MINDLESS MUSINGS

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  • YOU CANNOT KILL AN IDEA: Rise of The Tycoons #20

    As we have seen, empires rise and fall. Some become part of a new conglomerate; some become a mere shadow of their former selves and others fade away completely. Kings, queens, czars, pharaohs, maharajas, emperors, shoguns, sheiks, Grand Poohbahs and anything else you can think of. They’re all dead and buried and the magnificent dynasties they once reigned are now relics.

    There are still people who can trace their ancestors back to one of those ancient behemoths, at least on one side of their complex family tree. There would be families who still live in the same region with an even closer tie to the glorious past. They may even have rituals and traditions dating back to before the empire rose around them.

    Almost every Greek I have spoken about this with feels a strong connection to those glory days before the rise of Rome. I’m sure there are many Italians who speak about the ancient empire with pride too. I won’t do a complete list around the globe; I’m sure you get my meaning.

    Descendants reminiscing about a once mighty empire is well and good, but the fact remains that change is inevitable and no matter how big and strong your domain is, it will eventually go the way of the dinosaurs. Whether it be a central stronghold with tentacles reaching out for subjects and slaves, or a marauding horde sweeping across continents, it will tumble in the end. Unless…

    What if your federation was not based on land, wealth and military might? What if it was simply a belief system that spread by scripture and word of mouth? In terms of religion, what if it offered answers to life’s mysteries? What if it prescribed the way to live a ‘good’ life and a way to find everlasting contentment after the curtain drops?

    No borders, no territory to defend, just an organised set of principles based around a spiritual leader; or to be more precise based on the message that leader shared. The biographical stories, fables and teachings eventually get written down and a spiritual movement is formed, much like a tribe.

    This tribe grows and feels the urge to build a structure in praise of the God they are devoted to. They will worship him and perform rituals inside. Now we are entering the village stage.

    Fast forward through the next steps you know I’ll take, and you arrive at an empire, spanning continents and gathering subjects (AKA followers) without needing to be present on the ground. This is where the analogy gets shaky because the expansion often occurs via someone or some group starting their own congregation, with no formal ties to the ‘original’ source. Unless the religion being practiced operates like a Mafia crime family and every congregation (crew) has to kick money up the hierarchy to remain a member and retain legitimacy.

    It certainly happens, but I doubt many people get thrown off a bridge wearing concrete boots for breaking away and starting their own version of worship according to a different interpretation of the scriptures and stuff. Although I get a feeling that the Muslim community don’t have much of a sense of humour when it comes to their holy text and Prophet being messed with.

    Christians on the other hand…they’ve got a whole denomination just for those rebels who create their own cause (yeah, I did it). The protestant religion was formed as one man’s “protest” against the Catholic church’s flexibility with dogma, especially regarding loopholes for large ‘donations’.

    “For God’s sake, we bend more rules than the Catholic Church!”

    Johnny Sack (The Sopranos)

    What began as Martin Luther’s attempt to find an authentic practice of the Good Book eventually became a free-for-all with every Tom, Dick and Harry kickstarting their own brand of Christianity based on their individual understanding of the readings. Now this may or may not be a cherry-picking exercise conducted to bend the bible to one’s preferences. It may just as well be the staunch conviction of a religious fanatic! Many times, it is a money-making enterprise with the added benefit of being a tax dodge, but I’m sure there are some truly righteous ones in there somewhere.

    The Church of England must be one of the more blatant examples. King Henry VII sold it on the idea that Rome should not have authority over the English church. However, there was a more personal reason for this separation; the Pope had refused to annul Henry’s marriage. Probably just a coincidence.

    And now we finally meet God’s right-hand man. The man at the pinnacle of the religious denomination modelled closest to the La Cosa Nostra hierarchy mentioned above. A global pyramid scheme with untold fortunes funnelling into the Vatican coffers.

    I’m not well versed on the other Christian denomination – the Orthodox church; although I believe there is a hierarchical connection, I’m unsure if they are all linked officially and answer to one central power base. The word ‘orthodox’ obviously indicates a fundamental disagreement with the Catholic vision, but I do not know what it is. I always think of it in terms of the Sunni and Shia divide within Islam.

    Anyway, back to the big boss man in The Apostolic Palace. The Catholic religion not only spread itself all over the world like its Christian counterparts, along with Islam and Buddhism; it tethered every new church to the homebase, both financially and hierarchically; the Vatican calls the shots, no exceptions.

    The reason I left out Hinduism, despite it being a major world religion was that it seems to grow along with the huge population growth of its adherents rather than from converts. Buddhism, Islam and the non-Catholic Christian denominations spread their influence by welcoming new followers just as much as by people born into them.

    The other similarity between the big religions and physical empires is the ugly one – war! Countless people have fought, killed and died under the banner of religion in the same way they do under the flag of their nation or empire.

    An empire based on an idea. Millions of people spread all over the world connected by a religious doctrine. It’s pretty amazing! It’s also pretty wobbly though. This us and them game can shift very fast according to the needs of the moment. Humans can be a finnicky bunch.

    “We are all Muslim!” can quickly shift to “Fuck those Afghans!”

    “My Christian brother” can suddenly become “a Protestant bastard!”

    Shit! Even the Buddhists disagree on nothingness for God’s sake! They don’t even have a God! Although some Chinese believe…

  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB: Moving on Up #2

    “How the fuck could they make that lazy prick a supervisor/manager?”

    Another line I have heard on repeat for many a year. Sometimes I personally witnessed the present boss doing fuck-all during their tenure on the floor with the rest of us. Sometimes the rise took place before my arrival and my coworkers were ever too keen to inform anyone within ear shot of the boss who “was the biggest bludger in the joint” when they were one of us. I even witnessed the almost instant metamorphosis of a work averse union delegate into an asshole supervisor who would not look out of place carrying a whip.

    It is extremely irritating to be given a talking to regarding your output from a person who seemed to have a pathological fear of sweat and getting their hands dirty. Hard fact is though; they no longer need to. They took the leap and somehow landed on their feet. Many don’t. Many are out the door within a few months of putting on the deputy badge. If this particular ex-deadshit has been around for a year or more, they must be doing something right.

    “Yeah, getting under the big bosses desk!”

    I hear many variations on this theme, both hetro and homosexual. I suppose it makes the grunts feel a bit better. They just cannot fathom why their former below average effort coworker could succeed the next one or two levels up. We almost never acknowledge the most obvious reasons:

    1. Just because this person was allergic to physical labour doesn’t mean they can’t do something different well, or at least okay.
    2. If that thing gets them out of doing grunt work, they are much more motivated to keep the position.
    3. They didn’t get sacked when they were work-shy in plain sight, so maybe they possess a certain gift-of-the-gab.

    One line that slapped me awake many years ago came from a depot manager during one of his team rants (I mean speeches). Talking specifically about workers being disgruntled with supervisors, this guy said, “at least they stepped up and had a go.” No matter what reason/s we may have to disapprove of a boss’s character or behaviour, management is obliged to back them up simply because they crossed the floor. So, we can add that to the list too, I guess.

    It seems to be an odd quirk of human nature to shirk responsibility, while criticizing those who attempt to lead. Like members of the opposition party, we get to ruthlessly find fault with every decision made by the ones charged with making them. So comforting to assert that we would have made the ‘best’ decision after the fact. So easy to throw out hypothetical alternatives, especially when they won’t be tested.

    Running the operation to perfection is an impossibility and hardly possible in theory – damn reality! Our ‘idiot’ leaders need only do what is required of them by their boss, not reinvent the wheel. Thus, the supervisor is first and foremost trying to fulfill the requirements handed down to them. To really understand why decisions (no matter how stupid or strange) are made, the best clues can be found in the way a supervisors’ performance is measured.

    KPIs (key performance indicators) are the tools used for this. A successful KPI is one that is SMART: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant and Time-Bound. Basically, a list of quantifiable measurements that give a description of how well an employee is performing their delegated duties. No matter how well you perform overall, if you do not achieve those KPIs you are not doing your job properly.

    It doesn’t matter what you do, it only matters what the bosses think you are doing. Think back to when our supervisor was a lackluster grunt. Were there any bosses observing their lack of performance? Or did they seem to have a sixth sense and become busy moments before any honcho showed up? Did they have a rapport with the higher ups? Or the ultimate superpower of these characters: was a lot of their unproductive time taken up chatting with bosses? Brilliant sleight of hand!

    Our ‘stupid’ supervisor is getting cleverer with each paragraph – the bastard! They do not need to solve the companies’ problems; they merely need to absorb stress for their boss. If they successfully take pressure off their superiors, they are gold. Tick the boxes that need ticking, don’t rock the boat and don’t let your boss think you want their job. Oh, and then there’s the toughest part: accept the fact that you may one day be forced to fall on your sword. Every rung on this corporate ladder is a potential scapegoat for the rungs above and you must give the appearance that you will be a loyal little samurai should the time come. Of course, you may not have a choice and under the bus you go. Part of the deal.

    So, in the end, we must reluctantly accept that our ‘good for nothing’ foreman possesses a skill set we don’t appreciate, but the company does. They’re not necessarily smarter, but they do seem to have found a better use of their God-given talents.

    Many effective workers ‘know’ how to make the place run better. The twist is that their solution usually requires a crew of workers who give as much of a shit as they do. The cold hard truth is that gathering a team of highly motivated and efficient workers is like finding a left-handed screwdriver. Of course, the place would run better if everyone pitched in their fair share, used some common sense and cared about getting the job done right; why not ask for world peace while you’re at it?

    A realistic supervisor makes do with what they have. Do the best you can to play people to their strengths and understand that some slugs will not be rushed; which usually results in giving more work to the ones who will. Fair? Absolutely not! Pragmatic? Absolutely. I’ve got a story about a supervisor who planned on ‘getting rid of the dead weight’. I’ll tell it in a later post.

    Being a leader does not necessarily require being great at the jobs being done on the floor. It would certainly be a bonus, but it’s not the essential element. To judge a supervisor on their lack of ability or effort to do the hands-on work is to use the wrong criteria.

    This was not a treatise on what makes an effective supervisor. It was simply an attempt to understand how a seemingly useless asshole could survive or even thrive in the supervisor/management arena. I just thought of this; see if it helps clarify: “you don’t have to be the best craftsman to know who to delegate the work to. As long as you tick the right boxes and give your boss enough confidence in you to not think they need to ask too many questions – you’re sweet”. You won’t have an efficient team with high morale, but you will have a job.

    Oh, and one more thing: the reason a lot of these ex-shirker supervisors are so hypocritical regarding work ethic is because they:

    1. Know almost all the tricks in the slacker’s book.
    2. They probably expect most workers to be just as shifty as they were, and they definitely don’t want anyone to look as foolish as they made their own supervisor look.

  • WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE: Getting the Picture

    I can still remember my amazement the first time I hooked up a TV and it tuned itself in automatically. Wow! Such wonderous technology! When I was a kid, we had to tune every single station individually using that fucking spinning dial around the channel knob.

    Kneeling on the floor twisting that fucken dial waiting for the static to ease. Are we hitting a station? Close…closer…nup. Twist some more – bingo! That’s one, three more to go and you never know, you just might stumble on SBS for a bonus. Static is clearing; here comes another one. We’ve already got that one! Shit! Have I gone all the way around? Keep twisting.

    Have I not hit the sweet spot yet or is the problem with our antenna? Can’t not have Channel 9, the footy starts in an hour. Ah, the antenna adjustment ceremony. The rabbit ears. This one forward that one backward. No good? Switch. Still fuzzy? Okay turn the left one 30 degrees northeast and the right one 5 degrees due south. An infinite array of angles and combinations! Close enough? I’ll just make one tiny twitch to get that crystal clear pic…fuck!

    Inevitably someone takes over, as if they have a magical way of wiggling the two extendable metal rods. Might even take a stab at shortening one or the other. This is not an exact science after all. If the antenna is removeable the fun has only just begun. Put in on the floor. Balance it on a nearby pot plant. Can it reach the window?

    Pity the poor soul who gets a clear picture while holding the antenna in a strange position. “That’s it! Hold it there!” Now the helper must stand holding some twisted posture like a fucken contortionist. What a team player!

    If you have one of those T-shaped antennas, the best you can do is twist it in a circle before you must start the quest for the ideal location in the room. That include the full three dimensions remember. If the choice spot happens to be 27.5cm from the ceiling, 1.56 metres in from the left window, best you start figuring out how you’re going to keep it there.

    There were plenty of gizmos marketed as ‘the new and easy indoor antenna’ with extra bits of metal, plastic, dials and switches. Bet your ass that after you have finished twisting knobs and re-positioning pieces of metal you would soon be traipsing around the room again.

    Now imagine the same scenario playing out with some poor doofus standing on the roof. A good roof antenna was always the best option, but nothing is foolproof. The reliability and better reception had the downside of any need to adjust the antenna being a hazard to someone’s health. It invariably happened at the worst possible time; halfway through someone’s favourite show or just before the start of the grand final. Bugger!!!

    So many jokes about the unfortunate good Samaritan who accepted the challenge and ended up on the roof for the duration, holding some ludicrous pose to keep the perfect picture on the TV. People yelling out the window to “keep it there!”. Shouting instructions after the slightest twitch on the screen.

    I had heard tales about these mythical contraptions called satellite dishes, but I have no memory of ever seeing one in the real world. I saw them on TV (ironically) in the houses of rich people and of course in US shows. Man, those Yanks had all the cool stuff: satellite dishes, cable television, remote controls. Holy shit!!!

    In my day, if you wanted to change the channel, adjust the volume or make any alterations whatsoever, you had to get your ass up and walk over to the box. The first remote control I can recall was attached to a VCR by a cord and we were most impressed even though it didn’t reach very far; you had to be on the seat closest to the telly or sit on the floor, but hey, you didn’t have to move from that spot. Unless you wanted to change the volume or anything TV related. It basically only operated the VCR play functions. It was a huge leap forward to us okay!

    How the hell could a remote control turn that clunky knob anyway? We had to wait until the digital revolution – push button controls! What’ll they think of next? No more clunking the channel knob, no more twisting that bloody dial for tuning. Two buttons: arrow up and arrow down; just press and wait…and wait a little more. I think we’ve almost hit one…nope. Keep holding…here we go. That’s channel 7 again! Have you gone all the way around?

    With this kind of high-tech foundation, it was not long before the infrared remote revolution! The one you had to ensure was pointing directly at the little sensor on the TV or VCR. If you were off target, you would lose all remote-control usage credibility and be replaced. Your only hope of avoiding a dishonourable discharge would be flat batteries.

    I remember my mates place, many years later, that had become the unofficial pot smoking destination for the suburb. There was an old broom handle with ‘remote control’ written on it in Texta. It could reach the TV buttons perfectly from the pole position couch. It was used exactly like its namesake. “Where’s the remote?” someone would call and the bastard always had a knack of falling or rolling out of sight or reach. Although it rarely ended up in the gaps between couch cushions.

    Speaking of innovation on the cheap; let us finish with a tribute to the antenna replacement in a pinch: the wire coat hanger. Like most temporary fixes it very often became permanent.

  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: The View from the Middle #2

    I can’t let it rest just yet, not until I get the key point sorted. In the previous post I explained my theory that almost all people on the bottom to middle management spectrum of the corporate structure are just working stiffs on different income levels. It possibly goes on all the way to the top, although once you enter 7 figures and up salary you are on a different level of financial independence. Along with the incredible perks you would receive, if you fuck that up, maybe you shouldn’t be in such a high position.

    I understand that addiction doesn’t give a shit about income and it can bring anyone undone and I plan to go into that later. Right now, I’m speaking to the top executives that ruin themselves due to careless overspending. To have that much wealth and still live beyond your means is perversion on a ludicrous scale; although I suppose they do everything on such a scale, don’t they? More on the penthouse office occupiers later.

    The Schmoes in the middle, even the ones on 6 figures, have adjusted their lifestyle to their salary almost automatically. “Moving on up” personally along with professional advancement; it just makes sense. It seems nonsensical for a person earning $500,000 a year to buy a modest house in a nice suburb and send their kids to public school.

    “PUBLIC SCHOOL! THAT’S TANTAMOUNT TO CHILD ABUSE!!!”

    You have a Mercedes company car to look the part, and you have a Toyota Camry as a family car. “Not a BMW? You fucken tight ass!” And there it is: the label that eats wealth. We’re not talking about driving around in a busted ass Ford Fiesta and shopping at the Salvos. We’re talking about quality products without the prestige price tag. There is plenty of high-quality merchandise available between Kmart and Rodeo Drive. High price does not always equal high quality; it doesn’t even guarantee ethical production. Another detour for later.

    Now, a very real issue may arise when the business itself insists that its executives present a certain social status. A frustrating dilemma for the frugal middle manager. “I earn more, but I MUST spend more on things I do not value in order to continue earning this much”. FUCK!

    Overall, the budget conscious executive would be rare. If not because of ostentatious spending, then due to the endless quest for financial stability in the form of investments. The higher your salary, the more you can borrow and so and so forth. My point is simple, we adjust our spending in accordance with our income, and we are then forced to ensure that higher living standard is maintained. The higher the level of luxury the bigger the buffer that is needed.

    People literally build their own trap! I know the song is about street life, but the line is just so perfect:

    “It was you who chose your doom

    You built a maze you can’t get through”

    “Can’t Do Nuttin’ for Ya Man” Public Enemy

    The phenomena of redefining ‘acceptable’ with your new income goes unnoticed. That combined with the sinister marketing of luxury products as something every person needs can drain your bank account faster than the Barmy Army during Happy Hour!

    I hope I have created, not empathy, but at least an understanding of the trapped person who is making those maddening decisions. They are not just like you, because you are very probably trying to keep yourself and yours off the street, while they are trying to keep them and theirs out of a lower class of neighbourhood. However, they are living with the same mindset as you – they do not want to lose what they have, and they would love to get further ahead. Maybe out of sheer pride and greed, but just as likely to keep the poorhouse as far away as possible.

    Also, remember this: those upper echelon positions are much rarer and difficult to find alternative employment in. Think about the bullshit you put up with just to avoid the stress and disruption of needing to find another job. Going from a store-man in a warehouse to a shelf stacker in a supermarket would probably mean a drop in pay and a drop in seniority.

     So, you let things slide. Maybe you play little revenge games and rebel in your own way; but you don’t tell the asshole to “go fuck themselves” unless you have completely lost it because in a strange way the asshole wins and you have just added a complication to your life.

    Imagine having a high paying position with a big wanky title and having to become a lowly supervisor – the shame! The degradation! Do you reckon the respect from superiors improves in the upper ranks? More to lose…

    I’ve gone on enough. So here we go. When your supervisor informs you that the two-man job you were half of is now your job alone, they are keeping their job. Their manager who gave them the directive is paying their mortgage. The next person up the ladder has a holiday in Majorca coming soon and their boss needs money for an investment property…and up and up and up.

    All these people are trying to maintain the standard of living they have become accustomed to. Free will is severely limited within this structure and if you have been reading this thread long enough, you’ll know that in my mind it goes all the way to the top. The person or people in the ivory tower all kowtow to the God of profit. All intellectual effort and creativity are directed at appeasing this insatiable deity. Not necessarily in a legal or moral way; cooked books will appease it for a while. Long enough to get that bonus anyway.

    Any person in this hierarchy can step down and reduce their comfort level in an act of allegiance to the plebs and the greater good. They will quickly be replaced, and the machine will churn on. That goes for those up in the lofty heights as well, although a golden parachute is practically a given.

    I guess that is the ultimate goal in this ceaseless mind and spirit crushing enterprise. To get to the level of the ‘golden handshake’. Once you cross that line your safety net increases significantly. Although my instincts tell me that the traits and determination that got you to this table will only fuel a desire for further conquest.

    Sleep well. You’ve got work in the morning.

  • POTENTIAL DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY: True Stories #23

    Driving home from my job in Banksia I usually turned down Bestic Street. This was a day much unlike any other and I was happily driving on my way home. I made the turn I had done so many times before and was musing about what I would do when I got home. My mind was only partially on the road.

    I do not know what alerted me, but I distinctly remember feeling a sense of impending danger. For reasons I will try and explain later my foot instinctively came off the accelerator and rested lightly on the brake.

    The kid came out of nowhere! From between two parked cars a kid appeared out in front of my car. I hit the brakes and missed him by centimetres. I can still clearly recall the angry scowl on the mother’s face as she collected her nearly squished son from the middle of the road. She glared at me as if it were somehow my fault. She did such a god job of it I almost believed I was somehow to blame rather than just feeling relieved for the near miss. My heart was racing! Damn it was close!

    I continued on my way home and escaped the wrath of the mother. Shame there was no sign of thankfulness in her demeanour. I guess she needed someone or something to blame instead of accepting that it was a freak accident; a freak accident that thank God had a happy ending.

    So what do we put it down to?

    A miracle? Perhaps.

    My time spent studying psychology has another less mystical explanation. I believe that without my conscious mind noticing I did see the kid run in between the two cars via my peripheral vision. Without consciously thinking about it my foot left the accelerator and hovered above the brake. The kid was invisible between those two parked cars. When he appeared in front of me I was all set to take the necessary action to avoid disaster.

    This explanation may seem a little less Godly, but none the less magical. It is amazing that the mind can perform such life-saving manoeuvres without any conscious thought. I had only had my licence for a few months when this happened so I did not have a lot of practice, which makes this incident even more marvellous.

    I still thank my lucky stars that I didn’t hit that kid. I am eternally grateful that a tragedy was averted and I can only make educated guesses as to how it happened. Either way, I think it was still some kind of miracle.

  • PAUL KERSEY BECOMES BATMAN: Movie Musings #12

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    From the very beginning the franchise had a very straightforward theme: the law is useless and criminals are running amok. Thus, vigilantism is the only solution. Paul Kersey and the US 2nd amendment are the perfect cure for this disease. Good guys and bad guys, nice and simple. Socioeconomic factors be damned! Save that shit for your lecture halls! This scum needs to be eliminated, and the films leave zero possibility for pity toward these lowlifes. Just eat your popcorn and enjoy the bullet ridden justice.

    The sequel followed the tradition of increasing bloodshed and chaos, but Kersey remained basically the same gun toting avenger with a few tactical tricks up his sleeve. By the 3rd instalment he is a vagabond punisher of the US thug, mugger and rapist community. He eventually ends up back in New York visiting a war buddy and gets involved in his local gang strife.

    An inspector recognizes Kersey and gives him the ‘don’t take the law into your own hands’ speech. It doesn’t take long for the inspectors’ frustration regarding the overwhelming crime rate to soften his views on Kersey’s solution and just like that Kersey is set loose.

    However, this time he is up against a genuine gang, rather than random hoodlums and they seem well prepared to fight back. I believe the inspector even puts Kersey into police protection at one stage to keep him safe. I’m sure I don’t need to explain how that turned out.

    Eventually Kersey and the inspector team up and put bullet holes in the bad guys. This sparks an uprising of the law-abiding citizens and any gangsters left alive realise it is time to skip town. Oh, did I mention Kersey takes out the number one villain with a fucking racket launcher?

    The inspector gives Kersey a head-start to getaway and our gun toting avenger wanders off like Caine in the Kung Fu TV series.

    The next film finds him in L.A going to war against a drug cartel; why not? They sell crack and this one is called Death Wish 4: The Crackdown – get it? We’re into full-on one-man army stuff now. Gunfights with Uzis and AK47s, Kersey even ends up with one of those M16s with a grenade launcher attached. It’s a whole new look now guys.

    No unofficial alliance with local cops this time, just Rambo level extrajudicial mayhem. When the smoke clears, the bad guys are dead along with anyone who was unfortunate enough to have Kersey fall in love with them. Oh, did I mention Kersey takes out the number one villain with that grenade launcher? Is that a step down from a rocket launcher? Same result anyway.

    The hapless cop tries to arrest Kersey after the explosive kill, but Kersey just watched another love interest meet her maker and is not in a compliant mood. He throws down his weapon, turns his back and walks away saying “do whatever you have to”. The cop relents and our homicidal hobo walks off into the night.

    Now we arrive at number five: The Face of Death. Up till this point, despite the cartoonish ramping up of bullet ridden violence, the arguments against vigilante justice were at least given lip service. Although the increased body counts and explosions, have an uncanny numbing effect to the horror of the violence. This finale takes it to its comic book conclusion.

    What better bunch of bad guys to finish up with than the Mob?

    Witness protection program and name changes aside, the setup is the same. Bad guys being evil and eventually fucking with someone close to Kersey’s (Stewart is his witness protection name but we’ll forget about that) heart and carnage soon ensues. This Kersey is one hell of a romantic I tell you! He won’t let a few raped and murdered ex-lovers dampen his quest for true love.

    This time the object of his affection is the ex-wife of a mob boss – great! Somewhere in all the sequels Kersey sparked up a friendship with District Attorney Brian Hoyle. Kersey tries the legal path and connects his love interest with the D.A – fucken great!

    The Mob finds out and the vicious warning is sent; not until after Kersey proposes of course. With his fiancé disfigured, Kersey plans to do what he does best, when a cop tells him to hold back because he has been chasing this mobster for 16 years – not a glowing reference. Apparently, the big bust is imminent; they have a stool pigeon willing to wear a wire.

    Kersey stands down and the sting fails miserably with the snitch and a cop getting killed. For his hesitation, Kersey is rewarded with the murder of his betrothed – what’s the male version of a black widow? Some people are just meant to be single.

    Kersey tries to get custody of his dearly departed’s daughter, who just happens to be the daughter of Mr Mobster himself – yeah seriously! I’m not sure which one she would be safer with at this point.

    “Face of Death”, it just hit me! Kersey is the face of death to every poor soul who gets close to him!!!

    Anyway. Kersey’s DA friend informs him that the psychopathic gangster automatically gets custody of his biological daughter. Kersey tells his friend to hit the road and take the armed guards surrounding his house with him. It’s time for Kersey to go to work people.

    He takes out his first goombah with a poison calzone; an interesting shift in modus operandi. The next victim gets the MacGyver booby trap treatment – turned up to nasty death of course. A remote-control soccer ball…see it for yourself.

    Before the final showdown comes, the scene that unofficially sanctions Kersey’s crimefighting methods plays out. After gunning down the DAs police associate in self-defence and the DA coming face to face with the lethal level of corruption in his own ranks we get this exchange:

    (Looking down at the dead body of Lt. Hector Vasquez)

    DA: You’re right. You can’t trust the justice system.

    Kersey: He would have killed you, Brian.

    DA: Yeah. (moves closer to the body) No judge, no jury…no appeal and no deals.

    Kersey: How do you feel about it?

    DA: I’m scared

    Kersey: What are you gonna do?

    DA: Paul…I’m not even here.

    (Both men look at each other and nod)

    That was the DA ladies and gentlemen! Let the carnage begin!

    The final shootout goes off rather routinely, but the final boss needs some special way to send him off to the great beyond. How about a liming bath? I’m not sure how the chemistry works, but it looks like fucken acid to me! The head henchman goes headfirst into a fucking shredding machine too! We’ve come a long way from popping street thugs with a handgun. Maybe Kersey is becoming Jason fucking Vorhees!

    Just prior to the coup de grace the cop who has been chasing our villain for 16 years shows up with his gun drawn and is swiftly shot by the soon be melted mob boss. Thus, Kersey’s acidic retribution was also the salvation of a rather mediocre law enforcement officer.

    As Kersey walks off to find his soon to be adopted daughter (God help her!) the wounded cop thanks him for saving his life. Paul calls out as he leaves the room “Hey, Lieutenant, if you need any help, give me a call”.

    The metamorphosis is complete.

  • WE NEED TO DIG A LITTLE DEEPER: Be The Best You Can Be

    The idea of arriving in your twilight years and realising you wasted your life is a horrible thought indeed.

    “I should have had more sexual escapades”

    “I should have been faithful to that wonderful husband or wife”

    “All that time spent making money, I should have:

    1. Given most of it away while I was alive.”
    2. Spent more time with my loved ones.”
    3. Spent more on drugs, orgies and partying”
    4. Become an evil Bond villain.”

    Most people stay busy, entertained or numb in a subconscious effort to forget about their inevitable demise. The other, less talked about, reason for this ‘filling up our time’ is a nagging dread that we aren’t doing enough. That when we get close to the end, we will be overcome with regret. The irony, for me, is much of this ‘being perpetually engaged’ shit blinds us from what we really want to do.

    I realise this subject covers a vast area, so I want to break things down to more manageable chunks. Here I will focus on my immediate interest and stick to the Corporate Confusion theme. For the people who invest the meaning of their life into this realm, success is easy to define: wealth, status, power. Moving on up and up and up…

    The highest achievement is, if not literally tangible, easily describable. The CEO, the Chairman of the Board, the billionaire who owns the whole fucking thing! I will not bother going into whether any of this is worth it because that would be different for every individual. I don’t need to bother with the lives destroyed by such insatiable hoarding of wealth; I think it’s pretty obvious and if you disagree, that is a whole other debate.

    No, I am taking aim at my usual topic; how this quest for corporate/financial success affects the decisions we at the bottom must carry out or do our best to deal with the consequences of.

    Yes, we are all just numbers in the end and that might be enough for most people. Accept that fact with stoic resignation; try and climb yourself; try and rort the system in any way you can, drop out of society or start organising the revolution! All have their pluses and minuses and all may be part of YOUR meaning for life.

    “Because some men aren’t looking for anything logical, like money. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

    Alfred Pennyworth “The Dark Knight” (2008)

    I suppose I fall into the stoic acceptance group like the vast majority of plebs. How we cope varies enormously and is yet another topic for the future. I, at present am doing this: trying to understand why. I am almost certainly just spinning my intellectual wheels, but it feels like the right thing to do now.

    Okay, so back to our corporate climbers and their inconsiderate decisions that make our lives more difficult and seem to be destroying our entire ecosystem. The corporate/financial success ladder is yet another goal to get obsessed with and lost in. It aligns with one of the major ideals people chase, the pursuit of excellence, and is a superb distraction from the absurdity and existential dread lurking inside us all regarding this life we are born into.

    “Welcome to your life.

    There’s no turning back.”

    “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” Tears for Fears

    The pursuit of fucken excellence! Bullshit! Hear me out. I know it can look like greed on a degenerate scale, but to the ones in the competition, that accumulation of wealth and status is the prize. The most destructive element being that there is no limit! There is no grand final where an ultimate winner is declared. You’re number 1 this quarter, but some devious bastard passes you in the next. There can always be larger numbers on the screen of your net worth.

    Serena Williams, Conor MacGregor, Michale Jordan; they won events, tournaments and peer honours in record numbers. Their supremacy was measurable within their field of expertise. Money and fame were a by-product of their talent and dedication, not the sole objective. Strangely, for many retired superstars, it can become a substitute though.

    That single-minded commitment to be the best in your chosen sport certainly keeps your mind occupied and when it ends, most athletes are still quite young. These are competitive people, and lazing under a palm tree drinking cocktails can get very boring very fast; so, they need to find a new contest to dominate. I’ll continue this thread elsewhere.

    For the person whose forte is creating wealth and/or amassing power there is no ceiling when it comes to who has more. What even constitutes ‘the most’? There is an entire fucken industry that revolves around creating ultra expensive shit for these egomaniacs to buy, simply for flaunting their wealth! Superyachts, jet airplanes, ludicrous mansions, obscenely priced jewellery and apparel, luxury cars, preposterously priced restaurants, fucking spaceships!

    “Well, I can tell you everything in one word: money-maker. He has to make money. He’s dedicated to it. It’s the only way he can prove to himself he’s still breathing.”

    Harper (1966)

    If you aspire to this definition of success, you have already decided you deserve more than others. Whenever you are looking up you lose sight of those below. The higher up the totem pole you move the more distant and blurrier the bottom becomes. Sooner or later what you consider to be the bottom is half-way up the fucken ladder! You are still aware that there is a miserable rabble down in the lower depths somewhere, but what can you do?

    “I can’t change the system”

    “If I step aside someone else will simply take my place.”

    The old drug dealer rationale. If I don’t sell them the poison, someone else will. I might as well make some money. I can do some good with it after all. We’ll ride that upside down merry-go-round another time.

    It’s a cruel world they say. Aint that the truth. Just in case you haven’t already realised, I’ll lay it out. If you are working class in a first world country you are much higher on the economic ladder than a massive chunk of the global population. You go to work every day and put up with all kinds of shit. You pay your bills and feed yourself and kids. You deserve a holiday now and then, right? You deserve some appliances that offer convenience and entertainment. After that you’re flat out trying to save a little for emergencies and retirement.

    “Of course I’m distressed for those people living in abject poverty, but what can I do?” 

    That’s not an accusation; it’s just a harsh reality.

    “I am the one in ten

    A number on a list

    I am the one in ten

    Even though I don’t exist

    Nobody Knows me

    But I’m always there

    A statistic, a reminder

    Of a world that doesn’t care”

    One In Ten (UB40)

  • THE OTHER RELIGIOUS EMPIRE: Rise of The Tycoons #19

    Before ‘onward Christian soldiers’ was a thing those Jesus freaks were hard core pacifists! ‘Turn the other cheek’ was a strictly observed doctrine. My mind struggles to fathom the impact that kind of devotion would have on people who believed in the supernatural to such an extent. Gods, deities, witchcraft and all kinds of superstitions people adopted to try and understand and maybe feel a little in control of their turbulent existence.

    Our magic is powerful and gives us an edge. Well, our gods trump your magic, so there. Gods? There is only one God, and he has chosen us as His people, so the rest of you are fucked! Then this long-haired hippy starts wandering around with love for all and a profound idea regarding eternal life and getting into heaven. No malice, no exclusion; a genuine yearning to welcome allcomers to this celestial paradise.

    Long after his death (& rebirth?) people start to use passive resistance and devoutly dying in this bloke’s name. They refuse to return violence and seem in some way ecstatic about death. “These cunts are fucking happy to die!” Remember back in the BC days news travelled by word of mouth. Even though this was the exact beginning of the AD days, mind you. A guy remaining stoic in death can become a man who died in a state of bliss in one village and a man who pissed his pants and begged for his life in another.

    Either way, the original draw card for Christianity was this unshakeable faith that produced, not just a lack of fear, but an embrace of death. Not in a suicidal sense, no. These people hoped to live long and pious lives, but if faced with tyranny and forced to renounce their God and saviour, these fuckers would rather die! That’s very impressive, especially with no ability to accurately fact check these tales.

    I reckon the whole ‘ask for forgiveness and ye shall be saved’ schtick helped the recruitment process too. Lots of evildoers would jump at the chance of such a simple salvation. The not fighting back stuff though, while awesomely noble in theory, would have become a sticking point for the average adherent in practice.

    One feature about religious texts is perfect for the sin and forgiveness debate: interpretation. Many people can read the same words and extract very different meanings. If those words have also been translated, you get another area of contention. A translation of a translation etc. and we’re moving into elastic territory. From there it is not a long way to “turn the other cheek unless…”.

    What’s the use of having a population of devout followers who have no fear of death, but refuse to fight? Although, as I already said, one could hardly expect to convert a huge number of people to follow such dogma. With a slight tweak, we end up with striking down the infidels; and with so many variations on the theme, even Christian enemies can be proved unfaithful without much trouble.

    “Now I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country.” 

    George S. Patton

    Which brings us to the major competitor in the religious recruitment rivalry. One that took a much more direct route toward the ‘killing in the name of God’ creed: Islam. Unlike Christianity’s ‘blessed are the meek’, Islam came right out of the gate with “we don’t take shit from anyone!” or something along those lines. This is an outsiders view after all.

    Around 700 years after the death of Christ these warriors were dealing with the updated ‘God is on our side’ Christians, rather than the peace-loving lambs of old. Needless to say, much blood was spilled in God’s name. Or perhaps God was called on to assist in the victory of the faithful. Either way, God was playing favourites apparently.

    My interest lies more in the global expansion of these religions more so than their warmongering. My unscholarly understanding of this practice begins with the expansion alongside empires idea. As a Christian or Muslim empire took over the territories of non-believers or people of a different faiths, they brought their religion with them. Depending on where you get your history, either creed may or may not have forced their belief system on the new population. Regardless, it would have offered, even if only slightly, certain advantages to convert to the religion of the new lords. Thus, the most direct form of acquiring new followers was conquest.

    The other, more mobile, way of spreading the faith is the good old word of mouth. The legends around the exploits of each religion’s followers; their faith giving them strength, guidance and wisdom. God saving believers and giving them courage to bear the trials of life. In pre-scientific times, that stuff had huge influence. Shit, it still converts people today!

    Both religions were offering hope for the downtrodden and both offered eternal paradise for the faithful, along with damnation for the infidels. The target population being able to read your holy text would also be a fantastic advantage. I suppose having created enough interest to warrant a translation into a new language would represent quite a coup as well.

    Theory is one thing, but people are most convinced by results. Tales of heroism and miracles are impressive, yet verifiable or at least plausible examples are much more persuasive. Historically recorded military victories against the odds. People achieving great things in the name of their God. This stuff inspires! This stuff compels!

    With the western world spreading its empires across the globe and overwhelming populations with their advanced technology, they seemed to be onto a good thing. Maybe you ‘savages’ might like to get in on this. A combination of ‘look at our magical technology’ and ‘are you aware of your immortal soul?’ was a pretty good sales pitch. I reckon that original peacenik left a shadow of doubt once people thought about it though; especially the oppressed.

    Islam offered a kick-ass alternative! Same risk-reward ratio, but a God that insists on not getting kicked around. Fuck yeah! Heaven or hell for all eternity either way (unless of course you have backed the wrong horse), I’m gunna fight back and get some righteous revenge before I go. “I actually get upgraded if I die for the cause?” Bonus. That’s some Viking Valhalla shit!

    COP IT SWEET or KICK ASS? THE DESTINATION IS THE SAME…

    The rest is clauses and sub clauses: We can’t eat pork or drink alcohol, and we have to do a difficult fast for a month. I can’t really do a comparative one for Christianity because of the number of various denominations and interpretations of those denominations. “Don’t eat meat on Good Friday” maybe?

    Regardless, individuals from all denominations and both religions have their own unique unquestionable tenets, flexible rules and loopholes when they need them. Most people are born into their religion. Some may move about within that religions various systems, some may simply lapse, but few actively convert unless they see something offering a – better? More convincing? More powerful? – alternative.

    Jerry: I wanted to talk to you about Dr Wattley. I have a suspicion that he’s converted to Judaism purely for the jokes.

    Priest: And this offends you as a Jewish person?

    Jerry: No, it offends me as a comedian

    When people look at Islam or Christianity, standing up for yourself is a powerful enticement. God only knows how many of the new, and mostly American, Christian denominations promote hostility (and even greed), but that’s a whole other kettle of fish.

  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB: Carrying the Company

    “I do everything around here!”

    “This place would be fucked without me!”

    And the limitless variations on this theme. Oh, to have a dollar for every time I heard it. Shit, I ‘d be rich to have a dollar for every time I thought it myself! Wouldn’t be worth enough to get paid only for when I said it out loud though. Tis a heavy cross to bear we workhorses are burdened with. Funny that there’s almost always more than one of us.

    “Two men say they’re Jesus, one of them must be wrong”

    Industrial Disease Dire Straits

    In my 30 odd years in the workforce, I have seen many incarnations of this martyrdom, and I am fascinated by the vast spectrum of characters. I will begin with the one I am most familiar with: The Fool.

    Sadly, this was my role for a large chunk of my working life. The person who truly believes the work MUST be done, regardless of if there is enough time, resources, people. This simpleton feels an inordinate obligation; not necessarily to the boss or the company, it runs deeper than that. They genuinely feel that the need to ‘pull their weight’ includes picking up the slack for those who have no such impulse.

    This person is perpetually perplexed at their coworker’s lack of work ethic. This is the major tell for me that the Fool’s industriousness is ingrained and akin to OCD. The person cannot help themselves; even if they are fed up and exhausted, it is almost distressing for them to leave work undone. Like OCD it is very fucking unhealthy!

    You see OCD characters in movies or on TV and it is often presented like an impairment that also bestows the sufferer with some type of savant gift. Alternatively, it is simply played for laughs. The important part that is often missing is the stress, fatigue and exhaustion. From the outside it can sometimes look like the Fool just has a strong work ethic and plenty of energy. Inside it’s a very different story.

    Imagine running yourself ragged trying to get ‘the work done’ while those around you are just cruising; or worse, bludging!!! You know that person was supposed to complete that task, but they have left it half done and are now having a chat. Sometimes they are having a chat with the fucking boss!!! Fuck me!!! So, you stop what you’re doing and finish the task to prevent a potential bottle neck and then go back to what you had been doing and try to make up for the time you just lost.

    More often than not the whole thing will go unnoticed and yet the Fool has another delightful defect: even if the boss was to praise them or the coworker should miraculously thank them, the Fool would be incapable of feeling any joy. At best they may mumble a ‘no worries’ and a weak smile, then return to their beast of burden routine. At worst the boss will ask the Fool why they haven’t finished their task yet. Eye starts twitching.

    Unappreciated, frustrated and totally confounded. This poor shmuck usually exudes humility and stubbornly refuses to ring their own bell. This usually stems from feelings of inferiority rather than modesty. The affronts will accumulate within the Fool as they push them down with the force of a garbage compactor, until that one final insult, which will often be rather mild, causes an explosion that catches everybody unaware.

    “Just squeeze your rage into a bitter little ball and release it at an appropriate time. Like that day I hit the referee with a whiskey bottle. Remember that? When daddy hit the referee.”

    Homer Simpson

    “I’M FUCKEN SICK OF THIS!!!” Will be heard by all and sundry after some minor workplace faux pas. The bewildered co-worker who took his scanner by mistake stands there shocked. “That’s a bit over-the top” everyone within earshot thinks. “That guy’s fucken nuts” they say. The bosses wonder if he may be a liability.

    And therein lies the paradox of the “one who cares” (a coworker used to mockingly call me that a long time ago). He or she is trying to get the job done efficiently and in doing so may be spreading themselves too thin or even creating a hazard; either to others or just themselves. They also have next to zero understanding of the infinite variables that create any one person’s work ethic. It is usually much more nuanced than just laziness or spite that causes people to work with the hand brake on.

    The fool, with their grouchy demeanour and poorly disguised judgemental attitude is sabotaging the very goodwill their efforts should instil. Nobody wants to work alongside a grumpy person who makes them feel like they are a lazy shit. No boss wants to hear complaints about how “nobody does shit around here!” To them it sounds like “why can’t you do your job and get everyone to work hard?”

    “Fuck you!” would be the inner reply I imagine.

    So, by worrying about more than their fair share, the Fool, while “maybe” getting more done, eventually becomes a pain in everybody’s ass. And that’s if they are actually more productive in the first place.

    Of course, I like to believe that I was contributing more than my share, I can never be sure of how it all looked in the grand scheme of things. Remembering the negativity I radiated in my younger days, I hope my efforts were at least appreciated despite my grim disposition.

    I am certain that my impatience and indignant rushing about was unsafe. Fortunately, no one was injured or killed by my erratic behaviour. I do know that many sick days and injuries were caused directly or indirectly from that bubbling rage.

    It’s bizarre to see myself in the numerous other ‘Fools’ I come across and rather embarrassing too. I know they will not hear my suggestions about moderation, just as I didn’t. Like a recovering addict I can only watch and hope. If I happen to be there when they start to snap out of it, maybe I can help.

  • WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE: How do You Know?

    I would like to continue regarding generation X in Australia and our limited fact checking ability. This time I am curious about the potential gullibility this creates. I cannot personally remember ever being so eager for proof of something that I went trolling through the library referencing system (don’t get me started). I am sure I could have asked the librarian for help, but I never felt the urge.

    We all watched the same 4 (5 if you have good enough reception) channels and if something is reported on all the news broadcasts, for us kids anyway, that was that. It was in the newspaper; it must have happened. I have no memory of any major discrepancies leading to rival news outlets debating a major event. ABC had ‘News Watch’ which was supposed to be some type of watchdog, but cool kids only watch channel 2 for Monkey Magic or The Goodies!

    Of course, the grown-ups often had their impromptu debates; especially when a few beers or wines had gone down. Occasionally a teacher would feel the need to share their opinion with the class and that might give you a different perspective and they would gladly help explain anything you needed help with. They probably provided a little more nuance than mum and dads assertions too.

    The concept of Googling something to a kid back then is inconceivable! Most often we simply deferred to the grown up who spoke with certainty. Who could be assed scouring the library just to win an argument. As for researching current events back then, I struggle to imagine how we might have gone about it besides newspapers and magazines, which would leave substantial gaps in any subsequent report. Not that anyone would be bothered to read it, mind you.

    The 1980s equivalent of finding a fact on Google and showing it via your smartphone could take hours and would require access to a library, unless the argument is taking place in a residence affluent enough to have its’ own encyclopaedia. It wouldn’t be practical to carry a volume with you just to prove your point; those things were big! So, you are left with finding the page/s proving your thesis, paying for photocopies and then tracking down the person who disagreed with you and hoping they still recall the conversation.

    Even documentaries were rare back before cable television. I remember seeing them now and then; sometimes they were even the thing to watch that night! ABC and SBS would have had plenty and you knew one was coming whenever you saw that massive clunky video player getting wheeled out in school. I also remember sitting in the assembly hall watching film reels on a hanging white screen.

    The only other way to see the weird and wonderful stuff around the world without going there was the video shop. They usually had a documentary section (or shelf). There you could find old films from David Attenborough, Jacques Couteau, or our very own Alby Mangels. The lack of fact checking ability left us wide open to bullshit though and I think there will always be another scandal or lie waiting to surface.

    Needless to say, the most popular tapes were the more controversial ones about serial killers and perverts; these were the ones recommended in the playground at school. Accuracy was not as important as shock value. This stuff infiltrated our brains as facts.

    Movies like Mondo Cane (1962) displaying bizarre and macabre rituals and behaviour taking place in exotic foreign lands were accepted without doubt. Even horror movies about cannibalistic tribes isolated from civilisation planted seeds of belief. Films such as 1980s Cannibal Holocaust (arguably the first horror film to use the found footage technique) gave young minds a sense of legitimacy to these gruesome tall tales.

    Big media and the government had a much firmer hold on what ‘news’ and/or information we got access to. They controlled what movies were released in cinemas and/or on video, along with the authority to edit what they disapproved of. It was mostly hardcore porn and video nasties (ultra-violent stuff) that got banned, but we were none the wiser.

    The same went for music which was more controlled by radio stations and record stores. They had the power to promote or bury whatever they preferred; this included stand-up comedy and any other kind of spoken word or performance albums.

    It was always so cool when someone you knew came back from overseas with a movie, a record or cassette or maybe a computer game that was banned or just unavailable in Australia. Some things just didn’t get released here. Not because they were banned, just because nobody bothered.

    These were the kind of treasures that could only be found at ‘some shop in Chinatown’ or ‘this bloke at Paddy’s Markets’. These ‘underground’ copies had a way of turning up! I can’t recall Chinatown, but I certainly found a few bootleg videos at Paddy’s Haymarket, which was right next door, by the way.

    I am still amazed at the capability of the internet in finding obscure music and films. It’s a bit of a pity that kids today are incapable of appreciating the awesome wizardry that is smart phones and the internet!

    That’s enough. I feel old now.