THE FORKIE PHILOSOPHER

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  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: Show us Your Assets

    Until very recently, being wealthy usually consisted of two tangible possessions: assets and money. These were genuine 3-dimensional things rather than mere numbers on a computer screen. Even considering the numbers on a bank statement back then, the cash still existed in the banks vault; or some percentage of it. I know there was some kind of work around regarding the money a bank says they have and what is actually in their vault/s.

    The interesting thing for me is that the value ascribed to them both is conceptual to varying degrees. The price of land, gold, cocaine and cucumbers are all based on economic and psychological abstractions: supply and demand + “it’s valuable because everyone agrees it is” etc.

    The same goes for cash. The paper and metal are practically worthless without the uncanny phenomenon whereby everyone agrees to accept their attributed value. For now, I want to focus on assets. The things that are assessed in dollars and cents and thus represent that amount of capital. Its potential cash conversion might rise and fall without any physical money involved.

    A person would be considered wealthy because they hold a substantial amount of assets, or perhaps a small amount of very valuable ones. 100 hectares of polluted swampy mangrove would pale in comparison to 10 hectares of prime real estate. A truckload of tomatoes or a car boot full of diamonds and rubies – you get the gist.

    What anything is worth depends on a mind-boggling array of factors! Something as seemingly simple as supply and demand becomes a mystifying maze the instant you take a closer look:

    • People need or want a thing and there is ample supply – thing is cheap
    • Why isn’t it free? Many things were once, but somewhere someone claimed ownership and/or figured out how to monetize it and bingo!
    • Government sell off goods and services they once provided to private companies for a cash influx and the offloading of one of their expenses.
    • That product or service is now being supplied for profit – guess which direction the price is going to go.
    • People need or want a thing, and it is scarce – price goes up
    • What if the providers deliberately reduce supply to inflate the value of their product or service?
    • What about luxury goods and services? So many of these are ludicrously overpriced!

    I’m not just talking about a $10,000 handbag either. An opal or emerald is only worth as much as people are willing to pay. I suppose the equation would need to include things like perishability and storage costs too. Those thousand plus dollar truffles can’t be held back while waiting for the best price for too long. However, their fleeting availability would be a reason for the obscene cost – I just countered myself!

    What about your warehouse full of extravagantly priced clothing and a detrimental change in fashion? A sudden fire sale could cause serious damage to your brand; maybe a real fire would be a better move. Insurance fraud aside, preventing your passe product from reaching the market and absorbing the financial loss may be the clever play in the long term, by preserving your products exclusivity status.

    In Australia right now (2026) we are witnessing a massive rise in the illicit tobacco trade. Yep – tobacco! The government has taxed the shit out of cigarettes to such an extent that people are turning to the black market to be able to afford to support their habit. Gangsters are getting rich selling a product that can be legally bought in stores. The crime is the tax dodge leading to affordability. These criminals are the modern bootleggers, minus prohibition.

    The government has handed them a golden goose via their own legislation. It is not only stolen tobacco and cigarettes being sold. The product is now being produced without any regulations, ala moonshine or bathtub gin. There is also a proliferation in tobacconist store being firebombed. Talk about a legislative backfire!

    The factors affecting the price of any commodity are too varied to pin down in a few hundred words. Just be aware that there are a whole bunch of invisible influences and influencers that we don’t notice, and the market price of any asset is very susceptible to manipulation. What about land?

    In my opinion, land would be the fundamental asset for determining wealth. Before currency or any form of organised trade, groups of people were marking their territory. As time went on, they began drawing hard boundaries and fought to defend them.

    “We do our shit in here. You do your shit out there. We can trade, but you can’t just mosey on in and start doing your shit without permission.”

    This would be the infancy of the nation state. Kings, queens etc. ruled the land and the peasants worked to earn their keep. This land was obtained the old-fashioned way: squatting or conquering – land went to whoever was there first and then whoever was strong enough to keep it.

    Somewhere along the line, a few cunning nobles got the idea of private property up and running. Now citizens could purchase their own sectioned off piece of the Earth; put up a fence and post “KEEP OUT” signs. Anything not bought or not for sale remains state land. This will usually be available for public use, until such time as the state needs a cash influx or is offered one they cannot ignore. After that – “PRIVATE PROPERTY”.

    Prior to this, I imagine there would have been some form of etiquette when it came your hut/tent and my hut/tent, but it was probably considered rude, or at least a bit odd, to shut yourself in and refuse visitors within such a small community. What the fuck does that have to with anything? Get back on track.

    People have been slowly but surely laying claim to almost every square inch on the planet since it went on sale. Corporations and conglomerates are doing their best to gobble up as much as possible nowadays. They either divide and/or subdivide to squeeze more renters in, or they go up. Hundreds of apartments standing where a few houses had once been.

    Land and property prices continue to skyrocket while wages stagnate. Average people cannot afford to enter the market anymore. Cities are getting more and more crowded, and rent is becoming unaffordable. Sharing is becoming the new norm, just to be able to keep up with the bills. We’re not talking about a group of young people striking out on their own anymore; a lot of them are mature aged full-time workers whose pay can no longer sustain living solo.

    Ridiculous tiny apartments that make a studio seem lavish are becoming the only option left for having your own place, and that is still gunna cost you big! Hong Kong coffin apartments are looming for most major cities.

    Meanwhile we have more billionaires than ever before, with multiple palatial estates, super yachts and even personal fucken islands! These insatiable opulence junkies have no concept of the abject misery their hoarding creates.

    London’s elite have even created infrastructure issues with their ‘iceberg’ homes. These affluence addicts have literally gone to a new low in their quest for more mansion metres. There is a limit to how high they can go, so now they are adding levels underground. Yeah, that’s right levels; plural. A three-story house might have four or more basement levels. All in the service of grandeur of course – pure wealth flaunting wank!

    Once again, the value of any property stems from whatever the market decides is the most desirable. If prices keep rising, property remains a profitable investment, and that sounds great! Right? Well, yes, if you’re an investor. If you are trying to purchase a home to live in to escape the rental rat race and get a little security, it’s a fucken nightmare!

    When the average house or apartment is a million dollars, being a millionaire is no longer what it used to be. I’m 52 and I have witnessed this decline in real time. As a kid/ teenager and even into my early 20s, a million dollars could set you up for a comfortable life. The average house was $300,000. The idea of winning the lottery for a million meant a hell of a lot more back then.

    A home, an investment property, and still a few hundred grand to play with (I’m not up on the whole tax situation). Now…one house; if the bidding isn’t too competitive. Okay, technically you’re a millionaire – asset wise. Sell that house and get a big pay day…where are you going to live?

    A million-dollar house aint so special when all your other housing options cost around the same. It’s a cruel system. You bust your ass to pay off your house; your equity keeps growing; but so does all the other properties in your city. If you bought in the 1990s or earlier (or inherited a house) this represents a huge windfall, unless of course, if it is your primary residence. If so, selling it means giving up your home. The only way to gain any advantage this way is to downsize or move out of your city.

    I think I’m going in circles here.

    One more complication before I finish – those ‘je ne sais quoi’ assets. Things like the chef being the draw card for your restaurant. The bricks and mortar; the whizz-bang kitchen and schmick décor are all worth money, but if the renowned chef walks… Same would be true for a secret recipe etc. You may own the ‘business’, but do you control the prime ‘asset’?

    The value of a profitable business is worth more than the physical assets – performance and reputation can multiply that worth exponentially. A savvy entrepreneur can make a fortune selling their system or brand regardless of any physical assets. This leads to stuff like patents, copyright and intellectual property. Therefore, I will end right here.

  • WHAT PRICE PARADISE? Movie Musings #17

    (2000)

    ***Spoiler Alert***

    A genuine Garden of Eden exists on a tiny island somewhere off the coast of Thailand. Hidden away from the unruly horde of drunken tourists running amok on the mainland. This is not some out of the way spot where a smaller throng journey for a more authentic experience. This is a dead set forbidden and practically untouched Utopia!

    A pristine lagoon with a small group of self-reliant pioneers from distant lands gathered in a shared quest to get as far away from the rat race as possible; not just their lives back home, but the whole irksome tourism scene just across the sea too.

    The haven’s isolation is not just geographic. The idyllic commune has a team of felonious farmers for neighbours who have their own desire to keep the place a secret; a massive marijuana crop! These guys are not gangsters, but they are heavily armed and will defend their livelihood and freedom. Not to mention the repercussions from the real gangsters if they fuck up.

    Apparently, the founders of this blissful hideaway made a deal with the farmers, promising to mind their own business, not invite anymore pilgrims, and never give away the location. That’s a lot of trust given to a bunch of bohemians wanting to escape society and get stoned.

    By the looks of the infrastructure, the community has been there for quite a while. It is never explained how many of the original visionaries there were and how many of the present members are blow-ins. The tattooing ceremony informs us that newcomers have been arriving at different times. What is not clear is, how many people (other than Daffy) have left.   

    Filling in the gaps, it is my assumption that anyone who decides to leave is sworn to secrecy and they uphold this oath so that the unspoiled oasis may endure. My next guess is that more than one of these dropouts (or is it drop-back-ins?) couldn’t resist a little boasting session when they got back to the mainland. Very difficult to fight the urge to tell let these generic tourists know how much more intrepid your travels have been.

    These braggarts planted the seeds from which the myth about “The Beach” sprung. Maybe a few even gave the location away just to prove some drunken doubter wrong; maybe it was given as a gift. Whatever the motive, the whereabouts was passed on, and a few rare individuals took up the challenge of finding it. Even fewer were audacious enough to get to the final test/s.

    If you manage to follow the map correctly your trail will end on a beach. Not The Beach; for that you need to get yourself to that island over there in the distance. Which is test number 1:

    1. Commit to crossing the multiple miles of sea with no chance of rescue if you find out the hard way that you can’t make it.
    2. Survive being dumbfounded by the copious amounts of fully matured marijuana plants, which may blind you to the dangers of standing in someone else’s clandestine crop.
    3. If you manage to get out of that one and don’t high tail it the fuck out of there, you are one step, or should I say jump, away from your happy place. The only way down from this side is to take a literal leap of faith off a high cliff into the water below.

    Successfully overcome those challenges and you have gained admission to the wanderlust wonderland.

    It is basic pragmatism that prevents the tribe from expelling any new arrivals. Someone who just completed such a dangerous adventure and found that the improbable Shangri-La actually exists will not be easily deterred. The agony of rejection after such a joyous discovery could quickly turn to bitterness and envy. That person may well be found photocopying maps to the location within days of their return to the mainland.

    Kind of the same goes for the unofficial agreement between the commune and the farmers. Everyone minds their own business, and we can all enjoy our seclusion. Although, the farmers are the ones with the machine guns and the final say.

    Okay, so you’ve arrived and start taking your place in the community. This seems to consist of farming, fishing and frolicking; playing games, swimming and an endless supply of pot. Any extra supplies must be brought in from the mainland; a task the beach-bums detest because it means re-visiting  civilisation, and those contemptible tourists. Funny how quickly these former tourists look down on who they used to be.

    We never see or hear about anyone getting antsy, chucking all this Gilligan’s Island crap in and heading back to the mod cons. Besides Daffy, although I reckon he was a lot further along from antsy and closer to full-blown batshit! He seemed to have seen through the hypocrisy of the fellowship he helped create:

    Daffy: Ideals, eh? We were just fucking parasites! The big, chunky charlie! The big, chunky charlie’s eating up the whole world!

    Almost as if he could see what these vain vacationers were capable of. Or more frightening; maybe he had already witnessed the dark side of The Beach, and it drove him mad. Just speculating.

    I am also curious as about something much more mundane. I mean it’s all well and good to rough it for a while, living like a Survivor contestant without the cameras and swift evacuation in an emergency. Fantastic bragging rights in the “off the beaten track” conversations your older self will have. It’s just that it’s not for everyone, and certainly not long term. Unless you’re on the run, or have a severe marijuana dependence, it is going to get tedious and one or more of these righteous non-conformists is going to get on your fucken nerves!

    My conjectures aside, they all loved it and would love to stay as long as possible. When Richard accompanies Sal on a supply gathering mission, he sums things up nicely:

    Richard: I’d really been looking forward to air conditioning and some cold beer. But, when we got to Ko Pha Ngan, I just wanted to leave again. In one moment, I understand more clearly than ever why we were so special, why we kept our secret. Because if we didn’t, sooner or later, we’d turn it into this. Cancers..parasites..eating up the whole fucking world.

    The people who would never leave The Beach all felt like this. He even uses Daffy’s description of the regular tourists: “fucken cancers! Parasites!”. Important to note that he only uses Daffy’s labels for the uninitiated and conveniently leaves out what he said about his fellows from the lagoon.

    More for me though is “…why we were so special…”. Richard couldn’t have been with the high-minded hippies for that long, yet he had already become a snob, looking at the embodiments of his former self with disdain and jealously wanting to keep the barbarians away from his gate.

    He demonstrates this when he runs into two of his former peers that he had given a copy of the map to before he headed off. He vehemently denies the existence of The Beach and angrily disowns the guys who had previously been his compatriots – wanker!

    Well, those are the things necessary for preventing a flood of dickhead tourists (like they all used to be) from overpopulating paradise and fucking it up. Kind of like a 1st world version of an indigenous group being invaded by the plague of civilisation. No matter how good the intentions may be from the newcomers, once the balance has tipped it is only a matter of time before the inundation. Next thing you know you’ve got jet-skis, night clubs and McDonalds. Humans can only live close to nature if you keep the numbers under control. Thus, strict secrecy is one price of paradise.

    However, there are other heavier prices to be paid for maintaining this beachside, cannabis infused, Amish lifestyle and until you are forced to face them you may be completely and blissfully oblivious. When you do…things get fucken ugly!

    Remember my earlier mention of Survivor and medivac?

    The resident spear fishers get attacked by a shark. One dies and one is not badly injured; the other… he’s in a bloody world of hurt! Pieces off him everywhere! They patch him up as best they can, but things look very fucken grim.

    They have a moving funeral for their deceased comrade where they all join in a poignant rendition of Bob Marley’s “Redemption Songs”. The burial eliminates the horrific choice that will need to be made about Christo, the poor half-eaten bastard who didn’t have the decency to die.

    Sal, the leader of the group offers to have some people take him to the mainland for treatment. His surviving mate rightly insists that he would die on the journey and that they must call for medical help. For Sal, that is out of the question. Giving away their location would be the end of their heavenly home, and losing that is not worth the price of one man – cold hearted shit!

    Even more gruesome, was that none of the others spoke out to try and save their “brother’s” life – holy fuck! These cunts are going to let a man die a slow and painful death so they can continue their ganga fuelled Robinson Crusoe fantasy. I told you things would get ugly.

    But wait! There’s more!

    Richard: After the funeral, we all tried to get back to normal.

    Richard: But it just didn’t seem right

    Richard: It became clear the problem was Christo

    Richard: You see, in a shark attack, or any other major tragedy, I guess the important thing is to get eaten and die, in which case there’s a funeral and somebody makes a speech and everybody says what a good guy you were

    Richard: Or get better, in which case everyone can forget about it. Get better or die.

    Richard: It’s the hanging around in between that really pisses people off.

    Yeah, you read that right. This dying man’s cries of agony are messing with everyone’s serenity, so they carry him far away and slap him in a tent. Out of sight out of mind. Only one French man condemns them and chooses to stay with Christo and do all he can to comfort him while he slowly and painfully perishes. One man among these “special” people has a concience; this story just took very dark turn.

    I mean, that’s evil right? What they did for the sake of their own pleasure was outright evil!

    Our protagonist gives their actions a little lip service via voiceover, but he barely registers the severity of what they did. His description comes across as being a “bad” thing. He doesn’t come close to “wicked”, “immoral”, or fucking “vile”.  It is played off as “yeah, we got corrupted by paradise and we were all a bit selfish” – you black-hearted motherfuckers!

    We’re not finished yet.

    Things get complicated for the demon tribe when the people Richard tried to ward off appear on the beach across from them obviously weighing up their options on how to tackle the first test.

    Sal goes into full tyrant mode and orders Richard to sit and watch the wannabe newcomers. He must turn them away any way he can. After several days, the isolation causes him to slowly unravel.

    Eventually the four hopefuls find a solution and build a makeshift raft – clever move, I must say! They have a much easier crossing than their predecessors, but they come unstuck on the second test. Richard has gone troppo by this point and fails miserably at his gatekeeping task.

    The euphoria of finding themselves standing in a huge field of dope plants causes them to dance with joy. They do not notice the irate locals with machine guns until it is too late. They attempt to flee but are mowed down by the farmers.

    This snaps Richard back to reality and he makes haste back to the camp. On the way he makes a pit stop at Christos’s tent and puts him out of his misery – is he forgiven now or something?

    He finds his two French companions and convinces them to escape with him. The farmers capture them and drag them back to the camp, which seems to be enjoying an impromptu rave party. Probably trying to get some blood pumping through their dead-hearts.

    The farmers crash the party with guns drawn. They are furious about the newcomers they had to kill because the community could not keep their side of the bargain. Sal desperately tries to argue for a reprieve, but the farmers want her and her fellow ravers to fuck right off.

    Sal stubbornly plants her feet, so the lead farmer offers her an ultimatum. He puts one bullet into a revolver and hands it to her. If she shoots Richard, they can stay. The psycho bitch pulls the trigger!

    The chamber is empty and the lead farmer smirks as the other community members freak right out at Sal’s willingness to commit murder – apparently that’s where the line is for these cretins.

    They all abandon the island and go their separate ways, leaving Sal devastated. I have no idea how any of them, beside the compassionate Frenchman, live with what they did. Although, there’s nothing mental gymnastics can’t spin and soften, I guess. Shit! It’s probably the sympathetic bloke who’ll suffer PTSD.

    In the final scene, we see Richard in an internet café, checking his email. The girl he was infatuated with has sent him the group photo she took of them all on the beach; all jumping and looking happy. Richard delivers his final words of wisdom in voiceover:

    Richard: And me? I still believe in paradise. But now at least I know it’s not some place you can look for. Because it’s not where you go. It’s how you feel for a moment in your life when you’re a part of something. And if you find that moment… It lasts forever.

    What were you part of Richard? A bunch of obnoxious travellers greedily guarding a pristine preserve while looking down your noses at all other travellers. Smoking weed and sniffing your own farts and ultimately allowing a once beloved member, to suffer a tortuous demise to keep your secret. How can you look at that photo and not feel damned?

    What price paradise? Not much…just your soul.

  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB: Company-Carrying Impersonators

    I hope you noticed that the martyr is not working; a common characteristic of these pretenders. They spend just as much time telling everyone how hard they work as they do actually working. These are a very cunning species, common to almost all workplaces.

    “I’ve been working here for, like, two years. It’s bullshit man. I work my ass off. Remember Hector, I was telling you how hard I work my ass off?”

    “Extract” (2009)

    In the wild there exist a plethora of devious animals, insects and marine life that mimic other species as a form of survival. Be that warding off predators or ambushing prey, these sneaky bastards are nature’s master illusionists! Each trickster adapts their camouflage to suit their required purpose.

    Blending in with the environment could be used to avoid being lunch, or to make yourself a living booby trap; invisible to prey until it is too late. While these disappearing deceivers are part of most working environments, I am observing a slightly different fraudster.

    These sneaky slackers aren’t content with mere camouflage, although vanishing is a signature move for them. Avoiding as much work as possible is only one aim of their ploy. They are more akin to the harmless critters who have cleverly disguised themselves to look like a much deadlier and thus less appealing quarry.

    These guys/gals want the whole shebang; maximum commendation with minimal effort. An absurd desire for shirking while complaining about being overworked. If that isn’t paradoxical enough, there are at least two varieties of these pseudo company carriers:

    • The deliberate con artist: these types know full well what they are doing. Perhaps they do it out of spite, or maybe they just enjoy the sport of it. The gratification comes from the successful cheat.
    • The delusional workhorse: this intriguing variation genuinely believes their own bullshit! A bizarre self-delusion that they are underappreciated stalwarts. Any criticism is seen as senseless character assassination by nasty underperformers.

    It can be very difficult to tell these two apart, and things get even more confusing when you stumble across a hybrid. This half-breed ends up behaving like a person with a split personality; which can be a whole other category all its own.

    Split Personalities are those people who change their attitudes like the weather. One day they are carefree jokers wondering why you take the job so seriously. The next they are disgruntled and bitter, sowing dissent. At a different time, they are the diligent one, criticising other people’s low work ethic. I have worked alongside multiple persona people who can shift numerous times during the same fucking shift!

    Every identity is played with conviction and only a small percentage can recognize the incongruency in themselves and have a laugh about it. Most will not appreciate being psychoanalysed by a smart-ass co-worker and will throw the diagnosis back at you with interest. Everyone has changes in mood, and whole attitudes can change over time. The split personality is something different, and if you have encountered them, you will understand clearer what I am getting at. Perhaps I should do a deep dive into this specific archetype in another post.

    Let us return to our sports-car with the handbrake stuck on. The “I do everything around here, therefore I shall do nothing” enigma.

    The beast of burden/bullshit artist combination is a confusing contradiction. The hypocrisy should be self-defeating, yet these charlatans will not be swayed by silly things like logical consistency. Try and dismantle their masquerade at your own peril.

    When they are in martyr mode, they can be insufferable. Having to listen to a notorious bludger whining about being exploited would be hilarious if you weren’t the one that was picking up the slack for this wanker. Hearing their tales of hardship and woe can leave you questioning your own sense of reality if you’re not careful. “Maybe I am missing something” you might think during a moment of cognitive weakness.

    When these specimens are in delusional workhorse mode they, much like their pure-breed counterparts, would very probably pass a lie detector test if asked about their daily grind. They have an uncanny knack for erasing any loafing on their part, while magnifying the idleness of anyone else. At any given moment they can regale you with a thorough list about the slothful sins of any and every workmate.

    They can just as easy supply endless tales of woe regarding the underappreciated trials and tribulations they have endured. Not all the stories are made up; some are exaggerations, while others are the extremely rare moments when they actually did go above and beyond; these hen’s teeth tales work on a ratio of about 100:1 in comparison to anyone else’s contribution, don’t forget.

    Then are the times when they fucked up and got left holding the bag. Once in a while someone else gets the drop on our scammer and they have to do a bit of drudge work. Whether deliberate or not, this reprehensible insult is burned into their very soul and will be retold ad nauseum as irrefutable proof of their victim status. One must never be so vulgar as to mention the innumerable times this cretin has committed the same betrayal with full awareness. How dare you recall any slips of the halo! Of course, their defence would be that time someone did it to them once (maybe more than once and a little exaggerated on each retelling) plus a few extra wrongdoings that may or may not be true. “I’m sticking up for myself!” They will declare.

    Over the years I have noticed a fascinating feature regarding accuracy in the imposter’s bogus accounts. Yes, they actually did happen; only they happened to someone else. This Bowerbird of frustrating fables heard another person’s telling of being cheated and appropriated it for their own list of persecutions. Every report will be delivered, not just with a straight face, but with full-on outraged righteousness. Their expressions and body language will add credibility to the whole performance. This isn’t gaslighting per se because the spinner is falling for the ruse themselves – fucking bizarre!

    The manipulation, at least on a conscious level, takes place when they have their feet planted back in the real world and need to switch into bullshit artist mode. In these periods of lucidity, our slacker has a better understanding of how much they get away with. This is the maintenance phase, where they bolster any weak spots in their charade and mend fences with potential antagonists.

    If you pose no threat don’t hold your breath; none of this is done out of remorse. The guilt is merely an indicator that the weasel may have overplayed their hand and should cover their ass.

    For all intents and purposes, it is still business as usual. From the exterior not much has changed. The fink will still be up on their high horse doing as little as possible, while moaning about their lot. The differences will be subtle: their demeanour will be brighter, and their contempt will be better concealed. They may even shock everyone with a random act of assistance. This of course will go into the biased memory bank to increase their own generosity account. Remember the ratio from earlier?

    One act of service for these jerks is akin to some kind of noble sacrifice! You must keep in mind that mutually beneficial cooperation is a net-loss for these bastards after all. I’m sure there is a sad backstory that led them to be like this, and if it isn’t traumatic enough, they might just amp it up a bit in the retelling. They may also play loose and fast with history and/or plagiarise anything they reckon sounds useful. The effect of the story is more important than the truth.

    These phonies have zero respect for validity, and they often chop and change yarns to suit the audience. Like a consummate method actor, they are immersed in the psyche of this victim, and the goal is to convince the listener/s of their cruel toil. The “facts” can be rearranged to suit the listener/s.

    Similar to the pure con artist type, there is one temptation they cannot resist – bragging. The only way to fully enjoy pulling off a successful rort is a good gloat. This is probably the weakest point in the hoodwinker’s façade. They are standing there crowing about how little they do and how clever they are. In this moment of hubris, they seem totally unaware that they are confessing to the very same people who have to carry their slack-asses, while simultaneously listening to them whinge about how much they suffer and sacrifice – dickheads!

    Whether they do it knowingly, or they sniff their own farts, these mind-boggling types will irritate you once you notice their racket. It’s one of those things that cannot be unseen. If you can’t find the funny side, it is best to limit your exposure to these phones because trying to enlighten them would be a futile and potentially perilous exercise. Trying to play their game could start you down the same deranged path they are on.

    Good luck.

  • WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE: The Video Rental Grapevine

    During the rise of video shops there was a real mixed bag of titles on offer and the selection often varied from store to store. Everybody knew the stuff being released that was previously in the cinemas. I am not sure of the exact duration, but there was always a decent hiatus between the end of a movie’s cinema run and its arrival on the video store shelves. There was always a clambering for the latest new release.

    The real treasure hunt however, was wandering through the genre sections, trawling through the movies that were in cinemas God only knows when. No internet to look such things up or find reviews and/or rankings. The only information you had was on the cover of that box. Usually, the title of the movie, the image/s and the tagline on the front; some stills and a short description of the story on the back. The films rating (G, PG, M or R) and the genre it was labelled with would provide some additional info.

    Other than that, if you hadn’t seen a preview on a tape you had rented earlier, it was pure word of mouth. One point of call would be the grown-ups. They had seen so much stuff (it seemed to us) and they were not shy when it came to giving their opinions.

    “This one’s the fucken grouse!”

    “That is shithouse!”

    One of my father’s thumbs down sayings was “very fucking ordinary”.

    They rarely left any room for nuance. It wasn’t uncommon for a random oldie to feel compelled to introduce us youngsters to a bona fide classic we just had to see! Having a stranger point out their great pick was another way of stumbling on a gem. As the years went by, anyone could have seen something awesome that you had been overlooking and their recommendation could be the impetus you needed.

    Those early years were so much fun for all involved it seemed. The ever-increasing catalogue of movies available offered viewing options we had never known. The video store was a playground for all ages. The excitement could be contagious! Sharing a good find was part of the experience, especially in the genre sections. If you’re browsing this section, you are probably a fan: “have you seen this one?”

    My big sister was a horror fan back then and she treated us to “Rosemary’s Killer” AKA “The Prowler”, a nasty slasher based on a genre section tipster. I still remember her telling us that some guy told her it was a gorefest. “Knives in the head and pitchforks” he said. I guess you met such people in the horror section.

    Although ‘section’ might give an impression of a spacious purpose-built store. Remember that this was the early days, where most video stores were just converted shops. The “horror section” wasn’t a separate aisle; it was just a separate shelf. People would be crammed in there during peak times.

    Which reminds me of another source of suggestions: the staff and the videos playing on the telly on or behind the counter non-stop. Every store had its own fountain of film knowledge standing right there at the counter. Even if they weren’t Tarantinoesque film geeks, they were immersed in movies for every shift.

    They played whatever they fucken liked on that thing too. The porn/violence paradox was in play of course. They wouldn’t have explicit sex scenes playing, but ultra-violence was fine; R rating be damned! I’m talking early days here.

    I remember one evening in the video shop my father took us to. They were playing George A. Romero’s “Dawn of the Dead” on the screen. My sister and I weren’t the only kids in there, yet nobody seemed bothered. A security guard being pursued through a shopping mall by cannibalistic zombies, desperately blasting a shotgun into them with blood splattering all over the place. Probably no more violent than a Looney Tunes cartoon now that I think of it; just more blood.

    My dad and sister asked the person behind the counter, and I will never know if they were told or heard a different title. The next time we visited, we rented “The Evil Dead” (1981). Freaked me right out!!! Overall horror ratings aside, it took me years to figure out what that “Dead” movie was we had seen in the store. There was nowhere to go and look that shit up.

    So now we come to the number 1 source of movie recommendations: the school playground and friends in general. The classic “have you seen the one…” conversation. For “The Evil Dead” I would go with “…where the sheila gets stabbed in the ankle with a pencil?”. Or maybe “where the chick gets raped by a tree”. Kids really shouldn’t have been watching that shit! Most of those questions were regarding a grotesque, risqué or hilarious scene.

    “Have you seen the one where the guy and girl are screwing and the killer stabs them both with a spear?”

    That wasn’t the only form of recommendation, I just find it the most intriguing. We would just as often be telling each other about “the funniest movie” or “this awesome action flick”. We rarely discussed “that poignant drama that really captures the human experience” though.

    “I haven’t been moved like this since the Joy Luck Club”

    Jimbo Jones

    (The Simpsons – Homer vs. Patty and Selma) [S06E17]

    The other interesting gap in our film literacy was the release date of all these films; which movie came out when? Not something the average viewer cared about at the time. After all the dates would’ve been somewhere on the cover if you were that keen. No, it only became a concern for us film buffs in later years.

    Which film was older? “Dawn of the Dead” or “The Evil Dead”?

    Or for slasher fans: “Halloween” or “Friday the 13th” or “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”?

    It matters in terms of originality and inspiration.

    What order do the James Bond films go in?

    Basic film trivia that is so easy to find nowadays. The kind of stuff that only matters to geeks. Guess what I was/am?

    Such a bizarre way to explore the back catalogue of cinema. The ability to watch feature films, uncut and uninterrupted (fucken TV edits & commercials!) with no chronological sequence other than when the distributers got around to putting a title onto tape. In a strange way the original video generation was introduced to films according to our own unique timeline, and that was our order of release dates.

    A list of films in order of their release on VHS or Beta rather than theatrical release. Not even I’m that big of a geek…I would love to check it out if it was done though. Has it by any chance?

  • WE NEED TO DIG A LITTLE DEEPER: Wrong Side of the Verbal Lynch Mob

    How many times have you been watching a movie and those fucking snickering stooges are putting shit on some hapless victim. However the numbers stack up, it’s always a bunch of these assholes, and one or two Schmoes who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It might just be taunts, or it could escalate to an assault or rape depending on the film.

    Regardless of how trite this scenario may seem, it is one of those cliches that keeps being used. The reason is as simple as it is depressing: this cruel behaviour happens all the time in everyday life. I’ll save the physical abuse for a later post. For now, I would like to focus on the group dynamics of this seemingly ingrained nastiness, and I’ll concentrate on the verbal stuff; which can wind up being just as traumatic in the worst cases.

    Everyone has been on the receiving end of a mocking mob who have decided you are the target at some point. Not all will admit it; many people have buried such humiliation deep down, and heaven have mercy on the one who tries digging there. People rarely appreciate someone exposing raw nerves.

    It is utterly ridiculous to believe that any human being has been in control of every situation from first memory till the present. In any one of those unprotected moments, we are all at the mercy of others. Without employing selective memory, it would be a remarkable life that never suffered the sting of cruel or careless words; and not necessarily in a good way. To have never been humbled could lead to a plethora of psychological flaws.

    My point is that power can be a precarious attribute. It often shifts according to situations and circumstances. We were all very vulnerable to adults when we were kids and many of them would have been carrying their own distressing recollections (be they conscious or buried). And schoolyards? Holy shit! Kids can be very cruel to one another.

    Even as an adult you may hold dominion in one group or relationship, while being the doormat somewhere else. There are too many factors to consider all at once, so I will limit this post to linguistic argy bargy; primarily in a group setting. Here the balance of power can easily shift based on who has the numbers on their side.

    While I am not getting into gang violence right now, there is no denying the threat of a group turning hostile would certainly have an influence on an otherwise aggressive person; thus, removing an important weapon from their arsenal. The once weaker of the disputants finally being emboldened by the backing of the crowd. The textbook, bully being silenced by the majority shtick.

    Two people are having a disagreement, and the crowd has decided that A is being unfairly treated by B, so they come to their assistance. Using the crowd’s ability to bestow validity to one side, while raining scorn on the other, they ensure that A’s arguments land much firmer than B’s. Extra damage may be inflicted if things degenerate into insults, where the crowd now becomes the judiciary on whose “dis” is best. That overwhelming laughter and ridicule can be devastating to any ego.

    That is all very nice and I’m sure it does happen, but here comes that fucken philosopher again!

    How can anyone be truly sure that they are on the right side of this dispute? It can feel very satisfying to take down a bully, and in a typical fictional scenario the audience would be clued in as to who the aggrieved party is. Even if it is a cautionary tale about mob justice that ends badly, we still get a fairly clear outcome.

    In reality, we rarely get any such closure. Nor do we have much in the way of accurate backstory. A disagreement unfolds and we happen to be part of the nearby throng. All things being equal it’s none of our business and we keep it that way. There usually needs to be a trigger for an onlooker to chime in.

    An even distribution of supporters on both sides and/or an impartial crowd would be a rare level playing field. Any side can prevail on the merit of their debating or dissing prowess. The crowd will announce a victor through a series of cheers, laughter (which can be positive or negative) and possibly a bit of running commentary. Or they might dissipate because they are uninterested, which could make things awkward for the arguers.

    That, or the timely arrival of an assertive mediator able to silence the mob (a rare species indeed) are the only chance of limiting the potential of mob bullying. Once the balance shifts it can become an infuriating uphill battle for the poor dolt having to argue with a herd united against them.

    What drives a background character to decide they need to add their own two cents worth?

    One alternative is that we have a dog in this fight, and we might feel a little protective of them. We may feel compelled to offer some moral support. This could take the form of validating our buddy’s points. The truth may or may not matter, depending on how invested you are. Once emotions flare, winning the argument takes priority over finding a solution. One more arrow in the quiver for the sidekick/s is that of scoffing and invalidating any points being put forward by the other side. Very fucking frustrating to deal with!

    Another alternative to lend your jibes could be an existing dislike for one of the two quarrellers and a desire to see them ridiculed. Maybe they are a known bully; maybe they embarrassed you in the past. This would fall under the “enemy of my enemy is my friend” motive. You might not get the win for yourself, but you do get the satisfaction of seeing them lose; or that’s the hope anyway.

    One more before moving on. That tricky moment when one of the beefers turns and invites your opinion. Not always an ideal request for those who like to keep a low profile. Even worse if the person summoning you is the one being pummeled and they are desperately looking for back-up. I mean, how much do you really like this person?

    Are you willing to join their public ridicule? How much weight do you have here? Are you even able to make a difference?

    Let’s pause and look at what makes being a social scapegoat so terrible. Being on the receiving end of public humiliation via group heckling triggers our deep-rooted fear of being cast out of the tribe; a virtual death sentence in our primitive minds. To be treated in such a sadistic way by a bunch of strangers can bring forth that very same existential dread; which is why it feels so fucking horrible even if there is no physical danger.

    Now multiply that angst by how attached you are to this group: family, friends, workmates etc. People you will be running into again and again – fuck! Or the coup de grace: people you loved and trusted; people you depended on. They could be from any of the aforementioned groups, and that creates an excruciating wound.

    Brenner: I once asked Moore what’s worse than rape. Now I know. Betrayal.

    “The General’s Daughter” (1999)

    That fear would play a defining role in your decision of whether or not to answer the call for assistance. Even if you know the harassment is uncalled for, you may remain silent to spare yourself a similar fate. And congratulations if you do! You have earned yourself a new splinter for your psyche. It’s width and depth being defined by how guilty you feel for your silence. Not a problem if you have no conscience of course.

    Okay, so you decide you don’t need any more remorse, and you will intervene to, at the very least, prevent a total annihilation. You don’t, or hardly know, the prey of these hyenas; or maybe you do, but you disagree with a lot of their assertions. So, you try and de-escalate by finding the middle ground and seeing both sides? Get prepared for “Are you taking their side?”  – can’t fucken win!

    Pays to be pre-emptive here and make your exit as soon as you sense the desperation; bale! bale! An ounce prevention is better than a pound of cure.

    Of course, never rule out that you may be the bully and simply cannot resist the temptation to put the boot into someone while they are distracted. “Enemy of my enemy” is just as effective for the Darkside of our psyche. Sure, that “enemy” got one over on you, but that doesn’t automatically make you an innocent victim. What if you were the aggressor who picked the wrong mark? Picking on the wrong person and looking foolish is a far cry from being victimized.

    Which brings me to yet another bully sleight of hand: playing the victim. Or, more disturbing, genuinely believing you are. The loss of face that you rightfully deserved is an insult that must be avenged. “You asked for it” only applies to others for the bully. Some people need drama as much as oxygen – fucking pests!

    Now we arrive at the awful truth. What’s worse than being THE bully? Being one of those fucken snickering stooges! Who decides which side of the debate is more correct? We are all heroes in our own stories – therefore it’s highly likely that we would be the villain every now and then in someone else’s, whether we know it or not.

    That can be a hard pill to swallow, and I have no desire to force it on anyone. I do not have any statistics to back this theory up. It’s merely a sneaking suspicion I have, and would like you to ponder. Are you certain you have never been on the side of the tormentor? An uncomfortable concept, I’m sure; unless you are a psychopath or sociopath that is.

    So much more rattling around in my head. I’ll circle back again later.

  • LYRICAL MUSINGS #3

    In 1985 I was 12 years old, and this song didn’t really make much of an impact on me. I wasn’t really into music and only watched ABCs “Countdown” because that was one of the shows my older sister had chosen as a must watch. The house had to share the one television back then.

    It was/is a catchy tune, and Tina Cross was gorgeous. I honestly cannot recall seeing the video, although when I stumbled on it a few years ago, I insistently recognised it. Kind of like “I know I’ve seen this before, but I cannot remember” moments. The tune, the chorus and Tina Cross instantly hit my nostalgia buttons.

    As I have re-listened to it over the years I have fallen in love with one particular line. The song itself tells a pretty straightforward narrative. A young woman hooking up with an older man. It’s all new and exciting for her, but he wants commitments and control. She likes the guy and is enjoying their time together. However, she can also see that his feelings are more intense than hers and things are getting a little too serious.

    She is literally telling him she does not want to make promises she cannot keep. We never find out how things ended up. It can be intriguing to imagine how this seemingly possessive lover handled being rejected by the object of his obsession…

    She is trying to explain the divergence of their feelings for one another and let him down easy. She shows great insight into his and her own motivations. However, the line I will refer too is sublime wisdom!

    “Changes of seasons I haven’t been through.”

    What an awesome line! Regardless of how paradoxical it is for one so young to comprehend such a concept: I fucking adore it!

    At 12 years old, I would’ve been lucky to grasp even a basic understanding of the lyrics. Rehearing them over thirty years later was a brand-new experience. Same song interacting with a more mature mind. With a person who had been through many changes of seasons himself. Corny but very true. At twenty-two, or even thirty-two it wouldn’t have hit the same.

    “Seasons”, the plural make the world of difference. Each new era changes your perspective on life and your place in the world. The exact same song or film can resonate completely differently with the same person at different phases of their life; and here’s the twist on the line I am currently praising: you can only fully appreciate it looking back.

    Tina Ross was 26 at the time of the songs release and her character in the song was maybe a little younger. The chances that a person in their early 20s would be contemplating such notions as the changing seasons of life would be very rare; them comprehending it beyond an interesting idea is almost impossible.

    Perhaps such a contradiction becomes understandable when you discover the song was written by a 39-year-old male. Leon Berger was possibly the age of the male character in the song, and this might lead to the presumption that the song was about his relationship with Tina Ross; though I have no evidence of that.

    Maybe he did have a similar painful love affair with another young lady all the same. So, we have an older man writing a song told through the eyes of an exuberant young woman trying to break up with a man who has lived through a few more changes of seasons than her.

    Leon Berger may have placed his own life experience into the psyche of his female protagonist. Intentionally or not, he produced a great line that always makes me smile. Just a few words slapped together in the context of a pop song, and it hits an existential nerve (with me at least).

    Of course, a more mundane thesis could be put across. Maybe she read or heard that line somewhere and never had any use for it until the time she was trying to dump some older dude who was getting too clingy; trying her best to prevent herself from acquiring a stalker.

    I like my interpretation better.

  • POTENTIAL DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY: True Stories #28

    I was so excited to finally get my licence. I was a late starter, and I failed my Ps test 3 times. I was so nervous every time I took the test, and I made silly mistakes which prevented me from passing; but today I finally have it. Last night Sydney had been awarded the 2000 Olympic Games and today I finally passed the fucken test. I missed out on getting pissed last night because of it, but it was worth it.

    My mate Jonno was accompanying me for my inaugural drive without someone needing to supervise me. We were sitting in mum’s beat-up Mazda 323 in the driveway at home.

    I put it into reverse and began moving out onto the road for my first drive as a ‘proper’ driver. Just as the rear wheels left the curb and hit the road a cyclist appeared behind me and had to swerve to avoid getting cleaned up.

    Jonno saw him and screamed out a warning:

    “Look out!”

    I saw him and knew that this was a close call. Then for some God forsaken reason I panicked and hit the accelerator instead of the brake.

    The car zoomed out onto the road practically pursuing the poor cyclist. He had avoided the initial accident but was now facing a new and worse threat. He had to swerve even more severely now and move out into the other lane of traffic. By sheer luck there were no cars coming at the time. If there had been this unfortunate cyclist would have been smashed for sure.

    This all happened in a matter of seconds, but it felt like minutes. I was reversing after the cyclist and desperately trying to gain control of my right foot. Jonno seemed to be screaming “stop!!!” on a repeating cycle.

    Eventually the cyclist got out of the range of my lethal 323 and I got my foot on the brake where it belonged. We drove on in a stunned silence. I don’t recall Jonno saying anything and I think we did the obligatory drive to Maccas to Christian my first outing. What a shocker of a start! What a fortunate conclusion.

  • ROYALTY BE DAMNED: Rise of the Tycoons #24

    As chaotic as it seems now, the United States of America was a genuine attempt to improve on the feudal system and its aristocratic biases. They called it a noble experiment, and it was at the time. Of course you must ignore the plight of the slaves, the native Americans and the total lack of women’s rights. Maybe we’ll call it a novel experiment. They were making a serious attempt to create a new form of government and to put in place checks and balances to limit tyranny.

    “We the people…” is such a powerful opening! Okay it was obviously more specific than that, but much like the French “all men…”, it just sounds better than “We the white males…” Also like the French redistribution of wealth, there was still a limit to exactly who was entitled to a piece of that pie.

    I mean we can’t be giving land back to the natives or doing without slave labour; that would put huge restrictions on our profit margins, and we deserve those just as much as any aristocracy. It’s our turn at the trough!

    Blatant hypocrisy aside, this was a nation far removed from the European nobility and its ingrained nepotism. “No more of these spoiled brats being born into power and privilege”. Ludicrous as that sounds now, that was what they were aiming for; or maybe just professing. Rather hard to imagine that these “men of such foresight” had no inkling that a new breed of high society would rise and embed themselves at the top of this new hierarchy.

    “Protecting the Queen’s safety is a task that is gladly accepted by Police Squad. No matter how silly the idea of having a queen might be to us, as Americans, we must be gracious and considerate hosts.”

    Frank Drebin “The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad” (1988)

    Well maybe they were dreamers; along with being biased and possibly deceptive; but hey! They were trying something unique. Despite the true and unknowable motives of the leaders of this revolution, the majority seemed overwhelmingly dedicated to breaking the royal chains and preventing any such concentration of power from forming again.

    It is totally feasible that the average white man was ignorant of the horrible injustices they were perpetrating themselves; seeing their own fight for freedom as a righteous one, while glossing over their own sins. Victims usually can’t see themselves as bullies; that sort of inconsistency can be very painful to face. Particularly on a societal level.

    So, we have established that “We the people…” referred to a very specific portion of the population and that this was a sanctimonious farce. Thank you, and I’ll see you later…

    No, wait! How did it turn out for the white guys who fit “the people” mould? Not much different than it did in France, it turns out. Although this revolution does pre-date, and had an influence on, the French one. Be that as it may those pesky go-getters went and got the lion’s share again soon enough.

    A few centuries and several generations later we find a “new world” version of a ruling class; technically not aristocratic, yet certainly generationally entrenched and dripping with nepotism. The only difference they have with European nobility and gentry is the link between the lineage and the land. Most European elites have to go back a lot further than their American counterparts to find the era where an ancestor planted their first flag and declared “this is mine!” Everybody had to start somewhere.

    A lot of European countries also have the quaint tradition of still supporting a royal family. Variations of constitutional Monarchy maintained by the taxpayers is a bizarre form of nostalgia. Keeping the royal family in luxury for the sake of tradition; their authority being mostly ceremonial. Let’s not dwell on that…in this one anyway.

    Back to the USA. My understanding of the US Constitution is that one of its main goals was to prevent the kind of totalitarianism that is possible with a ruling class. Exponents praise the humility and wisdom of the writer’s; the way they admitted to the potential for any man to become corrupted by excessive power. Apparently, they devised a unique democracy with a systematic division of power that would block any one group from monopolising the authority of government.

    They also seemed to lean very heavily into the whole “individual freedom” schtick. They have a real thing about liberty – and guns too. Shit, that whole “liberty or death” and “don’t tread on me” thing. The gist being that government should keep their meddling hands out of the citizens “pursuit of happiness” as much as possible, lest they provoke an armed uprising from the citizens.

    The implied promise was a level playing field (for certain people) where anyone with enough business savvy and diligence can work their way up. Up to where? I mean we don’t have an upper class, right? Well, you must reward hard work and ingenuity! This is true, but what do these successful people do with their accumulated wealth? Whatever they want. Like create a dynasty and keep it in the family? Yeah, okay smart-ass, but they don’t have fancy titles and shit. You mean like “mogul”, tycoon”, “magnate” or maybe the simpler “billionaire” or trillionaire”? Fuck off!

    The traditional noble class has been supplanted by the ultra-rich. The populous has their new fandangled democracy along with their elected representatives. Trouble is those congress men and women and senators are, by definition, politicians.  Spouting righteousness is essential; literal integrity is not. These people (most people) are not beyond the lure of worldly pleasures; which can be provided by any generous benefactor.

    Whatever the aspirations of this high-minded political system and autonomous society were, the results show a depressingly inescapable wealth and power inequality yet again. A lot of the libertine ideas meant to curb government interference laid the groundwork for the more ruthless entrepreneurs to crush their competition and influence future legislation.

    You can change the rules, but the ones who want it the most will adapt, and the wiliest of the bunch will find a way to hit the heights.

  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: You Tell us How You Measure it and We’ll Find the Workaround.

    Key Performance Indicators are the tried-and-true metrics businesses use to measure how well they are meeting specific goals that are imperative to their success. The larger the company the further removed the action on the ground is from the decision makers; thus, the checks and balances get easier to fudge.

    It’s impossible to monitor the goings on in every nook and cranny of a large company with distinct divisions and hierarchies in one building. Spread that organisation across numerous locations and countries and you could get buried in data if you don’t have a system to narrow down the specific benchmarks that need to be watched.

    Get it right and the decision makers now have access to crucial information at the click of a mouse. This index provides a quantifiable gauge on whether they are achieving the goals they need to. Each supervisor has targets they need to reach. If they consistently fall short, questions will be asked and pressure placed on that person’s manager and so on up the chain; all the way to the CEO who must satisfy the Board of Directors with his own impressive numbers.

    The Directors then use these statistics to impress their investors in the hopes of receiving more capital. Put that simply, it is ridiculous to think that numbers are not getting fudged all the way up that ladder. Especially when you consider that the person on the next rung up gets no benefit from finding too many problems beneath them. Plausible deniability is a wonderful thing!

    This system, by design, has blind spots. The prioritising of which criteria receives attention assures certain stats go unnoticed or unrecorded. If your concern doesn’t fall under a KPI, you may be wasting your time trying to improve it. Why would your boss consciously give themselves another ball to juggle?

    Add to this the conflicting interests of various divisions, roles and responsibilities, and you are at risk of a form of civil war within your own corporation. Operations, marketing, finance etc. all have KPIs that may well clash with each other. What if the same role has competing obligations?

    A simple example from my warehouse experience: supervisors and depot managers are directly accountable for productivity. If the numbers are down, asses get kicked. These same people are also answerable to health and safety regulators. They are the worker’s first point of call for any hazards that need to be reported.

    Trying to accident proof a busy warehouse is unfeasible, but so is having a high number of accidents and near misses. The leaders on the ground must walk the fine line between keeping the workplace safe and keeping the operations running efficiently; and it is often a gamble. Many risks get left unattended for the sake of saving time and money. A literal game of “what are the chances?” Most of the time the chewing gum and sticky tape hold it together until a replacement arrives. If it sounds malicious; well, it fucking is!

    Although, as it unfolds in real time, it is just another speculation in profit and loss. People at the coalface getting the job done with the resources they have. The defence would be akin to “the boy who cried wolf”. “99% of the time nothing eventuates”, but you know what they say? “You get away with it, until you don’t”

    This deserves a post of its own. Moving on…

    Cooking the books is as old as business itself. Only a fool would offer 100% honesty in all records. “Everybody does it” and other cliches. The thing that fascinates me most is when the whole ruse is an open secret that everyone just accepts.

    A recent example comes courtesy or the Golden Arches themselves; those pillars of business savvy and efficiency. A huge part of their brand is speed. The food is far from gourmet, but it is convenient.

    One crucial KPI used to monitor the success of the swift service goal is the drive-thru timer. Staff have a set time limit for moving each customer through, from ordering to driving off with their food. That timer helps the team keep track of their performance. It also keeps a record for the number crunchers to examine. The idea being, they can spot issues and find solutions.

    “Notice the spike in missed time quotas during the lunch rush?”

    “Maybe the menu has become a little overblown.” Etc.

    I wonder how they factor in those scores of drivers who get moved on to the waiting bays. What happens to that data? Is it one of those open secrets? Oops we forgot to track that.

    Here’s the scam: that timer resets whenever a driver moves past the service window. Whether or not they have their food doesn’t matter. You probably thought those extra bays were for complicated orders or unexpected delays, and they probably started out for that reason; keep the cars moving through.

    Over time a few clever Dicks spotted the loophole. If we are struggling to keep up with the timer, we can slip a driver or two through to the waiting bays and get a restart. Fucking brilliant!

    “What happens when corporate gets wind of this racket?” I hear you ask. Funny thing that. They use the doctored data as evidence of their speedy service system. They show the CEO, who shows The Board, who then amaze the shareholders with these statistics that prove how efficient their drive-thru operation is. WOW!

    “It’s only a rort if you’re not in on it”

    Of course, I must point out I personally have no hard proof of this superb swindle, but I admire the cunning if it’s true. Straight-up fraud or a case of “the emperor’s new clothes”, it is a fantastic illustration of what I am trying to say.

    One different example before we part. Another statistic that might need a little diddling could be customer satisfaction. I’m sure you have received one of those silly text messages or emails from Australia Post asking, “How did we do?”. It’s so fucken absurd! You delivered the parcel…what do you want? A bloody medal?

    Now, I understand the idea: “was the parcel undamaged?” and such. But riddle me this: why do you never seem to get one of these “surveys” after you get one of those “your parcel is ready to pick up from the post office” pains in the ass? Not much probing necessary to find the reasons behind that little omission.

    “Look at all of our positive reviews!”

    “There doesn’t seem to be any mention of failed deliveries”

    “Well, they mustn’t be that important to our customers then”

    Fucken shonks!!!

    Humans are an adaptable species, particularly when money is involved.

  • WHAT IF YOU WERE THE BAD GUY? Movie Musings #16

    (1997)

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    Stumbled on a 90s sci-fi flick I had never noticed before and decided to have a look. It was a decent story, well-executed for what seemed like a modest budget. Turns out it was a US TV movie which explains why it may have been overlooked in the land down under. I am very glad I took the punt!

    I have IMDb reviews to thank; or the first two anyway:

    “An intelligent sci-fi film” & “Great movie for sci-fi afficionados”

    Hit the nail right on the head! As an action film it was average; about the same as a thriller. Without the finance for flashy special effects, the film has little going for it in terms of mass appeal. That’s where the concept kicks in. The science fiction idea that serves as the spine for the whole adventure was great food for thought.

    Again, it is nothing groundbreaking; cloning a human being and the countless conundrums that go with it. There are many fascinating directions a writer can take from this starting point. This story takes the corporate greed angle as its main through-line (right up my alley!).

    We open with genius scientist, Johhny and his hard-headed business partner Frank. Clever casting has Frank played by Michael Ironside which has the audience doubting his morals and motives from the get-go; saves time. So, Johnny is the high-minded boffin trying to improve things for mankind, while Frank is the no-nonsense executive who turns the scientific stuff into money for himself and the shareholders; and to give Johnny such brilliant facilities for his work; win-win.

    Frank’s ultimate goal with cloning is to sell immortality and make a fortune. Right now, they are only in their infancy, keeping the funds coming in through bold promises, backed by successful experiments. Johnny is too busy working on improving his technology to be concerned about finances. However, that opening scene does plant a foreshadowing seed when Frank says to Johnny:

    “What, you think because you’re a scientist and I scurry around looking for the bottom line, that you’re immune? (scoff) My scientific friend, you would sell your soul to be on this year’s Nobel Prize list.”

    After a violent encounter with ecological terrorists, Johnny sustains a critical head injury and wakes in a hospital still on the grounds of the facility. Here comes the bad news. Almost 20 years have passed – well that sucks. Worse news: you’re not the ‘real’ Johnny. You’re exactly the same with the same memories, likes, dislikes etc. but you’re a clone – ouch!!!

    Good news, we made a few improvements: notice that you no longer need to wear glasses – you’re welcome. We also spruced up your immune system which will help in this disease-ridden dystopian future your (sorry, Johnny and Frank’s) corporation had a hand in creating, and now basically rules. A mysterious old dude named Bosch is the CEO of the corporation now and Frank is his trusted right hand.

    Oh, almost forgot, one more little piece of bad news; we haven’t exactly perfected this cloning humans thing. After a while your body will reject its own DNA sequencing and you will fall apart. Johnny (the real Johnny) has been kidnapped by terrorists and all his research and files have been destroyed. Find him and find your salvation and the means to infinite wealth for the corporation.

    From here the plot is pretty generic: underground rebels, gun-fights, espionage and such. The joy for sci-fi geeks is in the dialogue that goes on in between the action. The writer/s take a fair dinkum look into the philosophical implications of such incredible (maybe not so much now) technology:

    • If you could provide eternal life, would you jealously guard it for yourself and a select few?
    • Would you sell it to the highest bidders?
    • What is the difference between having a clone that is exactly like you and transferring your consciousness to a healthy new body?

    Awesome for some, boring and convoluted for mainstream audiences I would assume. Either way I will be delving into those conundrums another time. For now, I want to stick to the films main twist.

    Not surprisingly, original Johnny is involved with the rebels trying to bring down the evil corporation. Unfortunately, clone Johnny has another bad tiding in store. Firstly, Original Johnny is not pleased to meet him and considers him an abomination of sorts. The real kicker, however, is that the genetic meltdown story was bogus and clones live a fairly standard lifetime – Frank and Bosch you bastards!

    As we approach the climax, the hits keep on coming. Turns out original Johnny is really just the first clone, and clone Johnny is clone number 2. The real original Johnny is being kept alive via an elaborate life support system after an explosion in the lab. Bosch is a holographic projection of the genuine Johnny, connected by neural interface.

    The plan had always been to have clone Johnny 2 get the missing research and then transfer original Johnny’s mind into a healthy clone…like clone Johnny 2.

    And so, we arrive at the awful truth. Original Johnny was corrupted by his success. The praise and prosperity proved too tempting. Frank’s suggestion regarding the similarity between himself and Johnny proved very accurate. Greed and pride are birds of a feather.

    Bosch: The night I went for the MRI scan, it turned out the head injury wasn’t all that serious. I went back to my research in two or three days. After that things went well. By the time I turned 40, I was already richer than I could ever have dreamed possible. Then came the Fed crash and the new corporate political structure. Suddenly I was one of the most powerful men in the world. You have no idea what that felt like, but believe me Johnny, you loved it. Wealth, power, but it became clear that something was missing: Immortality.

    The major sting in that monologue is delivered with one word – YOU! “You loved it Johnny”. You, the good guy standing there. The guy who wanted to use science to make the world a better place. A guy convinced he had only noble intentions and would not be seduced by fortune and fame. The ‘you’ who faced the temptation is standing before you telling you that you took to avarice and hubris like a duck to water.

    Now the question begs: would you do it again knowing what you now know? Great sci-fi always leaves you with intriguing questions.

    I was instantly reminded of the shocking reveal in “Total Recall” (1990). The feeling of betrayal when the hero we have been so invested in, is a fucking villain! Sort of anyway. In that story Hauser is the genuine/original person and that person was a skunk. Quaid, the protagonist we have been following, is the result of reprogramming Hauser as a means to infiltrate the rebels. The ‘good guy’ is a fake …A painful pill to swallow.

    Johnny 2.0 puts a fascinating variation on that uncomfortable paradox. 3 separate Johnnies, each beginning at a different time and then travelling different paths on their individual timeline.

    1. Original Johnny: since birth until being placed on life support and living vicariously through Bosch.
    2. Johnny 2.0 (the real number 2, not the one we have been following) was cloned when original Johnny was 35 with edited memories.
    3. Johnny 3.0 (our Johnny) was cloned in this present and is 35, while the other Johnnies have aged nearly two decades. Whew!

    Johnny 3.0: At 2 hours old I’m sure there’s a lot you haven’t told me.

    After the lab accident Frank slaps OG Johnny in the life-support/hologram link machine so he can still run the company as Bosch. The first Johnny clone was then created to continue the research and the quest for immortality.

    Bosch: His memories were selectively edited to prevent him from ever knowing he was a clone. But without the memories of wealth and power, he developed an annoying self-righteous sense of moral responsibility. He vanished leaving us with nothing but a 15-year-old brain scan.

    And there it is in a nutshell. The only reason the two clones managed to avoid the wicked allure of prosperity was because they were never exposed to its tantalizing charm. Technically they were never given the choice so to put a tiny twist on the lyrics:

    “I’m not a coward I’ve just never been tested.

    I’d like to think that if I was I would pass.”

    The Impression That I Get (The Mighty Mighty Bosstones)

    Although all circumstances being equal, it seems inevitable they would take the megalomaniacal route their authentic self took and that is an ugly prospect to face. Imagine standing face to face with your future self and thinking “this guy is an arrogant asshole who may very well be evil”.

    “If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

    Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

    A Jungian shadow paradox mindfuck! An unnerving glimpse into the potential darkness in your own soul. That is what makes this film such a brilliant fit for the cerebral sci-fi fans; kind of a smaller niche of the overall genre.