Before the Interwebs

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I, (and many of you, my perverted readers) have the enviable position throughout history as having straddled the period before and after mass popularisation of the internet, or more hilariously named, the interwebs.

Unfortunately for me, I happen to recall the exact moment I first heard of it.

I was 12. My brother and I were over at a friend’s house, and I was no doubt beating them all at cricket. We returned inside and my friend’s dad appeared, jovial as always. Let’s call him Peter G. No, that’s too obvious. P Grothen – that’ll do.

He was telling us that he’d ‘surfed the net’ earlier, and, attempting to seem like I knew what he was on about I asked “Is that the new artificial wave pool…thing?”

An unsuitable amount of raucous laughter ensued.

I went about as red as my hair was at the time (this colour I was constantly reminded of at school, just in case I wasn’t already aware).

“No, you idiot. It’s this new thing on the computer that connects you with others” replied one of them, my memory of whom in particular hazy as I was still deep inside Humiliation Mode.

How I pictured 'surfing the net'

Closer to the mark

 

 

 

 

 

And so 16 years on, presumably as a result of this traumatic moment, I make it a priority to find out as early as possible about the latest happenings in and around the interwebs.

But as brilliant as the interwebs is, before its popularisation, it was a simpler time.

We weren’t being fed information at such an alarming rate. We weren’t constantly checking our social status, or voyeuristically checking what our friends (or past, present and future love interests) were up to. We weren’t reading stupid blogs about a time before the interwebs.

We were reading. REAL BOOKS. We were sending REAL LETTERS. We were playing Trivial Pursuit. We were remembering our friends phone numbers. We were quietly hoping their mum didn’t answer when you called because her strong Glaswegian accent was so unbeliably difficult to understand that you didn’t know whether she asked you how you were, or how whiskey tastes. Answering ‘Good thanks’ seemed to do the job though.

So, how do we best embrace the interwebs without it completely dominating our lives?

Limit your Facebook use. It will do you good.

The metaphorical analogy of Facebook is like walking into a room and thinking/hoping that everyone is looking at you, but they don’t notice you at all. Their attention is solely on themselves, thinking THE EXACT SAME THING! Imagine that sort of party.

Disable Facebook Chat completely. This serves no purpose. When you’re on Facebook, there’s nothing to learn from your ‘friends’ that you don’t already know, so instead go into the living room and chat with who’s there. If that’s a solid noone, well…then you’re in a bit of strife.

Only tweet things that ARE interesting. This is a no-brainer. Which means that you don’t even have to use your brain to figure it out. It either means that, or it means that you don’t have to even possess a brain. Either way. Only tweet things that are interesting, awesome and/or hilarious.

The metaphorical equivalent of Twitter (from one’s perspective) is a hundred people in a room shouting at each other, trying to get each other’s attention in a short, abrupt manner. Pretty much Wall Street. Can’t we slow it down a little?

Slow a story down. Go into poetic, illustrious detail. If you lose their attention, punch their throat. You’ll get it back. Then continue. Don’t skip through a story just to reach the point before you worry they’ll lose interest.

You are YOU, not your Facebook Profile, not your Twitter handle, not your email account. Practice your social skills, story-telling and face-to-face contact.

You are <first name> followed by your <surname>. Or maybe a <nickname> followed by a <surname>, or even just a <nickname/surname>, LOOK, WHATEVER IT IS, you can feel presence and others can feel yours, you can be touched, kissed and hold one another. You can smell, taste and see things in the most high-def detail possible. You can’t do any of that online…yet.

So embrace the nonline world from time to time. Like, straight after you read this. So, like now.

And yes, I understand the irony that this article is a) online, b) shared on Facebook and c) shared on Twitter. But shut up.

10 Reasons To Not Watch ‘Keeping Up With The Kardashians’

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1. It is a reality TV show
Should be reason enough one would think. But then, if you have the ability to think, you would already know this show sucks the IQ out of its viewers like a reluctant Cuba Gooding Jr sucked the snake’s venom out of Paul Hogan’s butt in the 1994 ‘blockbuster’ Lightning Jack.

2. They should be infamous, not famous
The only reason this family is known to more people than its neighbours is the fact that in 1995, Robert Kardashian, attorney and long-time friend of O.J. Simpson managed to convince a jury that Simpson was not guilty of murdering his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ronald Goldman.

In lead prosecutor Marcia Clark’s opinion, the prosecution’s mountain of evidence should have convicted Simpson 20 times over; that it did not, she says, attests to a judicial system wracked by race and overly impressed by celebrity.

This miracle worker, Robert Kardashian is the late father to the petulant Kardashian’s (Kourtney, Kim, Khloe and Robert Jr).

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3. Kim Kardashian
Middle daughter Kim came to prominence after a sex tape of her and then-boyfriend Ray J was released in 2007.

So she has no respect from this point forward.

So how then, I ask, does she dip below 0 Respect (on the respect-o-meter) when she only manages to stay married for 72 days?

I’VE ORDERED THINGS ONLINE THAT HAVE TAKEN LONGER! Albeit I was quite upset, as it should have only taken 14-21 days, but still.

4. Son Rob Kardashian owns a line of socks
And they look silly. Real silly.

5. Kim hates animals

In April 2010, she sparked controversy over the way she held a cat for a photograph.
This is beyond reprehensible, as I happen to like cats.

The same year, animal rights organisation PETA criticised Kardashian for repeatedly wearing fur coats, and named her as one of the five worst people or organizations of 2010 when it came to animal welfare.

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6. Kim is trying to sue Old Navy
Last year, Kim decided to sue Old Navy for using a girl who supposedly looks like her in their commercials. Her argument was that by doing so, Old Navy caused confusion in the marketplace and violated her intellectual property. Kardashian feels that her reputation has been damaged and is reportedly seeking $20 million from the Gap-owned company.

Here’s the good bit:

The defendant intends to argue that Kim’s reputation is already so tarnished that “no injury could cause true damage” and that she is thus “libel-proof.” Or that because she can’t sing or dance she doesn’t measure up to her Old Navy doppelganger Melissa Molinaro, who apparently used to be on MTV’s Making The Band 3!

7. It clashes with relatively decent shows
Such as Parks & Recreation, How I Met Your Mother and Bones, and each of these has something the Kardashians seem to have lost, a plot.

8. You don’t have Foxtel
If you don’t have E! On Fox, how are you to follow each and every one of this family’s moves in a sick voyeuristic manner? You can’t. So that’s a good problem to have. It’s such a good problem to have, it’s more like not having a problem at all and it being a blessing. Consider it that.

9. You’re better than that
I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, since you are reading my amazing blog. But if I find out you’re NOT better than that, I’ll be as disappointed as when you’re expecting something to be good, and in the end it’s less good than you were expecting.

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10. Because I said so
Generally, what I say is gospel. This is no exception.

Earth is more than just soil

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The big, disgusting plateau we do the living on (I think it’s called earth) is made up of 29.22% land. That’s about the same measly percentage that the Twilight sequel scored on Rotten Tomatoes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So then ”why is it called earth if only a third of it is actually earth?” I hear you pathetically, but legitimately point out.

Because earthwater sounds shit.

Actually, it sounds alright. It’s growing on me more and more now.

Good, so the planet we have been referring to as earth since 1137 (where it developed from the Middle English erthe) is now called earthwater. Great one, idiots.

Land is what we live on. It makes it so we don’t drown. You can’t drown on land, unless it’s quicksand – then maybe you can.

Anyway, this ‘land’ concept is strange. People (that’s what you and I are) over the years have decided that this land be divided up into around 200 different countries. That’s weird. What’s a country? Noone knows. But there are rumours aplenty.

Is a country a ‘region legally identified as a distinct entity in political geography‘?

Or is it simply a genre of music, a style of furniture, or maybe just a goat that wasn’t sure of his way home.

 

 

 

Whatever it happens to be, earthwater is a rectangular shape with water no doubt spilling off the sides, and being re-pumped back into the atmosphere via the well-known rotary vane pump located somewhere near Finland. 

So earth is made up of more than just soil.

It is also people. And laundry baskets. And wood laminated chairs. But mainly soil.

How to remove pantry moths

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I noticed a moth or 70 in the pantry the other day.

So I decided to msg one, and request he leaves the premises. Here’s how that went.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clearly, not to plan.

So now, when I encounter a pantry moth, I punch it so hard in its jaw, that they won’t be eating raisins for weeks – they’ll have to stick to cous cous or something finer.

Interesting fact: Moths are actually small turtles that can fly and eat through clothes.

The History of Butter

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Look at this photo. Note the yellow colour and downright rectangular appearance.

No, it’s not cheese, you lummox! It’s butter. It’s what we’ll be learning about today, the history of which is a fascinating tale involving jongleurs, dairy ants and interest rates.

 

The first documented sighting of butter occurred in a restaurant in Butré – a small village in the south of France in 1145. The name ‘butter’ either derives from this restaurant, or something else entirely. Noone’s too sure.

And it was a Jongleur, by the name of Jean Francois Margarine that wrote about it. And he couldn’t even write. If he could, he wouldn’t have been a jongleur. The hours were bad, the tricks were difficult and the outfits were le terrible.

Le what?

He was dining with his fellow Jongleurs, when a wild stick of yellow paste appeared before him.

“ce que je mange?” he queried to the waiter.

“Le cheese” the maître d’ replied.

“Well, you left it near the fire too long then”, said Margarine, flummoxed that he could even mutter a sentence in English.

Once translated, the jongleurs were promptly kicked out of the restaurant, and didn’t even get dessert. But he did manage to le steal this unusual yellow block.

Word of this deliciously salty additive spread through Europe like the Spanish Flu. Though chronologically that was later. But even so.

However, that one stick of butter that caused all the hype was nearly all eaten. It was Margarine himself that returned to that restaurant, to find out the source of the tasty spread. He disguised himself (to avoid a repeat of the previous ejection) and enquired to the maître d’ where he sourced this condiment. But the disguise was poor. All he had bothered to do was wear a different hat. The jig was up.

When Margarine left, he decided he’d snoop around behind the restaurant. And there it was. In between a pale of water and some other things that would have been around then, he saw what could only be described as an ant farm. Or more precisely, an ant dairy. So it could be described as both, but anyway.

Ants, thousands of them, being detained for their succulent milk, which, after sensual churning, turns into what is now known around the world as butter.

Margarine did a steal of the dairy, and introduced it worldwide. When he ran into copyright issues with the restaurant, he just renamed his brand Margarine.

But, is this thing we call butter, healthy?

As early as 1925, some pathetic scientists that can’t be right stated that butter cannot be healthy in excess, contrary to what many believed. They claimed it has “trans fat” in it, which clogs the “arteries”, continuing to make up anatomic terms as they wished.

Fittingly, they were put to death – by forced butter consumption, ultimately proving them correct. But they’re dead, so how can they be correct? Touché.

Now, I’ve promised interest rates to be part of this story. Well, you can’t have your butter and eat it. Or is it ‘cake’? No. I’m sure it’s butter.

You learn something new every day. Except today.

St. Patrick and the Snakes* of Ireland

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St Patrick.

A Saint? Obviously.

A Parselmouth? Extremely unlikely.

Parseltongue is a very uncommon skill, and is typically hereditary.

Nearly all known Parselmouths are descended from Salazar Slytherin (with Harry Potter being the notable exception).
The only possibility being that he learnt it from Professor Dumbledore, but with Dumbledore’s busy schedule running a school of over a thousand students, (which of course includes protecting the boundaries from Death-Eaters and the like) this just doesn’t add up.

The other issue not working in Patrick’s favour is the fact that all evidence suggests that post-glacial Ireland never had snakes. The Midlandian Ice Age occurred approximately 110,000 years ago, and Patrick is deemed to have exterminated these snakes sometime in 400AD (which for you humans who can’t count so good is only 1600 years ago).

“At no time has there ever been any suggestion of snakes in Ireland, so [there was] nothing for St. Patrick to banish,” says naturalist Nigel Monaghan, keeper of natural history at the National Museum of Ireland in Dublin, who has searched extensively and sensually through Irish fossil collections and records.

“But of course there is the possibility that some hid in ships and scurried out (together), forming broods and feasting on delicious mice” Monaghan butts in, rudely.

The only biological candidate species for appearing like a native snake in Ireland is the slow worm, a disgusting looking legless lizard. Here’s the piece of work below.

But if it was simply the case of mistaken identity on the part of this slow worm, Saint P didn’t exactly do a great job of exterminating them, as they are still abundant in the Burren regions of County Clare.

If I was his manager, I’d definitely want to have a sit down and discuss his KPIs.

But of course, with every religious story, it usually boils down to a matter of symbolism, and for an awesome story like this not to be taken literally.

Driving the snakes from Ireland was most likely symbolic of putting an end to pagan practices, which disappeared from Ireland in the centuries after St Patrick introduced the seeds of Christianity.

YES, but at least make that clear from the outset. Usually an asterisk (*) would suffice. Like I’ve heroically placed in the header.

‘So what did he do?’ you may ask.

Well, when he was 16 he was chilling out down at his local, in Wales, when some Irish ‘pirates’ (probably just his mates) ‘kidnapped’ (asked him to come with) the young lad and they went to Ireland. He spent six years there as a ‘slave’ (labourer) before running (out of cash) and returning to his family.

Due to this ‘slavery’ (working holiday) Patrick decided to return to Ireland and teach them a bit of Christanity.

A few hundred years later, he was revered as the patron saint of Ireland, and has the most celebrated Saints Day in the Christian calendar.

So this 17th March, which conveniently happens to fall on a Saturday, drink as much Guinness, Baileys and Irish coffee as you can, and get back to your roots, and celebrate all things Eire, a country you’ve probably never been to.

Part 5 – the Islands

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Look. I know this blog has about as many fans as the movie Gigli.

I know. I’m meant to write a reason to support the simile, but I’ve got an idea instead. You, shutting up. Good.

Anyway, where were we? Oh yeh, degrading you, the reader.

Jamie, Lil and I decided to fly down to Surat Thani rather than bus/train it, then they went off to Phuket while I ferried it across to Koh Phangan, the famous ‘full moon party’ isle.

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Well, I couldn’t manage to change the lunar pattern, so I wasn’t there for a full, or even half moon but the parties still go on.

Here’s one going on. Well, it’s a boy fire-twirling on Haad Rin Beach, but it was still quite impressive.

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So i stayed there a few nights and chilled out. The weather was totes not good, and I found this out whilst on a snorkelling day-tour, that was mostly spent shielding from the rain on a boat.

Then I ferried down to Samui, where I’d booked a nice resort near Jamie and Lil, hired a scooter and met up with them again that night.

Samui was just as i left it 4 years prior, when I had completed a TEFL course in the hope that I’d end up teach English throughout Asia, but never eventuated as the money in Europe was more enticing at the time.

Lamai Beach is fantastic; a long stretch of beautiful coast littered with resorts, bamboo bars and restaurants. Even better when you explore with a scooter, that set me back a whole $8 a day.

So we spent the days relaxing by the pool, or riding around town looking for souvenirs, and the nights going into Chaweng to get on it.

But this is where the problem lay.

I woke up this morning, looked at my watch and my heartbeat sped up. My flight back to Bangkok was at 11.45. My watch said 11.00.

I packed my bag like a criminal on the run, ran down to reception, jumped into a taxi, and got the airport at 11.30. But alas, it wasn’t good enough. I’d missed it. “Don’t worry”, I told myself, “there’s a flight every hour, I’ll get the next one”.

But the Bangkok Airways lady informed me they were all booked until 10pm, which would mean i’d miss my connecting flight back to Sydney. I’d watched enough Amazing Race to know that they’d be able to sort something out for me.

They couldn’t.

So there I was, hungover, disoriented and angry at myself for missing not 1, but 2 flights.

They told me I could go on Standby, so I did for an hour or two but could see there was slim chance of any miracle, so instead started to plan ‘Plan B’. this involved getting that late flight, staying in Bangkok, and booking another flight for Sunday.

So I did. And so for the past 7 hours (and the next 4) Koh Samui Airport is my domain.

Not a great way to end an amazing trip, but definitely a great story (and lesson) in years to come.

Part 4 – Back in Bankers

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24 hours was all we spent in Kanchanaburi, which was a bit of a shame, as it took longer (27 hours) to get there. But we (this is Jamie, Lil and I, if you weren’t aware who this ‘we’ character was) saw what we needed to see.

The Death Railway, made famous by the 1957 film Bridge Over The River Kwai was quite interesting. Probably more interesting if a) I’d seen the film, and b) knew anything about the history of the place prior to visiting, but interesting in a ‘learn-as-you-go-via-Lonely-Planet’ sorta way.

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It was a railway that the Japanese forced the WWII POWs to build, and they wanted it done like 5 times faster than was humanely possible. As a result, there were thousand of deaths.

Ok. Here’s a little test that you’ll fail. Say the name of that film. Ha, idiot. You pronounced it wrong.

Kwai doesn’t rhyme with ‘guy’. It rhymes with square. Like ‘kwaire’. Good, so it’s agreed upon – you shouldn’t reproduce.

The next day, we got an hour long tuk tuk to the Erawan Waterfalls, an amazing sight of 7 tiers of waterfalls, all of which we trekked to, an achievement Jamie was adamant we did.

For every stunning waterfall we swam in, there were at least 30 fat Russians marching around. They have a serious obesity epidemic, well, the ones who can afford to eat anyway.

So enough racist stereotyping. We then headed back to the megalopolis that is Bangkok. It seriously is like 5 cities in one. Disgusting.

We stayed outside the usual Khaosan district, closer to the creepy and sleazy Suhkimvit Rd.

The next day, Lil was as excited as a gazelle that’s just escaped her prey. No, that would be more ‘relieved’. Let’s go with as excited as a child at Christmas, because we were all going to Siam Park, Bangkok’s ‘famous’ theme park.

Did I mention it was shit? Oh, it was.

Half the rides were closed, hardly any food outlets open, and only about 40 people there. Ok, the last thing was a plus, but you can see why noone goes. It was like Sydney’s Wonderland about 6 months before it closed.

After that catastrophic experiment, we went out to Khaosan and got munted on Whisky Buckets, beer and rice wine. When in Rome. Oh, and I finally got my fisherman’s pants.

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Jamie and Lil are great company, but we parted ways today so they could go west to Phuket and Phi Phi, and I east to Koh Pha-Ngan, and we’re meeting back up in Samui after the weekend.

So as I sit on the ferry to Koh Pha-Ngan during a beautiful and balmy sunset, I dream of the many things I wished existed back home, or in terms of restrictions, didn’t exist but for the time being, still couldn’t imagine living anywhere but the lucky country.