If there’s one thing that gets my chopper hard – and not in a good way – it’s bad driving.
I know am not alone in this. Nearly everyone I know lists bad driving as one of their pet peeves. It sure does piss us off, but does anyone do anything about it? I do. I regularly contribute to the report a bad driver scheme that the NZ Police run through their website: www.police.govt.nz. It may not be much, but it’s a start.
All you need is the car rego and you are about three clicks away from anonymously dobbing the bastard in. Not totally anonymous, the Police will know who you are of course, but the dude with the mullet in the rust bucket that just flew past you doing a 130km on the motorway won’t! It's that easy, Try it sometime.
Here in NZ we have what we like to call, the ‘she’ll be right’ attitude. It’s a crap attitude, lets be honest. It might be quaint and cute and oh so Kiwi, but it’s the reason we don’t lock murderers and kiddie fiddlers away for nearly long enough. It’s the same reason we elect the same muppets every couple of years to spend our taxes on their tummy tuck operations and it’s the reason why other countries treat us with about as much respect as a floaty that just won’t flush.
The attitude works a little something like this – we don’t really care about something unless it directly affects us. So crime is cool, until some one steals my TV, then I’m really going to have something to say on the matter. Kiddie fiddling is not cool, but I don’t have any kids of my own so I needn’t worry about it (unless you’re doing the fiddling). Dangerous driving is okay, cause the hoon has just passed me, so I’m safe.
It’s a blase take on everything and the irony is, in some cases we even condone it by admiring those who get away with it. If it’s not a crime in our eyes, then is it really wrong? Of course it is, genius.
A large number of people don’t see dangerous driving as a crime and that is a big part of the problem. These people openly criticise the Police for putting resources into road safety , usually because they just got issued a ticket. These are the type of pricks that are of the opinion that it was okay to do what they were doing at the time, because they are more important than you and I. If there was any justice in the world it would be them that end up colliding with the drunk driver.
There are of course, other contributing factors too. For a small country, we are always trying to cover short distances in the shortest period of time. If we didn’t learn to drive from someone who was a bit shoddy behind the wheel themselves, then we learnt from the PlayStation. We mentally switch off when we get inside our two tonne pile of metal, thinking that we’re safe, because we know what we’re doing. No one else does, but hey - she’ll be right.
Then we turn on our iPods, crank up the sub woofers till the ears bleed and cocoon ourselves in a world of sensory deprivation. We buy big new powerful cars because the slick advertising promises us that we’ll have flaw proof handling and acceleration. These ads never mention that the wink link in all this sits behind the wheel. It also doesn’t help that once we have our license, never again are we tested on our abilities to handle a car. Especially the big new powerful one. Yeah, she'll be right.
We also have a binge drinking culture, which needless to say, doesn’t exactly help the issue. But more on that in a later blog methinks.
Here’s what I say to the ‘she’ll be right attitude’ to dangerous driving. Let’s collectively get down to the pharmacy of life and cash in our prescription for a set of testicles. Let’s get behind anybody or anything that makes it difficult for people to drive dangerously. Let’s have a culture where if some munter tailgates you on the motorway at 120km that it’s him that feels intimidated. Better yet, let’s vote for people who promise to pass legislation that makes a ‘citizens beating’ a legal form of speed reduction. I bet everyone will sit on 90 the day that law is passed because we’ll all be waiting to chase down anyone who drifts over a 100!
If we can collectively get behind fifteen blokes in short shorts chasing another fifteen blokes in short shorts then we can get behind a real cause. Don’t leave it for the overworked and under resourced Five-0, don’t leave it till someone you love is hurt / injured / killed. I'm just guessing here, but if that day ever happens (and I sincerely hope it doesn't), I'm picking she'll no longer be right. Right?
I don’t know about you, but given the choice between the two, I’d rather someone stole my TV than killed my loved ones in a car crash.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Three's A Crowd - Even On The Radio
Three, as the saying goes, is a crowd.
So why do radio stations persist in having three or more Muppets hosting their breakfast shows? Who made up the rule that three was cool? Three is annoying and is as unfunny collectively as I suspect they are individually. And what about the stations where the producer chimes in making it a foursome? There’s a reason you couldn’t cut it as a DJ at radio school mate, because you weren’t funny then either.
All they do is talk, about shit. And not just once. If you’ve ever had the distinct misfortune of listening to a breakfast radio show here in NZ for longer than 15 minutes, then you soon start to realise they’re repeating themselves. They will always revisit what they talked about in the last 15 minutes. By the third time round, they’re actually repeating their last repeat! If the first bit sucked – which it usually does - then not surprisingly, so does the 43rd rendition.
It’s true that opinions are like anuses, we all have one. But I certainly don’t want to see your anus in the morning and I don’t want your opinion. If I wanted to listen to retards giving me their take on life in the morning I would tune in to talkback. That’s 24 / 7 anus. Some of it even makes more sense.
So why the constant repeat? All the radio research shows that people only ever listen to the radio in 10 – 15 minute bursts. That’s why play lists are often repeated every couple of hours – the bastards have worked out that that is when you’re next likely to be listening and that’s why the three stooges endlessly repeat themselves. They want to catch you before you hop in the shower and after you get out, before you take a dump and after you’ve finished.
Here's a thought - why not save time then and dump in the shower? Depends on your diet I suppose.
There is only one way round this phenomenon. That’s messing with the mind and ultimately the results of the tele-researcher. I love it when a tele-researcher calls, especially when it’s for something like radio stations, of which I know just about all of them. I have a mega memory for random and inconsequential things like that. Don't ask me how, its just the way I roll.
So the researcher asks you a series of questions about which stations you know, which you listen too and for how long. I list them all. Even the foreign language ones and I make like I change them on my wireless quicker than I do my mind. I contradict my earlier answers in the survey too and generally do the researchers head in so much I suspect many of them hand in their resignation at the end of that very shift.
I did that job once – I resigned at the end of my first shift. I only did it because I fancied the friend who got me the job. I therefore know how to hook in a tele-researcher. They’re so often the brunts of the cold hang up that when someone genuinely begins answering your questions you’re hooked like a dog on another dogs crack. The guy answering their questions could literally whack one out whilst on the phone and still not risk being hung up on.
I even regulary fill out an on line survey of the current playlist that the local radio station sends me. I do it because I hate what they play (my wife incidentally loves their playlist) and I love letting them know. Funnily enough they’ve stopped sending me those surveys.
All this talking means less music and ironically, less space for advertising – the bread and butter of any station. By the time the three amigo’s have finished talking, I have long tuned out on them and any advertising that might be of interest. I wonder how the advertisers feel about that? Radio should return to what it’s good at. That’s playing good music, with hourly interruptions only for the news, sports and weather. And we only need the one guy to tell us the time.
Because three is certainly a crowd. Not, however, in the event of a spit roast, for in that instance, three is most definitely the magic number.
So why do radio stations persist in having three or more Muppets hosting their breakfast shows? Who made up the rule that three was cool? Three is annoying and is as unfunny collectively as I suspect they are individually. And what about the stations where the producer chimes in making it a foursome? There’s a reason you couldn’t cut it as a DJ at radio school mate, because you weren’t funny then either.
All they do is talk, about shit. And not just once. If you’ve ever had the distinct misfortune of listening to a breakfast radio show here in NZ for longer than 15 minutes, then you soon start to realise they’re repeating themselves. They will always revisit what they talked about in the last 15 minutes. By the third time round, they’re actually repeating their last repeat! If the first bit sucked – which it usually does - then not surprisingly, so does the 43rd rendition.
It’s true that opinions are like anuses, we all have one. But I certainly don’t want to see your anus in the morning and I don’t want your opinion. If I wanted to listen to retards giving me their take on life in the morning I would tune in to talkback. That’s 24 / 7 anus. Some of it even makes more sense.
So why the constant repeat? All the radio research shows that people only ever listen to the radio in 10 – 15 minute bursts. That’s why play lists are often repeated every couple of hours – the bastards have worked out that that is when you’re next likely to be listening and that’s why the three stooges endlessly repeat themselves. They want to catch you before you hop in the shower and after you get out, before you take a dump and after you’ve finished.
Here's a thought - why not save time then and dump in the shower? Depends on your diet I suppose.
There is only one way round this phenomenon. That’s messing with the mind and ultimately the results of the tele-researcher. I love it when a tele-researcher calls, especially when it’s for something like radio stations, of which I know just about all of them. I have a mega memory for random and inconsequential things like that. Don't ask me how, its just the way I roll.
So the researcher asks you a series of questions about which stations you know, which you listen too and for how long. I list them all. Even the foreign language ones and I make like I change them on my wireless quicker than I do my mind. I contradict my earlier answers in the survey too and generally do the researchers head in so much I suspect many of them hand in their resignation at the end of that very shift.
I did that job once – I resigned at the end of my first shift. I only did it because I fancied the friend who got me the job. I therefore know how to hook in a tele-researcher. They’re so often the brunts of the cold hang up that when someone genuinely begins answering your questions you’re hooked like a dog on another dogs crack. The guy answering their questions could literally whack one out whilst on the phone and still not risk being hung up on.
I even regulary fill out an on line survey of the current playlist that the local radio station sends me. I do it because I hate what they play (my wife incidentally loves their playlist) and I love letting them know. Funnily enough they’ve stopped sending me those surveys.
All this talking means less music and ironically, less space for advertising – the bread and butter of any station. By the time the three amigo’s have finished talking, I have long tuned out on them and any advertising that might be of interest. I wonder how the advertisers feel about that? Radio should return to what it’s good at. That’s playing good music, with hourly interruptions only for the news, sports and weather. And we only need the one guy to tell us the time.
Because three is certainly a crowd. Not, however, in the event of a spit roast, for in that instance, three is most definitely the magic number.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Girl on Girl
There is a lot of scary shit that sees print these days and I have to say that a good deal of it is to be found between the covers of what I like to refer to as ‘Girl on Girl’ magazines.
Unlike the name might suggest, there’s none of the ‘good stuff’ to be found in these types of magazines. Oh sure, there might be a bit of nipple or some ‘real bodies’ to see, but these will be limited to a few pages in the sealed section. These images are so ‘token’ in there placement that you can’t help but think that the magazine is touting the girls with normal bodies as being abnormal, when it’s really the other way round.
The worst thing you can hand an adolescent girl is a magazine aimed at adolescent girls. It is the loaded gun of the print industry. In all my years as a boy on the look out for anything vaguely soft porn, I have seen many a girl on girl publication and believe there is nothing more harmful to an impressionable young woman than a Dolly, Cleo or Cosmopolitan magazine.
And it’s funny because traditional sexploitation of women was something we men are always blamed for portraying. Admittedly, we did portray women like this back when men ruled the world. We still do, but we’re up front about it and always have been. We make ads selling hamburgers that feature well endowed girls in bikinis, bouncing along the beach on horses. Did you miss the connection between the two? You're not alone, I did too. But men are no longer the enemy here.
The Editors at the Girl on Girl magazines – all of whom are women – have taken it to a whole new level. They put Parasite Hilton, or celebrities who look a lot like Parasite Hilton on their covers. Inside they fill you in on how to dress, eat, talk, walk, be sexually promiscuous and even orgasm like Parasite. They’re not even subtle about it. Any wonder then so many young girls are bottle blonde? Does the carpet now not match the curtains? They can talk you through fixing that too.
And why do they have a disproportionate number of blondes over brunettes or redheads on their covers anyway?
Anyhoo - I have long held the belief that exploitation of young girls – or their sexual marketability – is something that is perpetrated equally by both sexes. Only we do it in different ways. Men are predictable, we’ll put the girl in a blatant sexually suggestive ad that has nothing to do with hamburgers. Women on the other hand, will teach their daughters how to shave their legs and dress provocatively. Whether they do it for the notice of men or to impress other women is irrelevant, the goal is the same – to be noticed, to be attractive, to sell. What’s worse then; selling minced meat with meat, or selling your self as a piece of meat?
A big stake holder in the girl on girl mags is the fashion industry, which has to be the biggest in-joke that no one ever gets. It really is some sort of Freemasonry where only those close to centre of the scam know it’s a scam. Once you’re in, they let you in on the joke which is something along the lines of “we’re really taking the piss – and no one has realised!” It’s all a bit like The Emperors New Clothes really, you make a big deal out of nothing and enough people will buy it.
Women’s magazines have taken the place of today’s Mothers who are too busy to teach their daughters the finer things in life, like how to develop a personality that is all you and not Parasite. Now it’s all about looking like celebrity so that you can share in their lifestyle, which of course the majority of their readers never will. They are decidedly hard core in peddling the unattainable.
The real crime is that millions of beautiful, talented, balanced girls buy these mags and are sucked in by the rubbish that their pages hold.
But hey, take heart ladies - when you find yourself in your bikini, astride your horse with a hamburger in your hand, you’ll always know where you stand with a guy.
Friday, August 10, 2007
The Fat Of The Land
Obesity is such a dirty word these days you can almost see the grease dripping off it. Many years ago, when the majority of the population weren’t fatty fatty boom booms, obesity was a clinical word that no one really used because very few of us came close to being obese. Now it’s like saying someone is Caucasian or dark skinned: “Oh you can’t miss Dave, he’s got brown hair, is obese and wears short shorts. The ones with the slits up the side…”
Now there’s more theories on just how people become obese than there are anuses in the world - and that’s a lot. I’m not about to launch into a deep and meaningful essay on the physiology of genetic obesity because I am not qualified to be that boring.
The crux of the problem as I observe it, is that obese people eat too much crap food and do too little quality exercise. Which, if you’re an adult is your prerogative, but when you see it happening to children, then you quite rightly look at their parents and ask “What the hell are you doing to your kids?!”
Incidentally, I have termed a new phrase which I call Parental Vacancy. It is a mindset that is developed easily and in fact, a lot of parents do it so well that they’re now actually over qualified. For those wanting to partake, simply do nothing. Because that’s how it works! NB: I will quite possibly explore this bit of ground breaking philosophy in a later blog, as I need to make up more of the details!
Here is the method of a classic Parental Vacant (PV) when it comes to guarding the calorie intake of their child:
“I work long hours because I get paid so little. I come home so tired that I let my children watch cartoons and play their video games whilst I prepare cheap and easy food that has very little nutrional value.(Repeat for every meal because PV is busy all day either preparing for, or winding down from, work). When we do the weekly grocery shop, I let my kids choose their food because they know what they like and they get the stuff in a green wrapper – because that makes it healthy.”
Which all sounds about as solid as you know that kid's stool is going to be thanks to all the fat and sugar inside the stuff in the green wrapper.
How’s this for a theory? Calories are cheap, exercising is expensive.
Perversely the gym fraternity help aide the obesity issue by making exercise expensive. No really. How much does your gym membership cost per week? Could what you do at the gym not be replicated with a few free circuits around the local park? Could you Roid Ragers who join a gym in order to bench press a small car, not invest in a set of home weights? Surely the initial outlay will recoup itself in the long term? Why do those gyms keep charging so much? Because you lot keep paying it. Being seen at the gym it seems, is far more valuable than what you do there.
This doesn’t help Tubbs sitting at home on the couch watching Cartoon Network. But he’s in the same boat, because playing any sort of organised sport these days is expensive and if Mum, Dad or the chain smoking nanny is too tired to take them outside to a park / playground / pool, what chance do they have? Organisations that run organised events charge the earth because they can. The alternative is free, but enough of us ain’t buying it.
Here in NZ the Government is trying to ban food advertising aimed at children from all after school TV. It’s a good start, but not nearly enough parents are vocally supporting them and we should be because the subliminal message that this advertising implants in a child’s mind is as good as anything McDonalds rustles up with their Paedophile clown. Throw in a parent taking no notice of the nutrional value of what their kids choose at the supermarket and that expensive cartoon advertising campaign that showed the sugar bar in a green wrapper? It just paid for itself.
Parents - engage your children and make the time to keep them active. It will be good for all of you if you do. Take an interest in what they eat and look at the food you shove down their throats as an investment in their future, not a chore. Be alert at the supermarket and put those reading skills of yours to action. Don’t buy stuff simply because it’s a green wrapper. Buy milk, not cheap sugared water. Don't pay for expensive sporting organisations because you think it's the only option, because it isn't. Hey, your parents did it with you and you turned out okay, right?
Unless you’re Dave in the short shorts. But there is no excuse for the slits up the side. You can't blame your parents for that.
Now there’s more theories on just how people become obese than there are anuses in the world - and that’s a lot. I’m not about to launch into a deep and meaningful essay on the physiology of genetic obesity because I am not qualified to be that boring.
The crux of the problem as I observe it, is that obese people eat too much crap food and do too little quality exercise. Which, if you’re an adult is your prerogative, but when you see it happening to children, then you quite rightly look at their parents and ask “What the hell are you doing to your kids?!”
Incidentally, I have termed a new phrase which I call Parental Vacancy. It is a mindset that is developed easily and in fact, a lot of parents do it so well that they’re now actually over qualified. For those wanting to partake, simply do nothing. Because that’s how it works! NB: I will quite possibly explore this bit of ground breaking philosophy in a later blog, as I need to make up more of the details!
Here is the method of a classic Parental Vacant (PV) when it comes to guarding the calorie intake of their child:
“I work long hours because I get paid so little. I come home so tired that I let my children watch cartoons and play their video games whilst I prepare cheap and easy food that has very little nutrional value.(Repeat for every meal because PV is busy all day either preparing for, or winding down from, work). When we do the weekly grocery shop, I let my kids choose their food because they know what they like and they get the stuff in a green wrapper – because that makes it healthy.”
Which all sounds about as solid as you know that kid's stool is going to be thanks to all the fat and sugar inside the stuff in the green wrapper.
How’s this for a theory? Calories are cheap, exercising is expensive.
Perversely the gym fraternity help aide the obesity issue by making exercise expensive. No really. How much does your gym membership cost per week? Could what you do at the gym not be replicated with a few free circuits around the local park? Could you Roid Ragers who join a gym in order to bench press a small car, not invest in a set of home weights? Surely the initial outlay will recoup itself in the long term? Why do those gyms keep charging so much? Because you lot keep paying it. Being seen at the gym it seems, is far more valuable than what you do there.
This doesn’t help Tubbs sitting at home on the couch watching Cartoon Network. But he’s in the same boat, because playing any sort of organised sport these days is expensive and if Mum, Dad or the chain smoking nanny is too tired to take them outside to a park / playground / pool, what chance do they have? Organisations that run organised events charge the earth because they can. The alternative is free, but enough of us ain’t buying it.
Here in NZ the Government is trying to ban food advertising aimed at children from all after school TV. It’s a good start, but not nearly enough parents are vocally supporting them and we should be because the subliminal message that this advertising implants in a child’s mind is as good as anything McDonalds rustles up with their Paedophile clown. Throw in a parent taking no notice of the nutrional value of what their kids choose at the supermarket and that expensive cartoon advertising campaign that showed the sugar bar in a green wrapper? It just paid for itself.
Parents - engage your children and make the time to keep them active. It will be good for all of you if you do. Take an interest in what they eat and look at the food you shove down their throats as an investment in their future, not a chore. Be alert at the supermarket and put those reading skills of yours to action. Don’t buy stuff simply because it’s a green wrapper. Buy milk, not cheap sugared water. Don't pay for expensive sporting organisations because you think it's the only option, because it isn't. Hey, your parents did it with you and you turned out okay, right?
Unless you’re Dave in the short shorts. But there is no excuse for the slits up the side. You can't blame your parents for that.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Choose Life?
I have just seen an ad on TV for presliced cheese. Not the individually wrapped kind we've always had, that ain't real cheese anyway (it's plastic), but a packet of cheese that is, well, sliced. So you don't have to.
Cheddar cheese - a malleable substance - and a knife. It's not exactly open heart surgery is it? But then that's modern life. It's all about convenience, choice and having the time to do the things you enjoy. Or at least that is what the advertising always tells you. Problem is, we're so busy trying to keep up with all the choices we think we have to make, that we find we have no time left to enjoy them.
Personally, I enjoy cutting the cheese - and I don't mean flatulence, although I do get tremendous enjoyment out of that. Not so much the act itself but the discomfort it brings others when you squeeze out a warm one, now that's gold. We have one of those wire cutter thingees that make it dead easy to slice cheese and in today's society where everything is already done for you, I take immense pride in delivering an even slice of cheese, every time.
You know where all this convenience is leading don't you? In the future we won't actually eat, because it will be too inconvenient. We'll simply have available to buy, preformed and prepacked stools that we can then drop down the carzie and flush away. Think of the precious time you will have saved by not eating. Or shitting.
But is too much choice an inconvenience?
A recent report found that an ever increasing number of Australian teenagers are feeling incredibly stressed in their lives trying to keep up with their choices. Which is ironic given that their generation has more choice than my generation ever dreamed of. In fact they have so much choice now that they simply do not know what to choose. Man, that is whack.
Of course the same social rules apply now as they did back in my day, it's important to look cool whilst stressing - but what is cool? One teenager's cool these days is another teenager's lame. So who or what do you choose?
Incidentally, I was cool before my time. I had Doc Marten shoes long before it was cool to have them. They were so rugged that the soles didn't bend on them for three years. Kids heard me a mile off as I slapped my way across the pavement. I longed for Nomads like all my mates and took to scuffing the shit out of my Docs so that I could get a pair. By the time I did, Nomads were gay and Doc Martens were the shizz. Those Nomads, that interestingly were hand made by an Indian man who lived up the road and who sold them door to door from a suitcase, lasted me for years.
I had a satchel too, way before it was cool to have one. I got hassled for having a man bag. The spastic (who couldn't walk good) with a handbag. By the time I got rid of the damn thing, guess what was the must have item of the constantly aroused pubescent teen at my school....
With choice comes convenience. Everything in today's world is disposable. The TV, the PlayStation, the iPod, the boyfriend, the wife. Why hang on to something that may have the slightest flaw when an upgrade is just a click away? You know what - the iPod isn't even the best MP3 player on the market for Christs sake - but it's cool and convenient to have what everyone else has, rather than making an informed choice. Because that means having to make an effort.
The institution of marriage is the classic example of the disposable lives we lead. When things get a little interesting, why would you choose to develop some testes and try to work things out, when it's easier to call it quits and find someone new? After all, there's an Internet full of Next Door Nikkis 'waiting to meet you'.
I recently had two young employees hand in their resignations after being with us for only three days. Their reasoning: The role was too technical. It was a level entry computing position, the only technical thing about it was that the keyboard had more buttons on it than their cellphones. I suspect I'll see them working down my local KFC any day now.
Is it any wonder then, that people, bombarded with so much choice and so much convenience, turn in increasing numbers to the likes of Methamphetamine, alcohol, or porn to fill their lives rather than develop the life skills needed to make decisions? Those three things are much easier to choose. Tune In, turn on, cop out.
Wasn't life easier when you only had three TV channels to choose from and not the sixty three you have now? When the only porn you had to call upon was the girls in their undies in the Farmers catalogue? When your Mum didn't work two jobs and go to the gym and actually took the time out to teach you how to cut cheese? I think so.
Cheddar cheese - a malleable substance - and a knife. It's not exactly open heart surgery is it? But then that's modern life. It's all about convenience, choice and having the time to do the things you enjoy. Or at least that is what the advertising always tells you. Problem is, we're so busy trying to keep up with all the choices we think we have to make, that we find we have no time left to enjoy them.
Personally, I enjoy cutting the cheese - and I don't mean flatulence, although I do get tremendous enjoyment out of that. Not so much the act itself but the discomfort it brings others when you squeeze out a warm one, now that's gold. We have one of those wire cutter thingees that make it dead easy to slice cheese and in today's society where everything is already done for you, I take immense pride in delivering an even slice of cheese, every time.
You know where all this convenience is leading don't you? In the future we won't actually eat, because it will be too inconvenient. We'll simply have available to buy, preformed and prepacked stools that we can then drop down the carzie and flush away. Think of the precious time you will have saved by not eating. Or shitting.
But is too much choice an inconvenience?
A recent report found that an ever increasing number of Australian teenagers are feeling incredibly stressed in their lives trying to keep up with their choices. Which is ironic given that their generation has more choice than my generation ever dreamed of. In fact they have so much choice now that they simply do not know what to choose. Man, that is whack.
Of course the same social rules apply now as they did back in my day, it's important to look cool whilst stressing - but what is cool? One teenager's cool these days is another teenager's lame. So who or what do you choose?
Incidentally, I was cool before my time. I had Doc Marten shoes long before it was cool to have them. They were so rugged that the soles didn't bend on them for three years. Kids heard me a mile off as I slapped my way across the pavement. I longed for Nomads like all my mates and took to scuffing the shit out of my Docs so that I could get a pair. By the time I did, Nomads were gay and Doc Martens were the shizz. Those Nomads, that interestingly were hand made by an Indian man who lived up the road and who sold them door to door from a suitcase, lasted me for years.
I had a satchel too, way before it was cool to have one. I got hassled for having a man bag. The spastic (who couldn't walk good) with a handbag. By the time I got rid of the damn thing, guess what was the must have item of the constantly aroused pubescent teen at my school....
With choice comes convenience. Everything in today's world is disposable. The TV, the PlayStation, the iPod, the boyfriend, the wife. Why hang on to something that may have the slightest flaw when an upgrade is just a click away? You know what - the iPod isn't even the best MP3 player on the market for Christs sake - but it's cool and convenient to have what everyone else has, rather than making an informed choice. Because that means having to make an effort.
The institution of marriage is the classic example of the disposable lives we lead. When things get a little interesting, why would you choose to develop some testes and try to work things out, when it's easier to call it quits and find someone new? After all, there's an Internet full of Next Door Nikkis 'waiting to meet you'.
I recently had two young employees hand in their resignations after being with us for only three days. Their reasoning: The role was too technical. It was a level entry computing position, the only technical thing about it was that the keyboard had more buttons on it than their cellphones. I suspect I'll see them working down my local KFC any day now.
Is it any wonder then, that people, bombarded with so much choice and so much convenience, turn in increasing numbers to the likes of Methamphetamine, alcohol, or porn to fill their lives rather than develop the life skills needed to make decisions? Those three things are much easier to choose. Tune In, turn on, cop out.
Wasn't life easier when you only had three TV channels to choose from and not the sixty three you have now? When the only porn you had to call upon was the girls in their undies in the Farmers catalogue? When your Mum didn't work two jobs and go to the gym and actually took the time out to teach you how to cut cheese? I think so.
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