OMG, Jimmy, Get a Better Picture

Wikipedia founder, Jimmy Wales, is a legend. I cannot understate that fact. He has created a phenomenon which actually makes the Internet useful. Every second, all over the world, thousands of people turn to Wikipedia for every informational need imaginable -- from the simple to the scientific, from the inane to the sublime. It's all there in one place. And the best part is, thanks to the "bazaar" principle (and that's "bazaar" as in "communal marketplace", not "bizarre"... although...) Anyway thanks to the "bizarre bazaar" principle, the stuff in Wikipedia is mostly accurate. Because if it is not, if someone punches in some incorrect or unsubstantiated info, then some weaner who has a special interest in the Folk Songs of Madagascar 1900-1949 will hop right in and correct it.

Oh and did I menation WP is in dozens of different languages?

So in spite of what detractors bleated when Wales started the Wikipedia project, and what they continue to bleat today, Wikipedia works. Don't ask me how... just accept it.

"Jimbo" Wales will surely go down as one of the most influential people this century, young as the 21st is.

Now the Wikipedia Foundation is having its annual money drive. Because, as if Mr. Wales were not legend enough for creating the Wikipedia phenomenon, he made it all free of advertising. That's right, you can browse the length and breadth of WP without having you eyes assaulted and your bandwidth choked down by flashy, bloated, rubbishy "come buy me" banners. But of course giant computer systems don't run themselves, and money doesn't grow on trees, so WP can only survive on donations from the very people who benefit from it. Fair enough.



Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut....... I refer you to a personal letter of appeal from Wales himself, here. Specifically, near the top of the page, to the picture. Oh dear God! Surely that isn't... no I'm afraid it is. That is Jimmy Wales' personal mugshot. Not his idiot half-brother, the one they keep locked in the attic and feed a bucket of fish heads each day; nope, it is a portrayt of the can't-be-understated legend man himself. (In case the link is dead, take it from me, the piccy was atrocious.)

Jimmy Wales, for the love of God, please get a better picture of yourself!

Computer Games are Still Evil

Bastard things. This time round, I got myself hooked into writing a game. That's marginally better then playing, I told myself, since it actually requires four or more brain cells. And a healthy dose of frustration.

ICYAAAI (In Case You Are At All Interested), I wrote a poker machine game for the Vic-20. WTF is a Vic-20? It's a 27-year-old system which also happened to be the first computer I ever got. It is one of those ancient "home microcomputer" jobs that old timers like me rave about -- shaped like a shoebox, plugged into a TV set, "booted up" immediately, and saved its programs onto audio cassette (unless you were lucky enough to own a floppy disk drive.)

So anyway, the game I wrote was to run on a computer system which has not been in the marketplace since the 1980s. It was nothing more than a pitiful stagger down nostalgia's muddy track, a sad attempt at snatching a tiny gleaming wisp of my happy childhood.

That's not to denigrate the technical challenge I set myself: It takes brains to write a workable game in machine language, with funky (chunky) graphics and heaps of features, all in 3.5k of memory (that's "k" as in "kilobyte", not megs or gigs). I mean, the young-uns coming out of University these days with a so-called computer engineering degree are clueless. It's all virtualized-this and automatic-garbage-collection-that. They have no idea what goes on at the machine level. "Need an application? Ah just drag and drop the bits-n-pieces in your favourite IDE, and there ya go! What, it's a piece of elephantine bloatware with the performance of an oil tanker? Ah just throw another couple of gigs in the machine!"

Of course the funniest part is, I don't even own a Vic-20 computer. What I have is an emulator which runs on my PC, which does everything the old Vic used to do in perfect faithfulness. Heh.

Computer Games Are Evil

That's right, you heard me. Computer games are the incarnation of evil. They are the tools of the devil.

Now hold on a second. When I say "computer games are evil", I don't mean like they cause sweet little boys to turn into murderous psychopaths and go shoot up a school. That's what the knee-jerk pencil-necks would have you believe. "Computer games made them do it!" Rather than seeing it as the opposite situation, i.e. that murderous psychopaths are naturally drawn to games which involve killing things.

No, the real evil of computer games is their addictiveness.

Ever since some backyard junkmeister soldered together some contraption that plugged into a TV set and featured a square ball ping-ponging between two bats, the world has never been the same. Over the intervening 35-odd years literally millions of man-years that could have spent on frivolous activities such as curing world hunger or beating cancer, instead has been flushed down the humungus slime-encrusted time sink which is computer games. All that wasted effort sacrificed to the wanton and jealous Great God of Pew-pew.

Children who could be making something of themselves... learning a real skill, becoming a genius at something, creating footholds into successful careers... instead sit unblinking and slack-jawed in the mind-numbing wash of a flickering display, their opposable digits rapidly punching buttons like lab rats at a feeding tube.

Hey look, I understand. After all, I grew up in the feed-the-20-cent-monster era, which was followed closely by the "Dad can I plug in the TV game" era. I can well understand after a crap-filled day dealing with moronic dickheads at school or work, one just wants to zone out in a fantasy world or blow a bunch of things away. We all know it is make-believe (except for a tenured retard few), and it would only be time spent drooling in front of the TV anyway. What's the harm in a little escapism?

Nothing at all... when it's in moderation. But there is nothing "moderation" about computer games. Just ask some parent who has to drag their pasty child away from the console by the ear, or the person with a partner who would rather tool around with a bunch of teens across the world than talk with their own lover.

And things have taken a turn laughably for the worse. Now they have computer games which mirror reality. You sit at your gaming console and control a little feller or chick who gets out of bed, takes the bus to work, goes shopping at the mall, eats, craps, sits in front of the TV (!), and finally goes to bed.

I sh*t you not. Yessiree, that's just how some people spend their time escaping from daily life for a while... by playing another daily life. Oh my f*cking god how lame.

Then you get the online games, MMORPGs like WoW and Everquest and whatnot. I thought there was a glimmer of hope for a while, since it at least these games involve interaction with other human beings (or gamers anyway). But these evil things turned out combining the worst of all possible worlds: The human relationships are twisted mockeries of their real-world counterparts, with no one knowing where the avatar ends and the real person begins, if anywhere; no one really caring about the well being of their mates except to fulfill their obligations in the context of the game; gameplay reduced to a repetitive drudgery of endless mouse-clicking and NPC farming, for ever-reducing returns.

In short, life in a MMORPG devolves into an unpaid second job, toiling with a bunch of people who don't really care about you, and who you probably would not even like if you met them in the street. Thence it spirals into an obsession, precluding all real world relationships, jobs, commitments, even personal hygiene. In the extreme case you get some idiot who drops dead in front of the monitor, spouse long left with the kids, found only when the police break the door down after neighbours complain about the smell, his cockroach-ridden corpse wallowing among chips packets and coke cans and his own filth. Urgh.

Now where was I... ah yes, in my case I've thrown many thousands of hours of my life down the toilet, time which I'll never get back. It always seems gaming takes precedence over doing other cool stuff like building Lego sets and updating this blog. Games are an addiction, and when you get home in the arvo it's just too easy to plonk down and start playing, engaging in hours of useless activity which require neither brain nor physical effort.

There's one game in particular which has had me hooked over the past few weeks. It's a plinky-plunky little thing called "Master of Magic". Like all good games "MoM" is pretty, easily mastered, infinitely replayable, and doles out rewards often enough to keep you hooked. Although released in 1993, before many slack-jawed gamers were even born, it has not outlived its playability. MoM is a turn-based strategy; gameplay involves building your small settlement on a Tolkien-esque fantasy world into a thriving empire, expanding your magic and military power until you are force to be reckoned with. Your ultimately goal is to crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women.

Then after you do that, you start another round with another world and different enemies, and do it all over again.

So it is MoM, that evil little homunculus, and its remorseless brethren, which has been the waster of my free time of late. I can hear it calling now... "Play me! Play me!"... Arrrrgh that's it I'm off bbxbcbjdfsjdfhiwfhdskjnd

Back

Rightio. I'm not one of these slackers who starts something and then doesn't see it through. One of those plonkers who reserves a perfectly good Blogspot title, makes a couple of posts, and then forgets about it so no one else can use that title ever again.

Nope. My absence is explained as follows.

The fact is I've been on a whirlwind trip of Europe, UK and Thailand for the past six weeks. And a mighty fine holiday it was, too. Especially Thailand. Of course I didn't want to make this public knowledge beforehand, lest some thieving little scumbag take advantage of my absence and rob my house.

Now for the good news. An extended hiatus such as the one I just had, which included several flight and bus trips, as well as interactions with mean locals, insufferable fellow tourists, and other tossers, has provided ample fertile ground for the weeds of crankiness to grow and bloom.

Stay tuned......

I Hate You Lenny Henry

British funny-man Lenny Henry has earned a place on my bastard list.

Why, you ask? Am I offended by his easy-going style of comedy, or his other work, or some stupid crap he might have uttered, or even (god forbid) his ethnicity?

None of the above.

It's because he's married to Dawn French.

For those of you on a day-trip from Mars, Dawn French is a British actress and comedienne. She is most famous for being one-half of the "French and Saunders" duo, as well as playing the titular (and I don't use that word lightly) character in the acclaimed "Vicar of Dibley". She also done a bunch of other, lesser known stuff which I shan't mention here, along with many cameos and appearances. Dawn French is one of Britain's most loved celebrities.

She is also, IMNSHO, one of the sexiest women on TV. I don't care what anyone says, in my book there's a whole lotta gorgeous chick right there. And she actually has a working brain atop that voluptuous Rubinesque frame. She has more talent, panache and chutzpah in her little finger than many so-called "glamorous" actresses and certain socialite scum have in their whole boney carcasses. I'd rather stare adoringly at Dawn's pinup than an entire cast of "Top Models", those spoilt whiney mentally-challenged little prepubescents. She could whoop a complete line-up of "Ladettes", that drunken swearing repulsive collection of painted mullets, with one hand behind her back.

The best part is, she doesn't give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks of her. Does Dawn French go around blubbering like, "Ooooohhhhh I'm overweight! All the women's trash mags will take pictures and make fun of me and everyone will laugh and hate me... so I had better go on an ancient-Himalayan orange-peel-and-lemur-dung diet till my skeleton shows!" Oh, no. She goes and gets a lucrative advertising deal with a major chocolate manufacturer, and makes millions. Now that's class.

Twenty-plus years on TV has dulled neither her wit nor her charm nor her splendour, which burns ever brightly like the star she is.

So, Lenny Henry, you have earned my ire because you are Dawn French's he-bitch and the luckiest man on Earth. I would bitch slap you if you weren't so big, although I bet you'd run crying to Dawn. Prick.

Disclaimer: In fact it's me who's the luckiest man on Earth since I met my missus *nervous laugh*... but, you know, artistic hyperbole and all that :]

Disclaimer 2: I don't really hate Lenny Henry... actually I find him a bloody funny guy.

Let's all go to the Lobby....

For today's post I thought I'd borrow the format used by the good folks over at the People who deserve a beatdown blog. I think that is pretty self-explanatory.

Anyway my missus dragged me to the movies the other day, bless her heart. So I have taken the opportunity to make a few observations:

* If you trundle your late ass into the cinema after the movie has started, even after the 20 minutes of ads and promos, and then stand there like a goofy idiot blocking half the screen while you look for a seat, even though the cinema's half empty, you deserve to sit right at the front row.

* If you bring your D-average child to the movies to see something like the "Golden Compass", thinking it's a kid's movie, but actually has a plot more complex than the yawnable Harry Potter series, and every 5 seconds your brat is bleating "What happened?", you deserve to be bitch slapped all the way down the isle.

* If you come to the movies only to sit checking your SMS messages every 2 minutes, with your cell phone's all-white display illuminating the cinema, you deserve to be launched from the projectionist's window.

* If you're so appallingly obese you can barely wedge yourself into the generous cinema seats, and then sit shoveling vittles into your pie hole unceasingly for 2 hours, drowning out the THX sound system with your disgusting chewing-the-cud noises, you should be forced to wear a burlap mu-mu and learn some self-discipline.

* Go to the bathroom *BEFORE* the movie. Other moviegoers do not want to stare at your stupid, incontinent silhouette 2 times during the screening. If you have a bladder the size of a walnut, try geriatric diapers (or staying at home).

* And finally... The person who thought of selling movie snacks wrapped in noisy, crinkly cellophane packaging deserves to be shrink-wrapped in cellophane and catapulted into the sun.

I think that about covers every species of moron that infests the movie cinema.

It's That Time of the Quadrayear

I'm not sure if "quadrayear" is the right word for something that comes by every 4 years, but close enough. Of course I refer to the magical Olympic Games. (And by that I mean the Summer Olympics, not that other frolic through the snow invented by Europeans to jealously hog all the medals for themselves.)

Yep, time to stand tall, with hand on heart, and get all warm and fuzzy while the TV plays the latest cocked-up rendition of "We are One" (or whatever your nation's unofficial sporting anthem happens to be), until you are ready to stab chopsticks in your ears.

Here in Australia, as elsewhere I'm sure, this special time affords one the opportunity for refection on the Olympics and sport in general. And I shall begin with a subject closest to my heart -- the amount of my taxpaying money spent on it.

In recent years, the skill and guile of our Aussie athletes has done us proud. By the close of each Olympics we have found ourselves at the dizzying heights near the top medal rankings. Our best effort was 4th overall in 2000 ("the year the PC monster ate the Olympics"), as might have been expected, and in 2004 also. We have beaten out powerhouses like Germany, Japan, Cuba, and the old East-bloc, and made no bones about it. Gone are the dark days of the 70's and 80's, when cowering in shame we got topped even by New Zealand.

These days we perform way beyond what would be expected of a "small" nation, and I admit I get as mooshy as the next guy when one of ours' crosses the lines first. Of course the Olympics will always be a 3-man race between USA, Russia and China, damn their elitist hides, and I shall bitch about that in another post. But for our part we do bloody well.

Indeed many Aussies will decry, "We might not come top-three in the medal tally, but given our small population (21m), we win more medals per capita than any nation on Earth!"

Very true. However, we also spend more taxpayers' money per capita on Olympic sports than any nation on Earth. Millions and millions of dollars poured into teams, athletes, sports scholarships, training, the AIS... and when it comes down to it, it is so a lucky few can spend fifteen minutes basking in Glory's warm spotlight. I won't go into how if we put the same amount of taxpayers' money into developing a cure for cancer as we did into developing a new swimming bodysuit, we might actually save a few lives. Not to mention winning some prestige for this so-called first-world country, at the same time contributing something of actual use to humanity.

Look I don't begrudge any sportsman for pursuing what they love, and making some gain for their hard work. We've produced some remarkable athletes over the years. And everyone loves a hero (although bandied terms like "brave sporting hero" stretches my credulity a tad), especially in this country, where some bold little man sticking it to the upper-crust is a national creed.

But fair's fair.

Firstly, a majority of money goes only to the popular handful of sports -- swimming of course, and track plus a couple of others. However many of our Olympic victories come from unexpected and surprising quarters such as Equestrian; and yet they get bugger-all from the government, having to finance themselves for the most part. So even with no tax handouts they still do us proud.

Secondly, an oft-bleated argument is that dumping money into popular, big-ticket sports encourages everyone to get off their backsides, thereby getting the nation healthier and happier and whatnot. Sorry, this just in: Australia is now the world's fattest country. That's right, we win gold in the obesity category. We even unseated the Yanks at their own game.

So despite all the money going to these sports, it buys nothing but glory for a lucky few followed by lucrative advertising contracts. Meanwhile we climb to the top of the ladder as the unhealthiest nation on Earth.

Boggles the mind doesn't it.... maybe it's a case of it is easier to sit, flabby-arsed and artery-clogged, cheering on our elite athletes trained and payed for by our taxpaying money, rather than getting off the couch ourselves. It's being active by proxy -- watching some buff guy or flexible chick winning a race, hoping a bit will rub off.

Or it could have something to do with the fact that hardly any of this taxpayers' money finds its way down to grass-roots level. At schools, at junior leagues, and other community efforts, they have to beg borrow & steal just to acquire basic sporting equipment. We see ads on TV about stores and supermarkets that raised x-amount for schools to purchase balls or lane ropes, so we feel good about shopping at those places. But why should a privileged few get all the best facilities, the best training, the best everything, while schools are forced to turn to a private entities just so they can have lane ropes? It's ridiculous.

There is a double standard at work here; unless you're some elitist sporting organisation, or you show huge promise individually as medal-winning material, the government basically tells you to get stuffed.

The last serious drive by the government to get people active, was the "Life Be In It" campaign. Remember Norm? Most kids today have never heard of Norm. You would think with the national obesity epidemic the bureaucrats would be falling over themselves implementing national health schemes and TV drives, if for no other reason than as an excuse to form committees.

Nope. It's clear the government, and by extension the wallowing populace, is more interested in a moment of shared national glory than in actual, personal, decent quality of life, being-able-to-get-up-out-of-the-lounge-chair-without-a-lifter health.

And we wonder why we are raising a nation of little fat sugar-crazed piggies.