As if anyone needed confirmation of the above fact, I have a tale of mirth and woe for you all. It involves a lovely little lad called Pete, a large multinational corporation named Apple, and close to twenty years of time to span the various chapters.

My first memory of Apple was as a prep in 1991. I wasn’t what you’d call computer literate and so, predictably I didn’t really feel any great emotion - positive or negative - towards the first computer I met in an academic setting - an old Macintosh Plus (i think) that I and 60 other prep students bashed away at awkwardly. I definitely preferred our home computer, with a tacky dos menu put together by Dad, and about a dozen games including Commander Keen and Treasure Mountain, two games that would still rate in my top ten.

Apple faded from my life for the rest of my school life, being nothing but overpriced computers that (although admittedly pretty) weren’t compatible with anything decent. I worked on a very nice Mac during work experience in year 10, but I was still hesitant. And more importantly I held the strong opinion that Apple users were all dickheads.

Then in 2003, I read about a new product launch. Something called an iPod had been released as a third generation, and supported windows. It was an MP3 player, had funky touch sensitive buttons, and a miniscule hard drive inside it which could be filled with 10GB of music. I had to have one. June 2003 was when I finally got my hands on an iPod, and it was instant love. I was an early adopter (even though they had technically been out for almost 2 years) and Huglebert (as he was christened) became a close friend, rendering an otherwise entertainment sparse 9 months in South Africa bearable and causing at least one interesting mugging attempt.

However I promised that that would be it - Apple had made one amazing appliance and embraced windows users, but there was no way I was going to buy any more Apple products. Now admittedly, in 2006 Huglebert started to get a bit small and weak to continue on. A replacement iPod surely wasn’t going to break the rules regarding no Apple products? It’s just caving in to in-built obsolescence - not my fault at all. Enter Huglebert II, late 2006. I thought she was harmless, with her sleek black looks but purely functional personality, but I was wrong. I was falling for the design. And the wank-value. And just the fucking name.

So with a little bit of money in the bank, and having spied an ad in the student paper about cheap Macs with a further rebate if an iPod is bought at the same time, I bought myself a Core 2 Duo, 2.4Ghz White Macbook in April of 2008, justifying the expense by promising that it’d help me study at uni. The jury is still out as to whether it did or not. What the jury most definitely is not still out about is that it broke my promise to myself, and added about a kajillion credits to my wanker account.

However the story is really brought to a climax only last week, when I took the final fateful plunge into Appley waters and bought an iPhone. I know everyones got them. I know I don’t need one. I know it’s going to be upgraded in July. But its pretty. I don’t think I can spin the study excuse this time.

Fortunately I had the smarts and balls to buy a broken one on eBay, fix it, unlock it and use it without a contract on 3. So I had a bit of fun and got it on the cheap to boot. It’s good as new now and I have to admit I’m very happy with it, sans some features, and the battery life.

So, although I’ll drink my own vomit before admitting to being a fanboy or anything as ghastly, I do have to admit I’ve about-faced regarding Apple, although their shit is still just overpretty, overdesigned and overpriced. S’pose it proves the ‘fool and his money’ saying…

Pete

So. This is awkward. I kind of left you in the lurch back there, didn’t I? For six months? I’m sorry - it just got too serious, too quickly and I panicked. I don’t know what else to say - you know what they say about men and commitment. Just ask any of my ex-girlfriends.

But the important thing is I’m back. Although this blog has cost me employment, friends and sanity in the past, I do enjoy writing sweet nothings to the internet, and I think everyone needs a creative outlet in life.

So, with trepidation and a little bit of shame I step back into the blogosphere.

Pete

Alright so perhaps that wasn’t the best choice of title, considering the seriousness of the issue, but a) That title is one hell of a hook; and b) I think the conservative half of the population that cram this anti-abortion crap down our necks 24/7 are serious enough for the both of us. Whoops, guess I just aired my views on the whole situation a bit early….

Anyway for those of you not residing in Australia, or even more specifically Victoria, the upper house sat down yesterday to start discussion of the new abortion legislature that passed through the lower house last month. Victoria has some of the more draconian, outdated abortion legislation in the country, with abortion only being legal in the case of serious risk to maternal life, health, or mental health. However, abortions are quite readily accessible and there hasn’t been a criminal trial over an abortion for over 20 years.

The Premier of the state, John Brumby (who sadly does not look as much like Action Man as his predecessor, Steve Bracks) decided earlier in the year that enough was enough, and led a charge to introduce new legislation to clarify the state’s stance on the issue, and modernise the rights, duties and obligations of women, medical practitioners and counsellors.

You’d think that would be easy enough, eh? You’d be wrong. The vocal outcry from what on paper is a minority is alarming. The sheer number of articles damning the government, women seeking abortions and people extolling the virtues of a clarified legal status is startling, and a quick peek into any newspaper’s letters pages uncovers an abundance of poorly versed, opinionated twits (who I have read are mainly aging men - why do they care?).

The reason I brought this up today (even though I have been contemplating an abortion post for a while now) is that while I was at the relatively conservative-nutbag free zone of university this morning I came across something I did not expect. The massive cylindrical, bollardy type things that people put posters up on around campus were filled with anti-abortionist crapola. White background, big, bold, black letters denouncing evildoers and espousing the fact that abortion is murder. Now I’m all for free speech, but I’m also for respecting the beliefs of others, and I am especially for not shoving your poorly thought-out religious based trollop into the eyeballs of innocent passers-by, so I was particularly chuffed when, later that morning the posters had been thoroughly defaced, and by early afternoon had been completely painted over with red paint, which I thought was quite fitting. There is such a thing as tempting fate, and I think anti-abortion propaganda on a university campus is about as close to tempting fate as swimming in shark infested waters with the bloody remains of 30 cows, or trying to enter the United States with a turban and a long black beard.

Pete

Tomorrow signals the first day back at uni from our mid-semester break, ingeniously placed not in the middle of the semester as the name would suggest, but 3 weeks from the end of the semester. They would have done better to name it the pre-swotvac swotvac, or even just the three-quartereth semester break. Anyway I digress. The fact that we are rapidly running out of semester of course means that exams are looming, but then so is summer, so ignoring the immense amount of work I have infront of me, I’ve spent the weekend outside in the sunshine, with occasional ventures out into the world at large.

On of these treks was yesterday, and entailed a quick trip down to JB to buy the debut album of ‘Empire of The Sun’, the amalgamation of Nick Littlemore from PNAU and Luke Steele from The Sleepy Jackson. What I was hoping for was the best bits of two of the best Aussie acts in the last few years, packaged nicely in the form of three-to-four minute ditties, with the unmistakably dancey melodies of Littlemore and the interesting and far nicer voice of Steele. Both these qualities work superbly in their respective bands - PNAU have been a favourite of mine for a long time, and The Sleepy Jackson’s 2006 sophomore release has been an oft’ played album around the house. On top of this the coverart is some impressive painted collage, reminiscent of old movie posters, especially those of the early Star Wars films.

However, even with a glam cover and an incredible first single (below) that’s been doing the rounds on radio for the last month or so, nothing else has jumped out on the first listen. All the components are there, but the individual magic of both PNAU and Sleepy Jackson seems to have been lost in translation. That said, albums have often taken a few plays for me to start to enjoy. I hope that’s the case here.

Pete

Yes ye salty sea dogs - it’s TLAPD again. May all ye do is rape, pillage and plunder and may ye knob not fall off from VD. YAAAARRRRR

(Does anyone else think this particular pirate looks a lot like Captain Morgan? EDIT: That would be because it IS Captain Morgan - arr, a famous pirate in our midst, he best be giving out free rum!)

Pete

Longtime readers won’t be suprised when I say that I am - and have been for years - a fan of Formula 1. Motorsport isn’t the most captivating sport around, but as far as engines going around on circuits, F1 is the boss. Generally I’ve been as happy as a pig in shit this year, with TenHD finally broadcasting the races live, and there being some interesting racing going on, but there is one smear on the sport that still riles me to the core.

No, I’m not talking about Max Mosley and his sex-themed invasion of Poland. Nor am I referring to the McLaren/Ferrari shit throwing that has been part of the sport since time immemorial. I’m talking of the heir apparent, the supposed new Schumi - Lewis Hamilton, or as he is variously referred to at f1.com: Losis Hamiltoff, Lewis Shitheadton, Hamildick or my personal favourite Spewis Hamilcock.

I don’t think there is any doubting that the man is immensely talented behind the wheel. Where many drivers take whole careers to climb through the ranks to a seat with an F1 team and others toil away year in year out for a glimpse at a podium finish, Hamilton placed on the podium for his first five races, won the next two and only finished outside of 4th three times in his maiden season last year. He only missed out on the championship by a single point due to a woeful final round, and has had a similarly impressive 2008 season. The man is going places, and will most likely be a powerhouse in F1 for years to come.

BUT the world is forgetting something - he isn’t a 14-times world champion. Not yet, anyway. He hasn’t even won the championship once, and while it may only be his second season, the insanity that the British media in particular has stirred up regarding Hamilton is reckless, arrogant and completely unjustified.

Worse still is the fact that he’s a clearly disliked driver that doesn’t seem to care about the camaraderie of the F1 drivers on circuit, and certainly doesn’t care about fair play or decency on the track. In Canada this year, there was heavy traffic on the track while Raikkonnen, Kubica, Hamilton, Rosberg were attempting to exit the pits. As a result, the pit lights turned red, and Raikonnen and Kubica stopped. Hamilton, trailing Kubica clearly missed the signal, and when it became clear that a collision was imminent swerved significantly to barrel into the back of Kimi Raikonnen’s Ferrari rather than the less threatening BMW of Kubica.

Further, Lewis is clearly an overly aggressive driver. Ignoring the shitstorm that was last year’s differences between Hamilton and Alonso, Hamilton rarely finishes races with any usable tread on his tyres - often to his detriment, passes other cars with little consideration for the rules or proper braking lines, and in the most infuriating case for me squeezes other drivers off the road, a la Webber on Sunday in the dying stages of the race.

I don’t know if maturity will fix his arrogance and likeability in the paddock - although Alonso seems to be a much calmer, quieter man now that he’s 27 as compared to the shithead he used to be. However it’s Hamilcock’s on-track aggressiveness that is most worrying - I wouldn’t be surprised if a silly Hamilton move leads to himself or another driver in hospital, or far worse.

Of course that’s just Hamilton himself - the much, much greater culprit to this sorry affair is the British media, and iTV in particular. The BBC headline soon after the race read along the lines of “Hamilton 7th in rain soaked Monza GP” when the much more significant fact that Vettel, at 21 years of age had raced amazingly to become the youngest ever Grand Prix winner was completely overlooked. Fortunately the headline and article was changed soon after being put up, but the sentiment was still there. Of course the iTV feed (which we unfortunately have no choice but to watch in Australia) was even worse - the commentators almost came each time Hamilton was mentioned, or passed, or was passed, or pitted, or had radio contact with his team, or accelerated, or braked. No wonder the bastard moved to Switzerland - the British are insane.

I’m going to finish with the most succinct and warming summary of the race, kindly brought to you by lewishamiltonsucks.com - a site I heartily encourage you check out. Regarding the mediocre 7th place and gross miscalculations regarding the weather all weekend, as well as Hamilton’s labelling of Ferrari’s Kimi Raikonnen as having ‘no balls’:

L3wi5 Hamiltoff’s NOTE > OH, I THOUGHT HE WAS THE REINMEISTER… WHO’S GOT NO BALLS NOW, LEWIS?

Wonderful.

Pete

I’ve always been impressed at the level of secrecy that must be involved with musicians (particularly popular ones) recording songs, organising album releases and then doing tours without fans knowing much before official announcements.

One of the most impressive and memorable examples of this was last year, when Daft Punk toured the world, and Australia in particular. There had been excited rumours for years about a live DP show in Australia, and 2006-2007 was particularly rumourific regarding the whole topic. But it was still a fair surprise in August last year when a December tour was announced. Considering the organisation and negotiation that would have to have taken place to secure venues, rights, support artists and all the other minutiae that are part of organising large events, it was extremely impressive just how little the public knew about it.

But easily the (in my mind) most impressive example of holding cards very close is the British indie band Bloc Party. After a stellar few years since their debut ‘Silent Alarm’ blasted everyone’s undies off in early 2005, followed by a similarly impressive sophomore album that released at the start last year. However since then, with the exception of the career best (IMHO) song ‘Flux’ which was released between albums late 2007, the band have been a bit quiet…. until July anyway. From absolutely nowhere, ‘Mercury’ was released, with a promise of an album in early 2009. Then, on August 18, the third album ‘Intimacy’ was announced, and released three days later. I have never seen a band go from no known plans to album released to the masses in three days. Admittedly, it was in download-only format, with the physical CD to be released in October, but even so - that is some very impressive secrecy.

There are of course explanations. The internet has drastically changed the way music is distributed in general - Bloc Party’s last album ‘A Weekend in The City’ was leaked onto the internet three months before release. Undoubtedly an embarrassment like that would be reason enough to try something different the next time around. Different was done, and if press is anything to go by, the band won this time.

Bloc Party - Talons

Pete

I’ve had a hell of a semester at uni. I’ve found that every year I progress through the degree, the more focused the unit choices and degree path becomes (I suppose this has to be expected). Also of note is how much more stimulating and simply interesting final year units are. This semester I picked up a unit titled Developmental Physiology, and as the name suggests it relates almost entirely to the development of the foetus throughout gestation.

What is easily the most interesting part of the unit is the practical component. For several reasons, namely that the unit is taught be scientists rather than academics as such, and also that human experimentation is a bit dicey, we’re heavily reliant on animal models for most of the pracs. Truth be told, they’re mainly post-grad research projects that we undergrads have just been let in to play with, but either way foetal surgery at 70% gestation, artificially ventilation of preterm lambs and studying the effects of foetal alcohol syndrome by actually observing retarded animals are hellishly effective at drumming home the relevant sections of the syllabus.

There are of course less stimulating labs - this week I spent three hours analysing foetal urine: not exactly the most amazing science in anyone’s book. Oh well, what goes around comes around…

What I find most interesting is that I haven’t been this motivated towards university since 2nd year anatomy, when we were the last year to actually be given the chance to dissect real cadavers on a weekly basis - an opportunity that only med students have now. Maybe it’s just me getting sentimental, but it sometimes feels like I’ve been wasting my time and opportunities at uni until now - and it’s almost too late!

Pete

For the last 5 days I’ve been about as sick as I think I’ve ever been. It started out late last week as what felt like a cold, then progressed to flu-like symptoms over the weekend before being diagnosed on Monday as a nasty bacterial URTI. Basically I haven’t slept but have been stuck in bed for about 5 days and am only just now starting to respond to antibiotics.

There are of course upsides to being ill. One of the big bonuses (if you can call it that) of having a fever and not being able to sleep at night, especially if you’ve got a TV tuner in the computer at the foot of your bed is that during those long, sweaty, shivery, achey, smelly, coughy and delirious nights you can at least distract yourself from reality somewhat with a bout of “whatever’s on”. Fortunately for me, this last week has been smack bang in the middle of the Olympics.

Now, some of the things I’ve noticed about the Olympics this year. Hardly anything is actually live, telecasts finish at 2am, Joanna bloody Griggs has to be the most annoying commentator/personality ever, and perhaps most infuriatingly the poor habits that Channel 7 have picked up - cutting to ads at awful moments, crossing to other events just as the previous one just got interesting, or flogging to death minor triumphs like that Silver we got in the 100m Hurdles a couple of nights ago. I missed the race live, but I reckon I watched it about 6 times yesterday (not counting news reports), in everything from slow motion to soft focus to arty, over-exposed montages. What ever happened to playing out a full event or going to ads at a logical break in the flow of the sport?

This isn’t an upside of being sick at all. It’s a curse. A curse of poorly organised Olympic television.

Pete