Well Said, Old Chap

I recently saw a video clip of Rowan Atkinson defending free speech.  He was discussing the issue in the context of Britain, though his central message was universal.

It is worth viewing if you have the time.  Google it.

Alias:  Frank Satyr

Correction

In the last blog, I misspelt the name of the ratbag agitating for a Stalinist-style Media Council in the fair country of OZTRAILYA.  Or, maybe I didn't...who cares?  It does not affect my point.

Regardless of how the man's name is spelt, he is still a Super Nut worthy of our scorn. 

Free speech is the issue, pure and simple. 

Stand up for your democratic rights and call out those who seek to steal them from you.

Enough said.

Alias:  Frank Satyr

So Much for Free Speech in Australia...

The current 'report' into the news media in Australia is a con.  It is an ugly thing.

Having read Finklestein QC's words carefully, I am feeling quite disgusted. 

As I see it (am I still allowed to say that?), there is a deep polemic running through the lawyer's mind, and it can be summarised thus: "We, the overpaid lawyer-and-academic types, don't trust you proles to do your own thinking."

This mooted News Media Council is a dangerous, loopy idea.  So what if Fred Nurk has a different opinion from mine?  Everyone can say what they like.  That is the idea in a liberal democracy.

I want to read opinion A and opinion B and opinions X, Y and Z.  I want to be offended.  I want others to sometimes be offended by my opinions.   This is the essence of freedom.

The irony in all this is that the Left continues to willingly pass nails to the bloke building this Trojan Horse.  Well, how would they feel if, say, a conservative government stacked the Council with its own toads and stiffled their speech?

This issue is about saying what you want to say, whether on a blog, a newspaper or in everyday life.  Only a closet Stalinist would believe that any of Finklestein's ideas were relevant in a liberal democracy where freedom of speech is valued and practised.

Alias:   Frank Satyr

Horrific Pro-metheus is Re-cycled junk

In my opinion, Pro-metheus is bloody awful.  It certainly does not steal fire from heaven, or anywhere else.

It stinks. It is a rotten turkey.

I was looking forward to a suspenseful sci-fi romp; not so.  It was a horror-fest and a smash-and-grab of Scott's own work - a mishmash of old movies, old cliches, old scenarios and - so it seemed at times - old sets.  It should be rated 'R' for 'Really Bad'.

Don't fall for the hype: this movie is bloody awful.  Instead of the intelligence of 2001 or the grace of Avatar, we gratuitious gore and horror.  I had my eyes closed for about fifteen minutes of this godforsaken film.

Don't see it.  It's disgusting.

Ridley, you should be ashamed of yourself.  You have run out of original ideas.  Please f*ck off and retire.

Alias:  Frank Satyr

Great Leaping Chickens, Batman!

This afternoon I had to deal with a leaping chicken.

I was in the midst of a conversation with a friendly office worker, trying to sort out work-related details, when one of the chickens on the farm leaped up to the ledge - wings flapping - and seemed a second away from jumping through the window towards me.

This had never happened, before today.

My conversation with the paper-puncher on the phone was something like this:

"Of course, I'll send the receipts as soon as...hey, get down from there! No, not you! Sorry...I'm talking to the chook...sorry about that! Out you go! Okay, ah, well I'll fix that...sorry, I have to go. Thank you. Damn chicken!"

I managed to shoo the little clucker away from my tea and cake, but it was a close call.

Anyway, it was a poultry matter in the grand scheme of things, but it did make for a surprise.

Alias: Frank Satyr

Forget Deep Purple...Try Maroon

I know that my love of the Porsche marque will come across as obsessive, but I believe that I might have found the best colour for a classic 1991 Porsche 911 Turbo....maroon!

I saw such an example the other day. The deep red...like a dark, dark cherry...it seemed to add to the light hitting the curved skin of the vehicle, rather than merely reflecting it. It glowed. Beautiful. As good as black, but more lively.

Alias: Frank Satyr

Porsche Cayman is Grand

Yesterday, I saw a white Cayman parked in the city - spotlessly clean, shining...nothing less than a vision from another, better world. Even the tyres had been blacked. Its fortunate owner had it polished brighter than a diamond, which is as it should be.

The uber-marque is still the callsign of those who desire order, logic and aesthetic greatness in life.

Bless you, Porsche.

Thin, Cheap Paint - Thanks, Holden

If you are not the proud owner of a Porsche 911 and you have to make do with a Ford or a Holden or a Toyota, you are clearly disappointed with your motoring on a daily basis.

I realised this yet again when I surveyed the paint on my GM-backed vehicle the other day. Despite washing and polishing the car since new in 2003, small rust marks are appearing; the culprit is the micron-thick, fly-shit Charlie Cheapie paint job done in the factory. Very disappointing. Very cheap.

By contrast, I have a Peugeot which is 29 years old and the paint - lovely, thick paint everywhere - even the engine bay - is fine. They did not skimp on the outside of the vehicle to save $20 or some such piddling amount.

Moral of the story: Australian cars are shit; European cars rule. As always.

Alias: Frank Satyr