Knowledge now redundant in curriculum

from Kiwiblog by David Farrar

As if NCEA hasn't been bad enough, now the new curriculum due out in November will shift the focus from knowledge to skills. Knowledge we are told is no longer needed as according to the Ministry of Education: "there's no use (students) being little knowledge banks walking around on legs … We've got computers, we don't need people walking around with them in their heads… People just have to get used to that."

So how will this system work.  The SST gives us examples:

• Social science students will be marked for taking action to make their community a better place to live, rather than remembering facts about a society on the other side of the world.
• Science students might be tested on whether they know how to design an experiment, rather than whether they remember what the result should be
  

Now one knows how bad the situation is when both the PPTA and the Education Forum says the changes go too far.

So there is now no need for students to remember "facts, historic dates or periodic tables".  By this logic there is no need to learn multiplication as we have calculators.

pebkac

click to enlarge

Mac lol

Somebody please tell me this is a joke. Why can't they just use a high tensile wire cable? This website claims that they are "honoring [Mac's] sleek form and function". Uh uh. Not cool.

Oh, and check this out.

computers

This is my live post documenting the computers I have owned.

1. Mac

Bought for $25 from a garage sale in about 1999. At this time, Si also had an identical Mac which cost him only $5. The picture may not be exactly right, but it was "one of those macs with a handle". Coolness.

2. Zenith laptop running Windows 3.1

This was the closest image I could find. Mine had the black and white screen. I paid not very much for it, could have been $50. I sold it for $200 - could have been $250.

3. Pentium I IBM 75mhz 32mb 1gb

Again, this is a similar but not exact image of this computer. I paid (sigh...) was it $375 or $475? It could have even been $200, I can't remember. It was an absolute bargain. Came with a sweet as computer desk, a printer, a then unheard of 21" monitor that weighed more than you do. It was a very reliable computer with a huge 1gig hard drive and a CD drive that sounded like some music you hear today on the radio. I played Hugo's Horiffic Adventure, Nitemare, Avenger and other classics. The Age of Empires I demo only just worked on it, so that was fun too. I learned heaps on this computer.

brief list which will be updated eventually:

• Toshiba Satellite 2450
• Toshiba Satellite 2410
• Toshiba Satellite 333mhz
• The "blue beast"
• The red apple
• The computer on the side of the road
• Asus A6000
• Toshiba TE2100
• Toshiba Satellite A100
• Current computer (built)
• "aeroplane" computer
• 4 X Compaq 200mhz, 2gb, 32mb
• Compaq 400mhz, very stable, excellent case
• 1X Dell laptop & 1 X Toshiba laptop - parts only
• Artec Archie (Shop4Computers) $220, 1.1ghz?, 20gig

Wow, this list is long. I'll bit by bit work on remembering and noting down things.

How does he do it?

Si, my younger brother. He's bigger and stronger than me. He earns more than me. He's got nice clothes. He sleeps on a real bed. He knows the difference between a Mocha and a Flat White. He's got quite a few mates from work.

He runs Windows Vista on his sweet as Laptop, an Asus F5R. He collects shoes. He has a pretty big shoe collection now, and at his request, I have made him a website for his hobby. I'm actually pretty happy with the site. It's definitely cutting edge. At least, the resizing images are a breakthrough.

Si and I get on pretty well. I wake him up 10 minutes before it's time to go on Sunday morning. He gets out movies and other... refreshments, his shout. I give him a hard time about Windows Media Player locking up on his laptop. He punches me in the back. I borrow $500 bucks from him. He asks me to get the internet going. My computer chair breaks. I take his.

"the secret to the 60 hour week"

"Andrew on Mountain bike"

One of my earlier efforts. I did this on Microsoft Picture It! Don't you reckon I look like Evan?

THE CATCH

Written ages ago. About 2000. By Andrew Moore

Flicking through the pages of the paper.
Mum saw an ad to excite her,
It in bold writing informed us about,
A fishing day Smiths City would shout
And without loss of time, a tittle jot,
Was written on the calendar whether it liked it or not.

It was going to be at The Avon river.
As The time grew near I gave a little shiver,
Because the day was cold,
It was not until later I discovered it was worth its weight in gold.
We loaded The van with our gear and sped off down the road,
With our ever hopeful load.

A parking spot we nabbed before it was too late.
We pulled out our fishing rods with a slow determined grate,
We filed past a person sitting at a desk in a tent.
Getting enrolled for the fishing as we went,
We found there was going to he halt supplied,
And a sausage sizzle for which I could have died.

After we had found a place we settled down into our chairs.
Hooks baited the fishing began amidst occasional cheers.
With baited hooks flying through the air,
And people fiddling round with fishing gear.
I wandered over to the main Tent where I was told-,
that the largest fish caught would win a bag of gold

I got a sausage after waiting half an hour in a queue,
Then I took my little brother for a walk as something to do.
We went to get our faces painted (I wondered how I would look)
But I soon forgot my worries and sported one colossal hook

We went back to our posy where we resumed the life,
Of a fisherman's fun and strife,
I walked along the bank awhile for some exercise,
When I saw an eel hauled in of gigantic size-
A bit less than a metre long it was, the biggest catch
A size so far that no one else could match

The prize giving was announced, I ran towards the stand,
And wondered who would win the prize grand.
First The spot prices were handed out and that was done,
When a little buy was proclaimed to have won-

A lolly scramble began fists and feet new,
I caught only a few.(of both)
A vague voice on the loud speaker had something to announce,
A trout has just been landed but I heeded that not an ounce,
I knew it couldn't be our fish I just did,
Flailing feet and snatching hands amid,
So I dived in headlong - into the heap,
And fumbled for lollies in bodies deep.

Out of The corner of my eye 1 saw my brother,
Marching through a mass of people, shoving one another.
In his hands he bore a net with - WOWE !
A trout t'would stand half again right up to his knee,
For a moment I was drowned in utter confusion,
And then I knew it was an illusion-

Simon I shouted whose fish have you got.
It's a monstrous magnificent whopper great Scott!
"It's ours I caught it, it went on our hook,"
I pushed up closer To take a look,
It's not ours I told him - the 8th commandment say's not to steal
'I didn't" he told me "Oh what a lovely meal!"

T started to comprehend that this was our trout,
When Dad came along and gave a great shout
The loudspeaker roared come look at the catch,
that absolutely nobody else will match.
Simon stood up high wanted by the lime light,
I got up closer and helped him to skite.

Here you are a big man said here's your prize,
I "thanked him a lot" with a sparkle in my eye,
Two movie tickets and a reel of line,
Thankyou Mr. for your time...
We went to The butchers to get the trout smoked,
We still with amazement almost choked.

Enough is enough so I must end, leaving the story in your head to blend

FACTS:

* The trout weighed over six kilograms
* The Trout was over 800 centimetres long.
* The trout was brown-
* The trout was pulled in with undersized fishing gear,

Goodnight Moon

I just downloaded Picasa. It seems pretty smart. Heck, I just installed it 10 minutes ago, and it has already found every single image on my computer. 8,765 images in 1,467 folders on 2 hard-drives. Here's one photo I found, it can't be that old. I remember the shirt but I don't remember the photo being taken.

captions anyone?

I remember the face but I can't recall the name, now I wonder how whatsername has been - Greenday.

Anyway, it's 12:44am. I've just been watching the first 45 minutes of The Good Shepherd, and it's pretty good so far. I think I'll fold the Church bulletins tomorrow, my fingers are well, you know, I can't think of a decent adjective.

Goodnight moon.

ahhh, what fond memories.

:)

air time

Heck, I hope it holds together. The elusive character looked down at the front wheel, trusting that the axle was not loose. It was slightly buckled; grime had built up on the rims and the brakes were out of alignment. Looking over his shoulder and down at the back wheel, he saw to his concern that the back tire was perishing; the tube would bust out at any time - the tire was so low. Needs air. The old red tape which held the brake and gear cables to the frame was perishing and peeling off. The thick white tape around the handle-bars was also beginning to peel. The back brake cable wasn't in the right place - the man slotted it back into the brake lever.

The elusive character wore a baggy pair of jeans. They were ripped at the bottom cuffs, at the back, from walking on them so much. The right knee was going. They had buttons, not a zip and an old belt that was faded and creased and coming apart a bit. A pair of grey Dockers that he had bought from his brother when his brother had decided that they were no good. A grey t-shirt, horizontally pinstriped that he had bought in Wallmart when he had been in the US in '05. A tartarn-patterened shirt, sleeves rolled up to just above the elbow and the first 3 buttons undone. Sure, he didn't fit in, he knew that but didn't care. A pair of earphones in his ears were plugged into his Motorolla V360 cellphone. He was listening to Sunlight and Shadows by Poor Old Lu.

His legs kept the rythm they knew so well. Whenever a slight turn or an obstacle approached, he would bend one elbow downwards, his shoulder into the turn, pulling the wheel slightly. Cycling down the busy road directly outside the university, a thoughtless middle-aged woman opened her car door a few meters ahead. The number 3 bus was hurtling down the road behind him. Cars tightly packed, lining the side of the road, there was nowhere for him to turn. There were two options for the cyclist. Smash into the door of the car with his body curled into a protective foetal postion. Or die. Neither of the two options appealed greatly to the elusive character, and in the few mili-seconds that he had between now and reality, he thought back over his life.

When he was very little, he had played on a lovely red swing in the back garden, and there was a delightful little brook gargling down past him. Sometimes he would feed the ducks there with his Mum. He ate a lot of bannanas, they were cheap and nutritious and mashed. On his fifth birthday, he had had a running race with the Japanese student who was then staying with his family; and one of the little girls who had been invited to the party had worn her party crown upside-down. His brother's bag of lollies had spilled under the table and several of the boys had crawled under the table looking for free lollies. At the age of nine, his parents took him out of school and began home-educating him. Freedom . A bit later on, when he was about 10 or 11, he made a flying fox with is brother and the boy next door. It was a cool flying fox, behind the garage, between a really tall tree and a pear-tree. A difficult neighbor had insisted that the tree be cut down, and the flying fox had to go. The boys had built another flying fox between the massive willow tree and the jungle gym. One time when he had gone across it, the rope snapped and he fell on his back from quite high up. When he was 14, he watched on in sublime apathy as the rest of the world hurtled about, rushed around preparing for "the Y2K". What did it stand for? He didn't know, he didn't care. He had watched the TV for hours. That's the way they do stuff these days. When he was almost 15, he had woken up early to go rabbit-shooting with his mate, when they heard on the radio about some sort of terrorist attack in New York. Shortly after turning 19, the elusive character had entered Canterbury university, the university past which he was now biking. He had learned some stuff and met some people and had a few free sausages and cans of coke. And then...

His shoulders convulsed, the impact was 2 seconds away. Turning towards the boot of the sedan, he stood up and began to lift the front wheel of his bike. He was travelling at about 35kph. The middle-aged lady now woken from her stupified revery stood in helpless horror, a look of remorseful panic crossing her middle-aged face. Just before the front wheel came in contact with the unforgiving back of the car, the man pulled up the backwheel, resulting in a delayed bunny-hop. The front gears scraped over the boot and the front wheel swerved violently on the dusty back windscreen. Two powerful strokes on the pedals and the bike shot up the windscreen and onto the roof. Deftly handling the front wheel, the elusive character veered off to the left, and as he came off the side of the front windscreen, he pulled up the front wheel of the bike.

The landing was good. Both tires exploded on impact; the front forks bent and the handlebars were skewed forward with the pressure upon them. The bike sped forward and the rider still maintaining control, put all his remaining strength into slowing the bike down. The brakes screamed as they bit into the mild steel of the old bike, and it came to a shuddering stop. Hah, that was worth it. The middle-aged lady hurried up behind the elusive character. Her tongue tripping over itself, she apologised profusely. He wasn't too upset. He made a few scathing comments in the direction of the general public, referring to car-drivers as a whole. The middle-aged lady reached into her middle-aged purse and pulled out 3 $100 notes. Will this be enough for a new bike? she asked...

The Pope and I have this agreement...

Pope says abortion "not a human right" - Reuters

I agree with you there mate. You're wrong on quite a few things including transubstantiation, but you're straight up and down when it comes to such a crucial issue as abortion.

No Sunday - No God

This excellent article from Milnrow Evangelical Church in the UK.

"Before you get rid of the Christian's God, you must first get rid of the Christian's day", exclaimed Voltaire, the French sceptic. The cry of 'No Sunday' is only a stepping stone to that of 'No God'. It is little wonder we are witnessing a concerted, vicious attack by humanists on this divine institution. Few could deny that with the demise of our Sunday Schools, we have seen a rise in violent anarchy, perpetrated not only by mindless football hooligans, but by well-heeled yuppies in Tory shires.

'Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people' is now seen to be more than a Biblical quotation on a Wayside Pulpit. It is being out-worked before our eyes. Murder by the million (in abortion on demand), epidemic venereal diseases and HIV/AIDS in our permissive age, and breakdown of discipline in classroom, home and society, are all chickens which have come home to roost. God's laws are not the needless restrictions of a despot, but the provision of a loving Creator. He made us, and He knows what is best for us. That is why all His commandments make good sociological sense, as well as providing us the best spiritual discretion.

Tragically, Sunday has become a fun day. Pews, once full, have been replaced by queues. For Lord's Day read World's Day. Politicians and churchmen alike pour scorn on this ancient institution. Ironically, all too often those who argue for the retention of this Sabbath of rest are inconsistent. I recognise that politics is the art of the possible - hence the perpetual compromise of Parliament. As a past parliamentary question time revealed, fudge at Westminster is twice as expensive as that purchased outside the House! As Christians, however, we emphasise that expediency is no substitute for principle. Situational ethics may be the order of the day in our society, but we have absolute standards we need to maintain.

In our country there are two major systems of philosophical though. The first is built on revealed truth (the Bible). On this is placed the block of divine creation, then absolute morality, issuing in responsible man and a caring world. The alternative has humanistic philosophy as its foundation. Atheistic evolution is placed on this, then situational ethics (or amorality), issuing in autonomous man and self-centred society. In pursuance of the later scenario, the forces of evil have gathered to destroy the Lord's Day. What God has forcibly set forth in the Bible should be a cardinal principle in our living.

Thank God for Christians in a secular society who have stood firm for this principle.

Lord Shaftesbury, the great factory reformer, and William Wilberforce, emancipator of the slaves, had no doubt on this score. On Sundays, Wilberforce attended church twice and would neither travel nor discuss politics except in the gravest emergency. He sought always whilst a bachelor to spend a part of Sunday in self-examination, and a part in acts of kindness to strangers or friends; then after dinner he would consider his friends one by one and think how he could help them and pray for them individually.

Wilbur and Orville Wright in 1903 built the first true aeroplane at Kitty Hawk. One weekend the King of Spain asked to see it fly - but was told that they never flew on Sundays. The film industry has highlighted the courage of Eric Liddell, who would sacrifice an Olympic medal rather than run on the Lord's Day. What hypocrisy that the organisers of the Leeds Marathon should play the theme music from Chariots of Fire as the competitors crossed the finishing line one Sunday!

Speaking in Parliament, Lord McCauley said, "We are not poorer but richer, because we have, for many ages, rested from our labours one day in seven. The day is not lost. While industry is suspended, while the plough lies silent in the furrow, while the Exchange is silent, while no smoke ascends from the factory, a process is going on quite as important to the wealth of nations as any process which is performed on more busy days. Man... is repairing and winding up, so that he returns to his labours on the Monday with clearer intellect, with livelier spirit, with renewed corporeal vigour".

Let us in this century similarly show the way. Let the whole day be a holy day.

by Professor Verna Wright
(Day One Magazine, Autumn 1998)

Most Tranquil

Meandering ahead, the bright sunny street,
The tarcealed footpath warm under my feet.

Fresh cut grass glistening with the morning dew,
Smells just like last spring, yet refreshing and new.

A cluster of daffodils springs from the grass,
The carefully trimmed verge is just perfect, first class.

Cherry blossom trees line the long winding street,
The well-kept gardens looking charming and neat.

"Tranquil. Most tranquil" - the thought crosses my mind.
Drive past in the car; it's as if you were blind.

A good pair of jandals and cut-off jeans shorts,
Open-neck tartan shirt, my head-full of thoughts.

"First Spring", this is the first spring that I have known,
And I am walking down the street on my own.

Everything's like no-one has seen it before,
and I know what I've waited all winter for.

David Farrar: undesirable features in the Electoral Finance Bill

see www.kiwiblog.co.nz

• It extends the period of "regulated speech from 90 days to around 11 months, meaning New Zealanders will spend one third of their lives restricted as to their advocacy.
• It defines as an election advertisement taking a position on any proposition that a party or candidate is associated with, which will elevate parties and MPs to first class citizens, as the moment they take a position on an issue, it becomes a restricted topic for all other New Zealanders
• It covers not just traditional advertising, but is worded so that every e-mail and every website (except non commercial blogs) fall under the regulated speech regime
• It has an almost unworkable bureaucratic system of sworn statutory declarations for any person or organisation spending even $1 expressing a view for or against a party in election year
• It bans any unincorprated society with even one member under the age of 17 from spending more than $100 a week on political issues
• It bans political parties from being able to run issue advertisements
• It requires every organisation that spends more than $100 a week or $5,00 a year on "taking a position on any proposition that a party or candidate is associated with" as having to register with the Government and reveal all non trivial sources of income.  This will affect hundreds if not thousands of organisations
• It requires third parties ot hand over anonymous donations over $500 to the Government yet allows political parties to accept anonymous donations of no limit at all.
• It restricts an organisation to $60,000 expenditure in a year on so called election advertising, which barely covers two full page newspapers ads in our largest newspaper, over 11 months.  This is a ridiculously low limit to apply for such a long period of time.
• It will legalise Labour's illegal pledge card over-spending in 2005
• It does not provide for significantly greater penalties for parties that deliberately breach the Electoral Act as happened in 2005
• It prevents a wronged party, attacked by a politician, from defending itself during an election campaign by requiring third parties to register prior to the issuing of the election writs
• It does not crack down on anonymous and trust donations to political parties despite there being a clear public consensus that it should.
• The definition of advertising and publication is so wide that e-mailing a press release, stating your views on a website (other than a non commercial blog), or even making a placard for a protest march will be regulated by the Bill
• That both third parties and political parties are greatly restricted for all of election year which will prevent them from being able to effectively respond to Government initiatives such as the Budget

The potato scrubbing revolution

What to do with $28.725 million

Bonjour Bob,
This is Anne from Trinidad &Tobago.
I am writing from the hospital in Cote D'Ivoire, therefore this mail is very urgent as you can see that I am going home.
I was told by the doctor that I was poisoned and has got my liver damaged and can only live for some months.
I inherited some money ($28.725 Million) from my late father and I cannot think of anybody trying to kill me apart from my step mother in order to inherit the money, she is an Ivorien by nationality.
I want you to contact my servant with this informations below:
Miss Sarah Welsh.
Address: Rue De La Princess L/G 152 Cocody
Abidjan, Cote D'Ivoire.
sara.welsh@yahoo.fr
she will give you the documents of the money along with my valuable tricket kept in my save, I have instructed her to sell the tricket and use the money for any documentations that is needed for a successful transfer. I have appointed a lawyer which she knows that will assist you to change the documents of the money in your name as sole beneficiary to enable the bank transfer the money to you.
This is the favour I need when you have gotten the money :-
(1) Give 15% of the money to my servant, Sarah as she has been there for me since my illness and I have promised to support her in life. I want you to take her along with you to your country and esterblish her.
(2) Give 25% of the money to Charity Organisations and Churches on my name so that my soul may rest in peace.
HOSPITAL Note:
This should be a code between you and Sarah in this transactioin "Hospital" any mail from her, the barrister she will direct you to, without this code "Hospital" is not from the barrister, Sarah, the bank or myself as I don't know what will happen to me in the next few hours.
(2) Request the lawyer's international passport, and Let Sarah send you her National ID as she has no passport to be sure of whom you are dealing with. Sarah is so little therefore guide her.
I will send you my personal documents when I hear from you.
And if I don't hear from you within two days, I will look for another person.
May God bless you and use you to accomplish my wish.
Pray for me always.
Anne Nanda Bates.
Thank you Holy Father.

The bike-man

It was the old man on Withells Road. Every other day he opened up his garage which faced the street, lining his short tiled-concrete driveway with bikes. When you had an old piece of junk with two wheels that was cluttering up your garage, the generally accepted practice of our close neighborhood was that you would take it down to the bike-man. A good keen man. Nearing eighty, this lively veteran was not content to idle away his few remaining years sunk in a huge arm-chair drinking weak tea and listen to the almost incessant ambience as his wife worked away on the next batch of cookies for the grand-kids. Perhaps if they had something decent on the box every now and then; if they played rugby like they used to, back in the day. Mass-media didn't cut it for this experienced entrepreneur.

Nathan, my out-spoken and confident twelve year old brother, perhaps not so confident on his new pair of second-hand roller-blades - tried to keep up with me as I walked quickly along the sunny sidewalk. He needed enough room to pass me without running into the grass verge. I increased my pace whenever it appeared as if he might have a chance of breaking ahead. Got to keep the wee blighters in their place. There was a lady with a purple polar-fleece jersey talking to the bike-man as we approached his house. Does he pay tax? It was unclear what the nature of the conversation was. A girl's bike seemed to be the subject of the conversation. But was the bike-man trying to sell it - or was the lady in the purple jersey trying to cash it in?

The bike I had with me, my brother's bike - had been sitting outside for one or two years Dad reckoned. We had been using it 'til about five months ago. Both tires were flat, the gears were a bit shoddy and the shock absorbers were too soft and going rusty. It had been a nice ride in its time. It had got me down the road to Uni plenty of times. It didn't even occur to me that it was my brother's bike I was trading in, and did he mind? We're pretty much on the same wavelength, Si and myself. I wheeled the bike up the driveway, the well-kept garden lining both sides of the driveway, early tulips nodding in the barely discernable breeze. Bikes, mainly small bikes stood in their stands along either side of the driveway.

"Hi there". I walked up to the bike-man. "I's wondering if you'd be interested in this bike". "It's had it!" Heheh, he's playing up to form. "Oh... it's not worth much at all" He appeared to show little interest in the bike. "Probably needs a couple 'a new tubes" I pointed out. That was obvious. "Eh, she needs a new front tire and two tubes. They are $8 each, and a new tire will be $28 - $30..." "The tire's ok" Nathan pitched in. "No, it's the front 'un" The bike-man rubbed the bald front tire and grimmaced. "I couldn't give you much at all for it". Rehearsed. "How much do you reckon?" The bike-man hitched up his trousers and rocked back on his heels. His weathered hands he rubbed over his face. It makes you feel more awake. Assuming a thoughtful expression, the bike-man smoothed the hair on the back of his head. Sucking in his breath slowly, the bike-man fingered the two $5 that he held in his left hand. Did the purple-jersey lady give him the money? "I couldn't give you much for it I'm afraid." "Yeah, the shocks are a bit shot... What do you reckon?"

"I could give you $10 for it". The bike-man glanced at me, a sympathetic and yet resolute glance. His jaw was set and he now rolled the two $5 notes between thumb and forefinger. "Ahhh" I tried to sound dissapointed. " In my mind I weighed the pros and cons of asking for 15. I knew the chance was there. If handled right, I could pull it off. What's five bucks? I had left home with the bike with no plans of bringing it back with me. $10 had been the "worst case scenario" that Dad and I had envisaged. Ten bucks would do. The bike-man was experienced. He was in his prime, exuberated. On his face he wore the timeless "I'm sorry that that is all I can offer you, but you know how life is - got a wife and kids back at home..." look. It conveyed the feeling that the trade was at a tipping point. Now was the moment of truth. "Ok, $10 will do" "Hah! here's $10 exactly, here you go my lad" Hah, my lad aye? I pocketed the cash.

How much is this one?" I motioned to the archaic black 10 speed which sat in a rack near to where I stood. - Trading in was the last thing on my mind, however the bike caught my eye. It was exactly the sort of thing I was after. In the market for. Half-heartedly looking for, but lacking the motivation to wake up early Friday morning and ring up some people about their adverts for "bike for sale" in the Buy Sell & Exchange. - "That one's $30" "Hmmm... does it go ok?" "I wouldn't be selling it if it didn't would I?", the bike-man responded, perceiving his integrity was in question. "No, no, of course" I responded hurriedly. "Could I take her for a spin?" "Yes, sure, take it for a ride" I backed the machine out of the bike-stand. The horizon lay before me. The house across the street. Heck, the seat's an ancient girls seat. I straddled the thing and spun out of the driveway, left down Withells Road, on the sidewalk.

Yep, it feels good. My last 10 speed, a blue and white machine had been nicked from out at the front of our house. I had been without independent transport for almost four months now. The old girl didn't seem to want to change gears, the rear-derailer was playing up. Scraping on the spokes. The front gear-change was fine. "The rear-derailer isn't quite right" I said as I jumped off the bike. "It's scraping on the wheel". The bike-man looked concerned - he came over and looked down at the situation. "It just needs to be bent out a bit". He crouched down and grasped the derailer. I crouched down and braced the bike. That simple aye? Still, I can't just get round the place bending people's rear derailers. A couple of good solid pulls and the job was done.



I stood and looked at the bike for a minute. "The brakes aren't very good" "They just need a bit of adjustment". "Would you take $25 for it?" The bike-man looked at me, taken-aback. "Well, to be honest with you, I sold it to a young Australian man who was on holiday over here for six months". Yeah, well that makes it worth that much more. "And when I bought it back from him when he had to go, I gave him $25 for it." The bike-man shifted his weight to the other foot. If it was a lie, it was a very good lie, well told. "I'm only making $5 on it". "Hmmm" I looked sadly at the bike, fingering the rear brake.

I took the bike for another quick spin, checking the newly "adjusted" gears. It was great. It was a smooth ride. The brakes were a bit jumpy, but handled well you wouldn't notice it. I pulled back into the driveway. "It's weightless". The bike-man had an irrepressible, infective grin on his face. Well, almost. "Prprprprpr..." I made the noise with my lips as I exhaled. Sucking in my breath and scratching the hair behind my left ear with my left hand and rubbing my chin with my right, I studied the ground at my feet. Looking up at the bike-man I gave a ghost of a wink and agreed to the set price. "Ok, $30 is ok". Ok? It was a flippin bargain! "I haven't got enough money on me... left my wallet at home." "Aha". "Can you sort out the brakes? and I'll shoot home and get my wallet."

He wasn't the sort of man that you gave instructions to, but he seemed happy with the plan. "When will you be open 'til? Will you be here for another hour?" The bike-man looked at me and spoke in dead earnest.

"I'm always here"

I grinned and headed for home, Nathan setting a new World record on the roller-blades beside me.

Liam

Liam we're going now. Liam, come on. Put the lion down Liam, we're going now. We have to go and meet Daddy, come on. Liam! All right, that's enough. Liam! I'm going to count to three. 1... 2... 3... Liam, come now. Put the lion back. Right! That's enough! We're going now Liam. That's it. Right! That's enough! 1... 2...

She doesn't get to 3. What's the point? Liam will come when he's ready thankyou very much. Liam wants to buy the soft-toy lion. Why can't he have it? Why does he have to leave the toy-shop now? He hears his Mum entreating him to obey her. Hahah, it's a fantastic game. He's loving it, he knows his mother can't make him do anything.

At three years old, young Liam is the ideal autonomous child. He is so happy and well-brought up. At the age of four months, he was entrusted into the caring hands of the local day-care institution. Receiving quality education and instruction from 8am til 6pm 5 days a week, Liam could never fully realise just how fortunate he was.
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I stood in the toyshop and observed. The desperation in the mother's voice was pitiful. She had gone to the trouble of bringing her son into the shop, he had had a good look around, and now it was time to go. Her voice was shrill as she remonstrated with her son. There were no warnings of consequences, no mentions of his privileges being removed. Only repeated pleas that he would follow his mum out of the shop.

It's sad, how many mums you hear - I'm going to count to three. - they never make it to three, because if they do, they don't know what they'll do. So they count 1, 2 very slowly and then ask the child again. The number of times this mother said "right, that's enough!" was ridiculous. Four or five times at least. Little Liam just ignored mummy. What the heck, what had she ever done for him?

When Liam finally decided to leave the shop, his mother praised him. I spoke to a man standing next to me. There's some badly behaved kids around aren't there. He told me that it was just human nature, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Well you know what sort of adults they make don't you. The other man didn't respond.

What can Mum and Dad do? If they haven't got anything with which to back up their instructions, what is going to happen? In New Zealand now, by removing their child to time-out or by giving their child a smack, no matter how light, parents are breaking the law and officially branded as child-abusers. Mum and Dad want to raise a well-adjusted, well-behaved son who will grow up to be a successful and considerate citizen. But the Government is systematically stripping away the parents right and ability to do this.
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The world is so blimmin politically correct.

We wouldn't dream of smacking the dear wee angel would we?

And in other news: "Police to politically correct to stop gay child abuse". English "couple", Ian Wathey, 40, and Craig Faunch, 32 have been allowed to foster 18 children despite allegations that they had abused the first two children. Eighteen? What a sad way for these children to be brought up. In what could only be a dysfunctional "family" where there's two dad's and no mum.

Kidscape director Michele Elliott said: “People have let political correctness get in the way of good practice and common sense and and children have been abused."

The beurocrats and socialists are so concerned about rights, homosexuality and child autonomy that they are exposing the kiddies to even more abuse.

Pizza company drops offensive marketing campaign

Family First Press Release - 7 September 2007

Family First Praises Hell Pizza For Family-Friendly Focus

Family First is welcoming the report in The Business Herald today that Hell Pizza has dropped the advertising agency responsible for its offensive and anti-family advertising.
The co-owners of Hell Pizza joined the boycott called for by Family First against the company, as a result of Hell Pizza’s condom letterbox campaign last year which received the most number of complaints ever received by the Advertising Standards Authority, and their objectionable Hell-o magazine this year.

The glossy 20-page magazine included provocative pictures of Nicky Watson in underwear, offensive comments relating to the use of condoms, an insensitive article regarding the death of Steve Irwin, objectionable language, and a tongue-in-cheek article on bestiality. The publication showed the company’s continued fascination with condoms, soft porn, and offensive material.
“Family First is stoked that the owners of Hell Pizza have realised that they have a responsibility to protect the well-being of families,” says Bob McCoskrie, National Director of Family First NZ.

“We know that advertisers are creative and edgy, but they also need to show social responsibility in terms of avoiding offensive or inappropriate material to children and families.”
Hell Pizza’s advertising clearly crossed this line – families spoke up – and the company has responded.

Family First welcomes Hell Pizza back into the kitchen where it belongs, and out of the bedroom where it didn’t.
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Click here for more info on the pizza company's successful yet crude and immoral marketing campaign.

Work Camp 3

In January I wrote a story which I called "Work Camp". It was based loosely on actual events. In fact, a Christian conference for university students on "Working for Christ", but we just called it "Work Camp". You can find my story here.

A round about a week ago, my sister Lydia told me that she'd written part 2 of the Work Camp. You can read that here.

And then today, I get a message from my mate Jono who lives over the hill and a long way off that he has written part 3. Read part 3, the latest story in the saga by clicking here.

I am seriously considering franchising.

marketing.

One of my fave's. We were shown this in one of the first year marketing lectures back in '06. 42 Below Vodka's marketing is so cool. I aim to emulate their strategies, insofar as they are moral :)

wedding

I made a mental note to myself. Tell the girl to be there on time. The groom was standing up the front there, so self-confident, carefree, bullet-proof. Subsequent to his marrying his wife, the groom would tell me that those moments had been torture, his stomach clenched like a fist, *censored*. You did fine, looked so calm. I told him. And it was true, he had looked right in his element. Wiping imaginary tears away from behind unclouded glasses, winking at the mother-in-law to be, joking with the best man, smiling at the congregation, smiling at no-one. Yes, that's it, the poor beggar was scared to death. His act had fooled everyone but those whom he had admitted the truth too. Good on him, but to heck with that for a joke.

1:10pm.

She hadn't arrived yet. It's hard enough on a guy as it is. I studied the subject and quite there and then resolved never to allow myself to be put in his situation. A thousand thoughts rushed into the groom's head, banging together in the same way that particles of steam do. And just as water expands when it becomes steam, the groom's brain was overloaded and a shocker of a head-ache hit him like an oak baseball bat in the side of his head, just above his left ear.

Had there been an accident?

They jilt you. It's happened before.

The groom slows down his movements, raises a shaking, sweat hand and waves at someone in the back row who has just arrived. Someone in the back row who has just arrived waves back. It is not the same person, but what the heck. He casually asks his best-man for the time and upon seeing that the best-man has the same time as he does, somewhat more hurriedly requests the same courtesy from his two groomsmen. Having been assured that his time is correct, the groom curses the two cans of Red Bull he had drunk hastily a few hours previous, his mind travelling back to the hectic night before. The party hadn't been out of control, the music hadn't gotten too loud. He had stayed up til just before 4am, talking man to man with a good mate who had himself tied the knot a few months previous. And the shots hadn't helped.

Is the guy going to announce it? They've probably got the women's knitting group AGM in here next. They're going to postpone the wedding.

The minister stands up and introduces the thing. Introduces himself. Introduces the church. Introduces the groom and his bride, who just hasn't arrived yet. Thanks everybody for coming out. Takes one last look at the crowd. Everyone stand up please.

The two flower girls make their way down the aisle, throwing flowers in front of them. It's the beginning of Spring and the flowers are blossoms, maybe cherry or apple blossoms. It's a good look. Three bridesmaids take the cake with emerald-green dresses I'm told, and apparently the black high-heels are hard to walk in. I wouldn't know. How much does this stuff cost? They fit right in like they do this every day. Fair dinkum. I know if it was me, I'd be grinning my head off, unable to help myself, avoiding any eye-contact at pain of death, for fear of laughing out loud.

The aisle is empty. Blossoms crushed into the well-trodden red carpet; sticks of blossom and lace decorate the end of every pew. These are no "stack up two and lift 'em into the corner pews", these are the same kind of pew that preachers found themselves talking to in the late 1900s, at which time the affect of the great awakening had worn off, and a generation turned away from the Bible, seeking answers in "science" or embracing such notions as atheism.

The groom is standing on his toes, rocking back onto his heels and then onto his toes again. He is looking for the bride. Where is she? Why doesn't she just follow the bridesmaids in? The musicians are playing a really nice tune. The groom wrote it for his bride. seconds that seem like hours tick by and the groom is starting to panic; he doesn't show it.

A murmur at the back of the congregation.

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Note to my future wife if you're reading this - we're not going to do the waiting game thing at the wedding ok? We can sort out some sort of compromise on the tradition. Can't we?

Work Camp part 2

Lydia read my story, Work Camp, and decided to continue the story and has posted part 2 of "Work Camp" on her blog.

You do not know the power of the dark side.

3:48am, the fingers are really starting to stiffen up now. Not good, time to sleep, Heading out the door at 8:10am tomorrow.

originally red & black on white, the blog's colour scheme is now grey and blue on black.

The blue border annoys me.

Thoughts anyone? anybody!!! (quoting Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks) from Cast Away)