Wednesday, August 31, 2005

I'm getting a bit ferkin narked that the images are refusing to display in The Pad on a regular basis. It's not like I'm zapping monster bandwidth or using up huge amounts of space in there.

I've reserved a site at as well but I'm loathe to build it because of the stinking popups associated with it - and they get around my pop-up blockers.

A few interesting developments over the last few days.

Made contact with someone who is either a naive kid or a nark going incognito. If it's the latter, it's going to be an interesting discussion. If it's the former, I'm going to enjoy standing guard over said youngster's blog making sure the filth keep their grubby little lies out of it.

One of the peer group in my other sphere of interest - the one providing all the positive feedback - is coming to Melbourne in November. Isn't that just the bee's knees. What a buzz to be able to show this person all the best bits of my fantastic city, all the hidden treasures of the arcades, the amusing buskers and the tragic ones, Lygon St, Brunswick St, Acland St and Victoria St, the Vic Market on a Sunday - and some good old fashioned cricket.

I hope I get the chance to do that. I'll update later on the progress in that regard.

I'll have to get the Mit fixed before November. I still haven't had the heart to bung the Saab back up on eBay yet either. Every time I get in it, I keep telling myself it's a machine - a hunk of metal, rubber and plastic. It's insane to get sentimental over it. And with juice running at $5 a gallon, it's not like cars aren't fast becoming a luxury as well. As if I need 2 of them.

Just while I'm on the subject of juice, the Federal Government has a fuel excise which is about 30 cents per litre - we go by litres here, not gallons - and on top of that, there's a gst on the overall cost. That's a tax on the excise included in that cost. A tax on a tax. I love governments. I really do.

There was another amusing bit of news emanating from Melbourne's hyper selfish last week as well. Running down the eastern side of the bay is the Sandringham line train. It passes through some of the best real estate in the city. All but two stations on the line are in the central public transport zone, the last two stations are in Zone 2. These precious little swats are pushing to have the last two stations included in Zone 1.

They say it will save them having to cram the carpark two stations up the line from which they can legitimately travel on a Zone 1 ticket, saving themselves $540 a year. These are people who live in $900,000+ homes.

What they fail to realise is the buses departing from these stations all travel into Zone 2 areas which would mean anyone travelling the length of Highett Rd or Bay Rd from the Southland Megaplex Shopping nightmare to either Hampton or Sandringham stations would need to purchase a dual zone ticket. Perhaps not? I doubt it - because all buses going from those two stations to Southland nightmare connect with Highett station or Cheltenham station, both of which are well within Zone 2 - neither is in a dual zone area.

Highett station also happens to be my local station.

Of course those rich cunts don't think of anyone but themselves, that's how they got to be rich and cuntish. I'll let you in on a little secret...

Because I used to be so heavily involved in networking amongst the high power set, I used to be invited and summoned to all sorts of horrendous evenings and lunches. I can't fault the parents of the kids who were involved with my teams or clubs who initially invited me to one of these things, but when you're hobnobbing with state politicians, captains of industry and the financial heart and soul of the city, you get drenched in social bullshit. I mean literally and liberally soaked in it.

Even now the word canape makes me cringe. Fingerfood is the lunchtime equivalent. It was this interminable getting of one's face around and being introduced to people wearing striped ties that has given me an absolute aversion to striped ties. I can't stand the fucking things. Loathe them. I am happy to say the only striped tie I still possess is the very first tie ever to come into my possession and in the 20 years I've owned it, I've worn it only once - to one of these stinking wine and cheese affairs.

Never again will I knowingly attend another one of those wretched pretenses at civility and sociability. They are moshpits of usury and subtle coercion where the filthy rich decide amongst themselves how to dispose of the commodity of the labour of others to the mutual advantage of no one but themselves.

I understand these things are strategic relationship building exercises which keep the mid-level economy on its feet, but I want no part of it. Moreover I spurn it for the cheap veneer it is. All this social sniffing of pedigrees and airing of petty prejudices and pathetic ambitions couched in terms of polite conversation which all runs like oily clockwork provided nobody actually identifies it as being such - the whole charade makes me sick to the pit of my soul.

And now they're complaining about the price of their train tickets.

Pardon me while I spit sideways.

Men, don't wear striped ties. If you have to wear a tie at all, wear anything but a striped one. Women, just don't dress like Condi Rice. Despite what the feminazis tell you, you really do look good in dresses - provided you don't overdo it and look like Jehovah's Witnesses.

Feel free to gripe.


Morgue said...

wearing dresses at work makes me nervous; way too many escalators.

Rat said...

Wearing dresses at work makes me nervous too; too few drag queens!