Friday 19th September 2003: Ventilated
This last week has been filled with a series of monumental cock-ups on the part of yours truly. Consequently, I shall now vent my rage in an arbitrary fashion at whomever springs to mind. Don't mind, do you?
Good.
First and foremost, the object closest to me right now. A free CD that came with the Observer, including some mediocre music and a plea to sign an online Oxfam petition to "make trade fair." Now, I've nothing against political expression in general, but if they actually want to have any effect, the folks at Oxfam have made one key mistake, which is best illustrated by this diagram:
I bet you can see their mistake now! You see, as long as their route of action on this issue remains to write lots of names on a big nasty piece of paper, they will get precisely nowhere. Don't get me wrong, I know they take far more direct action in their other pursuits. But if they genuinely want to change things, and aren't just interested in the feel-good factor associated with standing up and being counted by no bugger at all, get into politics! I don't know if you folks have noticed, but they're actually inside the building you're shouting at from across the street!
Well, that should make me good an' unpopular. Who's next?
Ah yes. My good friends the Americans. Specifically, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). The Bush administration so far has had scores of good ideas; to name but a few, torpedoing the Kyoto protocol amidships, knocking down income taxes for the obscenely rich, and the complete elimination of two nations. However, this one takes the biscuit. DARPA, in their infinite wisdom, have opened up a betting shop. No ordinary betting shop, you understand. In this betting shop, every bet rides on a number of civilian casualties. For example, one might put £10 on the assassination of Yasser Arafat, and £50 on the next car bomb to go off being a Seat. I know it sounds like a joke, but check it out. I'll leave you to rant for yourself from here.
The people who remade the Italian Job barely achieve a better standing in my mind. I don't care if the film's good or bad, it's still the metaphysical equivalent of roughly sodomising Michael Caine to even consider a remake.
Perhaps more deserving of that fate than Mr Caine are the executives of the Sony Corporation. Not that they've done anything to annoy me too much; they just own the company that produced the games console that gets all the good games, hence keeping me playing shit conversions and Lord of the Rings titles.
Finally to the block tonight: God. I'm not quite sure what I've done; I probably ran over his cat, or stole his VCR, or something, but I've sure pissed him off. In one day, my PC's video card melted to slag, my bike's wheels both spontaneously took on their "ovoid" form, my driving lesson ended in the most ungodly, crashing stall ever, and my neighbour's cat took to stalking me at a distance of about 20 yards whenever I'm nearby. Co-incidence? I don't think so.
Right, I feel much better now. You can go now if you want. Or you can stay here, and read some more. In fact do that second one, it boosts the webcounter and hence ego more.