to think I'm capable of coming up with something poignant to compliment such a caption. However, a man's gotta know his limitations, and in this case I will defer to one who is without peer: George Orwell.



INDIFFERENCE TO REALITY. All nationalists have the power of not seeing resemblances between similar sets of facts. A British Tory will defend self-determination in Europe and oppose it in India with no feeling of inconsistency.

Actions are held to be good or bad, not on their own merits, but according to who does them, and there is almost no kind of outrage -- torture, the use of hostages, forced labour, mass deportations, imprisonment without trial, forgery, assassination, the bombing of civilians -- which does not change its moral colour when it is committed by "our" side.

The Liberal News Chronicle published, as an example of shocking barbarity, photographs of Russians hanged by the Germans, and then a year or two later published with warm approval almost exactly similar photographs of Germans hanged by the Russians.

It is the same with historical events. History is thought of largely in nationalist terms, and such things as the Inquisition, the tortures of the Star Chamber, the exploits of the English buccaneers (Sir Francis Drake, for instance, who was given to sinking Spanish prisoners alive), the Reign of Terror, the heroes of the Mutiny blowing hundreds of Indians from the guns, or Cromwell's soldiers slashing Irishwomen's faces with razors, become morally neutral or even meritorious when it is felt that they were done in the "right" cause.

If one looks back over the past quarter of a century, one finds that there was hardly a single year when atrocity stories were not being reported from some part of the world; and yet in not one single case were these atrocities -- in Spain, Russia, China, Hungary, Mexico, Amritsar, Smyrna -- believed in and disapproved of by the English intelligentsia as a whole. Whether such deeds were reprehensible, or even whether they happened, was always decided according to political predilection.

-- George Orwell, from Notes on Nationalism, 1945. Link.

Picture Link.

Bugger

I was taking a read through Neil Gaiman's blog this evening. Nothing new there, I'm usually reading it every second or third day, to see what Mr. Neil has to say on this and that.

So I was rather dismayed to hear, via the aforementioned blog, that SCI FICTION is no more. I think the word I used to express my dismay was our dear old friend, 'Fuck.'

Why fuck, Richard? Because, constant reader, early last month I fired off a short story [The Boy and the Tiger] to SCI FICTION, and addressed it to the editor, Ellen Datlow.

Ellen Datlow is one of the foremost editors of SF, so the thought that my story might make it past one of her readers to be actually considered for publication by her was terrifying; but at the same time it was very cool.

Do I think my story would have been accepted? No. It's only my second short story, and while I'm proud of it and think it's much better than the first story I finished, the odds of it being accepted were slight.

The hope that it might have been read and returned, with possibly a little bit of feedback, would have been more than enough at this early stage of my evolution. It would have helped to spur me to submit future stories to SCI FICTION in the hope that they might eventually be accepted.

It's unfortunate that SCIFI.com have decided to discontinue their fiction section. Short fiction markets are ever-decreasing, and as a consequence this will only serve to increase the competition between writers trying to get published. It makes it that much harder for the newbie to breakout.

But then again, this might have a positive effect in that it only increases the determination of this would-be writer to succeed and, eventually, breakout. Go, Team Newbie!

Still, it is shit that SCI FICTION is no more. There are some brilliant stories on there, and unless the new site has some space set aside for archiving them, they might not be up there for much longer.

Datlow has done an amazing job, and it will be interesting to see what her next projects are.

The Miracle Sandwich

A grilled cheese sandwich, which bears the likeness of the Flying Spaghetti Monster upon its holy exterior, has been sold on eBay for $41.

Link, via Fark.

Raspberry Coke

My parents mentioned to me some time ago that Coke have brought out a raspberry flavour in NZ. Which I thought was bloody cool, because I knew my devotion [and practically everyone else who dines at Burger King] to mixing raspberry soda with Coke at the BK soda fountain was inspired. Coke were watching.

I haven't seen anything in the news about about Coke releasing it in the US yet. However, Coke recently announced it was axing Vanilla Coke, so maybe RC will slot in at VC's expense?

Who knows, but I'd be interested in seeing how well the NZ trial of RC is going, and whether anyone I know downunder actually likes it, or has tried it.

Link to NZ Herald story on Raspberry Coke.

Link to a Raspberry Coke fansite.

Battle of the Biscuits

I've been having a bit of a craving lately for some biscuits. Not cookies like you find in supermarkets in North America; but biscuits one finds in supermarkets in New Zealand.

Notable biscuits that get the patented Richard pine are the ANZAC; Afghan; Toffee Pop; Mallow Puff; Chit Chat [not to be confused with the inferior Tim Tam from Australia]; Mint Sensation; and everyone's fav, the Squiggle. Mmm, Squiggles.

I think I might ask my folks, who will be arriving next month for a Christmas holiday, to pack some Afghans. As well as some Raspberry Coke.

Link to Griffin's site, makers of fine biscuits.

Link to Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down's review of the ANZAC, and Squiggles.

Link to NCOTAASD.com's Biscuit of the Week archive.

Lost and the Haiku

A wee while ago I entered a competition over at Ain't It Cool News. The competition asked for a haiku about Lost, and the best four entries would win their authors a DVD box set of Lost, season 1.

While I'm not particulary fond of the haiku [a little over-rated, IMO] I thought it might be fun to come up with some wordplay about the show.

Alas, mine was not one of the winning entries. AICN did, however, list my entry as one of their 82 notable entries. Which is kinda cool.

For the interested, this was my [losing] haiku about Lost:

Boone boned Shannon on
Lost and ended up splattered,
So watch out, Sayid!

I also had a second entry, but decided to go with the above. If you're really, really interested, my un-sent second entry was this:

I wish I was Kate's
Candy bar, so sticky and
Lost in her pocket.

That, of course, was in reference to Kate stashing an Apollo candy bar in her jeans before hopping into the aircon vent inside the bunker. And yes, that haiku is vulgar, which is why I did not enter it into the comp.

Link to the AICN Lost haikus.

The Independent

The Independent is becoming one of my favourite newspapers. There's some very cool articles and opinions to be found there, and while some of it is premium content, they still have articles that you can read right off the bat.

Here's some snippets that I lifted recently.

A story on China, timed to coincide with President Hu Jintao's arrival in the UK. Link.

An article on actress Kate Hudson's legal action against five publications that suggested she suffers from an eating disorder. Link.

And a very cool interview with the writer, Alan Moore. Link.

Myers-Briggs Type Indicator

Stumbled across an interesting page entry at Wikipedia the other day, concerning the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. I've always been fascinated with psych tests, so I followed a link to a site that has an unauthorized test so I could see which type I fall into.

Going by my results, my type is INTP. Breaking this down, the letters stand for Introversion; iNtuition; Thinking; and, Perceiving.

According to Wiki, this type only makes up 3.3% of the US population. Cool.

Link to the Wikipedia entry on the MBTI.

Link to an MBTI test.

Link to an INTP Profile.

I Got A Rock

My wife and I were quite surprised by the number of kids we had knocking on the door last week, all dressed as goblins and ghouls and other assorted creepies [plus more than a few princesses]. With the amount of damage kicked up, and the lack of electricity in some neighbourhoods, there was a feeling Hallowe'en might have been called off.

I guess the real story here is, never underestimate the allure of chocolate to children. They will crawl over hot coals for a mars bar or a packet of milk duds. Mmm, milk duds ...

I was glad we still managed to carve some pumpkins into Jack-O'-Lanterns, which was very cool indeed. Alas, mine didn't turn out too sinister, though. I'll have to work on my design.

TVNZ Sucks Again

As usual, Tom Scott is able to cut through the shit and make an apt comment on current events. The cartoon above puts some much-needed perspective on the Susan Wood/TVNZ kerfuffle.

For the record, I don't think Susan Wood is a good enough journalist to be worth $450,000 a year. Most people who have followed her career would concede that she owes her position to Paul Holmes, when she would cover for him on his eponymous show throughout the 1990s and up until his recent departure from TVNZ. In colloquial terms, she's built her position on his coat-tails.

What is telling, though, is that when Holmes left for Prime TV, Wood was not given a vehicle of her own. Nope, she had to share Close Up with Mark Sainsbury. Ostensibly, TVNZ claim this was part of their re-imagining, an attempt to move away from the 'star' culture that Paul Holmes had built. Bullshit.

As a broadcaster she lacks the intelligence to live with most of her interview subjects, and tends to cut them off in mid-sentance. I'm sure she's quite capable of asking the 'what's your favourite colour', or the 'what do you think of our weather' style of questions, but she does not cut it on subjects she has no head for.

In all honesty, watching one of her interviews at play is the journalistic equivalent of a dry hump. There are moments of hotness, a quiver or two in anticipation of some sauce, but in the end all the viewers are left with is blue balls.

Shady's Back, Tell a Friend

I for one am pleased the Atlantic hurricane season is drawing to a close. I think I've taken up enough posts in this blog bitching about this storm and that storm. I also shot my descriptive bolt composing the emails I titled Hurricane Destructor, parts one and two, so I won't be embellishing this blog with any more humourous and fairly obvious observations. About storms. Everything else is fair game.

This is now a hurricane free zone.

Right, what shall we talk about? //tumbleweed.

Anywho, the electricity is back on and I've felt like blogging again, which is good news for you. I finally finished writing Sunbird, by candlelight, no less, and believe it to be the best thing I have written so far. I'll talk about it later, but right now I'm now writing my next short story, so that's all very exciting.

Cool.