Pushy

How often have you heard it said, “Geeez, he’s such a pushy bastard!”, or yourself rolled your eyes and quietly muttered “pushy bitch!”?

There are “types” of people who are widely considered pushy. Used car salesmen, telephone company telephone canvassers, and hawkers all have achieved a fine degree of mastery in the field of pushyness. For these types, the amount of money they make is often directly proportional to how pushy they are - a conversion = a sale = commission. But often you’ll find people who are pushy by nature - and this attribute is in no way related to their success or remuneration. They have a natural tendency to hassle people, or repeat themselves - always trying to get what they want *just that bit* quicker.

Anyone that knows me, or has known me for a while, would agree that I’m not a natural nagger, serial hassler, or relentless rider of folk. In general, I like to think I am fairly laid back, reasonable, somewhere around halfway between doormat and complete bastard. Like everyone else, I have my limit ( and perhaps in traffic my limit is somewhat below average… but enough on that for now! ), and a point beyond which my tone and patience shift to a different, less easy level. In essence, I’m not a pushy guy.

But earlier in my life I was often a victim to pushy people - I’d cave in rather than confront them. It also meant that whenever I was faced with something or someone being unreasonable, I’d question myself instead of questioning them. A few years ago I recognised this problem, and decided from that moment on that I’d act as if I was unquestionably right and the “pusher” was unquestionably wrong. What this implies is that I too have become pushy, or that I have developed pushy tendencies. But I don’t do it because I have learnt to derive pleasure or any ego boost from it - on the contrary - it’s often a form of considerable stress for me. In the last few years it has got me what I want… eventually… but sometimes I wonder about the toll the stress it creates has on my physical and mental health. Then again, being a victim is stressful in itself.

I’d prefer to think that these days I act reasonably and patiently up to a point that most people would consider acceptable. Beyond that, I start prodding and making it fairly clear that I’m not all that happy with the way things are progressing. Sometimes this amounts to trying it on, but most often, I just want what’s fair. I doing so though, I often wonder about people who don’t have the skills or assertiveness to ensure they are treated fairly. Sometimes it depresses me… the fact that people who don’t want to fight and argue and just live in peace get screwed over by pushy types. Finance companies, Banks and Employers all have a history of ensuring the “average joe” gets a raw deal.

So what do you consider pushy? Do you think the perception of “pushyness” (pushiness?) is relative, or absolute? Have you even been guilty of a double standard in terms of pushyness, for example being on somebody’s case, but criticising another person for doing it to you? Do you feel as if these days, you must be more pushy just to get what’s reasonable and fair? Following that line, has the world become a more pushy place, and if this is so, how and where does it end?

generalboy remembers - The Red and The Blue

Most Gen-x kids ( and plenty of Gen-Y kids ) who watched a lot of ABC TV will remember a little gap in between the news and The Goodies, which was often filled with a little show called The Red and The Blue. For those that don’t, you’ve really missed out on a treat.

Typically running for less than three minutes, The Red and The Blue was based on the adventures of two pieces of plasticine - one Red, the other Blue. It was a pioneering piece of clay-mation television, made in France ( using Italian animators! )  with rather weird and amusing haughty voice overs. When I say voice overs, they were little more than a series of vocal grunts, sqeals, and whines - supplemented by cheap sound effects like clown horns and bicycle bells.

In each show, the Red always played the straight guy, and was typically bigger than the Blue. The Blue on the other hand, was the prankster and comedian always having a joke at the expense of long suffering Red. Throughout each episode, Red would adopt all manner of weird forms, many recognisable, but some utterly abstract. Blue often assumed the form of familliar objects, ranging from machines, to animals, to inanimate objects like rocks or hammers. Each episode had a theme, punctauted with Red randomly beating the living crap out of Red or mutilating him in some way. Blue “won” every match up, with Red often ending up either sawn in half, headless, or armless and legless.

The show was rather hilariously lampooned by Shaun Micallef in his sketch Attention! Il est Myron! from the Micallef P(r)ogramme. Myron was deliberately animated badly, with the strange sounds provided by Micallef himself. The protagonist always met with some self mutilating fate at the end of each skit.

Shows like The Red and The Blue may have been rather crudely animated, but were quirky and clever. They had a unique feel to them that has not been captured by anything since, and paved the way for the more advanced clay-mation shows like Gumby, and full length films like the superb Wallace and Grommit series.

Here’s a little sample. Enjoy. :)


Time wastin’ Tuesday

Well, I waited and waited and waited for my giant thing to arrive as promised… but by 4pm… nuthin’. So I called the freight company… who redirected me to another freight company they had subcontracted. So I called them, and they said the first freight company never sent it and I should call the first freight company. Or just wait for it to turn up. I said great idea since it wasn’t as if I’d stayed home all day or anything since they said it would arrive today.

Since the day was already furked up, I decided it would be nice to sit in the MYOB 1300 hold queue because their online and telephone company file unlock thingy was broken and I’d foolishly entered a whole load of data last year without unlocking it because the stupid thing didn’t work that time either. They waved their magic wand, and suddenly it all worked. It was worth wasting a day to discover that. Now my BAS will only be 4 months and 6 days late.

And now I am off to drop off some gear for BP at a half way rendevous, since he lives 15k north of TinyTown and I live, well, a friggen long way in the opposite direction. Who knows… maybe I’ll sit in a drive through queue somewhere along the way so I can get some dinner at least. I mean why the hell not… it is Time wastin’ Tuesday after all.

How was yours?

Generalboy remembers: some Aussie music from 1983 you might not know

Deckchairs Overboard - That’s the way 


Drop Bears - Shall We go


Johnny Batchelor - Work and Save


The Go Betweens - Cattle and Cane



Time wastin’ Tuesday

Due to the overly procrastinational nature of TWT, the following post will be in dot point form.

  • Tinytown’s record breaking run of hot weather finally ended today, with a much cooler day expected. What’s even weirder is the great run of swell we’ve had, and the fact I don’t even give surfing in boardshorts and a short sleeve vest a second thought these days. It’s easy to forget how how quickly the water cools down in Autumn… in just three months I will have 4mm of neoprene twixt my nude man bits and the great Southern Ocean. Lower your eyebrows. I am talking to you!
  • I think I am getting the flu. I felt all hot in the nasal region and cloggy in the chestal area last night and flaked it around 9:30. Urrrggggh. The Great Snot cometh…
  • I am weighing that situation up with the prospect of pumping swell to kick off this year’s Rip Curl Pro, and the possibility of grabbing a last minute return flight to Melbourne. I still can’t say I definitely won’t go… especially given the offer of a free bed for the weekend!
  • the song that seems stuck in my brain right now is Police and Thieves by Junior Murvin, but it’s not the whole song… just the bit where he goes “do duh n’ duayya n’ duayya duh do dahyah”. What the hell is that all about???
  • I am slowly getting re-aquainted with my 400D, but still haven’t quite found it in my heart to forgive those nasty indian givers at Canon Australia who took my baby away just when we were bonding.
  • without trying all that hard I am the leanest I have been in a few years, slowly lopping off 4kg of Xmas cheer over the last 2 months. The chick in the deli even bailed me up last week, and being the extremely poor accepter of compliments I am, I told her it was “just these pants”.
  • that reminds me. Must buy more pants. In two months I won’t be able to wear boardshorts all day almost every day. *sigh*
  • yesterday I bought the largest object I have ever purchased online, off ebay. The package will be almost 2.8m in length. I am dying to see how the b’jesus they ship it.
  • I never seriously considered the possibility that yourtimestartsnow harboured lurkers… but my move from Google’s evil Blogger domain appears to have unearthed some of those quiet, shy, retiring type readers. I can’t deny I feel *just a little bit special*, so any lurkers out there speak up! Make yourself known! Please feel free to leave a non-commital compliment, or slightly left-field comment in the comment-o-matic. I promise to return the favour. :)
  • just found a killer name for the new home, but you’ll have to wait and see. All I’ll say is that the word is used somewhere in this post. :P

And that was Time Wastin’ Tuesday. How was yours?

the best years of our lives?

Many times in our youth we are reminded, more often than not by our parents, that we are living “the best years of our lives”.

All things being considered, at that stage in your life it’s hard to deny that things are pretty sweet. You don’t have to work for food, don’t have to pay a crippling mortgage, and most importantly, you don’t have a couple of kids to serve as constant reminders that youth is wasted on the young.

But in your teens it can all seem so deadly serious, so painful, so tentative and difficult. Like so many other teenagers ever since the phrase was coined, my early teen years were plagued with insecurity and uncertainty. While I was lucky to have loving parents, I often faced violence and threats at school. While I wasn’t a target of bullying, I recall feeling like I was living in a war zone - that every day when I arrived at school, something very, very bad would happen. The constant stress and confrontation quite literally gave me the shits. I remember thinking at the time, that “if these are the best years of my life, then the rest of my life must be pretty fucked up”.

Even in my formative years I spent a lot of time in day care and with sitters, and while I have never begrudged mum and dad their careers, it took a toll. I was hospitalised a few times from various illnesses ( one that almost did me in ), and also had my collar bone busted by a sitter’s kid ( and my folks never sued??? Man… I could be living on easy street now if they did!! ). Additionally, I developed weird eating habits from all the awful day care meals and would vomit up most “normal” food. It made life pretty difficult and stressful for me, and no doubt will keep some therapist’s fleet of classic sports cars running in years to come.

I also got pretty messed up in my late teens, but I won’t bore you with that story… just assume the usual suspects of unrequited love, partying too hard and hiding behind a thick fog of bong smoke. Then I inevitably got ill, physically, and just a tad mentally, and that saw almost another two less than jolly years of my life slip by. Then just to make things really bloody hard, I moved out of home and went back to full time study after working for 4 years. I spent the next 4 years eating rice bubbles and canned spaghetti, and arguing with various student related bureaucracies. Needless to say, I really found it hard to believe that those were the best years of my life.

Things got onto a more even footing by the time I took the first baby steps in my second career, but even then things were far from easy. In my first post-diploma job we lived under the constant threat of random sackings, and all manner of bullshit prevented me from having a normal life. Because we were all on contracts, no bank would lend me the money I needed to get a half decent car or non-rental property. So I lived in noisy shitholes and drove with a toolbox in the boot - so I could fix the car myself whenever it broke down. Meanwhile, all my friends bought houses and shiny new cars.

While I had no “best years”, there are little bubbles in my life that I like to think of as “best times”. Rather than look at a year as a whole, I can grab these little snapshots and open them up like a photo album in my mind. My 18th year, and the start of my love affair with the ocean, backpacking through Europe, my Vicco surf trip with Towelly in 2006, and the magic summer I met the girl I’d one day marry. These are but a small sample.

But sitting here with the gentle roar of the surf drifting over the clifftop, a (tin) roof over my head, and the most beautiful beach bathed in blue and gold just seconds from my door, it’s hard not to see the glass half full. While I’m healthy, happy, more financially secure, and still in love, it’s not hard to believe that maybe the best years of my life are right now.

Time wastin’ Tuesday

Well, a goodly ( or badly, as the case may be ) amount of time was spent setting up the new house… but it’ll be a little while before I can move.

I also got bailed up in a beachside carpark… as they say… linger long enough by the beach and the cars of your friends will rattle by ( and invariably, stop )… for far too long.

Finally, I did a survey where I go in the draw to win all sorts of stuff I can already get for nothing. Hooray for pointless surveys!

So that was time wastin’ Tuesday. How was yours?

home… kinda… sorta…

Yes, well don’t say I didn’t warn you.

This is a rental place so I’m a bit limited in what I can do - I can only hang pictures up where there are already hooks or nails, and I am stuck with these fairly plain looking walls and mismatched carpet. Nonetheless, I’ll do what I can to make it more liveable, and not quite so offensive to visitors eyes over the next week or so.

So grab an upturned milk crate and help yourself to slice of hot pizza. Oh… and mind the boxes… I’m still unpacking!