A guy walks into a coat shop and says…

RBF: A coat thanks, black, full length.

CSG: Ahh, you don’t want a full length.

Trust me to get the only mind reading Coat Shop Guy in Canberra.

RBF: Umm, yes I do.

CSG: They went out of fashion years ago, you don’t want one of those. How many people do you see walking around with full length coats? Almost full length is all you need.

RBF: Well, I see quite a few actually, and that’s what I’d like. I don’t think fashion consciousness should be a defining criteria in the search for a coat. I mean, it’s bloody cold outside, so for someone from Sydney, temperature is a fairly critical factor.

CSG: Look, a full coat comes to here [points to ankle] and gets pretty mucky, almost full length comes to here [points to middle of calf], no difference.

RBF: Wouldn’t a full length be warmer then?

CSG: Nup, no difference.

RBF: Right, well I’ll have that one then!

Of course I’ve prematurely ended the story, because while I’m sure you’re bored already, you’d be even more bored with the extra 20 minutes it took to try them all on. Although the following exchange was mildly amusing.

RBF: [trying on coat and looking in the mirror] So, tell me about this coat.

CSG: Well, like what? What it’s made of?

RBF: Sure, let’s start with that. [under my breath] Although I’m sure I could just look it up on the little ol’ tag here.

CSG: Well, it’s made of wool.

RBF: Uhuh.

CSG: And it’s a good looking coat.

RBF: Sure. Lucky I picked this one then, hey?

Anyway, I learnt a whole lot about coats today, the fact that the length of the coat for any particular season typically bares no immediately discernable relationship to temperature or weather for example, and is based almost entirely on the cut/style. Also, the fact that coats are designed to be worn on top of a suit or similar jacket, because there are no shoulder pads in a coat, and the suit jacket helps to maintain the shape and fit of the coat. And get this…

RBF: So what about rain, how does it handle small spits of rain or other mild forms of precipitation?

CSG: Well, you could always Scotch Guard it.

RBF: Sure. But how does it come? With any chemical type of coating, or is it just the pure wool?

CSG: Well, it’s a good quality coat, it will be fine.

I was resigned to assuming none, to save the frustration of having to press the issue further.

Anyway, I now have a new coat, which is supposedly a good looking and good quality coat, with a “Peter Pan” style collar. I baulked at this at first, images of flying to Never Never Land with Wendy in tow, going through my head, but it is oh so comfortable.

Coats. It’s not about Function, it’s about Fashion.

Dateline: Canberra airport, 8:20am, Tuesday morning.

RBF: The city thanks, the Melbourne building on Northbourne.

The radio in the cab is up loud and the news is on. Taking the aural cue, I assume that we’re supposed to be listening to it, so I do.

Cabbie: Ahhh, I always get confused which one is which, although both buildings have their names on them.

RBF: That’s OK, I know which is which, I’ll show you when we get there.

Cabbie: I think the Melbourne building used to have ….. [insert unmemorable, unrecognisable name of pub here] in it. Or was that the Sydney building?

RBF: No idea. It’s the one closest to Civic.

Cabbie: They’re both in Civic actually.

RBF: OK, well it’s the one on the left.

Cabbie: Well, it depends which direction you’re coming from, doesn’t it.

Well, unless you’re going to drive up north then re-enter the city from the opposite side of town than the airport, which is where I’m coming from, then yeah sure, I guess it depends which direction you’re coming from. I try listening to the news.

Cabbie: Did you see Millionaire last night?

RBF: No.

Cabbie: Guy is unemployed for 10 years, then gets a job with Telstra, then gets on Millionaire 2 days later!

RBF: Oh. But did he win anything?

Cabbie: Dunno, I went to bed.

Cabbie: You know you can’t get a job without experience, and you can’t get experience without a job.

RBF: Except with Telstra it would seem.

Cabbie: What?

RBF: Nothing. Right, Melbourne building, coming this way it’s the second one…

This morning it is 0 degrees, which is an improvement on the same time last week when it was -7 degrees, the coldest day in Canberra for seven years.

Wanted, a store in Sydney or Canberra which sells black full length woollen coats. Because stuffed if I can find one which does.

I tend to be in an infinite loop at the moment, which is somewhat contradictory, but considering the current state of my head I could probably say anything and think it sounds correct. The loop however is the 3-4 days per week I spend in Canberra picking up cold and flu, then the 3-4 days back in Sydney that I spend recovering, so that I’m just well enough to head back to Canberra again, ad inifinitum.

Anyway, in such frustrating moments, when you feel that you have no weekend, just sick recovery time, you tend to watch a lot of moronic television or DVDs. I watched an elephant dump on a hidden video camera the other night, on some wildlife documentary. Man did I laugh, that’s the level I’ve descended to.

So I happened to catch Ali G The Movie on DVD. His recent series in the U.S. was hysterical, so I assumed the film would be somewhere near as good. Unfortunately not. However it was not the later 86 minutes that annoyed me, it was first minute that really pissed me off.

Not during the DVD load, but only once you select “Play” from the menu, does a 3 minutes mini-doco on piracy appear on the screen, and all the remote controls are disabled, so you have no choice but to watch it before the actual main feature begins. And the commentary over the top of this minute of what looks like a devilish blacksmith, working in the dark trying to heat up then cool down a bunch of branding irons, was this drivel (my highlighting):

The pirates are out to get you. Don’t let them brand you with their mark. Piracy funds organised crime and will destroy our film and video industry. Piracy costs jobs and will destroy our music and publishing industry. Piracy funds terrorism and will destroy our development and your future enjoyment. Don’t touch the hot stuff. Cool is copyright. Copyright is a matter of fact. Don’t let the pirates burn a hole in your pocket.

All that this crap incited me to do was take a copy of the rented DVD before I returned it, regardless of my dislike for the film in the first place, and regardless of the glistening Macrovision logo which flashes up after the credits.

So let us analyse this wonderous anti-piracy spiel shall we.

The pirates are out to get you.

Right, first cab off the rank, the pirates are out to get us. Are they really? And how are they supposed to do that? By selling us copies that are cheaper? Boy, that is really going to get me.

Don’t let them brand you with their mark.

Their mark? What mark would that be? A rather feeble attempt at a metaphor for receiving stolen goods perhaps? OK, fair enough.

Piracy funds organised crime and will destroy our film and video industry.

Organised crime? Are we talking about individuals taking a backup copy of a DVD they own? Or the next door neighbours taking a copy of a rental DVD for later use? Or are we talking about the small time DVD ripper down at the local markets selling copied DVDs? Perhaps we’re talking about the chain DVD rental stores like Blockbuster, who lock their franchisees into long 3 year contracts and then tell them what five or six DVDs they’re allowed to rent out, which is ultimately dictated by the deals they’ve struck with the motion picture companies. Or maybe we’re talking about the large publishing houses, who over the last 50 years have retroactively diluted the right to copy into a million dollar industry based on a flawed interpretation of rights.

Piracy costs jobs and will destroy our music and publishing industry.

Well, that depends upon the business model that these industries choose to base themselves upon. The flawed copyright exploitation model invented by them 50 years ago, in which case of course I can understand their concern, if I had such a gravy train, I’d never want to give it up either.

Piracy funds terrorism

Funnier even than the film itself, here it is again for comedic impact:

Piracy funds terrorism

What a crock of condescending rubbish. Although, the last time I saw Osama Bin Laden, he was down at the local Glebe markets, trying to sell me a copy of Mike Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11.

Don’t touch the hot stuff. Cool is copyright.

Gee, the marketers have been working overtime on this one. What better way to make copyright sound cool and hip.

Don’t let the pirates burn a hole in your pocket.

Nice contradiction. Piracy lowers prices, both of pirated goods and the real thing. This is what has happened in the music industry, and will happen in the film industry. This won’t dilute the pot of cash being spent and won’t send the studios broke. In much the same way as technology has facilitated the piracy of films, likewise technology has lowered the cost of film production, it just isn’t being passed on to the consumers. And as for the high salaries garnered by actors and technical people alike, time to get back to reality.

So, Universal Pictures, ironically started by actors almost 80 years ago, and sponsors of this ridiculous anti-piracy message, get with the times, and get a better marketing firm, because the one you’re using now is pretty clueless.

It is actually amazing how much time it frees up by not having access to the Internet. It gives you oh so many more hours to pace up and down the loungeroom plotting the overthrow of Telstra.

In celebration of the fact that we’re about to head into day 11 without an Internet connection, the fact that we’re rapidly approaching the “up to 12 days, but usually much less” that I was told it would take to transfer, and in a feeble attempt to generate good luck even though it is well and truly outside the bounds of my belief structure, I give to you, The Twelve Days of Telstra.

28/6 – On the first day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

29/6 – On the second day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

30/6 – On the third day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

1/7 – On the fourth day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

2/7 – On the fifth day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, the — fucking shits. Four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

3/7 – On the sixth day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, six Telstra techos, and the — fucking shits. Four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

4/7 – On the seventh day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, seven dumb excuses, six Telstra techos, and the — fucking shits. Four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

5/7 – On the eighth day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, eight certified handsets, seven dumb excuses, six Telstra techos, and the — fucking shits. Four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

6/7 – On the ninth day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, a motive for my sabotage, eight certified handsets, seven dumb excuses, six Telstra techos, and the — fucking shits. Four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

7/7 – On the tenth day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, ten reasons to get Optus, a motive for my sabotage, eight certified handsets, seven dumb excuses, six Telstra techos, and the — fucking shits. Four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

8/7 – On the eleventh day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, eleven minutes of dial up, ten reasons to get Optus, a motive for my sabotage, eight certified handsets, seven dumb excuses, six Telstra techos, and the — fucking shits. Four strands of copper, three bad connections, two empty sockets, and a whopping transfer of ADSL fee.

9/7 – On the twelth day without Internet, Telstra gave to me, A, D, S L.

It’s hard sometimes, when you don’t have the time to write, let alone think, and your head is full of all these partially amusing yet partially insightful rants. If radio, impro and work weren’t enough, I’ve now been told to move my house. Just a touch to the left? Frustrating really, especially after everything we went through with the roofers all those weeks ago. Although I must say I’m looking forward to the move, there’s always a wealth of good material when the removalists turn up. 🙂

Gina Trapani had an interesting post today on her ever wonderful™ scribbling net, about an experience from her childhood, which reminded me of a personal quest which I embarked upon several years ago.
As human beings we are unique in that the sum of our experiences makes us who we are, and makes no two interactions between people the same. This raises the opportunity for each interaction to be fairly significant in either one or both of the participants’ lives. This is why these days I try to make each experience with a new person if not unique, then at least interesting to some degree.

Today I picked up some lunch at the local Bakers’ Delight, and there’s a rant or two in them let me tell you, but out of holiday season, they tend to use older and less communicative women to man (sic) the store. For the last two months or so the same three or four have been behind the counter, without so much as an interaction beyond “Anything else?” and “This one, or the one next to it?” But today for some reason, well I know the reason, but I’ll get to that later, for now pretend that I don’t know.

Today for some reason, they spoke! Wonder of wonders. The line?

Not blue today?

After a moment pondering the philosphical significance of shopkeepers who can only speak in questions, I worked out what she meant, and the conversion went thus:

SKWCOSIQ #1: Not blue today?

RBF: No, had to visit a prospect.

SKWCOSIQ #2: Was it spray on?

RBF: No, full bleach and dye.

SKWCOSIQ #1: Where’s the blue?

RBF: [speaking slowly and enunciating clearly]I work in I.T., and I had to visit a customer, so I dyed it black.

SKWCNJSIQ #2: Oh, we miss you!

WTF? Not they used to miss me, or they would miss me, but they do miss me. When I’m there with blue hair, for some strange reason I’m a permanent fixture of Bakers’ Delight, and obviously not an interesting enough departure from everyday life to warrant non-baker type interaction. Yet when I walk in with black hair, suddenly I’m the guy! I’m the one they want to talk to, because I’ve changed something in their repetitive world of selling heated flour and water. They’ll probably tell their families when they get home about the interesting thing that happened at work today, the guy with blue hair that dyed it black. I’ve probably impacted the lives of at least a dozen people by dying my hair black. That’s pretty cool when you think about it. But then, while I’m important enough to warrant interaction, there’s a denial that I’m actually me. “I’m sorry, but you’re not the guy with blue hair!” Apology accepted, and I am flattered that I made it onto their RADAR. Hopefully the interaction was significant for them, as obviously it was enough for me to blog about it.

So we are the sum of our experiences, they define our opinions, our emotions and our character, and it wasn’t until a few years ago that I realised how important our experiences are. A few of you dear readers may have a similar situation, but there is a very clear and obvious moment in my history which absolutely defines most of who I am, and I didn’t even realise it until I was well into my 30s. Since then, I’ve tried to remember other influential, if not so defining, moments in my life, and tried to bring closure to them, another technique I learnt a few years back. Not because I need such closure, but so I can free my mind of the frustration of moments not taken advantage of and situations which adversely affected or still affect my emotions. Either that or I’m afraid of dying with the only memory of me being the epitaph:

An opinionated punk who never grew up, and liked to dye his hair blue.

Not exactly the four main memorable components of my character, but accurate none the less.

Anyway, it is quite amazing when you think back to events and suddenly realise why they happened, and how they’ve made you the person you are. I’m not saying we should remember, find closure and forget, but remember, find closure and be more comfortable with the past, less embarassed perhaps, less angry, more understanding, and perhaps more thankful. For with experience of all the good and all the bad, we are the unique individuals that we are. And I for one, wouldn’t change a thing. Except perhaps my hair? Do you think green would suit me? Or perhaps I should go back to red, chicks liked red, or maybe…

Has anyone seen my stool? I need to get down off this high horse…

Stepping out the front door this morning, after a wonderful uninterupted sleep, I couldn’t help but notice, lying motionless off to the side of the garden under some at least to me unknown variety of shrub, a man with a length of 4 by 2 nailed to the back of his head. Ahhh, my partner left me a gift, how nice, and good to know she’s handy ’round the house.

Update: first…