Bad Timing

I’ve been a regular listener of Democracy Now via podcast for about 12 months now, gottaluvya Amys & Juans. Prior to that, pre podcasting, I used to copy and paste transcripts to Word at lunchtime to read at home that night.
I feel lucky to have come across them during the lead up to the Iraq invasion. I used to have a flick around at lunchtime to world newspaper in the US / UK (in draft 1 I had named and linked to the newspapers but I'm too gutless – don’t want to be sued) and then english.aljazeera.net for balance. Without doubt I found Al Jazeera had the best ‘journalism’. Going to press conference and regurgitating verbatim a government official without question or investigation is not even a poor facsimile of journalism. The main stream UK press certainly didn’t instantly morph into unquestioning sycophantic propagandists as most of the US (and all Australian) mainstream media did... ranting now.

To paraphrase ‘the truth was out there’, just bloody hard to find as the mainstream media weren’t interested and various governments were trying to bury it. Democracy Now were / are a beacon of truth in a thick fog of ‘spin’. They do daily news headlines then generally topical interviews but occasionally have lectures from preeminent scholars; I recommend this one.

Another great thing about Democracy Now is that they have some great music breaks. Two songs in particular I had to get straight away were Buffy St Marie’s ‘Universal Soldier’ (not a Donovan fan) and Phil Ochs ‘I aint Marching Anymore’. Yep shoulda been a hippy.

Two observations.

I may be many things, arrogant, opinionated, a bit of lefty – but first I’m a capitalist. This war would be handsomely swelling the coffers of many protest singers of the sixties – gottaluv the irony in that. The very thing they are opposing is what introduced them to a new generation / market. I found Phil on YouTube and also Donovan doing Universal Soldier and there are comments like “My teenage son asked me for Best of Phil Ochs CD for...”, “I just bought...”. In part they need to thank Dubya for that – so it not just big oil and Haliburton that are reaping (raping?) it in :-)

The second observation is that I feel robbed for having been born in the early 70’s. My formative teenage years were in the 80’s, so I’m not responsible for my dress sense. I got a global recession for my 21^st then 11 years, and still suffering, of John bloody Howard. Goodonya.
During early teens I wanted to be born about 1935. If my parents could keep me alive through the end of the depression I would be 22 when Chevrolet released the ’57 Belair – mmmmmmm ’57 Belair – still freekin adore that car. That was the sole reason for wanting to be born in 1935; ah the innocence of youth.
Later, and still to this day, I’m became plain pissed I wasn’t part of the sixties. I got the antiauthoritarianism thang, organising ability, author of bad poetry, less than terrible orator, defiantly single and unlike Bill Clinton – did inhale. If I could compromise on personal hygiene, bit of stickler for a shower, I could have been the real deal man. Perhaps the long haired ‘Gerry Adams’ of a radical Australian militant group called the Cyan Koalas. OK not as tough as the Black Panthers but better than the Purple Platypus, the Eggpalnt Emus, the White Wombats, the Blue Bilbys? I'm on a role but I'll stop.
I look at the girls looking at Phil Ochs on youtube and am filled with envy. He’s was a pop star in the free lovin’ sixties about the time they invent the pill. I was a geek in the nothing eighties about the time they discover AIDS.
It's freekin wrong I tellsya!

Seasons greetings. Be safe.

Talking the Talk

I presented to the Victorian Cognos User Group recently. That was fun, I hadn’t done a presentation to room full of strangers since my consulting days. I was followed by a BearingPoint guy showing off the fan-freekin-tastic ‘Google in a box’ enterprise search engine then a Cognos consultant previewing some new stuff so I had to be on the ball.

My first job out of school was at Harris Scarfe in Rundle Mall, Adelaide. For me saying ‘not a fan of school’ is like a vampire saying ‘not a fan of sunlight’; it was moi-da. I was doing my final year, hatin’ life, until just before the end of first term Dad relented by setting me a challenge to get a full time job in the short school holidays to win my emancipation. I’m sure D.O.D (dear old Dad) didn’t think I would pull it off but was kind enough to fully prepare me for my plight by telling me at length, on numerous occasions, how hard it is for unskilled youths without even a high school diploma let alone university degree to get ahead in life. Mum was on board from the start (A because she has that ‘unwavering support for everything her kids do’ thing going on, but also because living with Mum on school days she had to endure the bulk of my sincere unhappiness. D.O.D got me on the weekend so he didn’t wear the brunt but upon realising my unyielding commitment to getting out school he too got right on board. The great irony is that the privileged, old boy, blazer, pipe and a good port, rar–rar–rar thing I so deeply resented was solely responsible for getting me out. I jagged it because the HR Manager was an ‘old boy’ and the school put in a good word. They desperately wanted me out so I didn’t soil their precious university entry scores. I had mentally stopped school long before. For my year 11 final accounting exam I got 9% I think. One third of the exam was multiple choice and I ticked ‘a’ for all without reading the questions before leaving while most were still reading the instructions.

I swear dissent is genetic; I was probably contemptuous of the doctor that delivered me due his poncy title. ‘Doctor my arse I’ll call you Bob – champ.’ Even as a new born my intuition was right on; after whacking me on the arse in my first few seconds of life that sadist Bob came back and tried to cut my dick off a few days later. I was still recovering from the whole birth ordeal with my teeth all knocked out, stress causing alopecia, post traumatic stress disorder had me with the night terrors and I’d lost control of my bodily functions. There’s freekin’ Bob with the ‘letters in front his name’ that allow him to go my cock with a sharp instrument. I was 2 weeks old and already hated ‘the establishment’. To smart for Bob though, I got away with most of it. :-)

Over half my life later being an ‘old boy’ continues to have a few advantages when you least expect it but for me not enough to make worthy tolerating 4+ years of pompous twats; being a ‘current boy’ sucked. I can’t help but say there’s no Freudian slip in the preceding phrase despite the fact it was an Anglican boys school in the 1980’s :-) – yes you’ll need a shovel to get that low... Anyhoo, as Simon & Garfunkel said “My lack of education hasn’t hurt me none, I can read the writing on the walls.”

I started my short lived retail career in the Manchester Department, I know my crocheted doilies alright, but a combination of mutual dislike between myself and manager along with my youthful enthusiasm saw me ‘promoted’ to spruiker. The promotion was only in the social sense only as there was the “oh, I could never do that” factor. In hindsight it was probably then I learned the value of being seen within an organisation. If you’re standing at the bus stop and don’t hail the bus it won’t stop. You has gots-ta put you’re hand out and be noticed to gets yoself anywhere gerl-freen!

Even spruiking at Harris Scarfes has a pecking order. The basement entrance was poignantly the starting point; which held a dark significance. As a young fella who knew, so well I could have written a thesis on it, my lack of formal education would see me have to fight my way up from the ground floor; but the freekin basement!
After the basement the central ground floor point is the next stop in the dizzying career of a Harris Scarfe spruiker. That was the best place to be for mine as you were inside protected from the elements and it was the intersection for the escalators and lifts while also having the foot traffic between Grenfell St and Rundle Mall. Having the raging hormones of a 17 year old I feel no remorse in saying it was great place for a perve but it didn’t have the prestige of the Rundle Mall main enterance. Once there you had officially ‘made it’ in Harris Scarfe spruiking but with the melting heat of Adelaide summers and winter winds accelerating down the confines of the Mall, not to mention rain, I figured that wasn’t an important milestone in the grand plan for global domination (mwa ha ha). But that is the Harris Scarfe spruiking Mecca; from there the only place to go is freelance for the big bucks – Roger David, Zamels, Bunnings, K-Mart, game show voice overs, hosting the Oscar’s. That is the standard career trajectory according to the freelance spruikers I spoke to. :-)
I was soon swapped from the basement to the ground floor which suited us both as my colleague was happy to talk power tools in the basement all day, every day. I was happy because now I didn’t, and the ground floor had weekly specials so it was always changing. Plus the visually appeasing vantage point. I was occasionally backup for the ‘top job’ in case of illness and the like. T’wasn’t so bad as the make up and perfume counters are up front of the store, cause they smell nice and have pretty ‘Cosmetics Consultants’ so, there goes them hormones again, I didn’t mind going up there for a change. By the end the first day I had usually managed to have my inept advances rejected by the Lancome girl and the Max Factor girl leaving L’Oreal, Clinique and Estee Lauder girls for day 2 maybe stretching it to day 3 after which I was happy to get back to ‘ground floor - central’.
But I digress; the point is even though spruiking for some time every single morning getting those first words out was tough, full of self-consciousness no doubt exacerbated by those damn teenage hormones again. What is the good of those bloody horm...oh yeah :-)

It was just like that when giving the presentation, once I spat out the first coupe of sentences I got right into stride. I've been eating and breathing the subject matter for a couple of years now, did several timed rehearsals and created the presentation from scratch where cutting and pasting some stuff from internal pressys would have been easier. Preparation, people, preparation. There was a Simpsons reference for levity and the language had a business context with minimal 'geek-speak' so the beanies and Execs would understand (keep up) while throwing in a diagram or two for the techos.

I know it went well because all the Cognos folks made a point to tell me afterwards – yeah right. As another Cognos dude told me "What a great presentation..." I thinking what else would they say to me; the client’s representative? ‘Gee Davo thanks for your time and effort but you’re boring as bat shit and the presentation made no sense.’ I’m sure they were genuine because they are genuine, also others with no vested interest also complimented me and since had a number of requests for copies but it did have me wonder how they handle the inevitable woeful presentation.

Lucky for me half a lifetime ago I would spend my days tempting consumers to fill their kitchens with 5mm Copper based stainless steel cookery, warning them of the potential damage to furniture with hot tea pots on un-doilied tables, or even protecting their families in winter by offering flannelette sheet sets at 'amazing prices shoppers' so talking to strangers in a professional environment was second nature.

While the presentation had me reminiscing about Harris Scarfe I can assure you back then I never thought spruiking would be advantageous 18 years later while talking Corporate Performance Management at Fed Square in Melbourne.

Learn that at Uni!

A Hard Sell

So the environment is (finally) a big problem; now it’s a polling issue. Welcome Johnny we’ve been waiting a decade so. NB hate to be the one break it to you but Iraq ain’t going that swimmingly – look forward to that becoming a polling issue so you can get your brush cut eyebrow, children overboard lying, interest rate advertising obfuscating, cole commission terms of reference restricting, baboon arse fugly head out of the sand on that one too.

But I’m not going to espouse a diatribe on what the federal government isn’t going to do a decade too late on the environment as that’s far too easy. I’ll leave that to others; I choose the hard sell.

Speed limits are dangerous and killing the environments. Yes it sounds ridiculous but there is undeniable science behind that seemingly absurd statement.
I live on a corner block. If I pull out and go left I’m hit a 40kph zone that lasts a few hundred metres and then goes 50 and a ‘cula hun’ed’ later goes 60. If I pull out right I’m in a 50kph zone that turns into a 60 zone at the T section a few hun’ed metres up. I drive 11kms to work and without exaggerating, I’ve counted, and there are 50 billion different speed zones. Apart from the obvious inherent danger in always glancing at the speedo due to the proliferation of speed cameras (can’t play pokies on the way to dropping the kids at school and the gov’s got make a buck somehow) plus constantly watching for speed signs the ridiculous number of speed changes is killing our environment.
Cars are geared to be most efficient around common speeds such as 60, 80 and 100kph. My manual car cruises at 60 in 4th at about 2000Rpm using about 6.5 litres per hundred kilometres (l/100) according to the on board computer. At 40kph the car is in 3rd gear at a slightly higher RPM and the slower speeds equates to about 9.2l/100k. Its simple maths, using the same RPM at lower speeds for the same distance will result in higher fuel consumption. Here is a brilliant real life example. My previous 5.7 litre manual sports ute with massive power gorged on fuel at the rate of about 18l/100k around town. But in 6th at 100kph it was geared to rev at about 1600 giving about 6.7l/100k. At 100kph that’s exactly the same as my current 3.0 litre manual with good power that does about 12l/100k (one third less) around town. It’s because the smaller engine needs more revs to be comfortable so it is geared to be doing about 2400RPM at 100kph.
In addition to using more fuel maintaining a lower speed we take a second slice of the fuel consumption cake again when accelerating from a lower speed zone to a higher - constantly. Then you add the extra wear and tear on the gearbox, brakes, tyres with all the, faster, slower, slower, faster - geesh! I’ll probably require a left knee reconstruction and or hip replacement at 65 not 67 with all these extra clutch actuations. With the danger, the environment, my joints society can’t bare the cost!
Plus, really drawing the long straw here, brake dust is dirty and very abrasive which ends up on the roads from all the braking from one speed to another goes into drains and kills the dolphins. I’ve always said my driving style is green. By braking less for corners and round-abouts I don’t have to accelerate out of the corner saving fuel and I don’t kill dolphins with brake dust. Why don’t we just go out and buy a cheap, imported, no name brand of canned flipper, oh I mean tuna. Is that too far? Excessive changes in speed limits KILLS DOLPHINS! (I told you it was going to be a stretch)

Back on a more serious note in Queensland or maybe New South Wales outback you would be into a 100kph and you would get a sign ’50 ahead’, slow down to 50 – Sir Wheat. Similar at the other end; you’d be in the 50 zone and get a 100 sign, none of this confusing 100 to 80, then 60, then 50 at both ends. Being the cynical dissident I can’t help but think it’s all part of a ‘cunning and devious plan’ to confuse us in order to raise speed camera revenue. On my recent road trip I’d found I was always doing something leaving a town; butting out a cigarette, closing the windows & sunroof while turning the air back on, scoffing deep fried something, adjusting my, um, ‘make up’, interrogating the GPS, all of the above - what ever. Up north if you past a speed sign you knew it was 100 no questions asked. Down south if you cruise past speed sign and don’t see it you have no idea. I missed one and was cruising at 80 looking for the hun’ed sign until a truck came barrelling up behind me so I guessed it must have been 100. To add to my cynicism they will wack in an 80 and then half a kay down the road you see another sign and it’s... another freekin’ 80. Surely they’re taking the piss, they just want you start building up for 100, tricked ya it’s an 80, click – thanks for visiting Victoria that’ll be a cupla hun’ed – would you like to pay the pokies while you’re here. Pricks – I don’t (perhaps selectively) remember a 100 sign then another 100 sign a minute later. Too bad you missed it, you can sit at 80 until a semi trailer driver that’s been awake for 83 hours who’s filled with more psuedo ephedrine than a ward of flu sufferers catches up and places his bullbar on the rear parcel shelf of your family car – Sir Funkin Wheat.

I’m not going to mention speed limits coming down while braking performance and electronic dynamic safety systems have improved exponentially in the same period. I won’t harp on about driver education being the only and obvious answer to reducing the road toll. I don’t even advocate increasing speed limits I just think the excessive changes in speed limits as implemented in southern states are confusing, dangerous and despite conventional thoughts to the contrary increases environmental damage.

Lament the Cement

In the December issue of WHEELS magazine letter of the month was a consumer talking up the value of run flat tyres. If someone tries to talk up run flats to me at first I wouldn’t say a word, as “Ppfftt” isn’t a word. Once my eyes finished rolling I would ask them what BMW dealership they work for. BMW have deleted the spare tyre from much of their range in favour of run flats. The letter showed me that for some cars run flats may actually be more than rort to sell more tyres.

However I have a 130i M-Sport with the 18” wheel option. It is fitted with Eagle NCT 5’s which are likely a very good touring tyre given a larger profile as they are fitted standard to the Chrysler Voyager and Peugeot 406 estate. This, no doubt, being the first and only time Chrysler Voyager, Peugeot 406 Estate and BMW 130i M-Sport are mentioned in the same sentence should be proof enough they shouldn’t wear the same shoes. I can confirm that with the strongest conviction. The real crime is they run a unique, from the research I’ve done, 205/45/18 up front so I’m stuck with them. I jest that the tyres on my car aren’t new technology and they weren’t invented by Firestone or Bridgestone but Flintstone. They afford a similar level of ride quality and grip as a single uneven rock cylinder a’la the ‘Flintstone-mobile’. (How did that car turn?:-) By not fitting them to their own ‘M’ cars BMW admit run flats aren’t for performance cars. Again something I can completely confirm.

For all the alleged value of these things as I drove from my home in Melbourne to the Gold Coast for Indy this year I was very concerned that if I had a flat Back’o’Bourke I would have to crawl to the nearest town, given the firm sports suspension and large rims I wouldn’t be hopping along at 80kph on a B road - as the marketers would tell you. I would likely have to shack up in the local pub for a number of days while the 205/45/18 was ordered in from who knows where. So great if you’re close to home or in the urban density of Europe but at the song says “...this is Au-stralER”.
Further, and this could be my bias, but I feel getting a flat tyre has become a whole lot more dangerous since the advent of the run flats. There seems to be push towards the perception a flat tyre is guaranteed to result in a Canyonero-esque multiple barrel roll finishing in a disproportionate flame ball. With a 40, 50 and 110kph limits in Australia combined with the low profile tyres of modern cars that would be fitted with run flats what is this danger of a flaty, I’ve been lucky enough to survive a few?

It was refreshing to see someone actually say something positive about run flats and I now accept they may have a place. Just not on my 130i or any other car I’ll own in the foreseeable future for both the road trips I enjoy and the performance I demand. Run flat or not it’s such a shame that so much of the great work BMW did making the 130i M-Sport a brilliant car is negated by the NCT5's tyres that are simply totally out classed by the car’s capability.
Good for the BMW engineers ego, really bad for upholding the 'Ultimate Driving Experience' sticker that stares at me while I'll understeer into another corner while a taxi casually drives around me on the outside (OK there maybe a bit of 'poetic license' there) and traction control shuts everything down on exit. The cement I lament (said tyres) brings the myriad of safety systems in so early you couldn't freak out Grand Ma on the way to Xmas lunch. Seriously man, at least you could have some fun battling the understeer with the hand brake if you took her 4 cylinder Camry.