Category: Quick and dirty

View from across the ocean (23/10/2015)

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It was an important week back home, as we finally saw an end months in the making. I am of course talking about the finale of The Bachelorette Australia, where Sam Frost finally found love with her new beau Sasha hard-to-pronounce-Eastern-European-name. Frost of course was the lovely lady given the final rose at the end of the last season of The Bachelor Australia, only to be dumped a week later by Blake “you’ve got a stupid name and weren’t good enough for her anyway” Garvey who changed his mind and went with the runner-up. Six million capital city Aussies (that’s more than a quarter of the population of the country) tuned in to see Sam get her happy ending, and what a fairytale it was.

I didn’t watch it, mind you, but I am gonna miss the funny recaps and social media quips by the hilarious people who did. Still glad you two found each other, Sam and Sasha.

Something else that I wasn’t a big fan of but enjoyed all the online piss-taking that just ended? The political career of Joe Hockey. Though that was less ‘fairytale ending’ and more ‘at last the nightmare is over’ as he finally got around to quitting after his boss and biggest supporter got booted out of his own job. Tony Abbott might not be leaving parliament anytime soon, but it’s no surprise that the bloke who (it can be pretty easily argued) was the individual most to blame for that downfall (sorry Peta Credlin haters, Joe pissed off the voters more) has decided to quit while he’s got any scalp left. Or maybe he just wanted everyone to start being nice to him again. Certainly heard a lot of cheery speeches in parliament from his side of the fence congratulating him on years of loyal service to the nation, while his own speech was a self-congratulating belief that he’d left the nation better than what he started. I can’t help but feel that the latter was met by a collective muttering of “my arse,” while the latter was actually a coded thanks that Joe had fallen on his sword instead of making them feed him to the lions in a colosseum filled with cheering swing voters. Except for Julie Bishop, who didn’t give a speech and was promptly accused of, I’m not sure, disloyalty or something? Being impolite? Not lying through her teeth about what a great job she thought he’d done? Something like that. Somehow just as cheerful were the eulogies by all the satirists who’re gonna miss drawing Joe and his cigar. Even I got in on that action once or twice. I didn’t draw the best likeness, but then again I didn’t do it for a living.

Joe Hockey and random talking Edited 23:10:2015 copy

Truthfully though, this was a long time coming and nobody was that surprised. It certainly seemed to cease being one of the main headlines. Turnbull’s managing to keep things steady, talking about infrastructure investment and a changing economy and a plebiscite on marriage equality and not giving a couple of million dollars to a climate change skeptic. So much so that we’re barely paying attention to Cory Bernardi, and Peter Dutton’s offensive use of the word “Negro” hasn’t had nearly as much airtime as it would have gotten under the ancien regime. Mind you, he’s got Jacqui Lambie calling him out on inappropriate use of racist language in his capacity as a member of government, and when you’ve got Jacqui Lambie throwing down the political equivalent of “if you haven’t got anything nice to say, best not to say anything at all” then you really ought to think about your behaviour.

But of course none of this really matters against the fact that Sam Frost has finally found love. Good luck mate, you deserve it!

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (13/10/15)

On By longandshortofitallIn Quick and dirty, Random but worthyLeave a comment

Hey guys, welcome back for another week of Irrational Irritations, the first on our new fortnightly timetable. Did you miss them? Of course you did. Let’s begin with a quick shoutout to my Canadian homies who’ve just had their Thanksgiving long weekend. It was fun and I’ve learnt that pumpkin pie does in fact hold its own as a legitimate dessert option. Then we’ll follow that up with today’s topic: recommending bars and restaurants to people who turn out to be tight-arses.

It comes with the territory of working in the hospitality industry. People are out and about, putting the present in the past and planning for the future (paying their bill and deciding where to go next). Often enough they’ll turn to me and ask without any of Nicki Minaj’s righteous (and justified) fury, “What’s good?”

Well I’m half a hipster, young, charming and lightly bearded, so I tend to get out and about to some pretty decent watering holes. And I’ll tell people where my favourite places to go are and what you’ll get there (best cocktails are at… if you just want a beer… for more of a clubbing scene…) while I’m clearing their plates and glasses, dropping off their bill or collecting their payment. Not surprising since those are the times when I have longest to answer their questions.

Now, more often than not I feel pretty good about the whole situation. I’m sending customers towards people I like and who appreciate that I’ll recommend someone their way when asked. That’s great. Every so often, however, every so often when I look at the size of the tip left by these customers, well I regret it. Because I’ve sent someone who thinks that a zero to five percent tip is appropriate at a North American bar or restaurant towards people I like who also rely upon the generosity of customers to, y’know, pay their rent.

And that leaves me feeling guilty for recommending so many places. So, if you’re not gonna tip properly, don’t ask the bartender or server for recommendations. Because you’re making us feel like arseholes as well.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (29/9/15)

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Before I begin this week’s topic I’d like to let you know that I’m switching Irrational Irritations to fortnightly instead of weekly. I’m trying to develop a more regular schedule for the blog, and as much as I enjoy writing these little posts up I’m finding they’re taking up time I could be spending on other posts and the odd sketch (I haven’t added a drawing to a post in a while). So yeah, next post is in a fortnight. Provided I remember. Not the best at remembering, am I? But I should.

Anyway, this week is people who block escalators.

We’ve all been there. Running late for work or a train or a court date, bounding onto an escalator to give our loping* stride a bit of extra speed without needing to become any sweatier (don’t wanna give those jurors the wrong impression, do we?) but then we get halfway up and there they are. The bastards. Sometimes one of them spread-eagled between the moving rubbing railings like they’re life’s goal is to become a ticket booth. Sometimes its a couple or more, side by side, chatting about something inane and leaving just enough of a gap to make you think you can get through, only to stick out a leg at the last moment and force you to come to a halt, lest you trip and fall upon the jagged travelling steps and join the alarming number of Chinese people killed by escalators. And you say “excuse me” and “can I get through” and occasionally add a please on to the end, ’cause you’re a nice person and like to be polite, but they just ignore you or block you out. So you stand there for the extra thirty seconds it takes to get to the top/bottom. Thirty seconds you could have spent hearing the last of the morning meeting, catching that train, or hearing the opening statements from your defence. Missed now, because of this arsehole in front of you.

Now, not everyone who blocks the escalator is doing something wrong of course. You get people who’ve been shopping, maybe bought a new TV or something that comes in a box four times its size, and try as they might they just can’t shift this fucking thing far enough to the side where other people can pass by safely. Or you get parents with their children strung out around them, keeping a close eye on their young since what kid doesn’t love being an idiot on an escalator (they’re moving stairs for Spongebob’s sake, if that ain’t witchcraft I don’t know what is). That’s cool random parent, you keeping your kids safe and under control is more important than me getting to the top/bottom slightly faster. And I’m sure that juries like me better when I don’t trample children on my way to see them.

But everyone else, stick to the left/right (whatever side is appropriate in your country of residence) and let the faster people pass.

I’ll talk to you guys soon. And remember, don’t be an arsehole.

*I don’t find opportunities to use the word ‘loping’ very often. Let me have this, okay?

Irrational Irritations and other unnecessary issues (22/9/15)

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Porridge today Gromit! Tuesday… wait no. Profanity-laced complaints over things that I really have no control over and probably no real right to whine about today! Tuesday. Today I’d like to vent a little about the bloody weatherman.

Specifically whatever weatherman is feeding information to my iPhone. ‘Cause he/she/they keeps getting it really fuckin’ wrong. Like really ridiculously wrong. Like I-could-look-out-the-window-and-give-a-better-forecast-for-the-rest-of-the-week-no-seriously-I-think-that’s-what-they’re-doing-but-in-a-different-city wrong.

I mean, it should have been raining all week but here we are during that week and the sky is clear save for some runty white clouds that don’t seem to want to stick around. Where’s my rain random person foretelling the weather? Where’s my goddamn rain?

Aside from the usual annoyance that comes from not knowing what to wear (do I bring a jumper? do I bring something waterproof? will it, won’t it? if it doesn’t I’m gonna be stuck with the extra weight and baggage and I’ll probably be even sweatier than normal and why must I even wear t-shirts to work?) it’s also making it harder to gauge whether or not it’s going to be busy or quiet day/night at work.

Now, some of you might be asking why “I don’t just download a more reliable weather app or check more accurate sources?” Shut up, that’s why. I have an app provided by the people who make my phone already on my phone, it is reasonable for me to expect it to work. Then again, these are the same people who developed Apple Maps, so maybe I shouldn’t expect to much.

Alright, talk soon guys. Unless the weatherman forgets to inform us about an upcoming blizzard or something.

Well done to the lads from the Land of the Rising Sun

On By longandshortofitallIn In the News, Quick and dirty2 Comments

I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for Japanese teams. I mean, pit’em against the Aussies and I’ll cheer for the Green’n’Gold every time, but against just about anybody else and odds are I’ll be hoping Japan pull off a win. Never been sure exactly why, mind you. Might be a bit of solidarity for a fellow Asian team (since, yeah, Australia is part of Asia), or it might just be that big old chip on our shoulders that means me and mine always support the underdog (and in a lot of the sports I care about they tend to be underdogs, also really hope that doesn’t sound patronising because it’s not meant to be). Not sure. Reckon it might be a bit of both.

So when I woke up yesterday to find out that Japan had beaten no less than South Africa (the bloody Springboks!) in the Rugby World Cup 34-32, well, I was feeling pretty damn chuffed for them. First win in the Rugby World Cup in 24 years and they’d done it by beating South Africa, one of the big countries in Rugby Union. Everyone was expecting the South Africans to stampede over the Japanese, but they wouldn’t let them, fighting hard in the scrum showing off some brilliant ball-handling. And that last try in injury time, fucking beautiful. As was the look on the Springboks player’s face after he failed to prevent it. Made my heart sing.

If my Facebook and other social media feeds are anything to go by, the rest of the world was cheering Japan on as well, ’cause fuck the Springboks if nothing else (you can’t sympathise with South African rugby teams, not matter how hard Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon try). This’ll be the game that we keep talking about long after this World Cup is over, and this Japanese team deserves to be talked about. And well done to coach Eddie Jones, you’ve helped these guys do something great.

Good on’ya guys. And good luck to you against everyone else. Except the Green’n’Gold, obviously.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (15/9/15)

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It is Tuesday once again and that means another we get to hear me whine about something that has no real effect on my life or others. This week people who send their drinks back.

“Back to where?” you might be asking, somewhat stupidly. “To wherever they were made!” I am answering, also somewhat stupidly but with much more flourish. In my case it would be the bar, but this could also be the barista, the juice-machine technician or the fitness-conscious neighbour you’re visiting who looks alarmingly good in lycra and really didn’t have to offer to make you a mango-strawberry protein smoothie but did and you accepted anyway so it really would be exceptionally rude for you to complain about it now (besides, don’t you wish you looked that good in lycra? those smoothies must do help). My experience is with drinks being sent back to the bar.

It doesn’t happen all that often. Tends to surprise people I tell that it happens at all, in fact. But it does happen. This beer is too sweet. This whiskey sour isn’t sour enough. This Caesar is too spicy (a Canadian drink that will probably be a later topic). I didn’t know that mojitos had mint in them. Plenty of reasons, few of them good in my humble opinion. But that might be because I hold people to my unreasonable standards, cause I don’t send drinks back. I might bitch and moan about how Budweiser is weak-arse fermented cat piss, but if for whatever reason I find myself in possession of a bottle of it (usually ’cause the person shouting this round DOESN’T KNOW ME AT ALL DAMNIT!) then I am gonna drink the bastard. A few months back I ordered a whiskey sour, hold the bitters. The bartender misheard me (I have a funny accent round these parts) and thought I said “all the bitters”, so she bittered it up. Of course I drank it anyway. Because you don’t waste goddamn alcohol. You get it, you drink it, you order something better next time.

It’s just good manners people.

Not to mention it breaks my Aussie heart to collect unfinished drinks. Don’t break my Aussie heart, you cold-hearted bastard. Finish your bloody beer.

View from across the ocean (14/9/15)

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Well, it finally happened. Malcolm Turnbull has challenged Tony Abbott for the leadership of the Liberals and won. With a solid lead as well, 54 to 44. Australia has a new Prime Minister with Mr Turnbull’s victory that, judging by the #putoutyouronions posts appearing on social media, surprised no one but Mr Abbott and a few of his more die hard supporters.

So, now the corpse is in the morgue and the autopsy begins. Did the absolute fucking disaster of a first budget or his stubborn loyalty to Bronwyn Bishop do more damage to popular opinion of Mr Abbott’s leadership and government? Just how much of Mr Abbott’s downfall can be attributed to Joe Hockey and Christopher Pine? His tired stance against Marriage Equality? Biting into a raw onion like it was a fucking apple?

Then there’s the question of who’s gonna survive the presumed blood bath of the senior Coalition leadership and ministers. Joe Hockey and Christopher Pine will likely need to walk the plank. I can’t see under-performing George Brandis and recently-in-trouble-for-insulting-remarks Peter Dutton making it through unscathed. Will Mathias Cormann might have to pay for supporting Abbott in this spill as well. Scott Morrison is looking good for the Treasurer, putting his weight behind Mr Turnbull in his victory but deciding not to run as Deputy. Julie Bishop has earned a place as king maker, having decided to remove her support from Mr Abbott and handily won the position as Mr Turnbull’s deputy (you can’t help but wonder if her support was a necessary trigger for Mr Turnbull’s coup).

It’s expected that there’ll finally be a few women whose names don’t end in Bishop invited into the cabinet, and Mr Turnbull has promised a more consultative leadership (“first among equals” and all that). Let’s presume that this means remaining ministerial vacancies will be decided by bloody gladiatorial bouts in skimpy leather armour (regardless of age and gender, of course) in front of a cheering, betting Liberal caucus.

Political analysts, commentators and random amateurs with far-too-high an opinion of their own opinions like myself will be busily reading the stars, the tea leaves, the coffee grounds and the speech and press conference transcripts in order to predict the policies of the new regime. Is Mr Turnbull finally going to finally do something about negative gearing and superannuation reform? What’s going to happen now that we have a pro-marriage equality PM (who needed the support of his party’s right wind to get into power) and opposition leader? What about climate change policy, the pin that popped Mr Turnbull’s balloon the first time? We’ll just have to wait and see.

Nice to hear a politician talking about treating the public like it’s intelligent, and trying to do what’s right for the economy instead of shouting about their only two victories (“We stopped the boats!” and “We got rid of the Carbon Tax!”) over and over and fucking over.

Good onya Mr Turnbull. You were patient, smart and you won. Now please don’t screw this up.

I’m gonna go see if I’ve got an onion to take a picture of.

Try harder, or why I’m loving Bitch Planet

On By longandshortofitallIn Questions of culture, Quick and dirty, Up for reviewLeave a comment

There’s a really excellent comic series running right now by the name of Bitch Planet. Written by Kelly Sue DeConnick and drawn by Valentine De Landro it takes place in a future in which ‘non-compliant’ women are sent to the Auxiliary Compliance Outpost, nicknamed (you guessed it) Bitch Planet. It’s a clever feminist satire of 70s exploitation films. The art style and colours (done by the excellent Cris Peter) are deeply reminiscent of grainy film and a tacky science fiction aesthetic, cleverly placing the female cast in positions where they are sexualised in the context of the world without sexualising them for the readers. The characters are likeable and real, representing not just a cross-section of race, body-types and sexualities, but also personalities and motivations, coming together for an opportunity to strike back at the patriarchy that governs their world. And man, fuck the patriarchy that governs their world. With a brick. Sideways.

What really exemplifies this series for me, however, is how fucking disgusted with myself I feel after I read them. Just really goddamn gross. And yeah, that is a good thing.

The scary part of this particular dystopian future (like many great dystopian futures) is just how familiar it feels. Body-shaming, slut-shaming, sexuality-shaming, racism, stereotypes, pseudo-scientific explanations for why man is superior to woman, a belief that the sole purpose of females is to serve men perpetuated by the media and popular culture instilling little doubt in the younger generations about this ‘truth’. This is the world we live in now. The world of Bitch Planet simply codifies it into law and makes non-compliance (being fat, gay or promiscuous) punishable with prison sentences and even death (shit, it’s not even hard to think of countries where this is actually a reality). The villains of the piece, Father and the other old men who rule, are unpleasant caricatures scarily reminiscent of the good old boys who fill governments and governing boards the world over. And good god how I wish for the protagonists, the bitches of Bitch Planet, to punch their smug, misogynist faces in. The part that gets to me, however, is that they might not.

Right from Issue #1 it was made clear that any victory would be bitter-sweet and failure was the more likely outcome. That undercurrent of failure being more than possible has continued through the series all the way to this weeks Issue #5 and doesn’t look like it’ll be ending soon. You feel like no matter what they do, no matter how hard they try, those above will simply change the rules to keep themselves there and there is nothing that these heroic women will be able to do to stop it.

Just like it often feels in the real world. The real world where women are blamed for being the victims of sexual assault, harassment and violence, then punished with more of the same. The real world where a woman has to work twice as hard to be in the same position as a man and still earn less pay. The real world where a woman’s reproductive rights (and their universal rights to bodily integrity) are constantly under attack by backwards moralists and their pocket legislators. The real world that I am a part of. And part of the problem.

I’m a big believer in the old saw that art mirrors life and society, and when I read Bitch Planet I see a pretty ugly reflection. I can’t read this and not feel like I’m not doing enough to change this reality. Change this reflection. I’m not doing enough to make this world we live in a better place for my sisters, my cousins, my daughters if I ever have them, my friends. Shit I’m not even sure what I should be doing, just that I’m not currently or not doing well enough. Not trying hard enough.

That’s what’s great about Bitch Planet. It’s a simple reminder to try harder. And that’s what I’ll do. It’s what we should all do. Because the world of Bitch Planet is not a great place to be.

So I’d definitely give it a recommend giving it a read. It’s fun, exciting, horrifying and tragic all at the same time. Most importantly it’s a reminder to keep trying harder.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (8/9/15)

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Yo. Here we are, on time. This week’s topic: overt displays of affection by couples in queues. Let’s get right into it, like these couples get right into each other. Alright, that was a bloody atrocious attempt at a play on words I admit. But don’t you judge me. Writing is hard. Like a bloke feeling up his lady-friend in a line buying movie tickets. Heh, that was better.

Something that I’d like to make very clear is that I don’t necessarily have an issue with public displays of affection. If you wanna dry-hump your partner with your tongue three quarters of the way to triggering their gag reflex, then that is quite alright. But pick an appropriate time and place to do it, like on the grass at a park beneath a warm sun or in the corner of a dingy pub beneath the energy efficient lighting installed so long ago it’s now just lighting that takes two minutes to switch on. Waiting in line at the M&M store, however, is not.

I’m also not (usually) one of those “think of the children” people. No, in this case I’m more “Oh god the couple in front of me are sucking face a half foot from my face and I can’t move back because the queue’s too crowded and I keep trying to look away but then they make a weird noise and I’m back to staring at them and this is getting really uncomfortable is it just because they’re incapable of talking to each other that’s not a sign of a healthy relationship if they can’t and shit he’s just made another weird noise what the hell is wrong with these folks for the love of god will the person in front please hurry up they’re still going at it” kind of people.

Now, admittedly I might just be jealous. I probably am a little. After all, who enjoys knowing that random strangers are getting some when we’re not. But I find it hard to believe that I’m the only one who starts feeling awkward and uncomfortable when two or more people decide that the best way to handle being stuck in a crowd of tightly packed strangers is to start necking each other.

I’m not telling you to get a room, just wait until you’ve got more than two feet of space. Think of the children or something.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (11/8/2015)

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Today’s topic is people who don’t tuck their chairs in when they leave a table.

This may not seem like a big issue, but working in a bar/restaurant it has become something I see all the time. All the fucking time. And it is annoying. Someone finishes their meal and leaves the restaurant, ducks off to the washroom or heads out for a smoke. Doesn’t tuck their chair back under the table. Just leaves it hanging out there, in the middle of the space where customers have to walk. More importantly where me and my co-workers need to walk. Carrying full trays of drinks and arms full of plates full of food which we really don’t want to spill over our otherwise lovely and discerning customers (I generally try and avoid glassing patrons or breaking plates over their heads as well, if it can be avoided), the risk of such happening going up exponentially when some inconsiderate person leaves a goddamn tripping hazard in the middle of a regularly traversed passage.

I mean, we spot and avoid these metaphorical icebergs easily enough most of the time (though there’s been at least one occasion where I manoeuvred around a knot of departing guests only to stumble on a chair and narrowly manage to avoid spilling hot water all over a customer by reversing direction and taking the literal scolding myself). Point is though we shouldn’t have to. Seriously, what the fuck un-chair-tuckers? It takes all of half a second and no real effort to slide a flimsy bit of varnished wood across another bit of varnished wood so it sits neatly beneath a bit of varnished wood. It’s not a fucking palanquin. It’s not made out of stone. It’s not that goddamn difficult. Quite frankly, you should have learned how to do it in fucking primary/elementary school.

So please, for the love of god and to be a less of a pain in the arse for the rest of humanity, tuck your bloody chairs in when you leave the table.