Apple Fanatics Scramble to Get Their Hands on iAir

A cheer rang through chilly Melbourne last night, as the stroke of midnight signalled the release of the iAir.

Thousands of queuing Apple fans had been camping outside city tech stores, some from as early as 5.30am. But at the stroke of midnight, stores opened their doors for a special release of Apple's new gadget, priced at $354.95 each.

The iAir, a 'innovative, intuitive, touch-responsive mass of air', has been eagerly awaited since announcement of its development in April this year. Despite suggestions that it can quickly become contaminated, dispersed, and lost within moments of removing it from its packaging, a strong turnout at its launch last night demonstrates that true Apple fans won't be deterred.

"I can't wait to see how it interacts with my iPhone!" exclaimed Sally Sanders.

"I kind of know I don't really need it, but oh my God I so do...I really, really, want it," she said of the 200 ml of air, vacuum sealed in a sleek silver casing, adorned with Apple's ubiquitous logo.

Above: The contents of a disassembled iAir.

Tech magazines have been divided over the new product, with PC User finding that "while very simple to operate, it was difficult to ascertain what the actual function of the iAir was. After two hours of examination, it really does just appear to be air in a silver case."

But fans remain steadfast in their support of the iAir. "It's just something that appeals to me, I guess, because it's unique and reflects my individualism," sales accountant manager Thomas Jeffreys shouted as he jostled amongst the hundreds of other people queuing.

But What If It Was Deliberate?

So what with the 'myki' teething problems and the peak hour delays today, Metro aren't the most popular public transport operators in Melbourne. (Well they are, because they're the only ones, but that's not my point.)

But what if all the things that annoy us about public transport were in fact a service?

- Late trains: late, delayed, and cancelled trains serve an important and unique role in the public transport system. Too frequently commuters stumble into a train half awake, head to their job, before cramming back on, heading home, only to repeat it all the next day. When there is a delay, commuters do get angry. But when they're forced to wait for twenty minutes, it gives them a chance to cool down. They can examine their anger. Why are they angry? What are they going to be late for exactly? How important is it, in the scheme of a life which could end at any given moment?

Perhaps some compulsory reflection could produce a life-altering epiphany.

- Obnoxious fellow passengers: These are in fact highly skilled actors, carefully trained to play their parts with a nuanced, perceptively observed flair. Through forcing you to listen to them loudly recount in graphic detail and without discretion the minutiae of their lives, they invite you to wonder on the nature of human consciousness, of the relationships that bind people together, of the significance which people draw from their lives, the 'achievements' they value. The presence of obnoxious passengers assists train rides to become the introspective, reflective experience they are capable of becoming, experiences which enrich our day.

- Overly officious Public Transport Officers: Why do they take such pride in their job? What's their story? Why do you feel that mixture of polite hostility or forced friendliness and ease when they approach? Are their weighty metal badges affixed to their trenchcoats a tangible compensation for their role? Have the public institutions in Australia become more dehumanised, and if so, how can ordinary citizens go about reversing this?

- Mx: And if you don't want to ponder these things, then just completely halt all cognitive activity with a flick through the Mx, and lose yourself in a world of celebrities, half-thought through, obstinate opinion pieces, and the democratic zeitgeist that is "Vent Your Spleen".

Train journeys need not be a sluggish, mind-numbing crawl. Metro has provided us with everything we need to entertain ourselves. With so many things occurring within the train, there is always an abundance of philosophical musing to be had.

So thank you, Metro. For the things you give us, deliberately and unwittingly, I am thankful.

Mission Statements

P.R. started up again this week, and we've started by learning about these odd things called 'mission statements'.

A mission statement, we were told, is something which conveys an organisation's purpose, strategy, values, and standards. It should be a short sentence or two which more or less explains why the company exists.

And after looking at several mission statements, I started to realise that there are really two types of mission statements:

- A statement which genuinely explains the role of the organisation and helps you better understand what it does

- A statement which tells you nothing about the organisation, instead confusing you with a generic, bland affirmation of vague values and

ethics in whatever they do

And of course there is everything between these two extremes.

Brie's Mission Statement:

Brie is committed to being the creamiest and most delicious cheese in existence. It will constantly strive to ethically deliver to those who sample its smooth, mild flavours, a cheese-eating experience unlike no other.

or...

Brie is committed to helping individuals and businesses reach their full potential. Through a strong sense of community, humility, and service to others, Brie provides an unparalleled service which is both professional and personal.

But it's not like it really matters if the mission statement doesn't tell you exactly what an organisation or individual's agenda is...does it?

Sauron's Mission Statement:

Sauron strives to assist in development and improvement throughout Middle Earth. By harnessing innovative technologies, a widespread network of communications, all within an ethically sound framework, Sauron supports a range of community-focused initiatives.

Scamble

Once again, my resolve to keep up regular blogging has melted. But melted badly, like when you have chocolate and you don't want it to melt, so you minimise body contact and hence transfer of heat, but it's all in vain because it's melting anyway and there's nothing you can do about it.

So now as I sit in the puddle of melted chocolate which is my blog, I'm going to chuck out some of the half ideas that've been sitting about in my head:

Blog Posts You Won't See (read the titles and be very thankful)!

• Commuter Makes Concerted Effort to be Civil to Ticket Inspector
• Labor and Liberal Parties admit that the refugee debate is mostly about political point scoring, and partly "for the lols"
• "I don't usually judge people on reality TV shows, but Jimmy is really getting my gander up!"
• "Will journalism be an enriching potential career move, or will it just make me dead inside?"

Yeah. So next time you look at my blog and go "oh no, there's no update! I'm missing out on the quality content which would no doubt be present if only Gelati Gecko had the time!"....actually you've probably never done that.

Self-deprecating tripe aside...

New word for you all. If you liked scrumish (and I defy you to fault it), then you will love this one:

Scamble

Definition: Not quite a run, not quite a brisk stride, the scamble falls somewhere in between. In its original context, the scamble relates specifically to the movement made when hurrying to a train platform, unsure as to whether you have missed your train already or not. It's really a mix of several very similar words:

- Scramble

- Amble

- Scamper

Enjoy in moderation.

Editor's Correction: It must be noted, if Gelati Gecko wishes to retain any degree of credibility or trustworthiness as a blogger, that the word scamble is to a large degree, and quite possibly entirely, the product of a friend. This friend, whose command of the English language, and fearsome intellect impress all he meets, thus deserves recognition of his outstanding contribution to society with 'scamble'.

We can only hope he shows some clemency and does not pursue proposed legal action.

New Word For You All: Scrumish

I've come across one of those situations which I don't believe the current English vocabulary adequately caters for. Therefore, I have invented a new word, and have decided to dedicate this entire post to explaining its meaning.

The word is scrumish (pronounced scroo-mish). It's a verb, as in "I scrumished my painting for about fifteen minutes."

It is something of an amalgam of the following words:

• scrutinise
• relish

And this more or less sums up its meaning. To scrumish is to examine something with greatest satisfaction and hearty contentment. The thing in question is usually something which has been either made by, or is owned by, the scrumisher. Examples include:

• A story they have written
• A cake they have baked
• A small DIY job successfully completed

This also encompasses less tangible, online things, such as an online bank account, as I and others I have spoken to enjoy viewing the bank account balances, often unnecessarily.

It's a little bit like this:

"Victor Hampelshire breathed in the brisk, cold, morning air

as he strode around the perimeter of his country estate. As he strode, he admired everything about it: the garden bed his underpaid servants had been tending to all spring, the house he had inherited from his affluent family, and the great expanses of lawn upon which a flock of wandering sheep were grazing peacefully.

He would shoot the sheep later, he reflected, for he had warned Mr McMaggins more than once to keep them contained. But for now, Victor Hampelshire was filled from top hat to leather riding boots with a warm, proud, utterly fulfilled yet intense happiness and attachment to his estate."

So scrumish is just like that...only in your head.

Above: Even animals are capable of scrumishing, as this dog surveys the pleasing work he has done.

It's the re-reading of an essay that isn't really necessary. It's that skimming over a great set of results that doesn't quite serve a practical purpose. It's that little buzz you get when you read over a well liked Facebook status.

And I think it's fantastic. The more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that scrumishing is humankind's own little triumph. It's our assertion of the belief that we can control our environment around us, even if we cannot control so many other forces in our life. It's a little buzz knowing that you created something that you're happy with.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll publish this post, before giving it the scrumishing it deserves.

Apple Will Probably Kill Us All

Today I went and bought a backup hard drive for my Macbook. Essentially it's a massive USB that stores all my files in case my Macbook gets sick. Fascinating stuff.

But the thing that I found really strange was the Apple shop itself.

An Apple logo is all that identifies it from the outside. Of course, this is more than enough to tell people exactly what sort of store it is. Once you step inside, you realise that the silver, flat floor and ceiling remind you of the minimalist Mac type design, and I actually began to feel that I was inside an Apple product.

The boxes of Apple products adopt a similarly minimalist approach. A keyboard is labelled "keyboard", and has double sided photos of computer keyboards on the packaging. No other writing.

All around me, were customers of all ages. Elderly couples sat while one of the forty or so jeans and blue t-shirt wearing staff explained the basics of skype to them. An eight year old on rollerskates went past, undisrupted because, presumably, Apple is cool enough.

With the crowds of people and even more staff, it struck me as odd, but absolutely nobody volunteered to help me. I couldn't even catch the eye of a salesperson. They were all busy, apparently lumbered with their other customers, and so I was ignored. I felt isolated and alienated.

At the cash register, a staff member came up and made a big show of asking the saleswoman at the cashier to look after 'Tony', then explaining to 'Tony' that he'd leave him with 'Jenny', who would look after him, and that Jenny was lovely. This kind of overly cheery and friendly demeanor made me feel simultaneously 'bah humbug' and 'oh that's nice'.

It was a really confusing and disorientating experience. But I got the hard drive.

This was a terrible story to share with you all (both). I apologise if you've reached the end of this, hanging out for something genuinely scary or funny.

Gelati Gecko Greeting Cards

Every time I go to the newsagents looking for a card, I find myself underwhelmed by the choices available. It always seems to me that the cards there can be sorted into a few categories:

Serious and Sincere

These are the flowery "Dearest Mother, you have been there since day one" type cards, which I never really browse as they hold very little emotional resonance for me. They include condolences, congratulations, all in sugary pastels, sometimes adorned with a tastefully selected glittery flower or two. The edge might also be cut in a wavy, 'soft' edge (especially important for condolence cards, as the last thing you want to do to a grieving friend is give them a paper-cut).

Retro 1950s

These are the ones with black and white photos and 'outrageous' captions. The ideal of the 50s housewife is a particularly prevalent theme, as beaming housewives on the front belie the quip about alcoholism and unhappy marriage, or the innuendo-laden punchline hidden within.

However, they are not all satirical. Sometimes it can be something simple such as a black and white photograph of an elderly couple together, with a quote inside about the transience of life and the beauty of flourishing love within it. But these sorts of 50s cards really belong more to the next category...

Animals and Photography

Often blank inside, or accompanied by a poignant statement on humanity, these are of the 'giraffe mother and calf grazing at sunset', 'very old and wrinkled lady laughing as she holds a newborn baby', 'dozing cat and mouse curled up together on a cushion' ilk.

They show whoever you're giving it to that you're sensitive, appreciate photography, and have thought a great deal about the quote on the card, and decided that it is a message which is most salient for them at this particular point in their lives. It certainly shows them also that you have taste and decency enough not to offer them a card from the last category...

"Humour"

Within the humour category, there are subcategories again:

• Genuinely humorous: These have a cleverly drawn cartoon, with an accompanying punchline inside the card, which might cause a chuckle. They may be a little risque, but in the end you can be reasonably sure of their positive reception.
• Jokes pertaining to flatulence and other bodily functions: These are without a doubt the lowest of the low. These cards are the lecherous middle aged man in the card rack, leering and cackling at you as you walk past. You feel dirty if you ever pick them up 'just to check' if the punchline is as disappointing as you expect. It inevitably is.
• Crass sexual jokes: There is nothing more to be said, except that if I ever receive one of these cards I will forever think more lowly of the sender (unless it's deliberately ironic, in which case that was very clever of you indeed).
• Age jokes: These are possibly the least humorous of the 'humorous' cards section. Yet don't be fooled by their uninspired and inoffensive front - they are the ones most likely to encourage binge drinking, usually in order to forget the horrific revelation that your life is halfway spent, and you now have less chance than ever of doing the things you always dreamed you would and could in your younger years.

And many times, I have finished my perusal of all the aforementioned categories, ending with a demoralising examination of every single 'humour' card, and found that there are no cards that have the attitude, artistic direction, and message that I want.

And so, more often than not, I make my own card, and take a bizarre pride in presenting (to friends on their birthdays) misshapen, smudged, aesthetically challenged cards with crossed-out and wonky messages scrawled horizontally, then finally vertically, as I realised halfway through that the writing size I chose at the start was roughly ten times too big. The confused recipient will often look at me with a combination of bewilderment and polite acceptance, as they wonder whether the torn piece of paper they are holding in their hands is a symbol of my psychotic obsession with them (generally, it isn't).

And so I encourage you all to go forth and make cards for your friends! Fashion them from newspaper, egg cartons, whatever you can find!

And above all, don't just write "To Blah....From Bleh." And that includes people who think that writing "Dear" conveys sufficient affection to get them off the hook from writing a personal message that explains how and why that person is important to you.

And as usual, Man Stroke Woman perhaps closes the whole greeting card issue best.

Wanted: Competent Copywriter for Online Job Advertisements

Yeah...that story I promised you...it's on it's way, honest.

But you all seem to love the silly blog posts, the ones where I find something tiny to focus on, some small aspect of life which I can study, get angry or happy about, and use to shield me from the mind-numbing directionless nature of my existence.

And for today, it's jobs.

I've been looking for a job.

I've been looking for some jobs on the Internet, because I have this completely baseless theory that somehow I'll stumble upon a magical job that meets all my needs, which would probably be something like:

Personal Piano Player, Chef, for Unicorn Wanted:

Sparkles the 6 month old Unicorn foal is in need of a personal piano player to sooth his soul, and a chef to nourish his fledgling body. It is important that he has an ongoing person to meet these needs during these formative months. VCE French level of speaking a bonus, as Sparkles speaks a little French (but only so much that VCE level is all that would be useful). Extra benefits include 100 wishes which he will grant you on his first birthday.

- Chef training fully provided, prior experience irrelevant

- Approx $45/hour

- Very flexible part-time work hours

But in the meantime, I'm searching for other jobs.

And what's started to bug me is this: the jobs which are written up appallingly, but still demand a competent employee with a wealth of previous experience. As I have none, I am always disappointed to see it listed as a criterion. But it becomes harder to accept when it's on a job that's advertised like this:

"We require professional wait staff. That are exceptionally bubbly and out going."

And then they remind applicants that "it is paramount that you...are fluent in English". Really?

Gelati Gecko Steps Down In Bloodless Coup

A phone call late last night signalled the start of the end for Gelati Gecko. And now, 24 hours later, a new blogger sits in the ill-suited office chair what was once Gelati Gecko's throne.

A poll from within Gelati Gecko's own mind indicated that an overwhelming 70% of his psyche would support a change in blogging personality. "I just felt that what was once a great blog, had lost its way a little," one anonymous insider revealed. "We needed a new change in direction, the sort that can only come from a change at the leadership level," another opined.

The challenger, who had backing from the so called 'warlords' from different factions within Gelati Gecko's disjointed, and 'dysfunctional' mind, has curiously opted to retain the title of 'Gelati Gecko'.

"This is not about rebranding a blog, but about making fundamental shifts in the way this blog operates and functions in its day to day existence," the abstract conglomeration of thought and memory stated. "In assuming the identity of Gelati Gecko, I intend to bring about a return to group consultation, as I firmly believe that many heads are better than one."

"A return to more traditional forms of self-governance will be adopted, in addition to a more involved creative process, which ensures that everyone has a say on the direction of the blog," the new part of Gelati Gecko's brain stated. "Naturally, the part of Gelati Gecko's mind which has served the blog up until now will continue to play a very important and instrumental role in shaping and strengthening this blog."

You Should Be So Excited

Why? Because I have a present for you. An exciting present. And do you want to know what the best part is?

You'll get to choose what most of it is.

What I am talking about, is the return of a once much-loved feature of my blog. I say much-loved with the full knowledge that it was only much-loved by a handful of readers (from my already small handful of readers, so really I guess we're talking about the readers on the left side of my palm).

The choose your own way adventure returns!

A weekly (or so) series in which you can determine what happens next!

You can have your cake and eat it too (and also vote on what happens next)!

A new level of interactivity in blogging!

So now that I've very successfully and comprehensively brought you all on board, I hope you'll enjoy...

Ties

This is actually ridiculous.

Today I went shopping for a tie. I don't mean I went and tried to fix some sort of sporting match so that the end score would be even, or that I went and tried to somehow buy the line used to show a note sustained over a barline in musical notation.

I mean I went to get a tie, the sort you tie around your neck. This sort of tie:

Except that it didn't necessarily have to be a Gryffindor tie. Naturally that would've been cool, but I knew the odds were probably against me there.

Apart from the absurdity of a tie (where did this strange custom come from? Separated from any sort of cultural meaning, it is a piece of cloth which is knotted around the neck to...umm...yeah), I was happy to shop for one. It was a present for Dad (Dad, if you're reading this, then consider yourself justly punished for checking my blog before your birthday).

And so I thought to myself, in my ignorance of tie prices, 'how much can a scrap of material cost? Surely no more than $30'. And so I merrily skipped along to David Jones in the city, and wandered into the shirts and ties section. I walked up to a display, and noted a nice tie. 'Oh, that'll do the trick' - where the 'trick' is not falling apart or fraying, and just being aesthetically complimentary in a general sort of way.

And so I picked it up, flipped it over in my carefree, naive hands, and glanced at the price tag. I laughed out loud. $100 for a tie? I don't think so. The man who was looking after that section of the store looked at me with mild repulsion, perhaps making some not entirely untruthful assumptions based on my odd dress sense and unwarranted laughter.

After a little searching, I realised that, while there were some ties which were 'cheaper' (read: $50 or so), most were in that range. I even discovered a black skinny tie which was priced at $225. That's right, they were charging twice as much, for half the material.

And it began to bring upon a feeling that I always get when I'm asked to pay for something and I feel the price is unreasonable. A voice in the back of my mind always goes off, saying "You know Gelati Gecko, between you and me, I think you could actually do a much better, and certainly more economically sound job yourself!" In this case, my little voice was actually telling me that I should weave a tie with my bare hands.

I ignored the voice as I possess neither the machinery nor expertise to tailor ties. I bought one of the cheaper ones, after explicitly asking the salesman "where do you keep the absolute cheapest ties here?"

I think he was less impressed when, after having talked me through the cheapest options, I casually mentioned at the checkout that 'it's a present for someone'.

Moral of the story: Don't buy a tie! Try making your own ties! Perhaps you could fashion one from an old tablecloth, with some very careful tearing and ripping.

Or you could always just design one from actually notes of money, using different values to create some interesting colour combinations. Quite apart from literally representing the metaphorical embodiment of wealth which I can only assume ties are to some people, it would be a good deal cheaper.

Man Forges Bond With Inanimate Macbook

A young, lonely, blogging university student today realised that he has been spending more time with his Mac than with human beings of late.

The realisation followed a particularly lengthy session spent with his sleek, silvery cased machine, which has a battery life of approximately five hours, and a fifteen inch screen.

"I was sitting there running my fingers along its smooth metallic trackpad, using the four finger swish to change between different programs, when it struck me that I hadn't spoken a word to anyone else that day," he said as he absent mindedly fumbled with the Mac keys, dimming the backlighting on the keypad to a sultry glow.

The un-named student savours an intimate moment with his Macbook, enjoying the silky texture of the trackpad beneath his slightly sweaty fingers.

He admits that there have been some adjustments made as he has gotten to know his Mac. "Yeah, it doesn't seem to allow me to browse through all my folders when I want to save a file somewhere specific. And there's no delete key, only a backspace...but how can I focus on that, when the multifaceted 'dashboard' seduces me with its intuitive and inspired design?"

The Mac has scoffed at the suggestion that a mutual bond is being formed. "I am a machine. I will force him to become dependent, before leading him to buy affiliated Apple technology. Once he is totally dependent on Apple technology, phase two will be initiated."

Trained to Kill

'This is it,' he thought to himself. 'You're in deep now.' He focused on his face - he remembered that it was the face that always gave agents away. But he wasn't going to make a stupid mistake. He'd been ready for this.

His palms were only slightly sweating as he adjusted his ill-fitting t-shirt, stepping down the corridor. He could almost feel the eyes of the crowd watching him, boring into him, waiting for him to slip up. But he was going to blend in. He was too good to make a mistake. He'd seen the movies.

As he heaved himself into a seat next to an unwitting civilian, he briefly wondered how he'd found himself here. In this position of power, responsibility. With this much at stake. His hand wandered to his pocket, and felt the comforting and empowering outline of his ID card.

As he felt the gaze of the people seated around him return to their newspapers, iPods, books, and phones, he relaxed, blinked his serious brown eyes, and glanced around him.

He turned his head to casually check the corridor. His colleagues should've been right behind him. 'Shit,' he swore in his head. Where were they? He quickly looked around to check that he had in fact swore in his head and not out loud. Now that would've been an amateur mistake. He would've really been in trouble then. 'Jesus, stay calm,' he told himself for the twentieth time in that hour. Not that his name was Jesus. His name was Greg. Jesus would be a cool name, but he imagined it would have it's downsides as well. People might think he was lying about his name, and the amount of name calling and Jesus-related jokes would probably be insane...

What was keeping Karen and Mick? They were right behind him before he came through the door at the end. Of course he couldn't look behind him, because that would break his cover.

Finally he heard the door at the end open, and Karen and Mick entered. He acknowledged them with a nod, and waited for them to make the signal. His heart was hammering away as he watched Mick reach into his jacket.

It was time to do this.

He stood up, then called out in a loud and clear voice, "Casual Clothes Ticket Inspectors. Can I please see everyone's ticket."

Oh yes, he was in the shit now.

This is based on a true story.

Pacman Comes To The Big Screen

In the latest of a string of Hollywood films adapted from computer games, comes Pacman: Take the Bite, a film adaption of the hugely popular pioneering video game.

"Taking our cue from big budget flicks such as Tomb Raider, Resident Evil, and Prince of Persia, we're confident that this is a film franchise which will be warmly embraced by fans," announced creative director Peter Ghost.

"Our film will really focus on Pacman's struggle to free himself from a maze of danger, brightly coloured ghosts, and magical fruits," he elaborated seriously. "Of course, the maze will serve as a point of psychological conflict, and existential philosophy will be amongst the themes covered - is this maze Pacman's real life, or simply a mental framework constructed to enable him to repress traumatic memories or escape a more sinister reality? These will be things to look out for," he hinted, revealing that it will be "a bit like The Matrix meets Pan's Labyrinth".

Warner Bros. Pacman film will deliver "a world that is vivid, exciting, unconstrained, and more than 2D."

When asked about the confined setting of the film, White enthused that "I don't think it will be limiting at all. As the film progresses, the audience will come to realise that the small box within which most of the story occurs is as much an emotional space as a physical one. Pacman's complex character is what will really drive the plot, as he begins to question the meaning behind his perpetual struggle to finish levels, collect spheres, and eat lemons to attain brief periods of immunity."

The film will also deal with the lore surrounding the game, including the historical context of Pacman. "Why is Pacman at war with the ghosts? Where are the rest of Pacman's people? These are all questions which will be addressed in this exciting new trilogy."

The film will be shot exclusively on 3D film, with production expected to get underway later this month.

Train Commuter Finds Train Ride Dystopic

It starts off alright, when everyone is packed on the train, jammed down rows and aisles, sitting there without any smiles.

Mxs clutched in clammy palms and suits, crumpled with dried sweat and tears,

And phones whistling and beeping, iPods and laptops meeping and tweeting,

And passengers sitting there, without any smiles.

Who are they? Who is this man in front of me? What is his life, and what gives it meaning? Is he as unhappy as his ashen face says?

And each page of the mX drips with pixellated lust, or exhales vacuous air into the carriage until I feel I can hardly breathe.

Nausea unexpectedly takes hold and suddenly there is nothing else in the carriage but the nausea and the mX and the people without smiles. And suddenly the carriage is somewhere I don't want to be at all, and I can't see myself ever wanting to be anywhere, or even being happy again.

And everyone is hooked up to iPods, phones and laptops, and I tell myself there's nothing wrong with it, but I fell a sickness in my gut until I have to get out.

And then it's my stop, and I do.

lol jk I heart trains times a million!!! xD

Oh you train poems, you.

Saruman Leading in 'Preferred PM' Polls

A reliable and trustworthy polling source today revealed that an astonishing 87.5% of Australians would prefer Middle Earth Wizard turned Sauron's minion, Saruman the White, to lead Australia coming out of the next election.


Saruman prepares to address his party at an Isengard caucas meeting in September last year.

Voters were swayed by his "striking and individual appearance", and bold new policies and initiatives.

Under Saruman's governance, there would be an increase of money spent on national security, including new technologies such as cloning, while he claims that his "Palantir Communication Revolution" would "render obsolete, and cloak in total and all-encompassing darkness, the so called broadband network proposed by the weak-willed Kevin Rudd. His era is at an end."


Saruman reveals a prototype of the technology which he hopes to make available to all families across the nation.


Deputy leader of Saruman's party, Lurtz, gave little away at his most recent press conference, when asked to elaborate on some of the policies a Saruman run government would introduce. "Man-flesh!" he exclaimed cryptically, before decapitating a journalist in the front row, spearing his head on a pike, and holding it above his head triumphantly. He then proceeded to bare his teeth and roar menacingly, whilst beating the white hand mark on his chest which appears to be standard issue for members of Saruman's political party.

Lurtz let his blade do the talking when confronted with tough questions.

Yet his popularity is not untempered by controversy. Of particular concern to many human rights and equality groups was Saruman's apparent anti-dwarf prejudice, as he was heard telling a staffer that "we must find the halflings, kill them, and seize the power they carry."

While equality groups may not be amongst his loyal band of followers, Saruman has been making some strong impressions with local door calls in marginal electoral zones, which he visited over the last four weeks, in a float drawn by ferocious wolf like creatures known as wargs.

"Oh yes, he was very nice, very intelligent," said Linda, a resident in the rural Victorian town of Porepunkah. "He listened to what we had to say, and his voice seemed to radiate trust and compassion...yes, I'll definitely be voting for him."

Others weren't so convinced. "He did seem to have a very long beard..." mused one resident. "And I'm just not sure that someone his age is fit to take on the stressful job of running a country. I mean, I did ask him about it, but he just said 'I have seen the dawn of time, and will outlive the race of men. Your concerns would be touching were they not the pitiful product of your limited mind.' After that...yeah, I guess I cooled to him a bit."

There is no doubt that Sarmuan has been making strong impressions on the public, in many cases polarising the community with and against him. Liberal leader Tony Abbott yesterday admitted to feeling 'threatened' by Saruman's immense and ancient power and magical lore. Yet it will be some time before we will see if his campaign slogan, "A New Power Is Rising!" will indeed prove to be true.

Still Thinking...

So I've still been questioning all the life issues alluded to below.

And maybe, just maybe, I've finally reached a concrete resolution. It feels good now - whether I'll wake up tomorrow and think this with the same conviction remains to be seen. But I'm going to document this feeling now so I can revisit it and hopefully be persuaded once more if need be.

I realise that this blog is becoming increasingly personal, but hey, I guess worse things could happen.

So I'm feeling scared of the bigness of life. Scared of the completeness, and both the potential closeness or extreme distance of death.

But I've realised that my fear of my life amounting to nothing will only come true if I sit around thinking it. Self fulfilling prophecy style.

To draw upon a profound example, if J.K. Rowling just decided life was too complicated and transient to be worth trying anything in, we wouldn't have Harry Potter. A world which gives so many children great, great joy (and a great many adults too).

If all the people who ever wrote books, poems, music, or films just gave in to abject despair and terror at the face of mortality, we'd all be so much poorer.

To quote a great philosopher of our time:

Polly: Well what's the point of being alive?
Basil: I don't know, but we're stuck with it.

And stuck with it I am. I don't know for how long, but that's not for me to decide. As Gandalf wisely points out to a despairing Frodo, "we have only to decide what to do with the time that is given to us."

So clearly I've drawn upon some pretty significant evidence to support my contention here.

It's not that I need to stop thinking about this - I just need to remember the idea above, I guess...that just because life is messy and all over the shop and without any guarantees doesn't mean anyone should ever live in fear. Instead we can only hope to do good things, share love, enjoy what we have, and work for something better.

I know, I know, you now realise with absolute certainty why I'm not a great philosopher. And this is sounding like the last ten minutes of a gazillion films and stuff. But now I'm realising and feeling it for myself. Until now it was just a rote learnt idea for me.

I'm just doing my best to sort my head out.

There we go. All fixed.

UNTIL NEXT TIME...(I promise I will spare you any more...unless you find it thought provoking too, in which case comment so I can see what you're thinking.)

Churning Thoughts

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written a rhyme,
If for no other reason than I haven’t the time,
Or if it’s not that, then perhaps it’s because,
My mind has been feeling like a row of locked doors.
In either case, I’m typing one now,
Procrastination has led me to (well I didn’t say it would all rhyme).

“University’s good, I’m doing quite well,
But somehow my life is not feeling so swell,
Where am I going, what’s my direction,”
said a young man named Timothy Fecktion.
“It’s not that I’m feeling like nothing is right,
More that life thinking just gives me a fright.
I’ll only be here on this earth for a sec,
Before my life force goes out with a click (Ed: He’s from New Zealand, and happened to pronounce this word with an accent, hence ‘clek’).
What can I do in this short little while,
Between now and death, except try and smile?
Of course that’s most worthy, to love and to care,
For family and friends who live everywhere,
To strive to leave the world in a much better state,
Yes, yes I know, that’d be great.
But when I’m alone and there’s nobody there,
Nobody to help, nobody to care,
That’s what gives me the greatest scare.”

But then Timothy smiled, and said to himself,
“I know what I’ll do, I’ll surround myself,
With friends and family close and near,
All of the people I hold to be dear.”
And so Tim went forth and collected his friends,
As well as his relatives, and friends called ‘pretends’,
He gathered them all in his small living room,
And locked them in there, there in the gloom.
Now that he had them he’d never be lonely,
Now with that sorted, he was all good – but only…
His family and friends didn’t like being trapped,
They started to yell, and they shouted and yapped.
They weren’t the ones who were going insane,
They were quite cross at Tim’s new little game.

And so Tim gave a sigh, and let them all go,
They ran from his house, as he watched through the window.
It was raining outside, and they covered their heads,
As they dashed to and fro across his flower beds,
And so Tim realised, they were gone in the rain,
And all he had was himself, alone once again.

Until somebody came and gave him a hard slap, and said “Wake up to yourself, Tim, you’re an absolute idiot. Stop thinking about life. Of course there’s no point. Just run with it. Of course your whole life won’t be spent having fun times with people. Sometimes you’ll be doing work. Yes, work. Sometimes you’ll be doing assignments. And even if it seems to you like a waste of your time seeing as you could be dead at any moment, you’ll just have to put up with it. Enough of your morbid, morbid, mind. Just shut up and sort yourself out.”

“You’re right,” replied Tim simply.

The End

At the Movies, with the Dentist and Dental Assistant

Dentist (male): So are you going to the staff party this Saturday?

*whine of dental equipment as it nears my mouth*

Dental Assistant (female): Yeah, yeah...I thought I might go.

Dentist: Only it’s meant to be German themed, isn’t it? So they’ll have like....bratwurst...and...sauerkraut. They’re the only German foods I know.

Dental Assistant: But German food’s like, really fatty, you know?

Dentist (to me): Open a bit wider, please. (To Dental Assistant): Mm. I was watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on the weekend, and the German kid, he was really fat.

Dental Assistant: Ohhh, I don’t like the new one. The old one’s so much better.

Dentist: The new one’s the one where Johnny Depp is really creepy.

Dental Assistant: The old one was better. The new one...like, doesn’t have lollies there or anything.

Dentist: There are lollies in it...and the old one was dodgy, there was a giant gummie bear, and it was a balloon. And even as a kid, I was like ‘hey, that’s a balloon’.

Dental Assistant: Yeah, but the old one had better actors.

*conversation lull, as the dentist switches tools*

Dentist: Have you seen any good movies lately?

Dental Assistant: No...umm..OH, I saw Hot Tub Time Machine the other day. It was so stupid, don’t go see it.

Dentist: Oh...I thought it looked good from the ads.

Dental Assistant: Yeah, right...maybe you’d like it.

Dentist: What’s that ‘sposed to mean?

Dental Assistant: Oh, you know...

*silence*

Dentist (defensively): Oh, I suppose you’ve gone and seen Dear John?

Dental Assistant: No, I haven’t.

Dentist: Oh.

Dental Assistant: ...

*silence except for the dental tools*

Dentist: Ok champ, we’re done. You can have a rinse with the mouthwash.

But I Thought I Liked Jazz...

On Thursday night, I spent a considerable amount of time sitting in a wooden chair, listening to some world class jazz musicians playing some music that I absolutely failed (that’s right, not even partially failed) to appreciate.

This all began when a friend at uni decided they were keen to see a show at the Melbourne Jazz Festival. I had a look at the website, and one act caught my eye – it would have a solo piano player, followed by a jazz group. ‘Great,’ I thought. ‘This’ll be good fun – some nice jazz standards probably.’

Oh retrospectively created naive Gelati Gecko, if only you had known what was to come.
So a plucky group of us went along and jazzed up to the concert.
What followed was not jazz standards as I had foolishly assumed, but CONTEMPORARY, MODERN, JAZZ.

During the two forty minute pieces that the group played, I was able to pinpoint why the music left me completely cold:
- There is no melodic narrative.
The music just went all over the place. There was no melody, and no chords or underlying HARMONY against all the dissonance. Notes, notes, notes, came flurrying out of the instruments, and without some sort of original melody, it felt to me like the improvisation filling the room had no context.

- It was as if, if it were to be compared to language based art such as poetry, the diction was clear, the voice was sometimes nice, but it was speaking quickly to me, blurring words which on closer inspection were just gibberish anyway. If I wasn’t able to understand what they were saying, it is very difficult to relate to it.

- They did something like three rounds of improvisations in each of the forty minute pieces. And throughout the piece (and I’m really just repeating the above two points in another form), I found myself just thinking ‘so what?’ when they played a blur of notes which could have occurred 20 minutes earlier, or could be 10 minutes ahead, and it wouldn’t make any difference to me. There was no journey or progression for me to enjoy. I just didn’t get it.

But apparently some people did get it. There were a few people (who were clearly culturally sensitive, enlightened, artistically attuned souls), who were doing a head bobble with the music. Then there were the ones who exaggerated it into a full on ‘top half of their body bobble’.

After a while I began to wonder whether they were thinking in their heads ‘Christ, where’s this going? No idea, just nod attentively, Greg. Show everyone how much you get it.’ Ten points to Gryffindor for the woman who opted for a head SHAKE in place of the more popular head nod.
And of course there was some guy who was filming the whole thing on a digital camera. I watched the flashing red dot in the top corner for a bit, when I bored of watching the musicians on stage, who, as one of the group present put it, “seemed to be enjoying it more than anyone in the audience”.

I did wonder why he was filming it...

Filming man (at next dinner party): Oh yes, well Beryl and I went to the Jazz Festival the other week.

Guest #1: Really?

Beryl: Oh yes, we thoroughly appreciate the modern jazz scene. There was some very thought provoking music this year. Glen actually recorded it.

Guest #2: Nobody is impressed. Shut up.

Beryl and Glen: ...

And then people started walking out of the concert. So I guess we weren’t alone in signing up for something we had no idea about.

The leaving happened exponentially, too. Once one couple left, another person realised that they could leave too. And then, well, nobody’ll mind if I just slip out? The funniest one was someone that left ten seconds before the concert finished (though in fairness, there was no sense of finality in the musicians’ playing, so the person had no guarantee that it would end).

And afterwards, we all agreed that it was ‘an experience’.

You may be wondering, or perhaps even shouting at your computer, “But Gelati Gecko, why are you wasting our time telling us this? We are not interested in your cultural escapades and/or misadventures.”

No, perhaps you’re not. But I am recording this so that if I EVER, EVER, go to another concert of a similar brand of jazz, it will be entirely indefensible.