My Boyfriend, the Psychic Medical Doctor

by Jeb on July 27, 2009

shoulderLast week, Adam embarked on his traditional Friday night drunken bicycle ride home from work. Unluckily for him, the sky was shedding more tears than the contestants of a Channel 10 reality show, and the roads were rather sodden.

This resulted in a spectacular stack on his part – he was trying to lean into a sharp turn, but this resulted in him mashing his body against the bitumen. He arrived home as a pile of bloodied and grazed muscles dusted with gravel.

Whenever he has accidents like these, he refuses any of my medical attention until he’s got some photos of his injuries first. Being hardcore is important! What’s more frustrating, though, is that he rarely takes time to see the doctor. This strange approach to illness and injury was something I noticed within the first few weeks of going out with him: whenever he was sick, he used to search the old Ask Jeeves search engine, because “Jeeves looks authoritative, he’s probably got some good advice for me”.

His shoulder has been getting steadily more painful, but he’s refusing to see a doctor at present, no matter how much I pester him. In fact, he seems to think he’s got an even better approach.

Me: Why don’t you just go to the doctor today? It’ll only take an hour.
Adam: It’ll heal itself. Mind over matter!
Me: You really should see a physio or something… you don’t know damage you might’ve done. You could have really screwed up your shoulder.
Adam: If I concentrate hard enough, I can fix it! (begins making high-pitched “eeeeee” noise)
Me: … What on Earth are you doing?
Adam: I’m healing myself! Right now!
Me: This isn’t like some videogame health power-up, you dick!
Adam: I can fix anything with my mind! Just like I can will people to fall over on command!
Me: You can fix anything? What if you get cancer, you’ll just will it away?
Adam: Well, obviously, that’s different.
Me: So there’s a line as to what you can heal with your mind?
Adam: Clearly.
Me: You are the worst medical doctor in the world.
Adam: Psychic medical doctor.

Today he’s decided to self-diagnose and put his arm in a sling. Partial victory to me, seeing as he’s halfway to admitting that he needs medical assistance! Wait until he starts getting muscle calcifications, then I’ll really be on my way to proving my point.

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When the Cold, Hard Reality of the Babysitter’s Club Slaps You in the Face

by Jeb on July 16, 2009

Recently I’ve been vaguely looking into how people earn money from writing, and have discovered that you can make a full-time living as a speechwriter. It’s probably not an option for me, as it’d prove way too dangerously tempting for me to slyly insert last-minute additions, so politicians begin blurting out statements like “That’s why I have such pleasure to open this memorial museum, and can anyone sell me a foil of coke?”

What I’ve found truly fascinating is the profession of ghostwriting. If you can work your way into the industry, it seems like there’s some serious coin to be made – Wikipedia, that towering pillar of truth, claims that the average ghostwriter’s advance is between US$30,000 and $100,000!

babysitters-club-book-coverIt doesn’t seem like this work is limited to celebrity bios, either – popular authors will continue to churn out formulaic novels under their name which are ghostwritten by someone else. I knew that bloody Ann M. Martin was up to something with that constant, vomituous flow of Babysitter’s Club books!

Admission: the Babysitter’s Club series was literary heroin during my childhood, and I was perplexingly oblivious to the female target market. No doubt this played hand-in-hand with my attendance of a 1988 Kylie Minogue concert in forming my sexuality.

There was a particularly fraught moment in my childhood when my family entered an Angus & Robertson bookstore, only to be confronted with a giant display shouting “THE BABYSITTER’S CLUB: AUSTRALIA’S FAVOURITE BOOK SERIES FOR GIRLS!” My fearful suspicions all came crashing around me, and in a moment of genuine, anxious terror, I ushered my entire family away from the display for fear they’d see the hard evidence too: it was a fact, I was obsessed with books for girls, and my parents would never let me read them again if they saw it! Or so I thought. They clearly had some idea, as they were completely happy to let me plaster my bedroom walls with posters of a shirtless Craig McLachlan. Which, strangely, should have steered me away from being gay, but look how things turned out.

But ghostwriting: what an idea. Mostly because if someone asks me what I do for a living, I can shriek “I’M A GHOST!!…… writer”.

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This is the Most Fascinatingly Awful Band I’ve Heard in Eons

by Jeb on July 13, 2009

Look, I do my very best not to give anyone crap for liking a particular musical artist. Lord knows my own taste is highly suspicious: although I’m primarily a fan of punk, hard rock and metal, it’s no secret that my gym playlist is frequently home to the tackiest pop groups in history. You may laugh, but listening to music that makes you want to run away by instinct… it’s actually not such a bad idea on the treadmill.

That said: recently a band named brokenCYDE came to my attention, and it’s the most engrossingly bad music I’ve come across in some time. Touted as a leading representative of the emerging screamo-crunk genre (which you know is as bad as it sounds) I’ve become so obsessed with their heinousness that I’m completely hypnotised. Cannot tear my eyes away from their stomach-churningly self-aware, humourless, misogynist videos in utter disbelief.

Buzzfeed describes them as what happens “if Insane Clown Posse became a boy band”. In theory, the music’s a crossover between screamo and the tepid kind of drowning-in-Autotune hip-hop-lite infiltrating the Top 40. My take is that it’s a soundtrack to the death knell of irony with built-in screaming-in-horror reactions. Take a look, if you dare, and pay special attention to the impenetrably enigmatic lyrics.

Now, don’t worry: your initial reaction is that this is an incredibly clever parody of everything that’s wrong with this kind of music. That’s what I thought too. Then my next reaction was that this was so bad, it’s surely the product of a marketing team constructed entirely of 50 year olds and up, blindly flailing around as to what “the kids” are into.

That’s when your stomach drops and you realise these little shits are deadly serious. All that misogynistic ranting and screaming (which, by screamo standards, doesn’t even approach anything good) -- they only seem to sing about girls being whores or getting drunk and stoned. The scene in that video where a girl is grabbed by the neck, screamed at, and all she does to react is coquettishly purse her lips as if it’s merely just a saucy bit of foreplay -- it’s unbearable! Even their album title is excruciatingly self-aware: “I’m Not a Fan, But the Kids Like It!”

I’m turning 30 shortly and this band has really landed a signpost in my life -- the moment when top 40 music for “the kids” ceased to be just irritating, and instead became immensely perplexing. One of the band members’ roles is to turn their fucking smoke machine on. This is not a joke -- hell, even the Prodigy’s dancing man seems credible now. The devoted prepubescent fans of the band defend them wildly across the web, claiming that nobody seems to understand the band are all in on one big joke, but it’s one terrible joke indeed.

But here’s the thing: I can’t stop listening to them. It’s the musical equivalent of letting off a reeking fart and not being able to stop yourself from smelling just how bad the product of your own body is. An absolutely fascinating snapshot of where youth culture is at this moment in time.

In anticipation of any comments defending the band, I totally acknowledge musical taste is subjective; it’s just that these guys have just particularly floored me. My only response is to go check out some bands like Enter Shikari who can actually pull off this kind of thing in a more talented, meaningful way -- you may just like them.

But for now, I’ll leave you with more brokenCYDE. If you find the music or video below even slightly distinguishable from the other one above, you’re doing better than I am.

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Is This the Worst Comic in the World?

by Jeb on July 9, 2009

First and foremost, I cannot claim any responsibility whatsoever for tracking down this monstrosity. You’re about to view something which is an existential slap in the face to illustrators everywhere, found by the extremely talented Mutley James. Wherever he found it, I’ve no doubt infants passed away within a 5 metre radius as he carried it home.

Can your neurons possibly compute the sheer contempt for humanity flaunted by THE WORST COMIC IN THE WORLD?

598869f863ee5d60818fcc8efced1000

(Click to zoom, if you don’t mind undergoing a simulation
of having cancer injected directly into your urethra)

After originally having my face raped in half by this comic book cover earlier in the week, I can’t stop returning to view it some more. Every inspection reveals even further vomituous details, the likes of which are definitely only found within the pages of edu-comics.

Where do I begin? Blue Flame himself appears to be Helen Mirren on a miscalculated steroids binge. The supporting characters all look like they’ve been grudgingly forced to appear due to a well-hidden contract clause. The dog appears to have been drawn under the influence of barbiturates. Hothead looks like he’s just been forcibly exposed to Ian Hewitson’s genitals. Amber appears to be a corpse desperately inflated with LPG and moments away from bursting point.

Who knows why Blue Flame’s limbs are positioned at such awkwardly akimbo angles, either. It’s as if someone burst into his bedroom while he was engaging in unspeakable depravities with a character named something like Pilot Light, and immediately flew into the stratosphere to escape the scene – which is where we find him now.

What would Blue Flame call his team of sidekicks, anyway? I’m gnawing at my desk in desperate hope that they’re known as Flamers.

Let’s not even consider what’s involved in the “Gas Zone”, lest it’s revealed not as a fascinating world of educational dot-points about natural gas, and instead a highly specific fetish planet.

If you need any proof that this comic actually causes measurable human harm? Halfway through writing this blog post, my mate Ken phoned me after being involved in an accident so I could drive him to hospital. I’M ONTO YOU, BLUE FLAME.

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Why So Serious?

by Jeb on July 6, 2009

What is that causes fun-l0ving musical artists who don’t take themselves seriously, to suddenly go all solemn and release an album that’s a po-faced platitudinous musical fart in the wind? I’m all for bands exploring their sounds, but is it necessary to be belting out a fun lovin’ rock anthem one moment, only to violently snap backwards like a musical bungee cord is yanking you back to performing an earnest rendition of an eastern European national anthem?

fischerspooner-emerge-singleThis resentment been brought about by the latest FischerSpooner album, Entertainment. Their prior albums were so much fun, really inventive and quirky electronica. They clearly had a sense of humour, too – their music videos were outrageous, and they shamelessly stamped “BEST SONG EVER” in the artwork to their Emerge single.

That’s why the new album is such a letdown. They used to sound like they’d inhaled a metric tonne of amphetamines directly from Kylie Minogue’s snatch then recorded the resulting party explosion. Now they sound like they’re stuck in a K-hole and are convinced the only method of escape is to desperately stab at a Casio keyboard until they’ve deciphered a secret musical code, which opens a portal back to the conscious world. Shame.

Of course, it’s entirely possible to transform from wacky cartoon band to a musical collective that’s so soberly grave, it makes Coldplay look like poster children for extreme sports. The trick is to execute your metamorphosis before anyone really begins paying attention to you. Some of us haven’t forgotten about you cavorting around in primary-coloured t-shirts while singing about zoo animals in the late 90s, Eskimo Joe.

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Where Have all the Bizarre Two-in-One Stores Gone?

by Jeb on July 3, 2009

shopping-basketIf you grew up in the country, you’d be familiar with the concept of bizarre hybrid stores. In townships with smaller populations, you’d frequently find stores melding hardware with children’s toys, newsagents with chemists and other such strange combinations.

To prevent a complete homogenisation of our urban shopping strips, I call for a re-institution of such bizarre retail pairings. In fact, just inexplicably knock down the adjoining wall of every second store on your local high street and force everyone to do business together. I’M THE MAYOR OF JEBTOWN, WHAT I SAY GOES!

In my own suburb alone, this would instantly create a massage parlour/electrical repairs store, fill the growing community need for a one-stop-vet-plus-bicycle-shop, not to mention a combined post office/travel agent (actually, that last one could work!)

Any business adjacent to a pub will hit the jackpot – all those smashed patrons will hiccupingly fling their money anywhere under the influence. Praise the retail gods for my newly-dictated pub/hairdressers! Somewhat terrifyingly, this would also create a pub/architect in my own suburb – so don’t go blaming me when you submit a down payment on a home designed to accommodate a dedicated pole-dancing room.

Of course, there are still some chains proudly flying the peculiar retail hybrid flag. Take a leaf out of Priceline’s book: where else can you purchase suppositories and wholesale quantities of lollies in the one basket?

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If You’re Served Pancakes on your Next Plane Flight, Jump Out the Airlock

by Jeb on July 2, 2009

According to a friend of mine, I’m obsessed with referring to humanity’s inevitably doomed future within my blog entries.

In fact, when I happened to catch a TV commercial for “Napisan, now with built in oxy-intelligence!” last night -- my initial reaction was “wow -- that sounds like how Skynet started”. I’m sure Dynamo Sentient isn’t far away from our supermarket shelves, either.

I’d also like to raise my misgivings regarding the recent TV ads for Webjet. Witness:

For a few days, I kept catching that ad while I happened to be passing through our lounge room, and the visuals struck me as more ambiguous than Dannii Minogue’s entire career. That ad could be selling anything: real estate, breakfast cereal, cars… no, apparently it’s a discount flights website.

But there’s one thing that ad appears to be spruiking more than anything else, and it’s Scientology. It’s so apt: the cash zipping away from Earth, as if vomited from a volcano, sarcastically fluttering around just out of your grasp. The vaguely creepy, space-themed visuals. Not to mention the voice-over, which eerily discharges a series of creepily welcoming phrases. It’s as if Baby John Burgess’ body has been possessed by an alien entity, clumsily attempting to convince the population that he would make a remarkable overlord.

pancakesThe only factor differentiating this ad between Webjet and scientology is a freaking free e-meter reading!

That is, unless senior scientology members have infiltrated Webjet’s management, and this is all quite deliberate. Urban myth persistently suggests that the Pancake Parlour chain also sups from the cup of Xenu, so perhaps there’s some terrifying pancake/air travel plot they’re concocting to indoctrinate us all.

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When the Concept of a Home Gym Goes Too Far

by Jeb on June 25, 2009

dumbbellThe owner of our local gym is an awesome bloke, but I find it strange that he seems to be working at every given hour of the day.

He’s more dedicated to his job than Natalie Bassingthwaite is to hypnotising the nation via TV with her crazy eyes. If I rock up to the gym first thing in the morning? The owner of the gym’s there. If I’m dashing there for a late night workout on my way home from work? He’s there. Even if I pop in at some strange time on the weekend? He’s still there!

This is just a small, independent gym with a small, dedicated set of (mostly meathead) clients. The interiors resemble a crumbling recreation room from Battlestar Galactica. There’s autographed photos of famous bodybuilders across the walls who’ve visited the gym over the years. Most of the equipment is cracked, warped and clearly has a history of decades of muscle-building.

But it’s totally awesome! There’s a real community atmosphere, and the owner is an awesome bloke. He could completely sell out and chase the local market who’d otherwise march robotically into their nearest Fitness First gym, but he’s happy with his loyal regulars and a humble word of mouth campaign. He doesn’t even have a website!

Lately, though, I’ve been getting really suspicious about the owner’s omnipresence and have begun seeking some answers.

Considering the number of clients he has, he doesn’t have the gargantuan budget afforded by most other suburban gyms. So what better way to reduce the costs of the gym, than… BY LIVING THERE!

There’s a mysterious storeroom which he frequently slips into during gym hours. I’m utterly convinced he’s got a bed, a TV, a bar fridge… everything he needs in there. As for showers and toilets, they come built into the gym!

So it’s not that he’s working long hours at the gym – it’s just that all his clients are invading his living room.

Adam thinks I’m being a little overly inventive and the storeroom simply stores drinks for the gym’s fridge, but I refuse to be swayed. Anyone who’s dedicated enough to live in their own workplace deserves my custom.

You wouldn’t see those grinning, suspiciously tanned Fitness First employees living in their gyms, would you?

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Top 10 Worst Named Cars Ever Sold in Australia

by Jeb on June 23, 2009

While I was researching my recent car purchase, I came across some car names which are terrible enough to knock the wind out of you. Although most of them are likely due to language barriers, they all sound like expressions of enthusiasm from the 1970s or children’s cartoon characters.

This list only covers cars sold in Australia, to the best of my knowledge – there’s plenty worse that have been sold overseas, such as the AMC Gremlin – so buckle in.

#10: Isuzu Wizard

Not the worst offender on this list by far, but it still conjures up images of sad old men with suspiciously spectacular sewing skills and a complicated interest in white magic.

mitsubishi-townbox#9: Mitsubishi Townbox

Although appearing to be the title of a children’s toy set at first glance, this stupid car name is at least accurate. Check it out on the right – you really could compress the entire contents of Geelong into that oversized cube of metal.

#8: Mitsubishi Cyborg

AAAARGH! OUR DYSTOPIAN FUTURE HAS ARRIVED! MITSUBISHI IS SKYNET! Perhaps better known as the Mitsubishi Colt in Australia, which has a slightly nicer ring to it than the Mitsubishi Humanity Faces Imminent Robotic Destruction.

#7: Toyota Windy

My mind is notoriously welded to the gutter, but doesn’t anyone else think about an inescapable stream of piping hot farts when they hear this car name? I’m sure the Windy was delicately beautiful in a hiaku-esque manner in the original Japanese language. In English, however, it doesn’t necessarily communicate the, ahem, burning of fuel in a positive way.

#6: Nissan Homy

This conjures up nothing other than images of some sort of over-researched anti-drugs cartoon character from the 90s, during the MC Hammer/Vanilla Ice happy-pants peak. Suffice to say, I think we can all be assured that genuine homies would not be seen driving a wack Nissan van around their hood.

Holden Avalanche#5: Holden Avalanche

Is it truly such a wise idea to name your utility vehicle after a natural disaster? Then again, I guess that’s what really switches on some bogans. “Destroy your natural environment with the insatiable appetite of underground eruptions from the Earth’s very core! Presenting the Holden Volcano Tectonic Earthquake Ute!”

[click to continue…]

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Five Examples of Why You Should Complain to Companies About Bad Products

by Jeb on June 18, 2009

Update: I recently appeared on Channel 7′s The Morning Show to talk about this post. Watch me embarrass myself!

You like free stuff, right? Then next time something goes wrong with something you’ve bought from the supermarket, I demand you let the manufacturer know.

After a recent messy packaging explosion, I was so irked by a product splurging laundry detergent all over my chest (no, it’s not hot – there’s a reason that’s never been introduced into adult movies) that I angrily spat out an email to the manufacturer. Lo and behold, they were genuinely apologetic, and sent me a $20 Coles-Myer gift card to make things right.

It also never hurts to let companies know when they’ve done something awesome – customers hardly ever go to the effort to do this, and you may find yourself equally rewarded.

It only takes two or three minutes to contact a company via their website – so why not? You’d only have spent that time gawping in front of MasterChef or mindlessly clicking through a photo gallery of Lindsay Lohan mouth-breathing anyway.

Here’s five examples of mine.
allens
1. Allens

Discovering that my gigantor bag of lolly snakes had an expiry date well into the past was probably nature’s way of telling me that I shouldn’t be putting such crap into my body. Nonetheless, I had a little whinge to Allens. They told me that they’d be checking up on the expiry date process at the supermarket involved, and sent me a gift card. Which I think I actually used to purchase sultanas and healthy snacks instead, mostly out of guilt.

2. Menulog

menulogMenulog is a great idea in theory – you can order home delivered meals from local restaurants online. There are some annoying flaws in the business which I’ll discuss another time (mostly communication problems between Menulog and the delivering restaurants). I tapped out my complaint about a delivery which never eventuated due to a miscommunication, which they duly took on board and rewarded me with enough credit to partially cover my next order. I’m unlikely to use them again, but I appreciated the gesture.

3. Schweppes

This example’s a little older, but some years ago, I’d purchased a bottle of soft drink which exploded like a geyser when I opened it. It ended up permanently ruining some nearby curtains it had splattered. After contacting Schweppes with my sob story, they not only covered the cleaning repairs after I provided a receipt – but also sent me a gigantic gift basket of chocolates. Diabetes be arsed, I was a happy customer once more!

4. Coke Zero

coke-zeroThis one’s a little more of a spiritual reward, but still a nice example. Coke Zero’s current “Win a Playa Lifestyle” promo really bugged me. It was clearly targeted towards young men, but the imagery of babes in bikinis alienated me from the promo. Without getting too screamy and political, the fact is that a substantial portion of the targets for this promo happen to gargle scrotum, so Coke were hardly hitting the mark for everyone. That’s why it pleased me to see the imagery for the promo changed halfway through the contest – the “babes” were replaced with boats, jewellery, cars, Vegas – something every young dude could relate to (well, if they’re deluded nutcases, granted – but it was much more inclusive).

It was probably coincidence – I’d say marketing the actual prizes instead of generic ladyfolk would result in more entries – but it was still a change that pleased me. Enough to contact Coke via their website and give my positive feedback. One of their marketing folk sent a warm, genuine reply – and who knows, maybe I’ve put something in their heads about future marketing campaigns? Never hurts to give positive feedback like this.

5. Mrs. Mac’s Pies

On the opposite end of the scale from spiritual warm and fuzzies, we have fatty pies. During a recent carbohydrates binge, Adam and I bought some Mrs. Mac’s pies only to discover they’d completely disintegrated in the packaging (think Mark Holden’s face with too much plastic surgery and you get an idea of the appearance). I took a quick photo and emailed it off to the manufacturer. Shortly afterwards, they phoned me wanting to deliver an entire box of replacement pies as an apology. Laughing, I had to decline, but how could I continue to be irked about the original problem? Besides, I could never stay angry at a cartoon logo of a harmless nanna.

So there you have it. If you’ve got any tips or similar experience, leave them in the comments. Giving feedback to companies can be worth the hassle! Also, ENTIRE BOXES OF PIES!

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