When some punk year 8 kid used to be a smartarse towards you, you could do anything to him short of picking him up by his collar and pounding him repeatedly over the top of his head with the spine of his maths textbook whilst taunting, "know your algebra, bitch!". That was because once upon a time, back at school, being three or four years older than someone came with a satisfying sense of authority. Perhaps it was the environment of a school setting, which lends itself to a system where age correlates with hierarchy and rank, or perhaps I was madly drunk on the absolute power that came with a tiny prefect badge and the stripes of a year 12 uniform. Whatever the case, it unfortunately never carried over into the real adult world. Instead, the feeling of authority and invincibility inherent with being surrounded by younger people is irrevocably replaced by the thought that you're becoming an old fart that is finding more and more about the world to whine and moan about.
Being 24 and quickly approaching 25 certainly doesn't make you old at all, but relativity can be a pain in the lower cheeks. When you go to a 21st birthday party where practically everyone is 19 or 20, it strangely makes you feel a lot more ... mature. When people are asking what you do at uni when you graduated almost three years ago, something definitely doesn't sit right within you. When the others talk about what they've been doing on their holidays you think to yourself, "holidays? wtf is that?!"
Likewise, they also make your liver feel much older. I like to think that I can hold my drink (for a skinny Asian guy). Except for that one time a couple of years ago on my birthday, I've never had to enlist the assistance of my friends to drag me to my front door whilst in a state of lifeless dystonia and apparent death. At the same time, I can't exactly drink a football team to alcohol school either. But when you see teens cringing agonisingly everytime they down a shot of what can only be described as blue death mixed with whatever the closest bottle is, whilst you happily shot it away with a straight expressionless demeanour that says, "meh, I've had worse", you feel strangely older than you actually are. Granted yes, I wasn't exactly sober by the end of the night, and I ended up being one of the early sleepers, clocking out at the toddler bedtime of 3am. But I put that down to chronic fatigue brought about by three straight weeks of staying up 'til about 2 in the morning watching insane nutjobs on the TV cycle around France.
Maybe I need to get some more friends that are older. No wait, maybe I just need to get some more friends, full stop.
On a slight tangent, isn't it funny how being 21 automatically makes you super cool? As arbitrary as it is, it's the magical number that officially qualifies you as an adult. Welcome. Join the club. Bring a plate of food. But if you're 20, you're immediately one of "them". I don't care if you're smarter or more mature than I am, you're still not 21 and you haven't earnt your wings yet. It's the same as when you turn 18. One day, at 11:59pm you're not allowed to drive by yourself and you are deemed too innocent to be sullied by the evils of alcohol, but when that clock ticks past midnight, all of a sudden it's all ok. Likewise, that one single second can make all the difference between being on the right side of the law and having your name share the same sentence with the word 'paedophile'.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Nerds dressing up
I'm a bit of a nerd. Even though I haven't been lured into playing World of Warcraft and forgetting to feed three kids because of it, I will not deny the fact that I'm a bit nerdish. The acronym 'lol' has weasled its way into my daily, everyday speech. I watch Stargate and then proceed to buy the entire 10 seasons on DVD. I take offence when people tell me to buy a Mac instead of a PC. And I tend to play videogames when I come home from work instead of watching crap vomit Grey's Anatomy.
I am also a coward. You won't catch me proudly displaying my nerdish tendencies. Why else would I live in denial and refuse to get my eyesight checked? For you see, the world can be divided into two groups. Most are a bit of both, to varying degrees, but at the end of the day, you're on one side or the other. In the blue corner we have the aforementioned nerds, wearing their out-of-date glasses, debating with each other on which is the better weapon between Star Wars' light sabres and Star Trek's phasers (oh c'mon no contest, light sabres win on its ability to decapitate limbs), solving squiggly calculus lines, and laughing uncontrollably at the word 'roflcopter'. In the red corner we have the jocks, lifting 100kg at the gym every second night before kissing their guns in front of the mirror, starting fights on the ground every weekend because they haven't touched the ball and are getting bored because of it, drawing penises on the blackboard before the teacher comes in because it's so damn funny, and chugging beer to help offset the water shortages.
If the world broke out into a massive war between the two sides, the jocks would burn all the villages and have their way with all the women before the nerds could even learn how to take the safety off the rifle. It's for that reason that I would happily feign disdain for my nerdy brethren, when the cool kids come by with their super hot girlfriends. I'd tell them that the kid over there with the glasses not only likes Star Wars, but can also recite the entire script word for word, before happily standing there watching the jocks pound the livin
g crap out of the guy. Some people, however, choose to express their inner nerd, and to those people ... much respect. Good on you for sacrificing yourselves for the good of all us cowardly nerds.
And nothing says "NEEEEEEEEEEEERD!" *points finger at person* than those enthusiastic fans who go to movie premieres, book launches and sci-fi conventions in costumes. They have no shame. For them, shame is forgetting the colour of Luke Skywalker's light sabre. They won't get offended by what others say of them. They'll only get pissed off if you call them "that Asian girl Harry Potter kisses" instead of Hermione. If there's something remotely popular in a sci-fi or fantasy culture kind of way, you can always count on a brave few showing up proudly in a costume they spent six months preparing, or paying $300 for.
More power to them!
I thought I'd find a relevant picture to post up just for the hell of it. As I was searching, I came across this (from all4humor.com)
Classic!
I am also a coward. You won't catch me proudly displaying my nerdish tendencies. Why else would I live in denial and refuse to get my eyesight checked? For you see, the world can be divided into two groups. Most are a bit of both, to varying degrees, but at the end of the day, you're on one side or the other. In the blue corner we have the aforementioned nerds, wearing their out-of-date glasses, debating with each other on which is the better weapon between Star Wars' light sabres and Star Trek's phasers (oh c'mon no contest, light sabres win on its ability to decapitate limbs), solving squiggly calculus lines, and laughing uncontrollably at the word 'roflcopter'. In the red corner we have the jocks, lifting 100kg at the gym every second night before kissing their guns in front of the mirror, starting fights on the ground every weekend because they haven't touched the ball and are getting bored because of it, drawing penises on the blackboard before the teacher comes in because it's so damn funny, and chugging beer to help offset the water shortages.
If the world broke out into a massive war between the two sides, the jocks would burn all the villages and have their way with all the women before the nerds could even learn how to take the safety off the rifle. It's for that reason that I would happily feign disdain for my nerdy brethren, when the cool kids come by with their super hot girlfriends. I'd tell them that the kid over there with the glasses not only likes Star Wars, but can also recite the entire script word for word, before happily standing there watching the jocks pound the livin
g crap out of the guy. Some people, however, choose to express their inner nerd, and to those people ... much respect. Good on you for sacrificing yourselves for the good of all us cowardly nerds.And nothing says "NEEEEEEEEEEEERD!" *points finger at person* than those enthusiastic fans who go to movie premieres, book launches and sci-fi conventions in costumes. They have no shame. For them, shame is forgetting the colour of Luke Skywalker's light sabre. They won't get offended by what others say of them. They'll only get pissed off if you call them "that Asian girl Harry Potter kisses" instead of Hermione. If there's something remotely popular in a sci-fi or fantasy culture kind of way, you can always count on a brave few showing up proudly in a costume they spent six months preparing, or paying $300 for.
More power to them!
I thought I'd find a relevant picture to post up just for the hell of it. As I was searching, I came across this (from all4humor.com)
Classic!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
How to flip the middle finger up at your loyal audience
1) Base your new reality TV show around an activity that everyone can take part in, as opposed to one that requires contestants to dance around monkeys, sing like broken records, or lose the equivalent weight of a Mac truck through dangerous exercise methods. Borrow a proven concept originating from overseas TV to maximise chances of success.
2) Give the show a sense of credibility by rewarding skill, as opposed to popularity. Borrow the services of several renowned professionals in the field to adjudicate and decipher the eventual winner. Ensure the show is not a popularity contest by scrapping the laughable revenue raising exercise of viewer SMS voting that plagues other reality gimmicks.
3) Bake the new show for a few weeks in front of live national audiences.
4) Watch as viewers, even those not traditionally fond of reality TV, praise the show for its format being conducive to honesty and integrity, unlike pretty much every other "judging" based reality show.
5) With one week remaining, make a decision as to who would sell the best cookbook (the final prize) and thus rake in the most revenue for producers. Designate her "the chosen one".
6) Criticise someone for making food too basic to be worthy of final week competition, then reward the chosen one for making uncreative lamb and potatoes later on.
7) Punish the chosen one for completely botching a pie, by eliminating another competitor who at least competently finishes his.
8) Allow the chosen one to leave a fish raw, and eliminate another contestant, one whom the public believes should've deserved to be the eventual winner (based on apparent skill, and not just popularity).
9) Lay down a challenge which will primarily be judged on presentation and whether it can be "licked straight off the page." Then, to contradict yourself, proceed to save the chosen one who didn't even finish creating her dishes, and eliminate some other guy who managed to at least complete the task and plate up with some form of presentation. It doesn't matter who, just someone else. He is not the chosen one, and therefore expendable. To at least attempt gaining some semblence of popularity, make the expendable one the least liked one amongst public sentiment, despite the fact that he has been the most consistent performer, and easily one of the top two.
10) Bring in apparent cookbook extraordinaire Donna Hay to help judge the aforementioned presentation challenge. Allow her to show obvious premeditated agenda through use of overtly contrasting body language towards the chosen one and the expendable one throughout the episode.
11) Let the chosen one cry and sob in front of the cameras, and continuously mention something vague about family and cooking being her life. Allow judges to take in that emotional drivel and influence outcome. It will make them look human, and that can't be a bad thing in objective decision-making.
12) Disregard the fact that the chosen one, despite being able to cook some tasty homestyle food, really wouldn't cut it as a professional, commercial chef because she has nervous breakdowns, cannot handle pressure, shakes like crazy, is ridiculously messy, has no concept of time management, sweats more than an obese man running, cycling and swimming at the same time (and allows the sweat to drip into her food!), sabotages her own confidence by continuously muttering to herself that she's going to lose, and does not think laterally enough in her creations when compared to her competitors.
13) Sit back and watch as once loyal viewers vent frustration at the show at the water cooler and in online forums, for slapping them in the face and assuming they have no intelligence. Allow them to realise that they have been duped into believing the show was about the best amateur chef, rather than the one that the public can most relate to and will be most suited to making a sellable cookbook.
14) Consider changing the title of the show from Masterchef to Mediocrechef or Mastercookbook.
15) Make sure next season's chosen one will be in the demographic that makes up most of channel 10's audience (adults at the younger end of the scale). These are the intelligent ones that appreciate legitimacy and credibility over being smashed on the head with disguised petty drama and political influence, as opposed to the middle-aged housewives of the country that relate to the current chosen one because "yay! Go Julie because of I likes you and you have kids, and cry and make me cry and make hubby cry, and make kids want to cook for me, and such, and therefore you are Masterchef extraordinaire."
*Flicks back to the Lifestyle Food channel to watch the proper and original UK version of Masterchef*
2) Give the show a sense of credibility by rewarding skill, as opposed to popularity. Borrow the services of several renowned professionals in the field to adjudicate and decipher the eventual winner. Ensure the show is not a popularity contest by scrapping the laughable revenue raising exercise of viewer SMS voting that plagues other reality gimmicks.
3) Bake the new show for a few weeks in front of live national audiences.
4) Watch as viewers, even those not traditionally fond of reality TV, praise the show for its format being conducive to honesty and integrity, unlike pretty much every other "judging" based reality show.
5) With one week remaining, make a decision as to who would sell the best cookbook (the final prize) and thus rake in the most revenue for producers. Designate her "the chosen one".
6) Criticise someone for making food too basic to be worthy of final week competition, then reward the chosen one for making uncreative lamb and potatoes later on.
7) Punish the chosen one for completely botching a pie, by eliminating another competitor who at least competently finishes his.
8) Allow the chosen one to leave a fish raw, and eliminate another contestant, one whom the public believes should've deserved to be the eventual winner (based on apparent skill, and not just popularity).
9) Lay down a challenge which will primarily be judged on presentation and whether it can be "licked straight off the page." Then, to contradict yourself, proceed to save the chosen one who didn't even finish creating her dishes, and eliminate some other guy who managed to at least complete the task and plate up with some form of presentation. It doesn't matter who, just someone else. He is not the chosen one, and therefore expendable. To at least attempt gaining some semblence of popularity, make the expendable one the least liked one amongst public sentiment, despite the fact that he has been the most consistent performer, and easily one of the top two.
10) Bring in apparent cookbook extraordinaire Donna Hay to help judge the aforementioned presentation challenge. Allow her to show obvious premeditated agenda through use of overtly contrasting body language towards the chosen one and the expendable one throughout the episode.
11) Let the chosen one cry and sob in front of the cameras, and continuously mention something vague about family and cooking being her life. Allow judges to take in that emotional drivel and influence outcome. It will make them look human, and that can't be a bad thing in objective decision-making.
12) Disregard the fact that the chosen one, despite being able to cook some tasty homestyle food, really wouldn't cut it as a professional, commercial chef because she has nervous breakdowns, cannot handle pressure, shakes like crazy, is ridiculously messy, has no concept of time management, sweats more than an obese man running, cycling and swimming at the same time (and allows the sweat to drip into her food!), sabotages her own confidence by continuously muttering to herself that she's going to lose, and does not think laterally enough in her creations when compared to her competitors.
13) Sit back and watch as once loyal viewers vent frustration at the show at the water cooler and in online forums, for slapping them in the face and assuming they have no intelligence. Allow them to realise that they have been duped into believing the show was about the best amateur chef, rather than the one that the public can most relate to and will be most suited to making a sellable cookbook.
14) Consider changing the title of the show from Masterchef to Mediocrechef or Mastercookbook.
15) Make sure next season's chosen one will be in the demographic that makes up most of channel 10's audience (adults at the younger end of the scale). These are the intelligent ones that appreciate legitimacy and credibility over being smashed on the head with disguised petty drama and political influence, as opposed to the middle-aged housewives of the country that relate to the current chosen one because "yay! Go Julie because of I likes you and you have kids, and cry and make me cry and make hubby cry, and make kids want to cook for me, and such, and therefore you are Masterchef extraordinaire."
*Flicks back to the Lifestyle Food channel to watch the proper and original UK version of Masterchef*
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