Now you get to see things as they really are, instead of through the veil of prejudice and pre-training that someone draped around you when you were a kid. You can cast aside the sage advice that Dear Old Dad or Dear Old Mum gave you and make your own Dear Old Decisions. Even if they are Dear Old Mistakes, they will at least be your own product. All the programming that your teachers and your playfellows did on you when you were in school can be thrown into the bin.
Watch out for the current crop of fake news and meme sites. Keep a weather eye out for actual propaganda and steer clear of it. Don’t allow people on your Facebook list or in your social circle to bamboozle you either. They can be as wrong as they can be right…and if they have resorted to FB to tell you how to live your life, they are more likely to be the former than the latter.
Always look to see where the money trail leads. If it leads from your wallet to someone else’s, you can be certain that they approve of this and that you have been set up for harvest. Pay if you wish, but remember that you can also tell whoever it is demanding your money that they can go to hell in a handbasket. If they seem hesitant to start, help them into the basket. With your boot.
Cherish as many falsities as you like…just don’t impose them on others. If you like the sound of a certain idea because it makes you feel good, indulge yourself all you wish behind closed doors. Close the computer program before you start – no-one needs to see you lost in whatever rapture you enjoy. We’ll wait out in the hall until you recover yourself.
I get it. I really do. I was puzzled at first but I’ve seen enough now to say that I do get it. But it makes me nervous.
The rat thing. The Baxter Basics movement in the hot rod world that thinks it remembers what rodding was like in the late 1940’s and wants to suggest that it is bad to the bone. And who am I to say they are not…?
I am a spectator – a photographer and gawker at the hot rod shows. I can be amazed and amused and no harm comes of either experience. The rodding enthusiasts and custom builders are marvellous artists as far as I am concerned and I applaud nearly all I see. I know that I could never display a hundredth part of the car-building skills that they show.
But I am also not a police motor vehicle inspector or a patrolman on the roads. And the fact that I admire the rodders and ratters counts for nothing, if one of these officials takes a dislike to a car or driver.
I’m not accusing the police of bad behaviour. They may be executing their duty in a perfect manner. But sometimes there are temptations placed in front of them that would be nearly impossible to resist. It must be a very finely run thing for them to look at a vehicle on the road and make a snap decision about whether it should be driven over the pits…or into one.
The artistry of the rat is a very strange mixture of dilapidation and deliberate provocation. Some of the local cars in this style seem to be works of low-brow art – so much so that you wonder if they have not been made as a parody of themselves. Others, like this NSW shoebox Ford – have a genuine air about them. The authenticity is the thing that would trigger the vehicle squad…and I would be afraid that if they ever started in on this car they might not let it escape their clutches.
Like every car, it is a work in progress – heck, my standard suburban sedan is that, as is every car on the road. But mine would be less likely to get a sticker on the windscreen as it does not advertise itself.
Well, I hope it all comes out well in the end. If there is a gleaming 16 cylinder Hispano-Suiza engine and a racing car chassis under the Ford skin, all might still be well at the Vehicle Inspection Centre. I didn’t see under the bonnet, so, like the US Navy and nuclear bombs, I can neither confirm nor deny. Let’s just hope the NSW cops do not fiddle with the fuse.
Having recently written a post about contests amongst the model collecting society, you can imagine my feelings this week upon being presented with a trophy for the best rookie entry into the annual display…
I was taken aback, but pleasantly…I now have a large perpetual trophy to display for the year and a smaller one to keep forever. I’ll not get a chance to be a rookie again, but this will keep me on my mettle to present something good next time. Fortunately I have several something goods already made so I am ahead of the game. Still, there are so many more vignettes of life that can be modelled…no time to waste.
One thing that will have to be thought out…the size of baseboards for dioramas is a limiting factor in what can be done. In my preferred scale – 1:18 – there is only so much that can be put onto the surface area of a standardised 1000 mm x 820 mm baseboard, and unfortunately that is the largest size that can be carried in my little Suzuki Swift. A Lotto win might yield a larger Suzuki van, but I am not going to buy one for just this purpose.
I think it is time to go see what the model train enthusiasts do when they make layouts for public display. They must have similar problems and will have evolved strategies to cope. I realise that they work in smaller scales, but they do have larger pictures to draw, as it were.
” You’ll be sorry…”
a. ” When I’m gone. ”
Yes, probably I will be. There will be things missing and ugly discoveries in the back of cupboards. There will be more work for less reward. But I will see it through.
b. ” If you eat that chocolate cream stuffed lamb chop. ”
Undoubtedly. Pass the maple syrup, eh?
c. ” You ever met me.”
Yes, and I am starting now, while you’re here – so it’s fresh. No good trying to get the same consistency in stale sorrow.
d. ” If you don’t buy it now. ”
Possibly, but I am betting on a greater probability of sorrow if I buy it at all. You own it now and you don’t look any too happy…
e. ” With the fringe on top. ”
NOW I know what happened to my OLKLAHOMA LP! Give it back!
The preceding was brought to you by the National Council For Regret. If the Australian Government cannot make you sorry, then nothing can.
I visited the new hobby shop this week – it has moved a couple of miles closer to my house. Probably to be closer to my bank account…
The new premises are larger and more imposing than the last ones, and the highway that they sit beside is one of the busiest in the metro area. I was a little disconcerted to find that you can only approach the car park from one direction on that highway, and that getting there will require some degree of planning, but the work will be worth it – they have a very complete line of goods that the builder needs.
And they are well-placed to serve a section of our city that has no other outlet. All the other shops are way away out in other quarters of the town – a cut lunch and water bag trip in some cases. This one is 4 miles from my door and I love it.
I took them a bottle of port wine to celebrate the opening. I daresay by the end of the first rainy Saturday, if the customers had been cranky and the computers stopped working, they cracked the bottle and drowned their sorrows.
Only one awkward thing for the workers – the cabinets full of goodies have a key lock at the bottom of the glass. Every time you ask to get an accessory out of them the staff member serving you has to get down on the floor to open it. This will tell on their clothing, backs, and knees. It was the same for the Camera Electronic store for the first 6 years of my job there – we fought with the keylocks every day. Once the new cabinets with invisible electronic locks were installed, the task was much lighter.
Too often the design of retail premises is not thought through – the goods are either left unprotected or locked up so tightly that the natural flow of sales is checked. It really is a geometric and operational jigsaw puzzle. As one of the salespeople I found that there were some items that were impossible to display and sell at the same time, and some concepts – like on-counter impulse bins – were so penny-catching as to degrade the whole sales floor. The one thing that I was able to do in my time that smartened up the mess was to institute a system of standardised signage for different divisions. We used Gill Sans for the typeface and A4 for the standardised size. It all worked well.
So many offers are delivered daily through our internet connections and in the advertising flyers that crowd the post box that we can sometimes miss out on the most exciting ones. Like the Slug of The Month Club.
The SOTMC delivers large, fresh, moist slugs to your door on the second Tuesday of each month for a very reasonable price. You can order the Sample Six-Pack, the Slimy Dozen, or the Save-As-You-Spend Variety Pack with two dozen assorted molluscs pre-packed in separate containers and ready for use.
All of the SOTMC products are certified by the Australian Garden Institute and can be relied upon to work straight out of the box. In addition, they carry a full 6 month guarantee of freshness. You get the squelch you want or your money back!
Call now on 9457 5856 and ask for your complementary slug-tongs and umbrella grease with your first order. You won’t be sorry.
In the spirit of science, I undertook an experiment today.
You’ll have read earlier in this column that the financial behaviour of our local BP petrol station was slightly odd – that business of pre-pay pumps in the middle of the day…and how the demand for pre-payment seemed to be a variable thing.
Well, today I dressed precisely as I had done on the last visit – a couple of Saturdays ago. I presented to the same pump, with the same car, at the same time. The only variable was the lady behind the service desk – the one who controls the door switch and the petrol pump remotes.
I put the nozzle in the tank, pumped in $ 38 of fuel, and went into the station to pay. The electronic terminal was a little slow but eventually it all worked well. I exchanged a pleasantry with the lady and came home.
It would appear that she is more confident in her position…or less arbitrary in her behaviour…than the other lady who served previously. Bravo. I shall look closely in the future to see who is behind the desk to avoid another affront. And there is always Shell down the street.