An Open Letter To The Inhabitants Of Mars

I made a post last week regarding how the existence of flowing water on Mars could very potentially be the first sign of alien invasion, and then digressed completely onto a path of thought that would rationalise the link between these two concepts. Today's post is an apology to the Denizens Of Mars (hereforth referred to as "DOM"), and even to all other species of the universe, which I may have offended by gross generalisation.

It wasn't my assumption that the Martians want to enslave us and remove our brains that would have been offensive, rather that I reached that conclusion based on an assumption of the thought processes and deductive reasoning. To say I am an expert in cultural diversity would be an outright lie, and so this is where the offence would be. I do not understand, and should not ever have made the impression of understanding the way Martians think.

The problem we have, is that I was basing the mental journey our roving Martian took in accordance with the logic and decision calls that I would make. I am a representative of the human race, (hereforth referred to as "ROTHR") even if I am of a smaller minority of said race. My template is NOT suitable at all to judge Martian reactions. We'd need someone of a far closer psychological profile in order to even have a chance of second guessing the Martian. Someone weird…someone not like the rest of us…

First one that springs to mind is PeeWee Herman.

The problem with PeeWee Herman (hereforth referred to as "PWH") is that he is certifiably insane, and thus there is no way to determine his comparison to an average human let alone a potentially war-like Martian. So the problem we have, Martians, is that no one down here, understands you up there. We made the effort of sending Voyager 2 out there with a plaque on it giving you a run down on who we are, what we look like, and what music was en vogue a couple of decades back, and then we dumped some remote-controlled junk on your planet...WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!?!?! WE'VE GIVEN YOU A HEAD-START! COME ON! DAMMIT! MEET US HALF WAY HERE!

...

You know what? I think I just got an insight into Martian thinking. They understand us. They read the probe, they've been watching our TV shows and listening to our radio programs. (they haven't seen our movies because we are old-fashioned)They've been observing from their hidden cities, and studying us.

They are watching us, and laughing.

A bunch of pale-skinned, weak-boned smarmy bastards (further from the sun, lighter gravity, not all derogatory), sitting up there on their red planet, their civilizations hidden completely from view, and sniggering at us. They've probably pulled apart the Rover, chuckling at the use of metals and batteries, and levers and cogs. That's it. I don't CARE how they think anymore.

MARTIANS! You come down here, you're in trouble. We've got nuclear weapons, tanks, the birdflu, we've got lasers, smart bombs, FREAKIN' SUPERMAN! Come on, come mess with us, we've got ninja's, pirates and people with planks of wood, just waiting to smack you on your shiny grey heads.
BRING

IT
ON.

To the people of Earth: if we are subsequently invaded due to my inflammatory remarks above, I apologise, and will be first in line with a plank of wood.

Q: Do you know anyone who is engaged? Yes I do. An ex-girlfriend to a complete idiot. The universe is laughing.
Song For The Day: "Junkfood Heaven" by The Forty-Fives

Then Gandalf The Grey, And Gandalf The White....

This time of the year has a profound impact on my lifestyle. Out of habit and general intent, I avoid shopping at the “regular” times as dictated by the world of retial. This is mostly because I can’t stand the shuffling masses that are “consumers”. I think this is really just a conveniently naïve label for the zombie hordes that we have trapped in the social roach motels that are shopping malls, but I’m cynical/paranoid/silly.

I got home late, due to having to go to the shops. I got many of the items I required, I made more purchases than intended, and I saw a man eat his own head. It was that type of an evening. The long drive home (10 minutes) left me exhausted, and mentally drained. There were sights and sounds I experienced that I cannot verify the existence of. Was I hallucinating? Had I transcended a barrier to another layer of reality? Why did everyone sound like Ringo Starr?

I woke up the house, stumbled in sideways, (like in a Crowded House song) and was immediately accosted by a bright yellow-costumed ninja who hurled a sharp, barbed harpoon at my head, demanding I get over there. I dived to the side, my shopping spilling everywhere. The couch broke my momentum, and just in time as a bladed-hat wearing shaolin monk leapt out of hiding, and launched an abusive-sounding tirade at the ninja. He made a few martial-looking gestures, then leapt at the ninja. As the began to fight, the floor shook and we were soon joined by a four-armed giant, bellowing a mighty warcry as he beat his chest with all four tightly clenched fists. There was a brief blaze of light, and then Thor, Captain America, Wolverine and Spider-man appeared at the top of the stairs, before marching off to find some Ultron robots to beat up. A bald, pale-looking sorcerer crept out from behind the TV a glowing green skull in one hand, my copy of “Army Of Darkness” in the other. He was about to ask me something (probably regarding which ending the DVD had), when a red-overall wearing plumber jumped on his head, and caused him to shrink down to half size. He retaliated by throwing glowing green bolts around. Then Batman arrived and unleashed a swarm of trained killer bats on the kombatants, and a warzone photographer took snaps of the whole thing, whilst Master Chief cooked up some toast. Meanwhile a crowbar-wielding physicist was trying to solve a puzzle revolving around three different projectors to create a single image, as Optimus Prime tried to find a parking space only to be thwarted by Marcus Fenix rolling up in his borrowed junker.




I think I have to lay off the video games a bit.

Q: What’s Your New Year’s Resolution? To build a reputation, but this time built on fact.
Song For The Day: “I Predict A Riot” by Kaiser Chiefs

Free Stuff = Best Quality Ever

I’m not one to look for every possible freebie out there. In fact, I’m more of the opinion that if I don’t need something, I will actually decline (after all, there are only so many free cartons of flavoured milk that a non-milk drinker can accept from the promo people before enough is truly enough).

But there are times when this pragmatic model of thinking realises it’s shoelaces are untied, the moment after it’s already stepped on the escalator of rational thinking. The moment of clarity is quickly followed by a panicked selfish endeavour with a result of negligible worth. The following is one of those shoe-lace eating situations.

Over the last year I had a running battle with a certain computer company who shall remain nameless (APPLE), and I experienced the full gamut of their customer service capabilities. In less diplomatic language, they blocked me at every turn and refused to help me out when their products, which I had purchased and had full documentation for, were not just faulty, but repeatedly and ridiculously flawed. This, combined with my own background in customer service (and the full knowledge of the purpose of said role) has left me a touch jaded regarding these people of help.

So I decided to cause some mischief.

Being a great proponent of two minute noodles, I keep a few packs on hand for those midnight snacks that must be prepared in 120 seconds or less, but recently I found that Fantastic noodles (name or description? You decide…) have bulk packs, which make my midnight snacking even easier. The only problem is they come without flavour sachets, those minute packets of salt that make my noodles resemble the taste of faux-chicken (certainly doesn’t taste like any chicken I’ve eaten, and I’ve eaten many chickens). I thought on this – how can I get more flavour sachets? It’s a reasonable question, I thought, so I used Dirk Gently logic, and asked a child.

thenick: Child, how can I get more noodle flavour sachets?

Child: Mum keeps them in a drawer in the kitchen.

(thenick furiously scribbles this down)

thenick: Any other way?

Child: ask Maggi.

So I did.

Fristly, I found I must have secreted a few flavour sachets away when I was cooking noodles for other purposes (bonus points), and then I got on the Maggi website. I found their contact us link, and I contacted them. I explained my situation, and asked if there was indeed any other way to get those silver bags of taste and salt. After hitting send, I boasted of my bravado and marched around, browsing the website with impunity. By chance I came across the “Other Products” page, and discovered Maggi Stock powder. At this point, the panicky coward in my mind screamed at me – the customer service people are just going to tell me to use this. I won’t get any more sachets!!! Bravery stood up, grabbed Cowardice by the shoulders and shook him until his teeth chattered. “Be reasonable, man! Give them time…”

They replied.
Cowardice was right – they told me to use stock powder.

FOILED.

Q: Whose the last person you spoke on the phone to? Alistair from I.T. He fixed my mistakes.
Song For The Day: “Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner” by Warren Zevon

Water Found On Mars: Denzel Washington Admits Responsibility

I received an email from Zeedar informing me:

”You hear they found a river on Mars? Only a small one admittedly, but it is liquid, flowing water and it potentially has fishes, which in turn are potentially delicious.”

I have to say, Zeedar is right. Where there is water, there is the chance of an edible creature, be it swimming, walking or amphibious. (We humans are omnivores; we’ll eat most anything. Even cars.)

“Government Man , Important Man/ Walking around at night
He's got his whiskey, He's got his briefcase/ He's gonna be alright”

Knowing that Zeedar's imagination is as bad (and by bad, I mean overactive) as mine, I decided I’d have to see if the general scientific community (and by that, I mean Google) would corroborate the story.

My first instinct was – typo: what if the headline was actually “ROVER found on Mars”. No real surprise – NASA put it there, and must have forgotten about it over the last few years. Nope, its’s about water.
Just last week they found water on Mars. And not water-that-is-frozen-and-most-likely-always-has-been. Real, liquid water. The kind you find in an ocean, a river, or quite possibly a car radiator. And you know what you find near car radiators? ALIENS.

“Now when you hear those sirens, don't you think it's just a drill
'Cos when El Presidente pulls the trigger, He always shoots to kill”

This got me thinking about alien invasions, like many subjects do. Are there aliens out there, watching the fish from the safety of their rovers? And if so, what would they think if they found water on earth? Filled with even MORE fish? (more water, ergo more fish. It’s a ratio thing) What if they get greedy? What if they decide they want our fish/water/cars??? That means one thing:

“There are Germans in Mexico, Germans In Mexico
Taking over tonight, Falling in love with your daughter…”

INTERGALACTIC WAR.

THEY WILL COME HERE, FIGHT US AND STEAL OUR BRAINS AND WE WILL HAVE TO FIGHT BACK, AND MILLIONS WILL DIE, AND WATER WILL BE STOLEN, AND WE WILL DESTROY THEIR RACE WITH THE NUCLEAR WEAPONS, THE COMMON COLD AND/OR TOM JONES MUSIC.


Or, maybe there will be peaceful contact and negotiation.

“There's only so many rabbits, That you can pull out of your hat
There's only so much time now - You know we're running out of that”

Why do we always assume intergalactic travelers have over-active aggressive streaks? Surely if they are organized enough to master space travel, they have also got some grasp of diplomacy. Except in the case of Darth Vader – he’s harsh. So, if they came down and wanted some fish and water, in exchange for, well anything they wanted to offer, would we say ‘thank you Mr Mars”. I’d like to think so.
But after watching “Starman”, the Roswell tapes and “E.T.”, I think we’d probably dope them the first chance we got, and chop them up for Science.

This is a scary scenario. I bet you that one of those little rover-driving aliens is looking into the river in horror as this particular outcome plays through his imagination. Blinking himself back to reality, he’s going to go pick up a rock and break any technological marvel that could possibly pave them a way to the stars, and will invest in a handgun next chance he gets.


Sorry folks, alien contact is off the menu. But we do a great martian marinara.

“Ayudame! American fighter jets! For without you we shall not win
They come with the light and take our women for sale in Berlin

Sing everbody "Deutsche Deutsche"
Vaya con dios amigos!”

*repeat to fade out*

Today's links were sponsored by Drummerthan...

Q: What's the first thing you notice about the preferred sex? Willingness to make eye contact, a twinkle in said eyes, and (hopefully) a lack of broken beer bottles for stabbing me
Song For The Day: “Misguided Angel” by Cowboy Junkies

Zen and The Art Of Making Up Words

Whilst growing up in the far-flung hills of Saturn Greensborough, I knew a guy named Zen. That’s one hell of a cool name, especially compared to thenick.

ZEN.

ZZZEN.

How many names start with a ‘z’? Zach, Zoe, Zilla…(true – I know a girl named Zilla) ZEN.

"Duct tape. I need it for... taping something.”

The only problem was, as cool as the name was, and as great a guy as Zen was/is (I think he’s still around), he wasn’t THAT cool. True. His name preceded him. So, we renamed him Henry. This renaming took on a Jekyll and Hyde element, whereby we knew him as Henry until the sweet vintage that was his cool, was opened and found to have not spoiled in it’s long term behind the cork that was his goofish nature.

So that’s Zen.

Over the last four months, I’ve immersed myself fully into the world of business. The politics, the strategies, the alliances and structures of power. I’m THERE. Hip-deep in this morass that is the modern workplace, I am taking in their methods and styles and meeting them head-on. This is cool, I like a challenge. What I don’t like is the absolute destruction of the English language that business engages in on a frequent basis. Like a Patrick Bateman clone, business strides around in it’s three-piece power suit, nailgunning words to walls, and chainsawing almost recognizable terms into gory chunks of syllables, re-arranged into morbid mockeries of real words. Allow me to show you:

“I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.”

Action – this word is a NOUN. Elvis spelt it, most of us live for it. Still a noun.

But NOT if you work in Business. In business it’s a verb – it’s something you can do on it’s own! Action Points are fine, they are points-you-must-act-on. But saying you’ve actioned something? That’s crazy. I hate it.

“There is a moment of sheer panic when I realize that Paul's apartment overlooks the park... and is obviously more expensive than mine.”

Diarise – This one kills me. Diarise means “to record something in your diary”. What’s wrong with saying “I’ll write that in my diary?!?!” WHY WHY WHY!?!? (Delilah?) And why does it have to sound like some horrible medical term?
”I’m sorry ma’am, but if little orphan Johnny is to survive the night, we’ll have to diarise both his lungs, and hope for the best.”

“But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself.”

Releasedness – Okay, we made this one up. We hate it too, but we needed it. I swear, when this project wraps up, I’m taking that word out and burying it.

What really worries me, is that I typed this whole blog in MS Word, and it didn’t pick any of them up as typo’s…oh, the world is a scary scary place.

“I'm leaving. I've assessed the situation, and I'm going.”

(today’s quotes supplied by celluloid super-yuppie Patrick Bateman)

Q: Do you believe in ghosts? No, but Dan Aykroyd certainly does…
Song For The Day: “Holiday In Cambodia” by The Dead Kennedys

Fist-sized Dynamite

Humanity seems to have a real fixation with breaking stuff. At a very specific, individual level, you have people who are so insanely curious about the nature of something, that they pull it apart. This bizarre and backwards behaviour often ends up with the person in question growing up to be really adept at getting things to work again, or even building stuff from scratch.

(paradoxical.)

On a larger, our-world-around-us level, we have caused our own species grief through continent-sized arguments over whose definition of the Almighty is greater (no matter who you fight, they'll always say you're wrong). We've actually endangered ourselves more than any comet, volcano or deadly virus. So yes, this gives the dinosaurs the moral high ground.

(Culturally paradoxical.)

But the topic for the day? Awesomely linked into this…

BOXING GLOVES!

Yeah, that’s right – the piece of sporting equipment that has no reason to exist, and doesn’t serve any other purpose other than to make itself a ludicrous and redundant item. “What on earth are you talking about, thenick?” I hear you type. (I know that you are – I’m like The Shadow, but I don’t know what evil lurks in the hearts of men.)

“Who hears what you type at night? THENICK!

Now this is my problem: in a sport which is all about stripping down to the bare minimum, and then swinging punches at each other until someone falls down, and brute strength is a very high factor in the equation – why are we covering our fists in a big, padded glove?

-Did early boxers try to climb out of the ring in fear, and the lack of hand leaves them no grip?
-Are we afraid they’ll pinch each other?
-Is a pre-bout high five with your trainer against the rules?

Why don’t we take the gloves off, and go at it like the did in the old days? No binding, no gloves, just fist-to-face technique (that sounds almost obscene). Knuckles pounding into cheeks, the sheer force causing shockwaves through the brain, shaking it like so much pancake mix. The crunching of cartilage from the impact, flattening aquiline noses into a more putty-like consistency. And the really messed up thing? It’s all volunteer.

If I was in a fist-fight, (much like an early 80’s Michael Jackson video clip, but less dancing), I’d want my opponent to be wearing big padded mitts. But these boxers, they are there to hit and be hit! They are into the violence for the sake of the violence! WHY O WHY is there gloves?

Green Arrow, a vigilante styled on Robin Hood, dresses in a bright costume (green), carries a bow (green) and a quiver (green) full of trick arrows (gre- no, I won’t).
One of his arrows was a “boxing-glove” arrow, where the arrow head was replaced with said item. This was used to shoot people in the head without killing them. Commendable, but pretty stupid.


Ooooooh, I get it. Boxers wear them to prolong the agony.

(Not paradoxical. Just dumb.)

Q: Current relationship status? Single and open to suggestion.
Song For The Day: "Masquerade" by HEAD Inc

The amazing healing properties of mud

I share my place with two mischievous cats. Named for some of my favourite Bat-villains, (Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy) these little terrors are of the opinion that they own the house, and that the only reason for my co-accommodation is to provide them with food. They have no ability to open cans, or turn on taps, so we're at a bit of an impasse - the rely on me, but want to be rid of me. I never let them forget this, but I know they are planning something...probably involving prosthetic thumbs.

http://www.tribuneindia.com/2001/20011224/login/hardware.htm

As they are full of mischief (85% in fact. The other 15% is chocolate), I often have to prevent them from continuing their dastardly deeds. For example, they are of the understanding that a comic is just a brightly coloured scratching toy, much to my dismay. And so it was, that I had caught Ivy (the evil one) and decided best to carry her downstairs and away from the scene of the crime. Halfway down, she decided it was time to reclaim her independence, and she sprang from my arms.

http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_km4479/is_200607/ai_n16596210

Now cats DO land on their feet - most of the time. I had no fear for her, she's big enough to know the ins and outs of cat-fall dynamics. But to provide her with escape velocity, she felt compelled to unsheath her claws to give her the traction this launch required. She got traction, and in return I had a two-inch wound inflicted on my palm. Yes, pain ensued.

http://hort.ufl.edu/gt/hurricane-damage/hurricane.htm

So I left her to her wicked devices, and went to clean myself up. As I was still getting ready to leave the house, I stopped the bleeding, and had a shower. Afterwards, as I am wont to do, I shaved and had at this point completely forgotten about my hand (hot water works wonders). Applying my aftershave, I had the same thought I have every time I put it on, namely "ha ha, I'm wearing mud". This is true.

http://www.innerauto.com/Honda_Parts/Honda_Mud_Guard/

My father bought my an New Zealand aftershave that contains a large amount of Rotoruan thermal MUD. This initially struck me as odd, but it's really good stuff. So, slapping it on, I feel the familiar slight burning sensation on my cheeks....AND THEN MY HAND. AARGH!! THE MUD HAS SEEPED INTO THE WOUND! THIS IS THE MOST PAINFUL THING I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED! QUICK! CUT IT OFF AT THE WRIST! JUST STOP THE -
oh, it's passed.

Later in the day, after this had subsided, someone noticed the gash on my hand. I started telling the story, and then looked at my hand - almost completely healed. There was no exposed flesh, no weeping...all sealed up.


I'm heading off to NZ to steal their mud for strategic medical experiments. I think I've now figured out what it will take to defeat ZOMBIES!!!

http://consc.net/zombies.html

Q: Favourite Alcoholic Drink? Scotch, but I'm really keen to have a Martini night.
Song Of The Day: "I'm Straight" by Jonathan Richman

The return of the sexist, misogynist dinosaur.

I’m late, but I have a pretty good reason. (Well, I think so) We had Christmas parties galore yesterday, and I have the distinct impression I did the patented “Destroy Any Credibility Nick Had” tricks, but I can’t be sure – I don’t remember a lot of the night. What I DO know, is that I found myself in Sunshine at 3am, and worked my way home.

That was interesting.

But THURSDAY night, Thursday night was awesome. I had standing plans to go see “Casino Royale” with TWD, but as it is wont to do, Sickness intervened and waylaid our best-laid plans (no mice involved). So I extended the invite to Zeedar, who embraced it and broke land-speed records to reach the cinema in time. It was worth it though, boy was it worth it…

I’m a big Bond fan – have been since I saw my first Bond-in-cinema, “Goldeneye”. I own most all the film in some form or another, and if I’m stuck for something to watch, falling back on these is always a comforting move.

(weird Bond fact: there is an asteroid named after him: 9007 James Bond)

This movie really goes back to square one, it gives us Bond as he is becoming the character we know. He’s still insanely brave, skilled and suave, but he’s also really really cold, and not-that-great at being Bond yet. Very much like what was done with Batman Begins, we ended up with an origin story that gave us the bricks and mortar that the legend will then be built on. At the same time, both movies treated the mythic characters in a very realistic fashion, making the films more believable.

Still, it was an awesome film, and I decided to put together this new version of the poster:



(I was going to change all the bats into various Bond-ish objects, like the 007 logo, the logos from a deck of cards...but I'm lazy)


Q: Favourite Bond Movie? Goldeneye
Song For The Day "POD" by Tenacious D

History…Rarely Repeats…

(anyone else notice that “blogspot” is an anagram of “blog post”? yeah, lame)

Neil Finn was halfway there. If he was trying to express the sentiment that history actually does NOT ever happen again, he was right. See, history is a linear, time-dependent concept. So in that respect, Neil is right, it cannot repeat, as it is by definition a selection of past events and circumstances – this can not re-occur. But if he was meaning it in a more metaphorical way (which I think he was), then what he’s saying is that nothing can ever be repeated to receive the same result. Scientists would argue vehemently against this (with good reason), but he’s fairly right.

For instance, if you go through a relationship with someone, and it leads to a bitter end, then if you were to try and re-kindle things with that person, it would not be the same relationship. Your entire interaction would be tainted/strengthened by all that has gone before, and that couldn’t help but affect it.

So, if you COULD go back and repeat history, would you really want to? Especially since if it was repeating, you wouldn’t be able to affect the outcome: however it ended previously, will be how it ends now. If this was a bad thing, it’s a horrible form of self-torture, but conversely if it was a good ending…well, I’m not quite sure why you’d put yourself through it still.



I’ve had contact with four ex-girlfriends this past week. It’s been odd. Not bad odd, all of the contact has been really good, some even quite enjoyable. (don’t be dirty – it’s all been in writing, except for one, where we were separated by glass, but that’s a good thing – Zeedar was tempting me to punch her. He even offered to pay my bail once arrested)

Odd.



Q: If you could have a super-power, what would it be? Super-speed. Effectively makes you invisible, and bullet-proof. And really really fast.
Song For The Day “Girl” by Beck

The World's Greatest Defective

As They Might Be Giants once said “I’ve often been told that you can only do what you know well”. What I know how to do well, is rant. And figure stuff out. Ranting about solutions? Quite possibly.

You can ask anyone if I’m much of a detective, and more often than not, they’ll say “Who’s thenick? Why are you talking at me?” But those that do know me, know that I spend a fair amount of my waking time pondering questions that are yet to receive full and comprehensive answers. No, I’m still not sure on why Starbucks don’t make thicker cups instead of giving us two every time. I’m working on it!

I was walking to work last week, when all of a sudden the weight of society’s unsolved questions feel upon me. Normally, I’m ready for such a thing, and if you brace yourself properly, you can take the weight across your shoulders, and it’s no more effort than lugging a bag full of exercise books home during high school. Personally I used to leave my books at school therefore negating the ability to do homework, so I really don’t know how this feels. (same goes for graduating – never been there, never done that) I’ve been told the weight of a laden backpack/world’s grief are comparable sensations. But the weight took me by surprise, and flattened me to the sidewalk. The footpath on Swanston St doesn’t taste anywhere near as good as I would have liked to think it did.

After a moment of mental dismissals and physical dusting I put the event behind me, with only a few select questions to keep me busy for the day. The first were a bit lightweight, but questions nonetheless:

-What’s the big attraction with sudoku puzzles?
-Why does everything cause cancer in mice?
-What’s the difference between a Jurassic Park and Sensis?

Quite simple.

-A simple logic puzzle you can do if crosswords are out because your vocabulary sucks.
-It doesn’t. Mice themselves ARE cancer – it’s just that no one’s thought to test that yet.
-One’s a high-tech amusement center whose prehistoric content is running amok, and the other is a Spielberg film.

But the question that really bothers me? The question that, like a nasty sliver of corn chip, wedges itself between the molars of my mind and will spend the rest of the day irritating me until inspiration, like a toothpick frees me from it’s inquisitive grasp?

Nah, forgotten it.

Q: What would your last meal be? Roast chicken and veg. Yep, simple at heart, simple by nature.
Song For The Day: "Mantra" by The Tea Party.

The Nick Vs. The Technology

(this was yesterday's post - I completely forgot my login details)

In my previous occupation (or past life, depending on just how cynical you are) I had a reputation when it came to any object with:

a) electronic components
b) moving parts
c) an aspect to it that can only be described as fragile.
d) all the above.

This was a skill that kept me from interacting with the computer, phone, power tools and even customers. Still, after a while my related ability to have a fairly good idea on how to repair such damage was utilised and I became a self-employed McGyver who creating bad situations that need ingenuity to be escaped. But still, whenever a new device, or a highly prized gadget was gingerly handed into my well-practiced control, there was a look of concern coupled with nervous terror in the giver's eyes.

They labelled this bizarre talent, "The Machine Curse." I called it incredibly specific bad luck.

Years have since passed, and the Machine Curse became a distant memory of sheepish explanations, inexplicable combustions and left-over screws. Like Halle Berry's "Catwoman", it became a memory that while discomforting, was easily pushed aside and not considered any further. Then my current employer decided it was time to up the amount of technology I had access to - I was provisioned a laptop.

As is virgin blood to an unholy and ever-grinning daemonic critter, so was this new addition to my utility back-pack to the slumbering Curse. (I can see why Batman uses a utility belt - far snappier than "back-pack")

No more than 48 hours later, I was working on my third laptop, two profiles have had to be re-set, a mouse (peripheral, not pet) rolled over and died, and IT has put my name on top of the list of “IT’s Most (Un)Wanted Users”.

Someone pointed out a mythological connection that may be present, and may explain my abilities to destroy electronics on touch…In the deep, dark histories of China (they had a few histories) there are stories of a god of thunder and lightning…a being known as RAIDEN! Maybe, I am channeling his power? Maybe I am destined for god-hood with a funny hat? (ref: "Mortal Kombat")
Either way, this is far preferable to his brother, who was the god of thunder and lighting.

(Although that guy did make awesome entrances…)

So yes. It appears that no matter how far you go, or what you make of yourself, deep down, your primal nature is still with you, lurking in the deep foliage of your mind, waiting for the innocent gazelle of civilized mindset to expose it's flank...

Deep down, I'm a menace to civilization - It's good to know where you stand.

Q: Coke or Pepsi? Coke, you freaking heathen
Song Of The Day: "First Gear" by The Rapture

A Discourse On Ninja In Western Society

(first actual post)

When you mention the above notions (‘ninja’ and ‘western society’ – not so much ‘discourse’) to an everyday citizen on the street, they will greet you with either a look of perplexed-ness, that seems to say “what on earth have you been smoking?”, or a dangerous lowered-eyes expression that can only possibly be revealing their current thought process: “he knows too much – he will have to go."

But no matter what the response is, the scenario is still one of you raising a topic of great importance, surrounded by an even greater ignorance. Ninja live among us as “Urban Ninja”, and have done so for a great deal of time now. Being experts at espionage and secrecy, they have blended almost seamlessly into our culture, to the point that they can now walk amongst us without even the hint of suspicion being scented by the sharpest of our eagle-eyed members (what a clumsy mixture of metaphor).

For the most part, this purposeful portion of the population is made up of shadowy agents of intrigue sent to our rural centres during the latest World War. Sent on missions of intelligence-gathering and to act as a sort of “If I Go, We All Go” project by Japan (Go Japan, nice work), they have subsequently revised and revised their cover to the point that they are more integrated into our present social setting than a lot of us are.

(interesting yet useless fact: Urban Ninja do not suffer from peer pressure)

There are ways to spot them. A lot of their tricks and techniques rely on a level of disinterest being cultured in a possible observer. I will detail a few tried-and-tested methods:

1. A Whiter Shade of Black

Urban Ninja will dress in muted colours, predominantly shades of grey. Studies have shown that observers attention is not caught by such “camoflauge”, meaning you may look directly at an Urban Ninja, but later when you try and recall their appearance, your brain does the neurological equivalent of checking your watch, but not actually checking the time.

2. LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU! IT’S A DISTRACTION!

You did, didn’t you? The Urban Ninja rely on that working. Unfortunately, it does.

Sometimes, they have developed a level of integration so powerful, that they are actually walking around and interacting with us in our day-to-day world. They could be the guy who makes your coffee in the morning, the quiet yet deadly efficient guy in the office, the terrible karaoke singer that no one even considers hurling abuse at – they are out there.

(interesting yet useless fact: Urban Ninja LOVE Neil Diamond. No one knows why)

One day, you will befriend one. You will find that you have an awful lot in common, and they will invite you over to watch the football/cricket/Iron Chef Finals, and you will think this is a great thing. ON arrival to their place, you will notice an eerie silence throughout the very close neighbourhood. You will find that their home/dwelling/cave is a spotless residence, and everything will feel comforting. But then you will notice some oddness:

-There are no pictures of family or friends.
-The floor is covered in brittle rice-paper (Ninja love walking on this, it’s like Velcro for cats)
-A plethora of sharp weapons will be liberally scattered throughout the house.

RUN.

DO NOT TURN BACK. You have only one chance, and for this to work, you cannot stop to even consider the consequences if it fails.

You must summon a Samurai.

(interesting yet useless fact: Samurai are the Ninja’s only natural enemy)

The rest gets pretty messy, but grab some popcorn and get comfortable. The ensuing battle usually goes for a couple of weeks.

Q: Favourite TV Show? Justice League Unlimited
Song Of The Day: “When I Go Out With Artists" by The Crash Test Dummies

Testing: 1, 2, Thwip!

This is my space.

Not myspace, but my. space.

myspace is a place full of attention-deficit sufferers who have an obsessive compulsive urge to increase their "Friends" list, even if it means contacting people at random, and "lol"ling at them for a period of time.

That type of thing scares me. So I won't have that happen in my. space.

This blog is going to become a combination of autobiographical ramblings, hypothetical scenarios, and outright lies. You should be able to determine which is which, but if there is ever confusion as to which it is, my advice is take it as the truth - it most likely is.


I also take requests.


Q: What's Your Favourite Number? 9
Song Of The Day: "Kung Fu" by Ash