Never post videos to Facebook

29 05 2013

Son, take a seat and let old Wolfie explain a few things to you *Puffs pipe* (promptly has a coughing fit because he doesn’t smoke) Son…(coughs some more) One should never, NEVER upload a video to Facebook.

Facebook is for talking and sharing, it’s not for photos and videos, photos and videos go on YouTube or Flickr, Like Milk goes in the fridge and Pasta goes in the panty, am I making myself clear?

Why?

Because, Son, If you were to post a video to Facebook, you won’t get nearly as many views.It works like this, If your Facebook friends see your video and they like it, they can share it with other Facebook users, which is all fine and good.

But, if one of your Facebook friends wants to share it on Twitter, and one of their friends sees his tweet and thinks the video might be fun to watch, but they don’t use Facebook, then they can’t see the video, which sucks for them because they miss out on the fun, and it sucks for you because you don’t get as many views as perhaps you’d like.

Always upload your videos to YouTube, copy the link from there, and paste that into your Facebook status, Then when someone else watches your video and wants to share it with others, all they need to do is just copy the link on your video, and paste it on their Twitter, Google+, WordPress or whatever else they may have.

That way your video can be watched and enjoyed by everyone equally, from whichever social network they use.

Make sense?

Good lad, Run along now.

*Sigh* ahh, kids today.





Wet dunny rolls

10 05 2013

So here’s a mystery, the case of the soggy dunny rolls.

I found one behind the toilet, as soggy and as wet as could be, so I wondered if the cistern leaked, or perhaps it happened while mopping the floor, and I had not seen the roll behind the loo, which was probably kicked there and forgotten.

But yesterday, I went to replace one, and put my hand into the plastic bag they came in, I had two remaining, and they were utterly soaked.

I hadn’t mopped the floor, and they weren’t under the toilet where a leak (and I found no leak anyway) could soak them.

Am I making strange nocturnal trips to the loo and doing weird things in there? is the cat using them as her own loo?

They don’t smell of pee, they’re just wet, soaking wet.

There’s no leak in the roof, there’s been no rain anyway.

I don’t know what’s causing this.

 

UPDATE…

Broken seal around the pipe leading out from the bowl! 🙂

 





More thinking

10 05 2013

More self analysis…

I love having friends, and I love meeting them, but you all probably know how introverted I am.

I want the conversation, I want to share some time with a few friends, and mostly one at a time, or two perhaps, not too many all at once, not too much fuss.

And I think I need the contact, because otherwise I risk turning into Fuzzy Lumpkins from the Powerpuff Girls cartoon, Being grumpy, somewhat distrustful, having my Macbook instead of my Banjo and lacking only a “Boomstick”.

I want friends in my space, (not myspace) for a while, to have a coffee and to chat… and to use my hands cleaning a bench or putting away some plates instead of concentrating on a screen.

But I can only take so much, then I need my space, somewhere to be alone… but of course Katie and Vicky are always allowed to be with me, I never grow tired of their company, but humans are things I can only take in small doses, even if they’re close friends.

I need my space to do what I do, or perhaps I stop being myself, which isn’t nice.

 





Thinking aloud

10 05 2013

When I read about people who are gay, they often say “I was born this way” which is fine, perhaps I was too, but I suspect I weighed things up and preferred to play for my own team.

I treat things very much like I do when I’m buying an appliance, I think very carefully about what it does, how it functions, reliability, brand and cost, and my sexuality was no different.

Now this post might make me seem like a woman hater, which is certainly not the case, because I like to think I’m a lovely, cuddly sort of personality, and I care deeply for my female family and friends.

But these were my reasons, laid out bare for all to see.

My Sister once tried to suss me out, she thought I was “squiked out” by a womans body, and for some reason I never really told her the truth, which I’m upset about (Jan died two years ago due to ovarian cancer).

When I was at high school, I had a friend called Arthur who was a randy bugger, and would look at nearly every womans bum and say things like “phworrr, look at her arse!” and I just didn’t see it.

Some of the boys had porn, and I saw that, and that wasn’t bad, I could relate to nudity, but somehow not to clothed bodies.But I’d never approach a girl, I’d be too scared, girls were aliens, weren’t they?

So firstly there was fear, and there was nobody there to clue me in.

Secondly the other fear was about what happened if I did manage to have sex with someone, and she got pregnant? What would I do? I can’t look after a baby, Mum would kill me, what if she had an abortion… it’s my child too?

(Our high school wouldn’t show us a film with penises in it, without parental permission, but was quite happy to show us an anti abortion film which freaked me right out).

So a wall went up.

Secondly, I’m a lazy person.

Mum would happily get up at sparrow fart, but Dad was a night person, and I followed suit. I hated getting up first thing of a morning and finding myself in the school yard, freezing my arse off and still not quite awake.

One of my aims in life was to sleep in more often, and stay up late, there was no way that I would marry someone and have a child, only to get up EARLIER than the child and get them off to school… NO NO NO NO NO.

The other thing about pregnancy is that I was terrified that I would put the Mother in danger, I didn’t want to feel that pains, and potential death might be all my fault.

Yes, I realise that  may have had a partner who had a good pregnancy and would wake at sparrow fart and get the kids off to school while I slept in and did a radio program in the evenings, but it all seemed so unlikely.

Mum was shocked when I stated that I didn’t like babies, the look of them, the smell of them, the sound they make… Dad said it’d be different if it was mine, but I wasn’t going for that.

No less than five straight relationships what I knew of had crashed and burned, I knew of people who were beating each other, and swearing at each other, and I remember buckets of tears, a great advertisement right there.
Yes I know that sometimes a relationship could be lovely, but I didn’t like the odds. Though I didn’t know of any gay relationships, at the time the only gay person I knew of was Mr Humphreys from Are you being served, and maybe Boy George (but that’s probably just an act).

Being “a poof” was some sort of mythical thing, nobody was really gay, were they?

I never met an actual gay person until I got online in the 90s, that’s true.

And I think that part of me just couldn’t entirely grow up, I feel like the eternal child.

I’m still somewhat surprised at 47 when a kid in the park points and says “That Man” or when someone on the phone asks for a “Mr”, Who? Me?

I’m “The Son” not “The Grown Up, or “The Man” and never “The Father”.

As far as sex goes, I think 90% of the time, I’d rather imagine it, I have tried it and never really felt all that happy about it… but my imagination is very very good. Reality contains too many icky bits, fantasy rarely does.

Now it’s pretty much over as far as sex goes, I think the cancer treatments virtually neutered me, so there’s no urge any more, which is sort of a shame.

The cancer treatment has made me, for most of the time, stay at home, which I really don’t mind, as it allows me to stay awake to the wee hours, and wake up when I want to, and not when an alarm goes.

Then I can spend the rest of my time with Katie, My wonderful dog, who is much better than a child anyway, she doesn’t ask for much, she almost never had a life at all as she was to be put down in 2005 because nobody wanted her, but I did, and still do.
And I can spend my time being creative online, and making friends, which I do all the time.

I’m not sure how I feel about my life, have I let myself down by at least partially choosing this path, or is there just a lot of peer pressure to breed and work?

And do I, via my writing and daily interactions have any effect on a world that I care so deeply about that I worry constantly? or does nothing I do matter a jot?

Could I just get myself a small boat and float around in the Yarra all day with Katie and not worry about anything, ever?

I’ve spent many years analysing myself and I’m still not quite sure who I am yet, but I feel too small to gain the wonderful dreams I have had.

One day it will simply come to an end, and life will go on without me.





Where the wild things are – Review

9 05 2013

Last night I downloaded a movie from itunes, the first HD movie I’d ever downloaded as a matter of fact, and it was “Where the wild things are”.

I’m not going to talk about the acting or the costumes, I want to talk about how I felt while watching it.

I could have taken the literal version, that Max, The main character in the film, had run away from his Mum and found himself on an island of creatures.

But I took the longer route and saw it like this.

Max runs into some bushes after an argument with his Mother (and a prior one with his older Sister on the same day).

Once there, he sits and thinks… He thinks pretty hard about life, and he imagines a group of creatures, which represent things about his family, and aspects of himself.

I didn’t engage with the movie for quite a while, and even considered stopping the film and doing something else, although I really wanted to like the film.

When the superficial stuff was finally over, the movie took on a deeper tone, but I remained rather aloof about it… then it happened.

Without spoiling it, there’s a scene towards the end which is clearly about grief, perhaps it represents Max missing his Dad and beginning to come to terms with that, I’m not sure.

But having had more grief than anyone deserves, I connected in an extraordinarily powerful way, and down I went like a pack of cards, completely overwhelmed, I cried like mad.

Even well after the credits rolled and while I was in the shower, I was still weeping about it.

It had managed to touch a very raw nerve.

Don’t worry, I gave myself some serious ice-cream therapy, yes there was lots of chocolate sauce, and yes, there were chopped nuts.

Katie had some ice-cream too.

I always think that the very best movies make me cry, this one was like a bomb with a very long fuse, but boy, when it went off, it really went off.

…one thing I don’t understand though, why should I have cried over Carol,  he ripped his best friends arm off, and his friend didn’t even mind.

Wolfie!

 





You get what you pay for

5 05 2013

When I want to buy an appliance, I will be considering a few features I want, and probably need, plus the reputation of the company and the price.

I will then go to a shop, have a really good look at what I may be buying, and if it shapes up to my expectations, I will pay for it.

That’s how I’m sizing up the Government.

But this is how I see most Australians.

Bloke reckons he wants a TV, goes to The Good Guys, Says “I’ll have that one because Tony, reckons it’s Ace” Pays his money.

Finds out the TV is too large for where he wanted it, Lacks most of the features he wanted, and despite everyone telling him beforehand, discovers for himself how unreliable the company which made it, really is.





Professor Ben

2 05 2013

One of our Clubs favourite members is a bloke by the name of Professor Ben Sutton, Who is completely Human.

His connection to us began in the 70’s when He was a Uni student and a friend of his fronted up to him over unusual personal… Well, you understand. Now Ben was just the right person to go to, as he rarely lost his head over anything, and He probably saved the life of the person who, eventually founded our Club just a few years later.

While Ben isn’t exactly a local anymore, He still makes an effort to come over, often when he needs time to himself so that he can clear the cobwebs, which is what Clubs are generally for.

Ben was a portly sort of bloke, with a bit of a beard on his chin, his hair was badly brushed, and his clothes were very casual, He didn’t have time for his looks, as his mind was always far too busy, even when he was relaxed.

But Ben always allowed time for company, We were “His pack of friends”.

From time to time we’d have “Pub Science” evenings, which were either planned, or more often that not, simply happen. Werewolves can be such geeks, gadgets and science-fiction videos were strewn around on benches, and star wars figures guarded corners of the club.

One evening, about five of us and one Ben were having a conversation about scientists thinking that everything is just one big simulation inside a computer, and then said that where there are computers, there are always hackers.

“Isn’t it interesting” He said “That you can all speak really clearly, even though your mouths are clearly not meant for speaking?”

He was right, Here were we with our big wolfy mouths, and our large canine teeth, speaking normally, it shouldn’t be possible. but then, maybe we shouldn’t be possible either.

He spoke about Tal, our Swedish friend, Who could do the most amazing things with electrical devices, one of the very first things he ever did was to repair a burnt out light globe by simply holding it and thinking,  He would re-program computer games in the arcades, again, just by seeing into the machine, and thinking, There was “The Rambo Incident” at the local Timezone, which still raises a smile now and then.

Tal was working on a musical instrument, Possibly inspired by our Hostess (who was rather keen on me) Charlene, A talented Cello player, like her Mother… anyway, He called it a Psycho-Rod, a “Mind to Midi” device in which he hoped that He could finally play a hot guitar riff just like Brian May

It looked a bit like a Keytar, but had a flat glass plate on the front, no keys at all, it wouldn’t need any, if it worked. But at the time, despite Tal being an absolute genius, with or without his ability, it didn’t.

Ben pointed to me and spoke about my healing abilities, and wondered where that came from too.

My first experience involved seeing the lights in My Mothers head, and curing her of deafness which she had acquired while working, unprotected, as everyone was back then, at a weaving mill quite a few years earlier.

I remember Mum walking around the next day, hearing things like the buzz and mosquito like whine of the fluorescent lights in the kitchen, and then listening to hours of my music. It was like she was a new person, and it made me so happy.

I didn’t see tissue when I healed people, I saw golden lines and little clockwork cogs which jammed or came adrift, and only needed to be put back into place, It was like the meridian lines I’d seen on posters at the acupuncturists wall, except mine was far more complex, always moving and changing, never static. If Bens theory about us being sort of like hackers who were inside a giant computer, then was what I saw just how I interpreted code?

Tal saw letters and numbers, while Charlene saw music notation… others saw colours or even heard sounds.It was like a kind of synesthesia, except that we could use it to make things work or to heal.

When I was a child, I believed magic was real, until a little girl told me it wasn’t, and I was always kind of sad after that, it was as though I’d lost something beautiful, but now I had all this wonder in my life, and I loved it.

I often wondered if it was all just a dream, and if I’d wake up, but the red phone in the club was always the same, and all the words in the magazines on the tables stayed just as they were, I would sit there sometimes, really still, and just listen.

Wolfie Rankin

Copyright PWTS 2013.