Lost In Translation

I was listening to BBC World on the way home tonight. There was a piece about FIFA banning the playing of football internationals at high altitude, which is about as much of interest to me as my bowling scores were to you.

However, there was interest in the story in the form of this quote, from Bolivia's president, Evo Morales...

"Playing at altitude is playing at the highest level."

Yes. It is. I don't speak enough Spanish to know what he actually said, but I'm sure we know what he meant.

Better Than Kittens

I find my life radically changed this week, with new routines, new perspectives, and a newfound sense of responsibility.

I go to bed earlier. I get up earlier and actually go outside for a walk before breakfast. I've even cleaned the house, probably better than it's ever been cleaned before.

I'm more focused, more determined. More... um... maybe the expression I'm searching for is 'grown-up'.

The diet's changed too. Less chocolate. More fruit. Less KFC (though on that, it is perhaps a little too soon to make the call). More fresh cooking. Less chips. More... (what are these things? They's supposed to be 'good for me" but they taste disgusting... ah well).

All this on account of one little puppy.

I know. Dr J has new kittens, and they're sweethearts. But I'm a dog person... always have been... always will be. Even my cat Stranger thought he was a dog.

When the kittens joined the family, it was always the intention to get a puppy too, and when Dr J called me on Saturday afternoon and said "I think we need to get the puppy in here before the kittens are too grown up", it was inevitable that we'd have Zac by the end of the weekend. I don't actually think she meant "lets get a puppy today", but events have a way of unfolding on themselves, and all outcomes are predetermined.

Actually, it was when she followed "...grown up" with "Have you thought about the type of dog you'd like?" that the wheels really set themselves in motion.

"A Spoodle" was the reply. All the personality of a Cocker Spaniel, and all the street smarts of a Poodle (without the neuroses carried through life by most Poodles in their typically French "you call this dinner?" attitude).

It took me about 10 minutes to find a litter of Spoodle pups, and about 10 minutes more to call the breeder, bundle Dr J into the car and set off for what would end up being a very long trek into a wilderness that seems to exist on the edge of any big city anywhere... that undefined place where rural and urban collide.

Camden is a town about an hour's drive south west of Sydney. Well it would have been an hour's drive if I hadn't missed the turn off.

We'd set out at 5ish. It was well after 8 before we finally navigated our way through back streets and country lanes to the semi-rural acreage that the breeder called home. It didn't help that it was pitch black by the time we arrived, but it was worth it.

So... back to the change of life...

There's a responsibility now... this little bundle of fluff is my responsibility. He needs to eat well, exercise often and learn stuff. All of that is my responsibility.

So far, the eating and exercising have been no problem at all. Leaning's been easy too, for the most part. It took him less than a day to learn his name, and only about an hour longer to learn to play fetch. But the house training... Little Zac just doesn't get it. He thinks the absorbant mats scattered around the house are extra Zac beds, and he'll actually get off one to go and wee. He doesn't get the whole "yes, we're outside, I can do it here" thing either, and this morning, he actually waited until he got back into the house.

Proper sleeping arrangements are yet to be codified too. He just gets separation anxiety if he's more than a foot away from me for more than ten seconds. On Sunday night, I slept on the lounge, so that he could sleep on his bed on the floor next to me. Last night, I tried a night in my own very comfy bed with the same intention. It didn't work, and the elabourate step construction to help Zac get up and down is a fine work of engineering.

Ah well. We start puppy pre-school next Tuesday, "Toilet Training" is the second lesson on day one, and "Separation Anxiety" is the fourth. I hope they can do a better job with those than I'm doing.

The kittens, by the way, think this new fluffy thing is a bit of a curiosity. They just sit there when Zac wanders by, tilting their heads as if to say "what the?". Scooter lets him get closer, but Mini isn't so sure. Zac pretty much ignores them most of the time.

A Most Excellent Game

This post will be about as interesting to most of you as a story about dust on my bookshelf.

I don't care, because the miracle I'm about to describe made me feel pretty bloody good for at least ten minutes afterwards.

You see, dear reader, I bowled my highest ever official league score last Wednesday. 210. And in that, I closed EVERY FRAME. If you don't know that that means, don't worry about it.

For those that do, here's the scoresheet...

[ X ][ X ][ 9/][ 9/][ 5/][ X ][8/ ][ X ][ X ][7/X]
[ 29][ 49][ 68][ 83][103][123][143][170][190][210]

And it means that new ball works a treat.

It felt good. I just wish I could remember how I did it, because the previous two games were less than average and I don't actually recall doing anything different, other than just relaxing a bit. Maybe that was the secret.

Kitten Caboodle

I've always wanted to name a cat Caboodle, just so that I could show off the Kit 'n Caboodle. It would be funny the first time. It might even draw a smile the second time, but I suppose, after that, it would get a little tiresome.

Sort of like the guy in England who murdered his parents, Mr & Mrs Russel, for calling him Jack. With him, tiresome led to unintended consequences. Go HERE. Fortunately, when it came to naming the kittens, Dr J said "I don't think so".

We've had them more than a month now and they're still kittens. I find it amazing that two little furry things raised in the same house at the same time with the same games, food, litter tray and bed can have such radically different personalities. Scooter is an explorer and bit of a loner, and Mini is a sook with a daredevil streak (yesterday, she leapt from the top of the lounge, across the metre and a half wide canyon to the dining table).

Just for fun, here are a few pics...

That's Scooter bringing a whole new meaning to the term "comfortable shoes".

For kittens, happiness is a brown paper bag. Sadly, there's only enough room in there for one, and Mini got there first.

Scooter did get her turn in the bag, and took the opportunity to chew carpet.

A rare pic of two small furry animals being still and together for long enough for a photo to be taken. That's Mini in the front.

Terrorists Strike In Second Life

I'm sorry. I thought I was kidding with my last post. I thought that talk of virtual terrorists detonating virtual bombs and destroying virtual buildings was... um... just a very bad joke.

Apparently not.

THIS happened, and Auntie's island in Second Life was decimated by a terrorist bomb.

(For those non-Aussie's among my readers, "Auntie" is the term of endearment we use to refer to the ABC, our national government owned radio and TV broadcaster, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.)

Here's a pic of the devastation...

Inset is how the island looked before the attack.

And I promise, this is my last Second Life rant.

Crime, Money, Terrorism And The Need To Get Out More

Following on from last week's quest for sexuality in a Second Life comes a warning from Scotland Yard about the way this and other virtual worlds are becoming the new homes of crime gangs, money launderers and terrorists.

And I still don't get it.

Ok. I understand the money thing... well... actually... I don't understand the money thing, but if what I've read is true, about US$1.8million Lindens (that's 2nd Life money) are exchanged for real US dollars every day, and apparently, there's even some woman in Asia somewhere who became a property development millionaire by developing virtual 2nd Life land.

Yesterday's warning from Scotland Yard even suggested that the laws as they apply in Real Life ought also to apply in the other place.

Now I'm getting REALLY confused.

Um... I know there have been movies about this sort of thing, going way back to Tron in the 70s. There was an episode of Star Trek when the holodeck goes haywire and the crew is stuck there with the 'safety' off, and even an episode or two of Stargate where one or other of the team has their consciousness taken over by some super computer or other, but I have never, not even for a moment, suspected that it might really be happening.

But apparently it is, and at such a dangerous pace that law enforcement feels the need to have a presence there.

What I want to know is what do the crime gangs do when they get there, and why is this a problem in Real Life? I mean, how do you do virtual crack or set up a virtual crack lab? Does it make your monitor go all psychadelic?

And how do you send 'da boyz' around to rough someone up, or break someone's kneecap for not paying 'protection' or gambling debts?

Then I want to know what the terrorists do there? Or maybe I don't, because I can't get an image of camels out of my head.

No... focus Chester...
... do they use immaginary explosives to blow up buildings that don't exist? Do they hijack non existant 767s belonging to virtual airlines and fly them into buildings that aren't really there?

I say "great... maybe they can all move there", and then we can pull the plug on the game and send them effortlessly to After Life, which is where they belong (sans virgins, of course).

The geeks already there have the ultimate advantage, of course. They can click faster, type faster and cut code faster than any suicide bomber, and with a little hacking practice, they could conjure up their very own WMDs (Weapons of Matrix Destruction) that would fix the problem once and for all.

People... Second Life is a 'virtual' world, which means it doesn't actually exist. There is no money. There is no land. There are no clothes. There are no children (or adults, for that matter) to have sex with. There's no food. No life. No plants, buildings, trees, earth, or anything else. There are no explosives, soft targets, hard targets or any other kinds of targets.

There is no airline either, though I do wonder if it's possible to lose my virtual luggage when I take a virtual flight on a virtual airline, and does my travel insurance policy cover that?

I think I need a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down.

Actually, what I really want is to know is what the game's creators put in the water at the pitch to investors...

"So, we're going to create this world that doesn't actually exist, and people will pay real money to buy land that doesn't exist, food they never get to eat, clothes they never get to wear, drugs that have no effect on their brain, and sex they never get to have (with avatars that may or may not be children)."

And the investors apparently must have said "Oh. Ok. We're in."

Second Life... bringing Descarte into the 21st century.

Also Brilliant...

My dad was given one of these chocolate bars by the importer today.

I LOVE great marketing, and companies with immagination. Here's more chocolate from the fab range at Bloomberry & Co...

Beats a plain old Cadbury Dairy Milk any day.

Simple Life 5

I see Paris Hilton's sentence has been cut to 23 days. Isn't that roughly the same number as episodes you need to have to make a series?

Co-incidence? Or is A Simple Life : Behind Bars coming to your little screen soon?

Brilliant.

For those of you who appreciate really great marketing and advertising, there's this...


and there should be more of it!

Life Needs To Be More Like This

Of Course He Was Bloody Naked, You Ass

Journalists are really starting to piss me off.

There was a story today in one of our papers... it doesn't matter which one or where it was because they're all the same everywhere these days... and it's the sort of journalism that my editor, back in my 'cadet' days, would have thrown me out of his office for.

The headline reads "Police seek naked lawyer's mystery visitor", and the story goes on to describe how a lawyer was found naked and unconscious in his hotel room.

Bloody hell... come around to any hotel room I'm in at 3am and you'll find me naked and unconscious too... that's how I sleep. Actually, that's how most people I know sleep.

Was it the truth? Yes, I suppose it was. He was probably naked, BECAUSE HE WAS ASLEEP you idiot! (Not you... the dumb lazy talentless journalist who wrote the piece.)

It would be like me writing about going to a business meeting or the local supermarket 'fully clothed'. "Man Shops Fully Clothed At Local Supermarket"

There used to be rules in journalism...
First, report only the facts.
Second, report only those facts which are relevant to the story. No. That doesn't mean you leave out the facts that don't work for your story... it means there's no need to say stuff just for the sake of a headline if what you want to say isn't relevant.
Third, check the facts again.
Finally, it's the news. It's not your opinion of the news.

Sadly, none of those rules seems to apply. What do they teach in journalism school these days?

I Want!

Sunday mornings are normally a bit of a quiet time at my place... time I can spend catching up on some of the more interesting work stuff that I usually don't get to during the week. This morning, I was doing some real and rather important product research and found myself HERE, at PerpetualKid.com.

"How did you end up there?" I hear you ask. "Didn't you say you were working?"

Yes. Working. Trying to find the minimum size for a barcode, a quest that went seriously pear shaped as soon as I found the Barcode doormat. From there, it was pretty much all down hill. I decided I must have this...It's called "The Ex", and this fine voodoo knife holder comes with 5 sharp kitchen knives for the bargain price of US$59.99. (Am I still bitter and twisted... you bloody bet!)

Then I found these standard ballpoint pens, and decided they're the perfect executive accessory for those important "suit" meetings...
I MUST HAVE some of these emoticon paper clips too...

And I know more than one of you will want one of these...

I love this idea too...

It's Eau de Play Doh, from the exceptional Demeter Fragrance Company, where the scents are a little more fun than you'll find at Channel... fragrances like Fairy Floss (that's what Aussies call cotton candy), Laundromat, Salt Air, and even Car Vinyl.

And just to prove that I really was looking for stuff about barcodes, go HERE, where readers like me who need to get out more can play Barcode Bedlam on line.

Ah well. At least it's Mothers' Day, so I have an excuse to go outside a little later.

What Kind Of Sex?

I could pick up this "girl" at a Second Life party. Sure, on the surface she's cute I suppose, but I have absolutely no idea how I'd have sex with her, or even if I'd want to. In fact, I know nothing about her. She could be Stephen Hawking or George Bush for all I know.

There's an interesting, and rather weird legal case coming together in Germany, and it's got this Bear's brain cells frying.

Police in Germany are trying to track down people whose avatars had sex with other avatars that looked like children in the on-line game "Second Life". Apparently, in Germany, having virtual sex with a virtual minor is a criminal offence.

I want to state this up front... anybody who even thinks about having sex with small children is a very sick individual who ought to be taken out the back, flogged to within an inch of their life and then locked away on the inhospitable and very cold Heard Island for the rest of what remains of their pathetic life.

But...

This case troubles me on so many levels, I'm not even sure I know where to start.

"Virtual Sex"? What the fuck is that? You either have sex, or you don't. Call me old fashioned, but the way I see it, for two people to have sex one of two conditions need to exist. Either, they have to be in the same room together, or they have to be able to see each other, the latter being way less fun than the first, and it was only once and we did meet for real sex... oh... no... too weird.

When your avatar has sex with someone elses avatar, neither of these conditions exists... and how does an avatar have sex anyway? Unless the graphics capabilities of Second Life are Star Trekesque, I can't even begin to imagine how two 2 dimensional cartoon figures get down and dirty with some horizontal folk dancing.

All right. It apparently happens. So let's just assume, for the sake of the argument, that there is some weird sex act performed here. Then we have to deal with the whole business of that being a criminal offence.

Now as my opening statement might have demonstrated, I'm no friend of the paedophile, but thinking about committing any crime is NOT a crime. Is it?

IS IT?

And is getting your avatar to hit on some other avatar any more than just thinking about it? Yes. It's sick. Yes, the thinker clearly needs help... but come on people... it's only THINKING!

Let's put it in perspective... nearly every time I drive through the Sydney Harbour Tunnel, I think about doing it at 200kph. If I actually did it, that would be a bloody dangerous and criminal offence, and by the time I got to the end of the freeway, the boys in blue would be getting ready to introduce me to Bubba, and reminding me not to drop the soap in the shower.

But I only THINK about speeding through the tunnel. If Second Life rules apply, I have committed a criminal offence and you'd have to wait until I get out to read the next installment.

Not the same? Ok. Then what about all that time I spent in my teens fantasizing about having sex with Marcia Brady? There's no statute of limitations on sex crimes, so I hope I can serve the sentence concurrently with that for the driving offence.

Or what about the time I spend thinking about creative uses for nuclear weapons when I read about the latest terrorist atrocity. That would make me a war criminal, and all I can do is pray that they have TV1 in my prison cell.

I know. I'm being a little flippant... or am I? Second Life is a GAME. Despite what some of its inhabitants might think, IT'S NOT REAL. Each day, millions of people all over the world play games, and each day, many of them break the law playing those games. They drive too fast, commit horrible and violent crimes or go to war for no better reason than they could.

Dig a little deeper into the Second Life story, and it turns out that the child avatars these sickos "paid" to have sex with weren't actually children at all, which makes this all the more puzzling because if I'm interpreting this right, under German law (and, I believe, under laws in at least one state in Australia), a person can be prosecuted for "paying" for "sex" with a "child", even though the money doesn't exist, the sex never actually happened, and the person controlling the avatar it didn't happen to wasn't actually a child at all. And let's not forget that the alleged offence took place in a world that doesn't actually exist either. Um... what crime your worship?

Take it one step further. What if the avatar the person had "sex" with was a child that was pretending to be an adult. Is that statutory rape?

I don't know about you, but my straw brain is starting to hurt, and I have some very loud alarm bells ringing in my left ear.

And Speaking of Dogs, There's This...

Also in today's Herald is a story from the Excited States about a 13 year old Golden Retriever named Alex. The custody battle for Alex, who's owner had commited suicide, was so intense that the judge appointed a lawyer to represent the dog's interests.

Ge HERE.

Brave George

Readers of my blog will know I have a very major soft spot for dogs.

THIS STORY in the Sydney Morning Herald about brave Greorge, who received postumous bravery award for his action in warding off two pit bulls who were attacking his family, really touched my heart.

I know. The Bear's just a big sook, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Barbarians At The Gate

There are a few things that drive this bear crazy, and one of them is a call from a foreign call centre trying to get me to switch my telephone account.

First of all, I don't have a "home phone" in the conventional sense... I use VoIP because I can call just about anywhere in the world for a few cents.

Second, I don't have a degree in quantum mathematics, so I am unable to work out how a phone bill actually works,

And third, my hearing's not so great, so I have a little difficulty understanding anyone trying to sell me something with a heavy Indian or Asian accent.

Enter the "Do Not Call" register, launched by our Federal Government early this month. That ought to have been the end of it.

But last night, there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?", I shouted. No answer, just another knock.
"Who is it?" I shouted again.

"Good evening sir, I wonder if I might be having just one minute of your time."

I opened the door.

"Good evening sir, my name is Sanjay, and I would very much like to be talking about your telephone service, because the telephone cables in this area have not been very reliable."

"WHAT?", I said, somewhat taken aback by the appearance of a call centre person on my very doorstep.

"Perhaps you might be liking to switch to our new telephone service," he replied, following the same tired old script he was using when he called a few weeks back.

Dr J quipped that what we're going to need now is a "Do Not Knock" register.

Dishwasher Safe

I looked down at my keyboard the morning, and am overtaken by this urge to put it in the dishwasher.

You see, I work from home, or maybe that should actually be 'I sleep at work' because the time that I spend at home seems to be spent bowing down at the altar of my 19" flat panel and stroking the Holy Keyboard in vain supplication to the gods of Word, Excel, php and Outlook. My faith is strong, and one day, I know, these gods will reward my devotion by filling my bank account with the fruits of my labour. You seek evidence of such a reward? There is no evidence. Only faith.

So I'm eating a bowl of Just Right this morning while I type the Holy Formula to the god of Excel, when I accidentally drop the spoon. It was Excel's way of punishing me for using just one hand for my devotion.

Splash. There's bits of milk and cerial splattered inconveniently around the Holy Tab Key. Yuk.

But what's even more yuk is that this caused me to take a good hard look the other detritus... crumbs from a Vita Wheat, fragments of peanut from a Picnic, a tiny splash of sauce from last week's Carbonara, a sticky bit that may or may not have been either Iced Tea or Coke. It's enough food to keep a colony of ants very comfortable through the long hard winter ahead. Fortunately, there's a great abundance on the surrounding floor... truly a Land of Milk and Honey where Bounty rains from the sky... so the ants need not be bothered with the climb up Desk Mountain as they can grow fat off the surrounding timber plain.

I'm not really a disgusting pig, but this morning, the scene around my keyboard seems to tell a different story.

The Real Cause Of Global Warming

Thanks to Si for sending me this. Love it!

Click on the image... there's some animation!