Invasion Should Be Taught In Schools, You Would Have To Be A Conservative, Racist, Bigot To Say Otherwise

The minute educators talk about teaching the truth about invasion day and the treatment of indigenous Australians, the (non-education trained) conservatives start chattering away against it like they are not even aware, at best, their white privilege is showing, at worst, their racism is clearly on display.

Conservatives are, essentially, pathetic they make no excuses for trying to hold the rest of society back from progressing. And why? I think conservatives are simply afraid of any sort of change, it seems to be the only unifying factor amongst them.

Of course, conservatives are most closely tied to the Liberal/National party which are tied closely to big business, which pays off the Liberal/National party in the form of political donations, which the uniformly arrogant Liberal/National Party members barely even conceal. 

And enough Australians are prepared to turn a blind eye to this, tantamount to, corruption to keep theses awful people (who have no qualms about embarrassing Australia on a world stage, our terrible Prime Minister's performance on Joe Biden's recent Climate Change Forum as an example, to further their ideology) in power, being paid off continually by tax cuts, the country can barely afford, but that is the dire scourge of Neo-Liberalism.

I went walking for an hour, it was a spectacular day in the park. The sky was cloudless blue. The day simply sparkled. The air smelt fresh, sublime.

And now that is done, I can sit on my arse on the couch for the rest of the day.

What's Up With Boris?

My boss, Boris, used to always say to me “Good work.” I found it kind of weird, unnecessary even. Oh, you know, too cliched for my liking. I don’t really know what it was about it, now that I try to write it down, it was kind of like getting patted on the head as a child and told you were a good kid. It was kind of demeaning, what a good boy am I. In a way, it sounded like she was saying, what a good inferior one you are.

Oh, yes, I know what it sounds like. You just can’t please some people. Others would kill to be told they did good work. Yes, yes, blah, blah, blah. I know.

Never the less, it always made me feel uncomfortable. It was too produced, almost robotic, it was the sort of compliment programmed AI would give.

Anyway, she has stopped saying it. It may well be my fault. There have been a couple of things where she has put responsibility onto me that I really felt was hers. She is the manager, I choose not to be the manager because I am no one to suck up in the corporate world, I know that. I can only just bare the corporate types. You guys are not doing anything that is important, the world would get on just fine, and in fact probably do better, without you. So, stop taking yourselves so seriously. I feel I wisely don’t put myself in the merry-go-round of job affirming meetings and dick sucking sessions that the corporate types feel they have to do to justify their jobs. She chooses to be the manager, so be the manager.

There have been a couple of mistakes lately, sure there have, but again Boris is the manager and the buck stops with her. Oh, nothing that a career flake like myself should care about, but if you are wanting to climb the corporate ladder maybe they are important, shrug, but, you know, as far as I am concerned that is just the cost of doing business. None of us are infallible, and we shouldn’t be expected to be.

But, you know, it is more than that, I can feel it. I sense that Boris has thrown me under the bus recently unbeknownst to me. Most of the time we communicate by email, but there have been phone calls and while I can’t put my finger on it specifically, something has changed, there is a sense of defensiveness that has crept in. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but I reckon Boris has knifed me.

Good thing a care I do not give.

Spitting Out Chicken Wings

We were sitting outside Woollies, me with my bum propped on the window sill, Buddy and Bruno watching the passing crowds while Sam shopped.

A really fat, plain boy walked passed talking loudly on his phone. Oh, you know the type, I am never quite sure if they do it for the attention, or if they are, actually, blissfully unaware of how annoying they are, actually, being?

“We posted things on it, us being stupid, me spitting out a chicken wing,” he said.

And I thought to myself, as he walked passed still squawking into his phone, I bet you have never spat a chicken wing out in your life, sweet heart.

Then I watched him walk away with the back of his shorts stuck firmly up the crack in his arse.

Something Fowl Crawled Out of The Mist

Oh, the HR slags are onto me today, Monday morning right off the bat. Gawd, one after the other, pow, blam, thwack. What have I done to deserve this?

The Ponytail, “Tell me what I want to know.” (She is demanding always with an accusatory tone)

The Snarky Blond, “Give me the answer to my question.” (As the name suggests, she has a snarl to her tone, always unpleasant)

Jessie, this-doesn’t-make-sense-to-me, Fletcher, “Why is this blah blah blah.” (Once I thought she was the exception to the rule, a lovely HR person, but she turned out like all the rest in the end. Always questioning, always wanting something, and always wanting an explanation in detail if I don’t want to do what she wants)

Fillet-of-fish, “Why haven’t you blah blah blah.” (I can hear her bogan nasal tones even when I am reading her emails. The most senior of all of them, and almost more useless than the rest.)

The superstars of HR.

Bite, bite, bite, scratch, scratch, scratch, claw, Claw, CLAW, like the witches from MacBeth crawling out from the rocks under which they live, seemingly all at once, rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah.

Storm surge!

I don’t know who kicked their kennels today but they are all at me for something. Back, back, she-devils, begone before I throw water over you and dissolve the lot of you.

That’s one thing I am glad about, not seeing them in person. Very happy to have the space of working from home between us. At least this way I can talk to them by email when I choose to respond.

Nice Weather For... er... Butter

You can always tell when it is a cold morning, the butter is hard. Of course, the same test can be applied to boyfriends. You know, when it is cold they want to… ah… er… cuddle.

Americans Mangling The English Language

Americans think the past tense of drag is drug. I have heard them say it so many times on YouTube. 

From where do they get this stuff?

And since I watch a lot of car restoration channels, they drag a lot of cars out of wrecker's yards. "The car was in the wrecker's yard, but we (Americans take note) dragged it out this morning."

Is it the result of a poor education system? Or is it the result of too much introspection? By which I mean self focus.

Am I The Most Boring Man On Earth? Ha Ha! At Least I Can Ride My Bike Again

I went and bought a new bike helmet. The girl who served us was small and pretty. Bruno didn’t hesitate, he jumped up on her straight off, which surprised her, to say the least. It surprised me too, I didn’t expect him to do that either. Good thing she liked dogs, as a 25 kilo bulldog jumping up on you when you are not so keen, well, it’s not ideal.

I told her how someone had stolen my last helmet.

"I was in a shop and put it down while I looked at some books," I said. "I went and paid for the books and when..." I could see her glazing over, ah, those Gen Zs. "I came back to get it..." I'm sure she was thinking by this stage, I hope this isn't a long story. "It was gone."

"Oh," she said. I hope it's over, please let it be over.

"It wasn't even a new... helmet," I ventured hesitantly, not really sure if I should finish the story abruptly, or tell it to the end.

"That's no good," she said.

"Not even that..." Okay Christian, stop talking. They only had the helmet in white. "Does this come in black?" (The people who know me well know that’s what will be written on my tomb stone, “Does this come in black?” Of course, ex-boyfriends who have had the pleasure of living me know that, “It’s just nice lying here,” is my real epitaph.)

It didn't come in black. I got the white one, which looks like an ice cream on the top of my head, but it is the most comfortable bike helmet I've ever had.

Why Does There Have To Be Procrastination And Anxiety When In The End I Can Do Anything To Which I Set My Mind?

When I have a project to do, I always have that moment of doubt. I always have that feeling when I am thinking about doing it when it just seems insurmountable.

Insecurity? Lack of self confidence? Call it what you like. The truth is, I can usually do anything I set my mind to, but it always comes with that feeling of doubt preceding ‘the doing.’

Recently my laundry sink tap just snapped off in my hand. I told Sam I needed to call a plumber. I hesitated while I over-thought the remedial course of action. Do I call a plumber? Did I have to buy a tap first? Would the plumber need to come twice, once to look at the job and then to do the job? I mean, how would he know what tap to bring if he didn’t come to look? Would he charge us two service calls if that was the case? What plumber do I call? Should I go with the plumbers who I have used before, but were not so good the last time they came? How do I find a new plumber that I can trust?

Oh, too hard. (to even call a plumber)

Sam, the clean one amongst us, (read ridiculously so) reminded me when I hadn’t called the plumber, because the laundry sink being out of action for his many floor cleaning chores was decidedly inconvenient.

So, I went and looked at the sink and what was left of the broken tap, you know, to get the information I had to convey to the plumber.

What do I tell him?

I stood gazing at the sink. I thought to myself, people renovate entire houses, surely, I can work out what to tell a tradie? I couldn’t really see how what was left of the tap actually worked. So, I got my grips and turned what was still left attached to the wall. It was like a chrome backing plate with a jagged nub coming out the middle. It turned, so I unscrewed it. I was left with the pipe coming out of the wall. The new tap clearly just screws onto this with a bit of pipe tape. And I have pipe tape somewhere.

Could I replace the tap, I thought? Bunnings must be full of taps. Well, maybe not full, but there must be a section. (I know there is a section)

Sam had thrown away the tap itself. “Well, it was no good to any one, was it?”

I guess not, I thought.

How hard could it be? A wave of anxiety shot through me.

I put Bruno’s harness on him, took the bit I had left and we walked to Bunnings. There were 3 taps to choose from, I bought the one that most looked like the one we had, and Bruno and I walked home.

The tap screwed right on. Just like that. So, 2 hours’ish and $40 later it was fixed. And I had contemplated it for weeks.

A day, or so, a go, Sam bought home one of those silver industrial type stools someone had put out in the street. They are quite popular now, I even have one, a taller one. This one has seen better days, but really, all it needs is a sand and a new spray of silver paint. Can I do that? How long will I have to contemplate it before I do it?

What do I do with the black rubber stoppers on the end of the feet, which I don't want to paint?

It Was Clearly Murder

I hear Americans thanking god for justice being done with the guilty verdict of Derek Chauvin in the George Floyd murder case, funny, I hear no mention of God when George Floyd was getting the life squeezed out of him.

It is an important decision, though, as we all watched the film breathlessly of George Floyd’s death and the utter lack of humanity of those policemen who just stood and watched George Floyd die. 

Back To Exercising

So, 10.30am this morning I decided that I’d better get to it and go for a bike ride (my preferred form of exercise) to kick start the hour of exercise per day that I now have to do, apperently, until I die. So, I got ready and was about to leave when I remembered about my bike helmet.

I was in a shop the other day, and I put my bike helmet on a shelf while I looked at the merch. I chose what I wanted, paid for it, and was about to walk out to my bike when I remembered my bike helmet. 

When I went to get it, it was gone. I asked the shop keepers if they had moved it and they both laughed.

“It’s gone,” said the girl shop keeper.”

“What?” I quizzed.”

“Stolen,” said the boy shop keeper.

“What?” I remember my voice going up in pitch.

“Never put anything down in here,” said the girl shop keeper.

“It will be pinched in a heartbeat,” said the boy shop keeper.

(It was like a double act, I was just waiting for them to start finishing each other’s sentnces)

“But it was old.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said the girl shop keeper.

“Really not good for anyone.”

“They don’t care,” said the boy shop keeper.

I have a really big head, and I had to go to a specific shop that stocks big sizes to get it. I can’t just get a helmet in any bike shop. It is annoying. I was annoyed.

So, I went for a walk in the park. It was quite lovely. It was a grey, breezy kind of day, just how I like them in which to walk. The leaves were falling from the trees constantly like snow, the world was seemingly all yellow and green. 

I’ve Still Got That Stupid Cyst and Buzzing Feet

I lay in bed at 5am and thought about the things I had to do today? I kind of like that time of the morning, first light, or the moments before first light. The peace, the calm, nothing but Sam and two bulldogs snoring. Pay my credit card, and call for a cancelled appointment at the doctor at 8.30am. 8.30am seemed a long way off.

Suddenly, monthly car insurance seemed like a stupid decision, lying there in the dark. (Oh, I was going to sell the car but then covid hit and somehow, I still have it)

The infected skin pour on my stomach still hasn’t gone away, (its nearly as long as the stupid car insurance) and I read an article on sepsis recently that scared the bejesus outta me. (word origin, when Judas took his lord and saviour up his clacker)

And I still have buzzing feet. David gave it some medical term – I forget my friend the new age guru is a doctor sometimes, of course, he won’t give any medical advice when asked – I want to say peripheral neuropathy, he offered up without being asked.

I was up at 8.25am. Creak, crack, groan. You gotta love mornings.

I called the clinic at 8.30am on the dot to see if there were any cancelations for Doctor Raymond and I got an appointment for 10.45. Lovely. Don’t you hate calling your doctor to be told he is booked up for 2 weeks forcing you to mumble something about being dead by then. 

Sam and Bruno were up at 8.30am.

10.15am. I got in the shower. Going to the doctor, I was going to walk, but I left it too late. Well, I am working today, of course.

10.35am. I leave for the doctor.

I drove.

10.46am. I got to the Clinic. I needed a mask to enter the clinic, who knew. (masks seem so yesterday already)

Doctor Raymond gave the buzzing feet the same medical term David did, and I was going to tell David gave me that information too, but decided against it. “My friend the new age spiritualist agrees with you…” Could you imagine the look on his face? (I could feel a smile creep across my mouth)

So, my blood sugars are creeping up again (which could be the cause of the buzzing feet). Grrrr! (my smile disappeared) Raymond pointed out that my Sept 2020 blood test was the best, low level sugars, reduced cholesterol. 

“What were you doing then?” he asked.

“I was exercising for an hour a day and watching my diet more closely.”

“You need to go back to that.” He gave me that doctor-knows-best kind of look.

Oh yes, of course, I could do that. (I could feel a grimace) Oh, the pain, the pain. (Oh, it’s okay once you get into the habit of it, its just maintaining that momentum which can be hard)

Apparently, the infected whatever it is on my stomach – I want to say skin pour – is quite common for whatever it is. Raymond laughed when I told him about the sepsis article. “Stop reading internet articles,” he said.

I laughed… nervously.

“Try more antibiotics,” said Raymond. “But you might find you will have to get it cut out eventually.”

Cut out, I thought? Raymond must have read the alarm in my eyes, and he answered with an it-will-be-fine eye expression of his own. Someone is going to stick a knife into me? Oh, the joy.

Anyway, no time to think about that, I was on my way to the bank.

Seriously Sick Of This

I heard this recently, so sick of hearing it. You can’t promote a gay life style. Or, you can’t be seen promoting a gay life style. Who do you think was behind such an edict? Yes, our old enemy the Christians, the conservative, and the ignorant, which are all really the same thing, let’s face it.

Why? Because you might influence someone to be gay? (mind boggles) And that wraps up what they are trying to say? That being gay is a choice. It suits the people who are against us to promote the idea that being gay is a choice. And that’s because potentially choices can be changed. And they want to promote the idea that our existence can be changed.

(The real irony is that Christianity is a choice)

So, what? We are told that promoting a life style that relates to 10 % of the population, by people whose life style relates to 8% of the population, the devout Christian, is wrong. 

Why don’t people see a problem with this? Of course, now a days they do. It doesn’t quite seem to add up, which is what most reasonable people think today.

We should use our collective power to introduce laws that actively prevent the promotion of the Christian lifestyle. And, you know, I only say this because there are children involved. Adults are free to believe in any stone age, cave dwelling cult they want, I am simply worried about the children. Children should be free of this kind of cult until they are adults and can chose for themselves.

I kid, of course. I’m not interested in interfering in other people’s lives.

But, how do we get Christians to, let’s put it bluntly, pull their deluded heads in? Really, we should be completely out of patience with Christians now. Especially, when there is a lot of credible research which says the Holy Dribble never even mentions homosexuality, it all comes down to incorrectly interpreted words and historical agendas. Remember, the Holy Dribble has been interpreted from at least two languages.

I had things on my to-do list today, but it rained and the sky turned grey and outside just wasn't looking so inviting pretty soon in the day, so I lay on the couch with my laptop (barbie laptop) and surfed YouTube for the day. I caught up on all my regular sites and I discovered a couple of new ones along the way.

It was a lazy day, but that's okay, it's what days off are for, after all.

Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer. The heat is going out of the days. The weather becomes changeable. Balmy, unpredictable. The leaves are falling from the trees. Death and renewal. Renewal and decay. Life and death. The circle of life rolls on.

More Than Winter Is Coming

The weather gets crazier every year, what the scientists have said will occur due to climate change is occurring before our very eyes and still the politicians do nothing, and still the people vote them back into office, seemingly more interested in tax cuts than surviving this millennium, so it would seem. 

What can you say, the people are more interested in driving 4WDs than the future of their children? (Why have children? But, I guess, that is a whole other topic) The denial runs deep in this version of the human race? Essentially, most of the population is stupid? What are we conspiracy believing, science denying, celebrity fawning, fools. (It is really the only thing that explains Trump, he’s off the teli)

Oh, it’s going to be a shit fight when we have to pass draconian laws to save our sorry arses. Can’t people see that? Even then, you can see it, can’t you, the denials and recriminations will still be greater than the action? Oh, yes, I can see it.

I was just pleased to have a cool summer, I don’t much like the heat anyway. Oh, I love a sunny day as much as the next person, but not those run of 40 degree days, I can do without that. (And just to emphasis the depth of our denial, people would rather install air-conditioning, than climate change sympathetic politicians) But, does it add to the false sense of security under which we are all seemingly labouring. The cool summer is the aberration people due to La nina, or La nino, or whatever it is called. (I always imagine an Italian soccer player with good legs in white shorts when I hear La Nina/Nino, but perhaps that is just me)

I heard some commentator say the other day, “What is going on? Drought. Wild bush fires. Pandemic. And now floods? What is going on with the weather?”

All I could think was, Hello? The scientists have been telling us for at least 20 years. Why do we not get it? Is it laziness, hard to believe? Or denial, more believable. Or is it that the cashed up vested interests have better marketing teams. Most likely. But, here’s the thing, what do the vested interests, who are working against climate policies, think is going to happened to them in the end? That’s the weird part. I can understand them wanting to make money at everybody else’s expense, that is the history of the human race, almost inherent in human nature, but climate change is going to get us all in the end, it is not like those with the most money are going to escape it in the end.

[And then my brian (oh, that is my favourite spelling mistake) starts to go la la la, too hard, and I start looking on the internet for 20 something year old Italian soccer players with good legs]

 

This is the image I got when I googled Italian men in shorts, which just goes to show that it is not only Christianity that proves the universe has a sense of humour. It made me laugh.

Winter is Coming

Jesus fuck me Christ, it's cold. (I love this expression. It comes from my Saturday morning job in a hardware shop, during my uni days. I was an innocent, just out of school, it was my first adult part time job after being a Coles check out boy. I'd just told a crusty old sea dog the price of a 4 litre tin of paint, and this was his reply,

"Jesus fuck me Christ the cunts are expensive!"

I had never heard anything like it. I was lost for words. I think I managed to mumble,

"They are a little pricey."

I have loved it ever since.)

What the hell happened to the weather? Summer has been switched off. Done. Over. It rained all weekend and the mercury plummeted to levels not felt for months. (Of course, the weather bureau would have to dramatize it, like all news services dramatize things now, the coldest day since, said in that breathy tone and you expect them to say 1962, and they say since before the pandemic, or some such shit, in other words last winter)

I’ve noticed the leaves are starting to fall from the trees, the large plane tree leaves are clogging up the gutters. Of course, it is autumn again. Soon the denuded tree branches will stretch like contoured tentacles towards the grey sky, and we’ll feel the chill to our bones the trees appear to be feeling seemingly naked and exposed.

Another year rolls over, another summer is ticked off. Accelerating, don’t you think. Is time accelerating? It is practically half way through 2021, after all.

Game Over

A guy slammed Bruno's head in his gate violently one day when Bruno tried to follow him into his yard in an every-thing-is-new absentminded puppy kind of way. We were following the guy up the street, he opened his gate and proceeded to walk through, Bruno proceeded to follow him, the guy realised Bruno was following him, and suddenly he was bang, bang, bang, banging his gate on Bruno’s head to stop Bruno from following him through the gate, before I could pull Bruno out of harm’s way. Who slams a 14 week old’ish puppy’s head in a gate to stop him getting into their yard. Seriously? What kind of demented fuck…

I managed to pull Bruno away, and the guy slammed his gate shut, which was a tall gate, so he disappeared out of view.

Well, I have been dropping bags of pooh on his step ever since that encounter. It is a tall gate right on the street, coming through the gate one would not, necessarily, see the bag of pooh until one had stepped on it, well, that has always been my theory. Hope.

Anyway, he is moving out of the house. 

Well, there's s thing. That was a good game, I thought, as I watched the removalists carry out his possessions, as Bruno and I walked passed.

I wondered if I should walk up and down the street ringing a bell exclaiming, “The devil dog hater is leaving us, three cheers for the riddance of the evil,” or some such thing. (I chuckled to myself)

I'd like to think that my pooh bag deliveries have had something to do with his decision to move out, wouldn't that be fun.

Still, it was a good thing I walked passed today and saw he was moving out, I'd hate to have continued dropping bags of pooh on the new resident's front step. No, I wouldn’t want to do that.

(Hmmm, it did make me think. I have no idea if he had already moved out, really, if the truth be known, if on this occasion, he is gone in a day, and I stumbled across his going almost by accident)

Still, ring that bell, the dog hater is (certainly) gone (now).

Funny The Things You Think Of

When I was a teenager, I had a large, black purse-like wallet. I had a couple of them during my teenage years. What a gay little fuck I must have been. 

It wasn’t until I was a man, that I got a man’s wallet, which I stuck in my back pocket for the first time. That’s what guys do, after all. I remember how weird it felt at first, but it felt manly, I remember the feeling. That didn't happen until I was at least twenty. I’ve carried it in my back pocket ever since.

Funny the things you think of over breakfast.

Oh, I was a gay cliché of a kid though. I didn’t like football. I went to a primary school before I went to a private school in grade 4. It was at the primary school that I thought the boys were too big and tough for me to play football with them, so that must have been grade 3, at the latest, so how old was that? 8 years of age. I thought 8 year olds were too big and tough for me.

My sister was my best friend. I played with her the most. We were equally at home playing with my matchbox cars as we were playing with her dolls.

I hung out with girls at school. I got my boy school mates to take off their pants on a regular basis, which they all did more than willingly, if I remember rightly.

I hung out with my girl cousins on holidays rather than my boy cousins, about which my uncle questioned. I didn’t dare tell him that I hung out with his daughters because they were the ones who’d go up the beach and smoke with me, but that being said, my uncle did have a point. I did hang out with the girls.

And I carried my money around in a big black purse. Well, it wasn’t a purse, as such. It was one of those big leather wallets, big enough to keep dollar notes in without folding them.

All my aunties called me handsome. All my uncles questioned my masculinity. How do you turn out after that, do you reckon?

Political Correctness

“Of course, I blame political correctness,” but probably for completely the opposite reasons to that you are thinking. 

Political correctness in its simplest form informs us not to call a black guy a nigger, not to call a gay guy a faggot, not to call a woman a bitch, not to call a Jewish guy a kike, and to promote equality of the sexes, but that has been weaponised by the very bigots, usually conservative (Liberal Party voters) who don’t want to stop calling a black guy a nigger, calling a gay guy a faggot, calling a woman a bitch, calling a Jewish guy a kike and who don't want equality of the sexes. 

Being against political correctness seems to be straight out of the conservative playbook now. 

How dare you accuse me of the behaviour of which I am guilty. It’s a fucken outrage. 

Then they throw in some shit about free speech and the goodness that was to come from political correctness has been sucked out of it by the always terrible conservative forces.

“People are scared to say anything.” Is the next piece of nonsense conservatives bang on about, which seems to appeal to a lot of people. I’m not really sure why? I think it is just laziness, in the end. Or is it that people are generally scared in society. Change is frightening to many people. Although, despite what conservative forces would have you still believe, political correctness is no longer new, would hardly now be considered ‘change.’

Intolerant progressives, the conservatives squeal. The only thing progressives are intolerant off is conservative bigotry.

Now the conservatives seem to think they have free reign to bang on about political correctness and cancel culture as if it is quite removed from stopping the intolerance that the conservative forces feel they are entitled to continue to display. It really is backwards, it is a masterstroke by the conservative forces, but backward none the less.

Of course, political correctness also removes the patriarchy from top position replacing it with equality, which is a great sticking point for all the old male dinosaurs who have power and don’t want to relinquish it. And for so many of the female conservatives who you’d think would know better, who’d want better.

The 2016-2017 MacBook Pro Is A Faulty Dud

So, Apple doesn’t want to repair my 2016-2017 MacBook Pro. Well, they do want to repair it at a cost of $1400 to me.

From many and varied sources the 2016-2017 MacBook Pro was a dud. Apple sold me a $4000 laptop which was faulty. It had the, acknowledged by Apple, faulty butterfly keyboard and it has a screen fault.

If my computer broke from wear and tear, which is what Apple is claiming is the problem, I’d say sure, fair enough. Apple can’t guard against bad luck. 

Except, I have read the forums, Sam has read the serious IT forums, and there are many, many owners of the 2016-2017 model MacBook Pro who have also had the very same wear and tear issue which rendered their screens broken. So many owners of the 2016-2017 model MacBook Pro whose laptops screen has failed with the very same wear and tear screen issue.

How can it not be a fault, if many, many, many of their computers suffer from the same problem.

Pay the money, says Apple, and if at some point in the future Apple decides this is a fault with this model, they will refund the repair cost back to me. If I accepted that here is the problem, they are replacing the defective butterfly keyboard with a new defective butterfly keyboard (they are offering to replace my keyboard for a second time free of charge) , they are replacing the defective screen components with new defective screen components, what they are doing is replacing the old defective parts with new defective parts in what is now my $5400 Apple MacBook Pro laptop. They are asking me to spend more money on my defective laptop. Would I have bought this computer if I knew it was going to cost me $5400?

There is a petition about this issue that has 32 thousand signatures. Wear and tear, Apple says, exactly the same wear and tear for 32 thousand people?

There is a court case from a group of consumers accusing Apple of knowingly selling the laptops, despite the defect, that says that Apple would have been alerted to the issue thanks to pre-release testing.

So, my thinking is, rather than getting a dud computer repaired with dud parts, I’d put the $1400 towards a new computer. It’s only logical. But, then I am being forced to pay $8000 in four years on Apple laptops. Seriously? Is that fair?

Apple doesn’t care about its customers, what other conclusion can we come to? But, hang on, wasn’t that one of Apples strongest assets, it’s fiercely loyal customer base. So fiercely loyal customer base, here’s something to think about. Apple will sell you dud products and they don’t care when their dud products fail. That is the only conclusion I can come to. It’s kind of like finding out Mahatma Gandhi was a paedophile.

Premium products, I thought. I thought I was paying for quality, but clearly, I was wrong. So, do I really want to pay, what is clearly a premium price, for potentially another dud product yet again?

But, I Don't Want to Go Back To The Office?

I was chatting to my boss, Boris, today, and she said she was in the office today. Then she said something like, "How about you?"

What the fuck, I thought? Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

I told her that I didn't want to go, straight out, like I was talking to a friend. It feels like that when I am home in my study talking on my mobile phone. She didn't object, she said something about what exercise I was getting. The phone call was about something else, this was just the last part of the conversation, and then we hung up.

I have been thinking about it all afternoon, and I keep coming back to the idea that that wasn't just a passing remark on the end of an unrelated conversation. No, I don't think so. I think that was the first salvo in, what I fear may become, a concerted effort to return me to the office. Grimace. 

It is the dreaded corporate double speak. You know, everything is duplicitous in the corporate world now. Well, maybe duplicitous is overstating it a touch, but it has that feeling about it. Don't upset, don't offend, but the interpretation of that is don't do as you say and don't say what you mean. 

So, so much for my next-up-the-chain boss, who happens to be the CFO, who said we could work out our working arrangements ourselves. Maybe, my interpretation of that being a forever thing (just a moment my baby bulldog wants a word) was naive. But that's what he said, there were no provisos.

Damn! It Doesn't Work Without A Screen

My first MacBook Pro was great nothing ever went wrong with it. Sam replaced the memory, upgrading it several times, other than that, I was every happy with it.

That was until it was 9 years old and Apple decided to cut it off from any further upgrades, effectively rendering it obsolete.

In other words, Apple decided arbitrarily that I needed to give them more money to continue along my Apple journey. There really was no other reason for this.

So, $4000 later, I could continue along my merry Apple way.

I got the MacBook Pro with the dreadful butterfly keyboard. And one by one most of the keys went dead, after which many of them failed altogether. Eventually, Apple replaced the keyboard under warranty, but they only replaced the butterfly keyboard with a new butterfly keyboard. The keys are going dead again, I guess I just have to put up with it now.

Last night, my screen failed. It hasn't failed altogether, it still works if the screen is only open up to about a 45 degree angle, open it any more and the screen goes black.

My new MacBook Pro is now just 4 years old. I would have thought a premium product would last longer, otherwise I'd buy a windows product for 1/4 of the price and just throw it away when the screen failed four years later. (sorry, planet earth)

Sam used to always buy the latest MacBook, giving his old laptops to his nephews. That was until his programming roles supplied him with the MacBook of his choice. 

Always looking for (and generally finding) a good deal, Sam bought himself a really cheap second hand MacBook to have as his own, spare, if you like, while he used his work supplied machine. It's 13 inch and its pink.

"You bought a pink laptop," I said.

I think Apple used to call it rose.

"You have bought a Barbie laptop," I said.

"I don't care what colour it is," said Sam.

"It's like a purse," I said. "It is something you'd buy to match your shoes."

"It was cheap."

So, you guessed it, I'm reduced to using the Barbie purse. I should be thankful that Sam lets me use it as I was so rude about it when he bought it. "Are you going to match it to your lipstick?" But, it allows me to have a laptop, when mine is broken. 10 minutes to set up my own sign in and everything from my laptop is at my fingertips.

Sunny Sunday

It was a gorgeous day, the weather was lovely, shorts and t-shirts. We took the dogs to the park. Bruno bounced an Italian Greyhound and the precious owner took his Italian Greyhound home. (Italian Greyhound owners are often as precious as their Italian Greyhounds) Bruno was just being boisterous, as bulldogs often are.

We went into the city to meet up with a guy from eBay who was selling Sam a game. I don’t know what, I’m not much of a gamer. Never could quite see the attraction. I've tried and failed much to Sam's disappointment.

I went to JB and looked at DVDs and CDs, while Sam was doing the deal, but JB didn’t have any sales on so I lost interest pretty quickly. Oh, they had buy 2 and get a 3rd free, but that’s not a price reduction, that’s a con designed to make you buy more.

Then we had haircuts. It’s always nice to have a haircut. There was a queue like in lockdown times, so we sat and waited. I hate queuing for things, really I do, but there just seems to be more and more queues for things. Is it a sign that capitalism is failing us? It is a sign that capitalism is far more interested in the dollar than the customer, that is for sure. Capitalism used to be about the most efficient way of exchanging goods and services, but not anymore.

No Easter eggs for us, nah, not a one. Still, it is what easter is all about, let's face it. Chocolate and a day off, that is what Easter is. I'm not sure why the news services pretend otherwise?

Sam and I just don't. Not Xmas, not birthdays, not Easter. Yeah, sure, my small child within wonders if we are missing something, but my sensible adult tells me it is the obvious thing to do.

And still another day off tomorrow, that is the true miracle of Easter, 4 days off work. 

Fish, anyone?

So, what are we saying? All the simpletons, the mental defectives and those who never recovered from their childhood brainwashing, who can find nothing better on which to base their 21st century lives than parables written 2000 years ago by illiterate cave dwellers call today a wholly...er... holy day?

I have every Friday off, so every Friday is a good Friday to me.

And if everyone was honest, the vast majority of the population see it as nothing more than a chocolate festival, and a day off, now a days anyway. 

Easter eggs for everyone, the true meaning of easter.