Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (1/9/2015)

On By longandshortofitallIn Longer rants, Random but worthyLeave a comment

Hey folks, sorry I missed last Tuesday. And the Tuesday before. My bad, and a frequent lack of wifi. I’ll make it up to you next week. Maybe. Or something. We’ll see. How are you guys doing? Great. I’m also gonna make it up to you now, and have not one, not two, but three (count’em three) things to talk about. The first of this week’s topics is people who struggle with taxi ranks.

I mean, fuck me dead mate, it’s really not that hard. You talk to the dispatcher, you line up or walk over to the appropriate bay, and when it’s your turn you climb into cab. Simple right? But some people really struggle with the concept.

About a year ago I was in Melbourne about to meet some mates to go see the Formula 1. I was at the airport standing in front of bay some-random-number waiting for a taxi to pull in front of me. Patiently, because what’s the bloody point of getting stressed about it. But two bays away was a lady freaking the hell out. Seriously, stamping her foot and ‘muttering’ complaints loud enough for the whole goddamn airport to hear her. Far worse though was that she kept trying to steal other people’s taxis. A cab would be driving past to go to the next person waiting she’d step out onto the fucking road and try and get it to pull over. Meanwhile the rest of us are just watching her, thinking “just calm down, wait your turn, and stop almost stepping into the way of moving traffic.”

Last week, me and my sister were waiting in the queue at the New Orleans airport once again waiting for the taxi. Unfortunately the arsehole behind us didn’t understand how “waiting your fucking turn you ignorant jackass” works. He was yelling and mumbling and spitting (what is with white Americans and spitting? They’re worse than a llama eyeing a fountain and thinking “I can beat that”) The dispatcher helped the group in front of us into a taxi and he began to bellow that he and his friend were ready to go RIGHT NOW as if the rest of us didn’t matter. I wanted to spin around and mention that so were goddamn we. The dispatcher ignored him, bless her patient soul. We got in a taxi before him, and he was still bitching and moaning. Meanwhile his poor mate (looking incredibly embarrassed) was trying to calm the guy down, telling him to relax and be patient. After all, what’s five extra minutes? Quite a lot, apparently, if some people are to be believed.

Moving on to the second of this week’s topics. Cold weather dogs in warm weather climes.

I mean, this is just cruel. You shouldn’t have a Husky, built for belting through the snow in minus whatever conditions, running down a sunny street in Sydney or Los Angeles where the weather regularly tops out around 40 degrees Celsius. Yeah, a lot of these dogs sit somewhere on the cuteness scale between ‘adorable’ and ‘majestic’ but that’s no reason to put them through the hell of existing in places that they were not designed to exist in. But even then, it would be alright if you the owners then had the good sense to keep their coats short. Clipper’em down so they aren’t stuck wearing a thicker fur jacket than the only teetotaller Russian trying to survive the Siberian winter. You still see dogs though wandering around that’d give polar bears a run for their money, because their owners are lazy or too busy or far more concerned about their dog’s appearance than comfort.

And that just ain’t fucking right. Part of the culture though, I guess, of treating household pets more like a lifestyle choice or accessory than friend, companion and sentient being capable of feeling pain, pleasure and discomfort. Because humans are arseholes sometimes. Oftentimes. Don’t be an arsehole, clipper their coats when the warm weather hits.

Speaking of dogs let’s move onto our third topic: do you have any goddamn idea how hard it is to find the Harry Potter books in US airports?

I am the king of segues.

Anyway, the answer is: alarmingly goddamn hard. Seriously. I’ve recently been convinced to get into the Harry Potter books (more on that on a later occasion), and figured that my current travel arrangements made for a good time to get through’em. Lotta time on planes (and a literally day-long bus trip) for reading. Figured that I’d be able to pick up each book as I got through the previous. Turns out I was wrong. First book wasn’t too hard to get at LAX, since those crazy Californians reckon they’re cultured or something. But trying to get hold of Harry Potter… the second one… The Chamber of Secrets I think it was? Yeah, that’s it, was a proper challenge. Finding places that sold books was hard enough (lots of news agencies selling magazines, not many selling books apparently), but thorough searches of those surprisingly rare bookshops failed to turn up the desired literature about a twelve year old boy being allowed to put himself into a dangerous situation by the supposedly responsible adults. Not a one.

Crazy, right? I mean, this is Harry fucking Potter we’re talking about, not its Polish homage Harry Pottski. One of the biggest literary phenomenons to have ever struck the world, inspiration and bed-time reading for millions of kids and kid-at-hearts, and no one seemed to stock the second book. Crazy right? Couldn’t even get hold of an e-book because of the shitty wifi. Drove me nuts.

Got it eventually, but it was still way more difficult then it should’ve been. Up to the fifth book now.

Alright. There we are. Nice talking to you all again. Sorry for the hiatus. Life happens, yeah? I’ve been having a good time. I’ll tell you about it in not too long.

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

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

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.

A bit of a heads up.

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

Alright. How are we all today? Good? Fantastic. Quick word with the couple of dozen of you excellent and discerning folk who regularly frequent this site (and anybody that chooses to join such illustrious company in the near future).

To start with, I’d like to direct you over to Evade Gismo. It’s a blog written by a co-worker of mine and his brother. It’s been going for a couple of months now (though I was only made aware of it recently), and is obviously still a work in progress as any new and old blog always is, but I like the aesthetic, they’ve got high ambitions and the style is not altogether dissimilar to how I write over here. The main reason I’m mentioning it, however (aside from giving a shout-out to a mate’s work of course, which is a given), is that there’s been a bit of talk about regularly contributing to their site. Not sure when, what or how, but I will make sure that anything published over there is at least re-blogged over here as well (since I’m bad enough at keeping up over here without dividing my content further). Anyway, I was thinking journaling and critiquing a playthrough of KotOR II now that it’s been released on Mac. What do you guys think? I think it could be fun.

Whatever happens, if it happens, probably won’t be for a few weeks mind you, and that segues half-neatly into item two on the agenda. I’m going travelling for a couple of weeks. My sister’s flying in from Australia and we’re gonna go for a terrific jaunt ’round the good old US-of-A. When am I going on this trip? That’s a great question voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Sam Worthington practising his American accent. I’ll be climbing onto a 7am flight tomorrow down to LA. Should be good fun. That might make the next few weeks of updates here… difficult. The plan is that I will be updating a new Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues every week (wifi willing) on Tuesday (wherever I happen to be time), but a few other posts I had planned for the next few weeks might have to wait ’til I get back. But, hey, I’ll take pictures. Can’t promise you guys’ll see any of them, of course, but pictures will be taken.

Alright then, that’s it for today. Just wanted to give you all a heads up. I’d just like to say that I appreciate all the people who are so patient with me and continue to check in regularly. Talk soon, and here’s hoping I’m more deserving of your attentions in the future.

Requiem for a dying pub: Remembering the Lansdowne Hotel

On By longandshortofitallIn Longer rants, Random but worthyLeave a comment

Lansdowne Hotel edited 9:8:2015

For over five years it was my pub. I know I’m not the first person to call it that, and even with the end coming I doubt I’ll be the last. It was one of the first places I went drinking after I turned 18, it was one of the last places I went drinking before I left Sydney behind. The Lansdowne Hotel was for me, as it was for generations who’d come before, a cornerstone of growing up. One of the key locations where my own coming of age story took place.

I can’t remember the first time I went there for a drink, but I remember the feelings it brought up. Sticky floors and tacky carpet, old torn posters on the wood-paneled walls, a battered pool table with wonky cues, a few worn but comfortable couches, high stools beneath higher tables, a row of taps in front of a wall of spirits, a couple of arcade and pinball machines near the door, pokies in a separate area that I can’t say I ever had the desire to enter. Clusters of students drinking beer around one table, a couple of old alcoholics sitting at the bar joined on occasion by the working class men so prominent in Jimmy Barnes’ thinking, stopping by for a quick schooner after work often still in their high-vis and steel caps. The smell of stale alcohol in the common areas and staler piss (with the occasional whiff of vomit and worse) in the bathrooms. I fell in love with the place immediately. It was everything I’d grown up expecting a pub to be, a little seedy and a little classless, but with a lot of heart and plenty of fun to be found, good grog and the natural charm that comes from bearing witness to the best and worst a society has to offer without judgement. But I might me romanticising a little. Or a lot. But, hey, first loves are a little like that, aren’t they.

It was a relationship that I fell into quickly. My best friend and I made a point of meeting up once a week during most of the semesters that we were both at Uni, and while there were plenty of drinking holes that we’d bounce between (Bar Broadway, Manning, Hermann’s, The Royal, Corridor, really hoping I don’t sound like an alcoholic right now) the Lansdowne was always our most frequent stop. Being so close to Uni, it was also a place where I spent a great deal of time with the people I met in my various classes. Drinking, laughing, listening, arguing, singing, sitting, chatting, bitching, drinking. Seriously though, not an alcoholic.

Anyway, some of the fondest memories I have of those years took place at the Lansdowne. Discussing future courses with one of my tutors and a half-dozen fellow students after the final tutorial of my first semester. Handing out relationship advice that I really have no right giving after a half-dozen scotch and cokes. Cheap steaks and absolutely excellent potato wedges in the upper floor beer garden. An enthusiastic barman pouring tasters of the more interesting beers on tap since it was a quiet afternoon and I’d expressed an interest, probably part of the origins of my own beer snobbery. Discussing films late into the night with folk who knew far more than I did, but listened to what I had to say anyway. Pausing a conversation to headbang along to the drop in No One Loves Me and Neither do I (’round the 2:15 mark) by Them Crooked Vultures. Arriving one weeknight to find a metal band whose name I never learned performing an absolutely fuckin’ amazing Queen cover. Chatting with a random old guy looking for some company while he drank, sharing a jug and a mutual love for the Dropkick Murphys. Sitting on the chairs outside and just watching the traffic passing by on the intersection of Parramatta and City Roads. Getting the pasta one fateful night and promptly deciding never ever to do something so foolish again. Simply talking.

That is what the Lansdowne was most for me. A place I could talk. It was my pub. A safe place without judgement or the anxiety it caused. It was a place where I could stretch out after a long day, week and month at uni or work and unload my troubles with the help of a friend or friends that cared, or help someone else unburden themselves. I went through some fucking dark times at university, but the Lansdowne was there for me as a place I could work through them. A part of my present where I could work through the past and stagger towards the future.

It changed a bit over the years. The red-headed bartender who didn’t know our names but new our preferred brew left and was replaced by a (I’m pretty sure we learnt she was) Thai girl who always poured the perfect beer and filled the jugs all the way to the top. A fire in 2013 was the cause for a round of renovations that left it lot cleaner and less battered, but still with a lot of its old personality. The menu, of course, shifted about as the kitchen staff obviously changed (the wedges stayed great, the pasta stayed shit). But it was always there, always a constant and what it meant to me (and the best mate I mentioned above) remained the same, so much so that a need to vent or relax or what have you could be announced with a single-worded text: “Lansdowne?”

Well, until now. It’s apparently been bought by the Academy of Music and Performing Arts, who are planning on turning it into a place of learning. A place of “study rooms, performance areas and recording studios.” Fuck me dead. I mean, yeah, fuck, they wanna turn it into a dance and musical theatre school. Just, good luck to’em I suppose, but I can’t help but feel I’m losing something important. Expect a lot of people are going to feel that way. It also doesn’t really matter that they’re going to try and leave it as a live music venue. It wasn’t just about the music (though for many that was definitely a defining part of its character), it was about the place itself. The history, culture and camaraderie that you only get in a proper pub. It was iconic and symbolic and the Lansdowne. What it was, what it is for at least the next few weeks, is being taken away from it. And that is tragic.

What’s got me is that I won’t be there for the end. My last schooner there was my last there. I can’t see it out properly, with a jug of good Aussie beer and a game of pool with its wonky cues, a cheap steak cooked medium rare in the beer garden, and a poor attempt to sing-along to whatever’s playing over the sound system. A good time with good mates before something that was so important to me ceases to be.

So I’ll simply have to say goodbye to the Lansdowne Hotel from here. Goodbye and good luck to whatever you become. You were too good for what the world is now.

If anyone’s in Sydney before it closes, do us a favour. Head in there and have a beer.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (4/8/2015)

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

Today let’s talk about bicycles, trains and why a combination of the two is one of the worst possible things that can be inflicted on the world.

If you’re a long time reader then you might remember my feeling towards hopping on a bicycle ranges between telling people that I never do and threats involving circular saws. Turns out I have just as strong an opinion about other people who do cycle. Specifically, I have just as strong an opinion of people who decide to bring their bikes, their big, clumsy, awkward bikes, onto trains and buses with the rest of us. Because it’s fucking annoying.

You see it all the time on the train. Some hipster with a top-knot who’s parked his fixie across three seats. A bloke whose mountainous mountain bike blocks off half the carriage (and probably the doors as well) forcing the crowd that piles in after into a fraction of the space that should be available to them. Someone on their way to work risking a fine and the anger of their fellow commuters by bringing their carbon fibre monster onto the train against the rules during peak hour. A uni student trying to be helpful by lifting her bike vertically so it’s resting on it’s rear wheel, then being shocked when the rocking caused by a gentle bend sends the front wheel straight towards some poor bastard’s head (but god bless her, at least she’s trying). Another hipster leaving bruises and annoyed glares in their wake as they roughly shove another fixie in amongst the crowded carriage, then roughly drags it back out again at the next stop.

Not everyone who brings their bike on the train is a massive pain in everyone’s arse of course (#notallcyclists). I know a guy who always makes sure when he’s catching the train, after a long day of work and never during peak hour, to park his bike against the carriage doors that only open once on his entire trip home (and that’s his stop anyway). Plenty of people manage to get their bikes onto a train without pissing off everyone else. It just makes the inconsiderate ones look like even bigger jackasses.

So next time you’re thinking about dragging your bike onto the public transportation system, ask yourself two questions. The first is: “am I physically capable of getting this heavy lump of metal on and off the train without injuring, delaying or otherwise inconveniencing my fellow commuters?” The second question would be: “is the train so packed with people that it answers the first question for me?”

It it’s “no” to the former and “yes” to the latter, or even a maybe to either, than you probably shouldn’t be dragging your bike onto the train. Here’s an idea, how about instead you actually ride your bicycle to wherever you want to go instead. Ever thought about that? Fucking crazy thought, I know. But, hey, you guys are the ones always banging on about how cycling is a legitimate mode of transportation. So go and bloody prove it.

View From Across the Ocean (2/8/2015)

On By longandshortofitallIn In the News, Longer rantsLeave a comment
Not nearly the same, so stop telling him it is.

About a week or so ago I was mocked by a customer for being an Australian. He was a young man, just old enough to drink in British Columbia out with the family, and kept on calling me “mate” with a stupid grin on his face and a poor attempt to mimic my accent. “There you go mate,” he’d say. “Thanks mate,” he’d smile. “There you go mate,” he’d say again, just in case I didn’t hear him the last ten times. Kept on saying it every time I checked on the table. Now, I’m not averse to a little bit of ribbing over my accent or where I’m from. Some customers will call me mate once or twice in a good-natured way acknowledging that I’m not from around there. Usually I might be able to make a few jokes about the weather because of it (“it’s not that hot mate!”) or make fun of Caesars, the apparent national drink (“honestly, it’s like a nation-wide Stockholm Syndrome!”) I’ll frequently make fun of myself when a customer misunderstands or mishears me (“yeah, I talk funny.”) Nothing serious. But this kid, this kid was making fun of me. It was in his tone, and he just kept on fucking going. Got on my nerves pretty quick. But it was a minor issue, and I wasn’t going to call him on it. That’d only lead at best to lacklustre or lack-of-completely tip, or at worst a complaint to the manager (and “he kept calling me mate” would not be a particularly strong defence). So I put up with it, swearing up a storm when I was out of earshot in the kitchen but otherwise taking care of the table with my usual smile and care. Because that’s the job. You just gotta deal with shit like that.

Now, I wanna be very clear about something: this is in no way comparable to what’s been happening to Adam Goodes.

For those non-Australians who might be reading, Adam Goodes plays AFL for the Sydney Swans, was a goddamn recipient of Australian of the Year and is, very importantly, an Indigenous Australian. And over the past few years an alarming number of white Australians have been getting increasingly upset about this uppity Aboriginal who has no issue being proud of (and displaying) his cultural heritage and is quite willing to call out acts of racism when they happen. Honestly, man’s a fucking legend and an amazing player. Honestly, it is fucking disgusting how he’s being treated, what with the other team’s supporters actively booing him and the obvious targeted racism. Just as disgusting? All the white men telling him to just deal with it, telling him that it’s not racist, or telling him that he’s in the wrong for calling it for what it is when he experiences it. Ignorant, hurtful and indefensible behaviour. I’m not saying that there shouldn’t be a bit of sledging and heckling in sports, but all those white commentators who have had the privilege to have had never needed to deal with racial abuse and think it’s just par for the course need to pull their heads from out of their arses and recognise that there are lines that should not be crossed, and calling out racial abuse for what it is should be lauded instead of condemned regardless of whether it came from the mouth of an old man or a 13 year old girl. She didn’t call him “mate”. She called him an ape. That was wrong, and someone needed to tell her that. Saying that he should just put up with it, ignore it and let it continue is wrong, because racism (alongside homophobia) should not be tolerated in any professional environment.

It is gladdening to see the Swans, their supporters, NSW Premier Mike Baird, so many other members of the sporting community and commentary, politics and now, at last, even the Prime Minister stand besides Mr Goodes. Enough to drown out the arseholes standing against him? I reckon so. Especially as long as good folk follow in Mr Goodes’ example and call out racist shit when they see it.

Who will rid parliament of this troublesome speaker? … Oh, sweet.

Seriously, why the hell was Bronwyn Bishop still the Speaker for the House of Representatives (the lower house of Australia’s Federal Parliament) for so long? For those beyond Oz’s borders, a few weeks ago Ms Bishop got in a bit of trouble when it was discovered that she (and two staffers) spent $88,000 of taxpayer money on a whirlwind two-week tour of Europe trying to get support for a plum new job. Then even more trouble when it was learned our supposedly unbiased and impartial speaker spent over five grand taking a helicopter from Melbourne to Geelong to a Coalition Party fund-raiser, about an hour’s travel otherwise in her taxpayer provided commonwealth car. Yeah, let me repeat that. Five grand of taxpayer money to take a fucking helicopter because she didn’t want to be too late to a party. A fucking helicopter. It then took her 12 days to issue an apology so weak it could have been called Bud-Lite, showing a serious contempt for the people of Australia who were obviously outraged by her spendthrift ways. I mean seriously. A. Fucking. Helicopter. She lost the respect and confidence of the people and she lost the respect and confidence even of members of her own party.

Yet Prime Minister Tony Abbott failed to do the expedient thing and remove her, sticking by his chosen Speaker and merely putting her on probation. Meanwhile the Memes grew in number, everyone forgot about the Royal Commission into the Unions that had revealed some less than savoury donations to Labor Campaigns including Opposition Leader Bill Shorten’s, and Malcolm Turnbull once again reminded everyone about how great life would be if he was still head of the Coalition with a simple picture of him boarding a train to Geelong instead of a chartered aircraft. And, of course, everyone wondered when the axe would fall and Mrs Bishop’s head would roll off the block.

Well, it finally happened. She resigned, citing her “love and respect” of the parliament and the Australian people (Baaahahahahahahaha) as the reason for stepping down. Thank god for that. We’re finally rid of her. Maybe the House of Representatives will finally have a someone in the Speaker’s chair who takes the whole ‘impartial’ and ‘unbiased’ parts of the job seriously. The big question now is how badly bruised Mr Abbott is by the whole affair. Badly, by the looks of it, with a few broken ribs and Labor not letting up. I’ve seen no shortage of Abbott government detractors gleefully celebrating the fall of Mrs Bishop and the splash damage done to Mr Abbott in her wake. Schadenfreude. The PM’s announced review into MP entitlements might do a little to earn a bit of trust and credibility back, but his continued allusions to Mrs Bishop being a victim of the system rather than admitting she did wrong (and she did very wrong) isn’t going to do her any favours.

Anyway. I was going to have a go at Senator Cory Bernardi’s continued crusade against Halal food in Australia (now targeting the Australian Institute of Sport, who responded like a champ by apologising to anyone who might have eaten non-Halal food thinking it was Halal), but I think I’ve hit the Coalition enough for now. See you all next week.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (27/7/2015)

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

It’s amazing the things that piss you off. I’m an easily offended, judgemental arsehole myself who’ll decide that an individual should be judged based upon a single bad habit or personality quirk. And I’m not talking about the big things that go into how we construct our individual identities like beliefs, preferences and biases. If you’re not hurting anybody then I’m not going to judge. No, I’m talking about ridiculous superficial shit. Like wearing a baseball cap at a uselessly jaunty angle. I hate people who wear baseball caps at uselessly jaunty angles so goddamn much. I try not to judge, but I do anyway. Because I’m a human being and that’s what we do. Judge. Bitch. Whine. Complain. So I’m gonna do something that I’m going to claim is constructive and start writing this stuff down in a series of light-hearted rants. Sometimes. Maybe weekly. We’ll see. Hopefully weekly. Let me know what you guys think, and we’ll see how long I can keep it up. Possibly. I get bored of this stuff too quickly sometimes. Moving on. Short one today.

This week’s topic is people who ask for water and don’t drink it. My great nemeses (that’s the plural for nemesis right? nemeses? I’ll google it later). This can be applied to people who don’t finish their drinks in general, but I take particular ire with people who don’t drink their water after they’ve asked for it. Why? Practicality mate. Practicality.

Y’see, working as a server (waiter) in a restaurant on a busy day, having to get water for a table as well as their paid beverages is a bit of a pain in the proverbial arse. That two minutes spent pouring glasses of water could be better spent taking orders or running food or making sure customers aren’t having violent allergic reactions to fucking kale or something. Seriously, I am bloody terrified by the possibility of customers having violent allergic reactions. I think most of us are.

But the getting of the water isn’t so much the problem, it is the not drinking of that water. I can carry a lot of empty glasses without a tray, stacking’em high and balancing them in the crook of my arm. I consider it a point of pride being able to clear a table without need for a tray. I fucking hate carrying full trays. I should always use trays but I don’t have the best balance, and I can actually usually carry more empty glasses than safely fit on a tray. Means that I can clear a recently vacated table without a tray as I pass it by. Means I can get a table cleared a lot faster for the next customer/s that needs it, which is good for everybody. But if the glasses are full, say, of water then I can’t stack the bastards. Need to go get a tray, come back, maybe have to make a second or third trip if it was a big table. Waste of everyone’s time that could be better spent making sure there aren’t any violent allergic reactions taking place. I’m a bit hung up on that tonight. Sorry ’bout that. Also, I hate using trays. So when customers don’t drink the water they asked for, it means they’re forcing me to use something I irrationally hate using. Maybe more than once. That’s not cool. Not cool at all.

I’m gonna throw it out there as well, there are a lot of places right now that are in the middle of some pretty severe droughts or don’t have access to clean water. Hell, here in Vancouver you’ve just got to look a few hours south at California, where they’re running out. So, yeah, you not drinking your water is basically mocking all those people who don’t have access it. That’s not cool either, you arrogant bastard.

Anyway. The message here is drink your goddamn water. Especially if you ask for it. Do it for me (or whoever’s serving you and clearing your table). Do it for Californians. Do it so you stay hydrated and healthy. Makes the hangovers easier the next morning.

Maybe next week I’ll talk about why people who don’t finish their drinks generally are arseholes as well. Or something else. We’ll see.

Worth not stepping on: Thoughts on Ant-Man

On By longandshortofitallIn Quick and dirty, Up for reviewLeave a comment
Not the easiest thing to do anyway.
Not the easiest thing to do anyway.

One of the most unfair criticisms leveled against Ant-Man (the latest superhero film from the good folk over at Marvel), well before the film was released, was that it was a movie no one asked for or wanted. I recall one re-blog that did the rounds on Tumblr when the titular blogging site had a “Ask the cast of Ant-Man” going on, “How does it feel starring in a movie no one asked for?” or something along those lines, receiving plenty of the internet equivalent of snickers and backslaps at such a brilliant witticism. Personally I found it all a bit fucking disingenuous. I mean, I understand where a lot of these detractors were and are coming from. I too would have really liked to see a MCU film with a female or POC lead a lot sooner than they’re coming (and am bloody stoked for the Captain Marvel and Black Panther films, both due in 2018). And, hell, there has been a pretty large voice crying out for a Black Widow led film (though it seems a lot of that’s cooled off a bit since the arguably disappointing character arc and dialogue in Age of Ultron).

But it feels like this ignores three key points. First, I’m sure there were plenty of people who were overjoyed to see the Ant-Man film. I mean, the guy had to have had some fans (and there must of been a few disgruntled fanboys and girls crying foul when Tony Stark constructed Ultron in the MCU instead of Hank Pym). Second, films are regularly made that aren’t asked for. We frequently don’t know what we want. Shit, I didn’t know how much I wanted a Captain America movie til it was made and looked awesome. In fact we’re normally overjoyed when a film is made that isn’t a sequel (even if it is part of a larger franchise or broadly shared universe, like the Pixar films). Third, why can’t we have both? Marvel studios and their Disney overlords are an enormous empire with plenty of talent to choose from, the millions to spend and an audience that is still eating out of the palm of their hands. Getting a She-Hulk, Spider-Woman or Falcon movie out between AoU and Ant-Man would not have been impossible. Blaming Ant-Man for being made when other possibly great films aren’t just doesn’t sit well, ’cause it is not the film’s fault that they weren’t made.

Mind you, it doesn’t much matter. The film still topped the Friday box office and will likely do very well this weekend. It’s had pretty decent reviews by critics and the public. I also doubt very much the pre-release criticism had anywhere near the attention on social media that the abso-bloody-lutely delightful advertising campaign for the film managed to spark (tiny bilboards? Brilliant!) Most people who’d read this would probably even be surprised that this non-issue came up at all, anywhere. It’s a criticism I wanted to quickly address, however, because the aim was right even if the target was wrong.

I went and saw Ant-Man Friday with one of my housemates. It was good. Sharp dialogue, plenty of physical humour, a creative and satisfying climactic battle. Paul Rudd is funny in his non-threateningly charming way, with a strong emotional range that leads to a light-hearted pay-off. Corey Stoll’s character Darren Cross (eventually the Yellow-Jacket and villain through the entire film) is appropriately menacing and more than a little crazy, with his abandonment issues and desire for Hank Pym’s (Michael Douglas) respect (though I can’t help but feel he’s a bit of a copy-paste of Iron Man 3‘s Aldrich Killian). Evangeline Lilly is competent as Hope van Dyne, Hank Pym’s sort-of estranged daughter. But the father/daughter relationship could have used a lot more fleshing out. There’s supposed to be an enormous rift between the two but we never really see it (both characters coming off pretty one dimensional in the process) and the predictable confession and forgiveness scene doesn’t have any serious punch. Some of the best laughs come from Michael Peña’s role as Luis, the fast-talking, surprisingly-cultured ex-con/still-a-bit-crooked best friend of Ant-Man. He plays the role of comically stupid without ever appearing incapable, incompetent or unlikeable, and that is a true skill (and mark of a well-scripted character).

I can’t bring myself to give the kind of glowing recommendation to see it in the cinema that I gave to Guardians of the Galaxy. It falls into following too-predictable-cliches and  too-recognizable-tropes for that.The training montage, for instance, where the highly competent female supporting lead teaches the bumbling male how to do the role she should be doing. Thankfully it doesn’t go all the way (Hope is still a more competent hero at the end of the film, and Scott is given the role of Ant-Man over her because he’s expendable rather than ‘The Special/Chosen/Prophesied one). It’s a good film though. Funny. Clever. Worth watching. I think the best way to put is that you won’t regret it if you see it in the cinema. At the very least it’ll get a few laughs.

Who does the Tomb Raider represent?

On By longandshortofitallIn Longer rants, Questions of cultureLeave a comment

A ruling by the US Supreme Court has legalised marriage equality in all fifty states. Hooray for the gays! Well, hooray for the entire LGBTQI community, but that doesn’t rhyme as well. Glad to hear it. Hopefully it won’t be long before the same thing finally happens in Australia. Canada’s had marriage equality for years and they seem to be doing alright. Ireland certainly hasn’t been struck down by heavenly fire since its recent referendum, and you’ve got a pro-marriage equality PM in charge of the Conservatives in the UK. Life is getting better for non-hetero-normatives around the world. Now (as I’ve heard mentioned a few times already) begins the battle to remind people that LGBTQI discrimination and homophobia won’t just disappear because one bloke can marry another bloke, the same way that racism didn’t end in America with the end of segregation. But hey, one battle at a time and right now is a time to celebrate.

On another end of the news spectrum E3 has passed us by with much ado (depending on your perspective, quite possibly about nothing). I’m pretty stoked about Mass Effect: Andromeda, Star Wars: Battlefront 3 and X-com 2, am interested in Horizon Zero Dawn, was glad to finally see Evie Fry get her own trailer for Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate, and (unlike so much of the gaming population) don’t really give all that many fucks about Fallout 4, the remake of Final Fantasy VII or Shenmue III. Wish I gave more fucks about Mirror’s Edge: Catalyst. Each to their own, right? One of the games on display that I’m really looking forward to is Rise of the Tomb Raider, sequel to the 2013 reboot of the franchise. I was a bit fan of the 2013 game, finding its visuals stunning, its gameplay exciting and a younger Lara Croft’s genuine character development deeply engaging. If the new game is more of the same, I’ll happily buy it.

And I really hope that Lara Croft is still gay.

Well, that likely requires a little bit of explanation. Perhaps a better way of putting it is that I hope we can continue to assume that Lara Croft is, at the very least, not a cut-and-dry heterosexual.

For me, like so many others who played and enjoyed the game, this came from what we perceived about Lara’s relationship with her friend Sam (short for Samantha), who spends most of the game as a damsel-in-distress for Lara to rescue. While Lara obviously cares about the other friends who survived the shipwreck (and her own survival and rescue are important motivating factors), it is Sam for whom she literally scales mountains, butchers her way through armies and faces down (spoiler alert) an undead weather witch to save. And while the relationship we see is never anything more than platonic, well, you get the feeling that Lara probably wished for a little more.

Lara at Bar gray edited 14:7:15
“Surprised you didn’t say ‘put me in a tomb.'” “Seriously, don’t tempt me.”

This likely shows my own pop-culture conditioning more than anything else. If nearly two and a half decades on this earth watching and absorbing fiction have taught me anything it’s that you only risk life or limb doing that kind of shit for a person if they’re a blood relative or you wanna do the horizontal polka with them (trying to be a bit more poetic today). But there are those sideways glances, the concern, the way Lara relaxes in Sam’s presence, the way you can cut the sexual tension with a knife and everyone seems to notice except Sam and goddamnit Sam can’t you see that she wasn’t interested in meeting those cute boys she was interested in being with you because she loves you and why can’t you love her back! Why Sam? Why can’t you love her?

I’m joking. Mostly.

As I said, I’ve spent a lot of years being told that romantic love or simply reckoning that s/he would be a good root (not too poetic) is the primary motivator for grand quests of courage and daring do. So when I see (or am playing as) a character going out to rescue the princess locked in the tower I tend to make assumptions about the hero’s motivations. Reckon I’m not the only one. This is shifting as those creating that which we consume experiment with broader relationships. It can also be argued that in trying to make game protagonists the kind of blank slates upon which the player can project themselves we’re also seeing a natural decline in the old trope (this is something I’d like to go into substantially more in the future and will a little more in one or two paragraphs).

Now, is Lara Croft in love with Sam? Maybe. At least want to get into her knickers? I suppose that’s possible. Just because I think I see that subtext doesn’t mean it’s there in either the writing or the animation. It would also be possible for Lara to be gay and not want to bonk Sam. Despite the juvenile stereotypes film, television, books and games have hammered home for years it is possible to be friends with unattached members of the gender you’re attracted to without wanting to fuck them. And if Lara is sexually attracted to Sam she obviously respects her friend’s sexual preferences and is happy simply being best mates (and hell, if she’s willing to murder her way up a mountain to protect this relationship, I’m sure she’d be willing to take a few cold showers as well). But all of this focuses on a big ‘if’ that is never answered one way or another.

I’d like to direct you towards this great post from the blog Pfangirl Through the Looking Glass which, despite the title, weighs up the evidence for or against Lara being romantically inclined towards Sam with a focus on comments made by Tomb Raider writer Rhianna Pratchett, rather than which team Lara bats for. The post concludes that no, they’re just very good friends and Lara has fought so hard because she is protecting her surrogate family in a way that she never could for her biological parents, while being fairly and appropriately ambivalent about what Lara’s sexual orientation is (since it doesn’t matter in the context of the relationships we see and can possibly apply to in the game). Lara’s just protecting her best mate and there doesn’t need to be any more to it.

But I still reckon she’s into girls and hope that I can continue thinking so in the next game. This is a matter of projecting my own biases onto the character, assuming that language, subtext and motivation implies certain emotions. It shows how much we care about the characters that we wish to relate to them on a deeper level, and it is a credit to the writing that we can. It allows us to take the story and characters and see a narrative that is smaller, more personal, and sometimes far grander. Allows us to apply the plot and character development to our own lives and experiences. The story of Lara Croft in the 2013 reboot is very much a coming of age story. I can’t help but imagine there must have been some out there who saw their own adolescences mirrored by Lara’s struggle and transformation from privileged (if already physically tough) academic to ruthless survivor. Perhaps saw their own fear of losing their close friends and family as they “become who we’re meant to be” in Lara’s fear of losing her friends and family as she starts her own journey to do the same. Ultimately she is able to keep many of her friends, albeit at a cost, and is stronger because of it.

Maybe I’m just pulling this all out of my arse. I have a habit of doing that. But I don’t reckon it’s too unreasonable a suspicion.

So, is the rebooted Tomb Raider gay? Maybe. I think so. Others might see her as straight, asexual, bisexual, or decide it simply doesn’t matter. And in a large way it doesn’t. It doesn’t effect the gameplay, plot or (arguably) the character herself. In another way it most certainly does. Lara Croft is the first lady of gaming. She holds a special place amongst such less inspiring characters as Ms Pacman and Princess Peach as being one of a very small handful of female game characters that has managed to earn a presence outside of video gaming community within the wider pop cultural awareness. What happens to Lara, the way she acts and who she is, is important because she represents by default so much of the past, present and future of the gaming population. There’s a reason so many people were upset at the treatment of Lara in the comments by the designers  before its release and in the gameplay itself. The graphic death scenes, the attempted rape, the remarks by a developer that they hoped players would “want to protect her” as she is continually beaten down, all seemed to be an attempt to de-power and diminish a character who for so long was one of the few female-starring power fantasies. I think she’s still a powerful character (and it is hard to argue that she wasn’t, at least by the end of the game, pretty fearless and very bloody deadly).

I’m a straight white male. I am fucking overrepresented in all aspects of western popular culture. What happens with a character like the Tomb Raider is important because awareness of who and what she is reaches beyond the video game community. They don’t have to outright call her gay, straight, bi, ace or any other colour of the rainbow. They just need to allow the room for players to apply their own emotions, assumptions and biases to the character. To see their own story reflected in hers. To represent them.

Honestly, it makes for a more interesting protagonist anyway.

And the US Women’s Team have done it!

On By longandshortofitallIn Conditions of Travel, In the News, Quick and dirtyLeave a comment

The pre-game shift was intense but manageable. Families decked out in the red, white and blue, a few young folk who may have been wearing the same kit since the Independence day celebrations the night before, the odd pair in blue jerseys sporting a rising sun painted on their cheeks, piling in to get a feed and a beer or three in them before heading off to the stadium where the price of hotdogs rises exponentially and the only alcohol available is a choice cat-piss or watered-down cat piss. The rush was over by about 3, the last of the customers off to watch the game live gone by 20-to. Vancouver woke up yesterday to a sky of red and yellow, a layer of smoke and ash from one of the many raging wildfires colouring the sunlight like stained glass. I growled out a greeting along the lines of “something’s on fire” to one of my room mates and remembered a few of the blood red sunsets I’d seen back home. By the time the day was over the city would be reminiscent of old stereotypes of London covered in smog and the air would taste like ash. But before then two teams of women, one from across the sea in Japan and the other from across the border in the USA, needed to sort out who’d be wearing the crown as queens of football for the next four years, and everyone was expecting a hell of a match.

And it fuckin’ was. One of the bartenders and I ducked into one of the places nearby to grab some food that we hadn’t had a hundred times before and keep an eye on the game, with her boyfriend due to join us there. We settled in to what I’d heard predicted time and again would be a long, low-scoring battle of attrition between two top teams. My co-worker ducked off not long after kick-off to the restroom. Not long after that the Americans had a corner. I was watching with some interest, expecting the Japanese to go on the counter-attack as soon as… Holy shit the Americans scored. A section of the back wall and corner of the restaurant burst into cheers and it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out where they were from. My friend came back.

“The Americans just scored,” I said.

She responded with some equivalent of “No way!”

Then the Americans scored again. The back wall of patrons exploded in cheers again. I think I swore quite loudly. My friend was shocked at how little time had passed since the beginning of the game. I began trying to assure her (and myself) that the Japanese could recover, that being 2-nil down wasn’t the end of the world. They could still win it.

Then they scored a third goal. Bloody hell. Was that the same girl who scored the second? I was sure it was the same who’d scored the first. Yep. Nup. Carli Lloyd scored the first two. Lauren Holliday scored the third. Right. Good. Bit of variety in their scoring. Could the Japanese still-

Nope. Carli Lloyd scores again, for her third and final goal of the match and the USA sit at 4 nil. I can’t see the timer on the television, since I’m a touch short-sighted (just barely legal to drive without glasses) so I check my watch. Christ. It’s only been about fifteen minutes. Great goal though, straight over the Japanese goalie who’d strayed too far from her line, kicked from the American half of the field. Even still, she almost reached it. Almost…

My colleague’s boyfriend arrived, we ordered food, and didn’t pay near as much attention to the game. I look over everytime part of the restaurant cheers, but the result had been more or less decided. The Japanese fight back, and a 5-2 loss has a little less sting than a 4-0 loss would. Maybe. Possibly. Probably still sucks. But goddamn, well done Team USA. A well-earned and well-deserved win. I’m positive the Matildas would’ve beaten you in what would have been a fantastic second outing, but such is life. They’ll get you at the Olympics next year. Yes, they will. Yes, they will. It doesn’t matter if I’m biased, so are you! Well, we’ll just see, won’t we?

We had to return to work before the end of the game and watched the trophy ceremony while preparing for the inevitable post-game rush of Yanks celebrating what was a fantastic victory.

Something that was a little disappointing was the number of people cheering for the Japanese out of an attitude of wanting “anyone but the Americans” to win. It seems a little bitter, doesn’t it? I myself was cheering for the Japanese, mainly because when given the choice I tend to cheer for an Asian team playing. We come from that group, and showing some solidarity for our fellow Asian teams seems like the right thing to do. I’d certainly rather a country cheer for the Aussies out of a sense of fraternity and respect than because they don’t like where the other team was born. Then again, I also quite like Americans. They’re polite, friendly, outgoing, helpful, generous, understanding and tip well. I’m quite happy to not judge them by the stupider members of their society (same as I’d appreciate them not judging every Aussie by their experience of Queenslanders). They also came out in force to support their national women’s team, which is a lot more than I can say for a lot of other nationalities with teams in the World Cup.

So, as I said. Well done Team USA. You played fucking brilliantly and deserved the win. Good luck in the future, and next time we meet the Aussie ladies are going to crush you.