chrisdrabble
Published on 3 Dec 2018“A Tourism Video For Australia (Made By A New Zealander)” is my mock tourism video advertising North Queensland, Australia.
“Fancy a swim in a tropical paradise? You can’t do that here because there’s crocodiles.”
So come and explore Australia’s vast range of animals that want you dead, including ‘salties’, ‘stingers’, snakes, spiders, and cassowaries.
Please LIKE, SUBSCRIBE, and turn on NOTIFICATIONS for more mock tourism videos as I set my sights on promoting Australia’s other states, as well my home country, New Zealand.
January 16, 2019
A Tourism Video For Australia (Made By A New Zealander)
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January 9, 2019
“I felt resolved to write this article in order to defend my generation”
Godfrey Elfwick refuses to accept the abuse heaped on his generation by “dinosaurs” like Louis C.K.
I sat down on my futon the other night to enjoy a nourishing but humble bowl of organic vegan noodles with wakame seaweed and steamed honey-gilded pak choi. As I sat cross-legged at my chabudai and browsed the Wot’s Woke blogosphere on my iPad, the enjoyment of my simple peasant’s dish was severely marred as I came across a story about Louis C.K.
The article contained the link to a clip of a ‘so-called’ ‘stand up’ ‘comedy’ ‘routine’ in which ‘Louis’ ‘C.K.’ stood in front of his ‘audience’ and ‘delivered’ what can only be described as a torrent of hatred, the like of which I have not experienced since Ricky Gervais refused to call Caitlyn Jenner stunning and brave. He was accusing my generation of being weak and overemotional. Disrespecting the genuine need for nonbinary pronouns. My shoulders began to shake. Blind rage took over as I hurled my bowl of artisan noodles across the room, where they rained down like the tentacles of a tiny sea monster onto my priceless collection of Thelonius Monk original vinyl recordings.
As I sat there on my zabuton cushion, watching pieces of pak choi slide nonchalantly down the face of the greatest improvisational jazz pianist who ever lived, I felt hot angry tears drip down onto my cheeks. I rolled onto my back and wailed like a newborn babe. I let the sound of my screams cleanse and renew me. I did not hold back. After a while, maybe an hour or so, I curled my body into the fetal position where I slowly drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
I awoke around 4 a.m., the spiteful words of that vile white cisgender ogre still ringing in my ears. I had no more tears to give, I was spent. Instead, I felt resolved to write this article in order to defend my generation. To combat the hatred of old white cisgender men who accuse nonbinary people of being ‘attention seekers’ who only obsess over their fashionably made-up pronouns because they have a need to constantly feed their victimhood fetish… I mean, as if that could even be true! I felt resolved to confront this detestable bigotry head on. To fight the oppression with my fists a-flailing (metaphorically). To resist the prejudice (literally). To rise up to the challenge of our rival. To fight for the will to survive.
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January 4, 2019
SplashData’s Top 100 Worst Passwords of 2018
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December 26, 2018
QotD: Solipsistic self-esteem
Once you even begin to consider the question of your self-esteem, you are a lost soul; you have entered a Hampton Court maze of self-absorption, with very little chance of emergence from it, and with no hope of learning anything useful from it. To change the metaphor, the search for self-esteem is a swamp, a quicksand; or to change it yet again, it is to the soul what Émile Coué’s method, with its mantra that every day in every way you were getting better and better, was to the body. Every day, in every way, I am growing more and more conceited.
Theodore Dalrymple, “Lose Yourself”, Taki’s Magazine, 2018-11-10.
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December 25, 2018
QotD repost: Sir Humphrey’s bureaucratic holiday wishes
Sir Humphrey: I wonder if I might crave your momentary indulgence in order to discharge a by no means disagreeable obligation which has, over the years, become more or less established practice in government service as we approach the terminal period of the year — calendar, of course, not financial — in fact, not to put too fine a point on it, Week Fifty-One — and submit to you, with all appropriate deference, for your consideration at a convenient juncture, a sincere and sanguine expectation — indeed confidence — indeed one might go so far as to say hope — that the aforementioned period may be, at the end of the day, when all relevant factors have been taken into consideration, susceptible to being deemed to be such as to merit a final verdict of having been by no means unsatisfactory in its overall outcome and, in the final analysis, to give grounds for being judged, on mature reflection, to have been conducive to generating a degree of gratification which will be seen in retrospect to have been significantly higher than the general average.
Jim Hacker: Are you trying to say “Happy Christmas,” Humphrey?
Sir Humphrey: Yes, Minister.
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December 24, 2018
Repost – Hey Kids! Did you get your paperwork in on time?
If you hurry, you can just get your Santa’s Visit Application in before the deadline tonight!
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QotD: “Working over Christmas”
“Are you working over Christmas?” I asked the waitress at my local diner in New Hampshire last Thursday – December 23rd.
Erica looked bewildered. “No,” she said. “We’re closed Christmas Day.”
My mistake. I’d just been on the phone to an editor in London who’d wanted early copy for the late January issue because no-one was going to be in the office “over Christmas”. I’d forgotten that, in New Hampshire, “over Christmas” means December 25th. In London and much of the rest of Europe, it’s a term of art stretching as far into mid-January as you can get away with.
In America, the Christmas holiday is what it says: a holiday to observe Christmas. If it happens to fall on a Saturday or Sunday, tough. See you at work Monday morning. But across the Atlantic, if Christmas and New Year fall on the weekend, the ensuing weeks are eaten up by so many holidays they can’t even come up with names for them. I see from the well-named “Beautiful Ireland” calendar this newspaper sent me in lieu of a handsome bonus for calling the US elections correctly that January 3rd 2005 is a holiday in Ireland and Britain – the Morning After The Morning After Hogmanay – and the lucky Scots get January 4th off too – the First Hogtuesday After Hogmonday? Eventually, the entire Scottish economy will achieve the happy state of their enchanted village of Brigadoon and show up for one day every hundred years.
Mark Steyn, “Happy Christmas Bank Holiday Thursday”, The Irish Times, 2004-12.
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December 23, 2018
A Very Libertarian Christmas
ReasonTV
Published on 21 Dec 2018Deck the halls and spread some Yuletide cheer. Or don’t. You’re your own person.
—–
Subscribe to our YouTube channel: http://youtube.com/reasontv
Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/reason
Subscribe to our podcast at Apple Podcasts: https://goo.gl/az3a7aReason is the planet’s leading source of news, politics, and culture from a libertarian perspective. Go to reason.com for a point of view you won’t get from legacy media and old left-right opinion magazines.
—–Written by Austin Bragg, Meredith Bragg, and Andrew Heaton. Performed by Heaton and Austin Bragg. Edited by the Braggs.
Music:
“Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies,” “Deck the Halls,” “Jingle Bells Calm,” “Silent Night,” “The Snow Queen,” and “We Wish you a Merry Christmas” by Kevin MacLeod. Available under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license. Download link: https://incompetech.com/music/royalty
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QotD: Christmas
Christmas, according to Hillary Rodham Clinton in 1999, is when those in that particular faith tradition celebrate “the birth of a homeless child.” Or, as Al Gore put it in 1997, “Two thousand years ago, a homeless woman gave birth to a homeless child.” For Pete’s sake, they weren’t homeless — they couldn’t get a hotel room. They had to sleep in the stable only because Dad had to schlep halfway across the country to pay his taxes in the town of his birth, which sounds like the kind of cockamamie bureaucratic nightmare only a blue state could cook up. Except that in Massachusetts, it’s no doubt illegal to rent out your stable without applying for a Livestock Shelter Change of Use Permit plus a Temporary Maternity Ward for Non-Insured Transients License, so Mary would have been giving birth under a bridge on I-95.
Mark Steyn, National Review, 2004-12-13.
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December 22, 2018
Repost – ‘Tis the season to hate the senders of boastful holiday letters
Gregg Easterbrook receives the perfect, perfect holiday letter:
Don’t you hate boastful holidays letters about other people’s fascinating lives and perfect children? Below is one Nan and I received last week.
Dear Friends,
What a lucky break the CEO sent his personal jet to pick me up from Istanbul; there’s plenty of room, since I have the entire aircraft to myself, to take out the laptop and write our annual holiday letter. Just let me ask the attendant for a better vintage of champagne, and I’ll begin.
It’s been another utterly hectic year for Chad and I and our remarkable children, yet nurturing and horizon-expanding. It’s hard to know where the time goes. Well, a lot of it is spent in the car.
Rachel is in her senior year at Pinnacle-Upon-Hilltop Academy, and it seems just yesterday she was being pushed around in the stroller by our British nanny. Rachel placed first this fall in the state operatic arias competition. Chad was skeptical when I proposed hiring a live-in voice tutor on leave from the Lyric Opera, but it sure paid off! Rachel’s girls’ volleyball team lost in the semifinals owing to totally unfair officiating, but as I have told her, she must learn to overcome incredible hardship in life.
Now the Big Decision looms — whether to take the early admission offer from Harvard or spend a year at Julliard. Plus the whole back of her Mercedes is full of dance-company brochures as she tries to decide about the summer.
Nicholas is his same old self, juggling the karate lessons plus basketball, soccer, French horn, debate club, archeology field trips, poetry-writing classes and his volunteer work. He just got the Yondan belt, which usually requires nine years of training after the Shodan belt, but prodigies can do it faster, especially if (not that I really believe this!) they are reincarnated deities.
Modeling for Gap cuts into Nick’s schoolwork, but how could I deprive others of the chance to see him? His summer with Outward Bound in the Andes was a big thrill, especially when all the expert guides became disoriented and he had to lead the party out. But you probably read about that in the newspapers.
What can I say regarding our Emily? She’s just been reclassified as EVVSUG&T — “Extremely Very Very Super Ultra Gifted and Talented.” The preschool retained a full-time teacher solely for her, to keep her challenged. Educational institutions are not allowed to discriminate against the gifted anymore, not like when I was young.
Yesterday Rachel sold her first still-life. It was shown at one of the leading galleries without the age of the artist disclosed. The buyers were thrilled when they learned!
Then there was the arrival of our purebred owczarek nizinny puppy. He’s the little furry guy in the enclosed family holiday portrait by Annie Leibovitz. Because our family mission statement lists cultural diversity as a core value, we named him Mandela.
Chad continues to prosper and blossom. He works a few hours a day and spends the rest of the time supervising restoration of the house — National Trust for Historic Preservation rules are quite strict. Corporate denial consulting is a perfect career niche for Chad. Fortune 500 companies call him all the time. There’s a lot to deny, and Chad is good at it.
Me? Oh, I do this and that. I feel myself growing and flowering as a change agent. I yearn to empower the stakeholders. This year I was promoted to COO and invited to the White House twice, but honestly, beading in the evening means just as much to me. I was sorry I had to let Carmen go on the same day I brought home my $14.6 million bonus, but she had broken a Flora Danica platter and I caught her making a personal call.
Chad and I got away for a week for a celebration of my promotion. We rented this quaint five-star villa on the Corsican coast. Just to ourselves — we bought out all 40 rooms so it would be quiet and contemplative and we could ponder rising above materialism.
Our family looks to the New Year for rejuvenation and enrichment. Chad and I will be taking the children to Steamboat Springs over spring break, then in June I take the girls to Paris, Rome and Seville while Chad and Nicholas accompany Richard Gere to Tibet.
Then the kids are off to camps in Maine, and before we know it, we will be packing two cars to drive Rachel’s things to college. And of course I don’t count Davos or Sundance or all the routine excursions.
I hope your year has been as interesting as ours.
Love,
Jennifer, Chad, Rachel, Nicholas & Emily(The above is inspired by a satirical Christmas letter I did for The New Republic a decade ago. I figure it’s OK to recycle a joke once every 10 years.)
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5 British Christmas Phrases Not Used in America
Lost in the Pond
Published on 13 Dec 2016It’s that time of year again, folks: the decorations are up, the tree is down (I have cats), and Michael Bublé has emerged from his chrysalis. And so, what better time to give you a run down of all the British Christmas phrases not in wide use in America?
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QotD: Christmas shopping
A day in the life of a male Christmas shopper is one of trepidation and resignation.
Let’s be honest, the expectations on a guy at Christmas time to come up with the perfect gift are tremendous. Are we equal to the task? No.
Not to paint everyone with the same brush, and there are exceptions which prove the rule, but guys are out of their element when it comes to Christmas shopping … or shopping for that matter.
Christmas shopping for women is like deer hunting season for guys. They prepare for the season, they’ve spent hours scouting, they’re dressed for it, they read all the magazines, purses and budgets are finalized, and when they hit the woods, er, I mean the stores … they are ready to make the kill.
Men on the other hand, are like the deer caught in the proverbial headlights.
Todd Hamilton, “Gift-hunting season opens”, Interior News, 2004-12-23.
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December 21, 2018
QotD: “Baby, it’s cold outside”
Speaking of immorality, MGM’s censors cut the wrong song. A few decades back, a young middle-class Egyptian spending some time in the US had the misfortune to be invited to a dance one weekend and was horrified at what he witnessed:
The room convulsed with the feverish music from the gramophone. Dancing naked legs filled the hall, arms draped around the waists, chests met chests, lips met lips …
Where was this den of debauchery? Studio 54 in the 1970s? Haight-Ashbury in the summer of love? No, the throbbing pulsating sewer of sin was Greeley, Colorado, in 1949. As it happens, Greeley, Colorado, in 1949 was a dry town. The dance was a church social. And the feverish music was “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” as introduced by Esther Williams in Neptune’s Daughter. Revolted by the experience, Sayyid Qutb decided that America (and modernity in general) was an abomination, returned to Egypt, became the leading intellectual muscle in the Muslim Brotherhood, and set off a chain that led from Qutb to Zawahiri to bin Laden to the Hindu Kush to the Balkans to 9/11 to the brief Muslim Brotherhood takeover of Egypt to the Islamic State marching across Syria and Iraq. Indeed, Qutb’s view of the West is the merest extension of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” — America as the ultimate seducer, the Great Satan.
I’m a reasonable chap, and I’d be willing to meet the Muslim Brotherhood chaps halfway on a lot of the peripheral stuff like beheadings, stonings, clitoridectomies and whatnot. But you’ll have to pry “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” from my cold dead hands and my dancing naked legs. A world without “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” would be very cold indeed.
Mark Steyn, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, Steyn Online, 2014-12-01.
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December 20, 2018
Remy: It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas (EV Tax Credit Edition)
ReasonTV
Published on 19 Dec 2018Government plays Santa Claus with your tax money.
—–
Subscribe to our YouTube channel: http://youtube.com/reasontv
Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/reason
Subscribe to our podcast at Apple Podcasts: https://goo.gl/az3a7aReason is the planet’s leading source of news, politics, and culture from a libertarian perspective. Go to reason.com for a point of view you won’t get from legacy media and old left-right opinion magazines.
—–Have a Tesla on your Christmas wish list? Don’t thank Santa — thank Tom in Ohio.
Parody written and performed by Remy. Video by Austin Bragg. Music tracks, background vocals, and mastering by Ben Karlstrom
LYRICS:
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Everywhere you go
Folks with six-figure salaries
Are shopping in galleries
With a gift card paid by Tom in OhioIt’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Roadsters all around
And while Tom can’t afford a car
He’ll buy part of one for John
Cuz somehow that’s allowedWell a black Model X and a tax credit check
Is the wish of Connor and Ken
And a dark Model 3 that is partially free
Is the hope of Bobby and Ben
While Tommy takes the bus and eats Vienna sausagesIt’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Hear those sleigh bells ring
But what else could you expect
With a tax code so complex?
Ensuring just these things?Yes a car with aplomb that’s, in part, paid by Tom
Is the wish of Victor and Von
A sedan that can drive and takes years to arrive
Is the hope of Lenny and Lon
While Tommy pinches pennies never flushing number oneIt’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Soon the credits end
But the funniest sight to see’s
When typical for DC
They’re renewed again
Everything’s renewed again
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Repost – Happy holiday travels!
H/T to Economicrot. Many many more at the link.
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