Freeze! Put the camera down! Don’t make me shoot you (with bullets)!

Waverley has now become… a dangerous place.

You might see them walking around Bondi Beach with their weapons… they don’t care… they’ve got them out and are proud to show them…

From the short-range tools to the long-range instruments, people are ready to use their weaponry to get the ultimate shot.

And it is that shot that makes a postcard picture.

Why am I speaking like this, saying words that makes it seem like a photographer is a criminal or is someone who might end up being on the wrong side of the law?

Because in Waverley Council, taking pictures is now banned and considered a “hazard to public safety,” according to The Daily Telegraph.

Granted, The Daily Telegraph was asking people to do a survey and were taking pictures of them to go with it. That said, “asking” might have been translated to “harassing” by some people and even “oh my God, get away from me, no really, I don’t care about your stupid fucking newspaper-it’s easily the worst tabloid-newssheet on the planet” by others. I’m not saying that last one would’ve been me, but rather would have been others. Maybe.

However, since this is an article and a blog entry on a stupid idea by Waverley Council, the very area I live in, I’d like to make some points by some stupid people. Please note that while I say these people are stupid, they may not necessarily be stupid and may just in fact make some stupid comments. It is likely that they actually are stupid, and were I to meet them in the street and know who they are, if they happened to utter a line about how right they were in making these comments, I’d still think that they were stupid people. That said, here are some comments that probably fall under the jurisdiction of the word “stupid” in the dictionary:

“Anyone conducting any act on public space is obliged to apply for a permit,” Ms McDonald said. “It’s a policy of Waverley Council as caretakers of public space.” (Waverley Council’s Bondi Junction manager Linda McDonald)

Ms. McDonald, what the hell constitutes an “act”? Can I breathe without a permit? Too harsh maybe?

Okay, can I cry in public without a permit? Can I perform rehearsals in a park for a play I’m in with friends without a permit?- that would be the very definition of an act.

And photography — to you — is an act. Well then, can I take pictures of anything I want without a permit? No? Well seriously, how the fuck are you going to enforce it? No, really… I want to know.

How are you going to stop the millions of tourists that come down to Bondi each year to take pictures? Are you going to walk up to them and say that “Oh, I’m sorry… we can’t have you taking pictures of anything around here, unless you have a permit.”

Oh, and by the way, you can ask them to leave, but you can’t arrest them since it’s not illegal.

So if by chance you happen to tell me, as a photographer (which I am), that I’m not allowed to take pictures and I take a few steps back and start shooting again… how the hell are you going to stop me? You don’t have any legal rights to ask for my film or card, nor do you have any rights to detain my camera or myself. You can always call the police and ask that I wait, but since you don’t enforce the law and only enforce this loose set of stupid rules that only make sense if you happen to be an idiot, I can always say “well, it’s all well and good that you’ve called the police, but since you’re not a member of the police yourself, I don’t have to give a shit” and just bugger off home.

Nice, isn’t it?

Ranger Nikki Taylor said permission was required to take the photos because it was a “safety issue” to stop people in the street.

Wow, Ms. Taylor. Did you have that line spoonfed to you by the same idiots making these rules up?

This issue arose over The Daily Telegraph stopping people in the street for a survey of some sort and taking their pictures.

But what if you take their picture without stopping them, by shooting within the public domain as you’re actually allowed to.

What then, Ms. Taylor? Are you going to stop me taking pictures if I don’t stop them? Permission isn’t required if I’m selling them for artistic purposes or not selling them at all. Commercial enterprises is the only place where I’d need their permission, and I won’t be needing your permission to shoot anyone if I decide to do what I always do and shoot from afar.

Ms McDonald said this policy was the same as “every other Sydney council”.

But councils contacted yesterday had not heard of the extreme policies and lambasted them as an attack on free speech.

Manly Mayor Peter McDonald was stunned by the ranger’s orders. “There’s no way Manly Council would support that,” he said.

“I think that makes Waverley Council look a little silly.”

Sorry Waverley Council… did you think you were intelligent at all in making this decision?

Perhaps it would have been bright to actually… oh I don’t know… think about something before you made that decision so as to stop yourself from look like the idiots that you seem to be indicating to the community that you are.

Exe-telling you where you can go

We’re having a party! It’s a party for censorship! And who’s in the main fray of it?! Well, you know my old sista Exetel is surely gettin’ her groove on. Shiiiitttt, she be pickin’ up all the boys for some P2P action — if you know what I mean — and then letting them get half-way there and just droppin’ them, blue balls for what they wanted an’ all! And now, and this is so sick!!!; now she’s standing in front of the boys and is blocking them. They wanna go to some place, she just stands there is like “nuh-uh, you ain’t goin’ there if I don’t like what’s there!”

Shiiiiiiiiiittttt, my girl Exetel is da bomb!!!

Or rather, a bomb is what Exetel is becoming.

Making the news this week in two ways for issues customers are pissed with, but not content with just pissing off people in two ways, Exetel have gone for broke and have found a third way to piss people off.

Let me just fill you in in case you’re not aware.

Issue 1: Exetel are cutting P2P bandwidth by approximately half.

First of all, I’m not sure if this is a bad or good thing.

Financially, it makes sense.

Downloads cost Exetel money, and with bittorrent spreading the load in the manner it does as well as making it easier for files to be able to constantly downloaded, I imagine that a lot of people are making a lot of downloads.

That said, cutting the bandwidth in half means that people are still making the downloads… they’re just doing it slower.

And what if people start making an influx of direct file downloaded from say something like an FTP server or an HTTP connection, what then… do Exetel say “well shit, that didn’t work… let’s just halve the amount of connection say an ADSL1 user gets on their 512k connection to 256k… and then you’re paying 512k prices for 256k speeds… and at that point, Exetel are no better than a company enriched in the act of shaping and worse.

Issue 2: Deleted posts and phone support, oh my!

You had a post on the Exetel forum… maybe Whirlpool? You’re sure right? Positive… okay… because sometimes there’s this shit that happens where your post goes missing.

It’s like a glitch, except for that it’s not a glitch in the software, but rather a glitch in human thinking.

Or not thinking as the case may be.

Exetel are getting people’s forum posts deleted which express any outrage or anger that they don’t seem to like.
I mean sure… if it’s your forum, why not inform everyone there and wait for them to come and make a post so you can delete it!

Will you then claim later on that (since you’ve deleted many of the posts expressing outrage at the P2P cuts) that no-one got angry and that it went over reall well?

I’m sure the board of directors aren’t that stupid. Or maybe they are, and this was all worked out by them.
Either way, cutting phone support is about as intelligent as it gets, because of course… your website’s helpdesk is about is informative and up-to-date as the UBD Sydney Street Directory Elephant Edition that’s been printed on the ass of an elephant. Finding one in good and readable condition is about as easy as finding one that hasn’t faded in everyone’s car, especially if they don’t live in Sydney.

Sure, I could lodge a ticket with your help desk. I haven’t tried this yet, mind you… but seeing as how your company seems quite content with denying any and all logic to its customers in relation to how they’re handled, I think right now I’m more content with talking about you in this manner. When you decide to treat me like a human and not a single-celled amoeba, I’ll phone you. I should have the option, not the only choice.

Issue 3: Oh well this is just completely F@#@ed up! Wait… what the–?

In case you don’t actually feel like clicking the link and going through all of the conversation this debacle has brought, I’ll just bring you the text and the debacle from my opinion. Here’s the email:

Exetel has been approached by a legally constituted organisation to become pro-active in the attempts to make it more difficult for users of Exetel’s internet services to commit criminal acts.

Specifically, Exetel is being requested to do everything it might be able to do to restrict user’s of its ADSL1 and ADSL2 and wireless broadband services from accessing sites that allow people to steal copyrighted files, specifically movies,TV shows and music CDs.

Exetel’s current AUP specifically prohibits Exetel users from using its services to commit illegal acts:

“Illegal Use

The Exetel network may not be used for, or as transport for, any illegal activity. This includes but is not limited to; Copyright Infringement, Fraud, Denial of Service attacks and abuse of other networks.

Exetel reserves the right to suspend without prior notice any user�s service that, in its reasonable opinion, is being used for any illegal activity. The matter will then be referred to the appropriate law enforcement agency for further investigation”

We are assuming that no Exetel ADSL1 or ADSL2 or wireless broadband user would ever think of breaching any law and therefore would have no problem with Exetel actively assisting any legally constituted authority with any effort they may be empowered to make to prosecute any person who commits any criminal act.

First of all, who is this legally constituted organisation? Do they have a name, or are they the Imaginary Dangerous Internet Order Trust? I’d hear about those mysterious IDIOT’s who thought they knew better than everyone…

What about that second paragraph? You’re being “requested to do everything it might be able to do to restrict user’s of its ADSL1 and ADSL2 and wireless broadband services from accessing sites that allow people to steal copyrighted files, specifically movies,TV shows and music CDs.” What is everything? You going to hold my hand when I take a piss, too? I’d prefer it if you held something else, honestly.

Seriously, you’re thinking of blocking sites — of censoring sites — because some organisation you won’t name says you should in order to stop a user from getting something.

Someone obviously hasn’t thought this through as… most sites have copyrighted material on them!!! Why not just approve parts of the internet and send them out in a weekly newsletter!

“The Exetel network may not be used for, or as transport for, any illegal activity. This includes but is not limited to; Copyright Infringement, Fraud, Denial of Service attacks and abuse of other networks.” Ok. Fine.
What about abuse of your own network?

Seriously, while I think most of this is to cover their own asses, an issue as hot as this one where they’re approaching the possibility of censorship is going to piss off more users than they can imagine.

Australia is literally in the stone age when it comes to copyright law and media infringement laws.

Australia in the bronze age when it comes to television, movie, music and games releases. We tend to get a ridiculously small portion of the stuff America and the UK get on-time, and a horrendously large portion of the stuff everyone else gets near on time 3-5 years overdue.

Australia is, however, up to date with everyone for telemarketing. We’re not back in time with any of this shit and you can tell we’ve got our priorities straight.

Our priorities are with jobs. Jobs for Australians. In India. Like the rest of the world.


Single White Male Seeks Female That Isn’t Dead And Likes Geeks

Good luck to me and may I have better luck for the near future for my quest.

Don’t worry. You read that right. It doesn’t make any sense, and I’m not entirely sure whether I’m capable of making sense at 2:22 in the morning.

A Friday morning, for that matter.

How long will it be before the Saint of monetary values, St. George, sends me a message by way of the great wireless tin can telling me how little of that monetary amount I have left in my account.

That might be one reason as to why I can’t get the womens: no money.

That doesn’t matter to this chick.

She’s happy to share her room in Japan with any white guys under the age of 35 provided she can have sex with them. Well, yeah… sure… I mean, sex is a very depressing thing and surely I should leave parts of myself at the lobby in case an ethereal nun floats on by and wants to beat me with a bible… but you know, what the fuck! In fact… let’s just get rid of the “what the” altogether, Keiko! Let’s just fuck!

Her fascination with people’s kidneys and waking up in a bath-tub without one concerns me slightly.

I mean sure, if I were to sleep with a hot Asian lady and get room & board included in the price, I’d expect to have to pay for something… but a kidney is worth far more than 25 bucks (that’s 2,245 yen for you, Keiko) so in my mind… I’m getting ripped off.

I mean hell, for a kidney, I’d want to be getting my money’s worth. A blowjob and fucking for the price of a kidney should at the very least come with a video of the event and a shirt to let people know[/url] that you did the deed and all you got was this lousy fucking t-shirt (and one less kidney).

Seriously, short of this whole thing being one big joke, where are the girls in Australia that advertise like this?

You don’t see advertisements in the classified section of the Sydney Morning Herald saying “20 yr old law student seeks roommate she can fuck the brains out of” do you? I mean, I’d have no chance with them, mind you.

Oh no, it’s not that I doubt myself in that way.
With an ad like that, I doubt I’d be able to get through over the phone… the lines would be packed and I’d have to see her in person, and if I tracked her down, I’d be considered a stalker, and shit… I’m just too lazy for shit like that.

Plus, being a stalker to a law student wouldn’t be all that fun.
If she’s a lawyer who gets her rocks off putting crims like yourself away, you’d only get to hear about her orgasm ten minutes later after you’re sentenced to prison sitting in lock-up waiting for a decent meal.

Then you could try to put a similar ad out based on conjugal visits.

A diary for someone who’s stuck in the middle of someone else’s plane of existence (Also known as Leigh’s first entry into his new blog).

Right. Well. Right. This is the first entry into my new and improved blog. And what a whopper I have for you.

All… two or three of you, that is.

Well… anyway, last night I went to The Strand as there was some fashion thingy on celebrating and advertising and encouraging many people with larger wallets than mine to spend, spend, spend on clothes they probably didn’t need but bought anyway.

So there I was… mostly bored… waiting outside Bowie’s store… while otherwise hot women walked by dressed in things that cost more than parts of my computer… and I was playing on my Nintendo DS. Well, you might ask why I didn’t join in on the festivities… well what the bloody hell am I to do? I’m just a techie! I don’t know about social situations any more than I know about trapping wild buffalo with a staple, a steak knife, and an Atkins diet book. Go ask Macguyver. Don’t pester me about it.

Anyway, the night was ending and I’d already talked to Wendell and met the beautiful Ida (who I’m working with at Bowie basically) as well as finally knowing the store manager’s name (Joey, another beautiful girl) and meeting various other people I’ll probably never meet again. Models… designers… hair stylists… random single serve people who are all well and good and very nice but knowing my luck or lack of logic, very few will even see me again and if they do, are unlikely to remember me.

Ok. Moving on.

Ida, Joey, myself and a new fella named Alan Saunders get into a taxi and head to a bar that I probably can’t even pronounce: Kirketon.

The place kinda reminds me of Wine Banq, except without the live music and wine racks lining the walls. Unlike Wine Banq, it did have jazz — real jazz — coming out of the speakers that weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Sorry owners of Wine Banc (Jonathan Zchwartz???) but your place ain’t all that jazz.

Right, well anyway… Ida seems to want to pay for all of the drinks this evening at Kirketon… Kirketon… Kirk-e-ton… it doesn’t even sound like a word. It’s an uncomfortable name. It doesn’t even roll off of the tongue. It’s more one of these names that requires a forklift and a heavy machinery license to remove from an oral cavity before it can be said.

Right. Back on topic, Ida seemed to want to pay for the drinks that night. I’d already said to Alan Saunders — a nice chap (did I just say ‘chap’?!) who’s a restaurant critic with a design show on ABC Radio — that even though he’d offered to buy me a drink, he shouldn’t since with me being poor (I didn’t word it like that) that I’d be unable to buy one in return for him. He was fine with that, and off he went to get me a Scotch on the rocks.

When he came back, it seemed it was Ida who paid.

I’m not sure why, honestly.

Ida is a beautiful girl who seems very smart but I can’t quite figure out why she’d want to pay for all of our drinks.

Anyway, there was talking and low-lit rooms and stuffiness since the room didn’t seem to have the world’s best ventilation and martinis and all sorts of stuff.

There was Wayne Cooper… someone who seems like a decent bloke and a fashion designer to boot. Upon returning home, it actually dawned on me that I had a Wayne Cooper shirt… and probably one that didn’t sell all that well, knowing me.

There was Alan Saunders, who I’ve already mentioned. He’s a restaurant critic, it seems, and has a radio show on ABC about architecture and design. We both agreed that Mexican in Australia is severely lacking and Azteca’s is probably among the best we have.

There was Bowie Wong… who was laughing and… drunk, probably.

There was Ida and Joey who both drank gin martinis.

There was a guy on the other side of the room who seemed like he’d be a model. At one point, I heard a conversation saying how he was supposed to be or how he was going to be the new face of Hugo Boss or something for David Jones. His name was James. I only met him as he was leaving.

There were other random people I probably won’t remember after going to bed in 15 minutes.

And then there was me… stuck in the middle of this and confused as hell as to why I was here.

I mean… this is me… the guy without any real degree of success in his life sitting amongst people who obviously had some… what the hell?

Surely there’s something wrong with the lunar alignment or something. Perhaps there’s someone more suited to this part who’s supposed to be sitting where I am in these terribly uncomfortable leather seats that look so plush and inviting and are about as comfy as sitting on a stone bench.

Less, actually. Less comfortable than that nice stone bench.

And at one point, I started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.
It was probably the same time both Ida and Joey started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.

There were some short conversations as the waitress cleared up some of our glasses and as we all (Ida, Joey & myself) commented on how pretty she was, I told her that the guy across from me was someone named Wayne Cooper and had she heard of him. I had to check it with Ida, but yes, that’s who he was… and her eyes lit up.

I tried to make a little conversation with the gorgeous waitress, even with how hard it is for me to make conversation with anyone.

I asked her if she was a uni student: she was. Where did she go, etc, etc… and it turns out, she’s interested in film-making, too.

Ida then wrote her email on the back of a card to get her into the guest list for Bowie as well as writing my email on the same card.

I don’t actually know if the waitress — whose name I later found out was Genevieve — will ever actually email me or what-not, but I have a feeling that was Ida attempting to help me in talking with a girl who might actually have something in common with me.

Thank you Ida.

Really. 🙂

It might not actually happen and nothing will probably eventuate from it, and by that I mean just friendly conversation, but the effort is always appreciated.

The night started lessening with more people leaving and with only a few of us left, those that were left seemed to want to go to some bar that wasn’t all that spectacular… but I’ll get to that in a moment.

As we left, I walked up to the waitress and said that I hoped she’d have a brilliant night. I don’t know why… I just did.

Seriously, if I knew why my brain gets me to do half the shit it gets me to do, I’d know more about myself than what my cat knows.

And he knows a lot. That cat ain’t one to be fucked with.

He’s got claws. Don’t fuck with someone who has claws.

Not unless you’ve got some mutant vision.

I’m getting off-topic, I know, and it comes from being tired, which I am. And I should go to sleep soon since I have an interview at Paxton’s in the morning, which I should probably be fresh for even though I won’t be able to bring my business jacket because…

…after getting into that craphole of a club we moved to after the Kirk-e-ton… some dickhead spilled beer all along the back of my jacket. Yay! A need for dry-cleaning!
Thankfully, it missed my DS. Phew.

However, Ida didn’t come into club nor did Alan. I’m not sure whether they weren’t allowed in or whether they didn’t want to go in or not.

Me, someone who normally isn’t a fan of clubs, went in since Joey said she’d like to have someone there who’s like family, I think.

Having only known Joey for a day, this made a lot of sense.

(If only people understood my brain… the world would be a more confusing place… and I might actually attract girls instead of deflecting them with a weird wavelength aura or something… who knows…)

It didn’t take me long to be bored.

I was beer bathed in a place filled with loud music and hot girls dancing in an environment where I’d look like such a wanker even attempting to dance with them (and I’d probably slip and break my back on the beer that didn’t soak into my jacket when it was dropped on me).

I told Joey I was going to leave within about 10-15 minutes of feeling like such an out-of-place wanker just standing around and doing piss all trying to blend in.

A guy in a donkey suit would have blended in much better than I did.

Joey tried telling me that I should stay and make contacts and talk to people and do all sorts of things like that because that’s the industry I was in.

But that’s not the industry I’m in. It’s just the industry I occasionally do work for.

And I’m not usually a club person. They have to be playing music I like… which they weren’t… and I have to be with people I want to dance with or know… and I was pretty much alone in terms of surviving that place.

Joey kissed me on the lips. Why, I don’t know. It wasn’t a kiss that you’d think “well, Leigh finally got with someone” so put away those notebooks, children. You ain’t winning a prize today from finding Leigh some lurve.

Nope, it was just a kiss, I guess. Not knowing what “just a kiss” is, I can safely assume that after finding out that Joey has a boyfriend, it was exactly that: just a kiss.

Weird that I put so much stock in just a kiss… I need to get kissed more often, I guess.

So I left. Caught a bus home. Had a shower. Wrote this blog.

Weird night.