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Coupling

Sunday, June 27, 2010

So, having noted just how awesome Moffat’s writing has been on Doctor Who, I decided to track down Coupling, a program he created about thirty-something relationships.

Now, as well as having Jack Davenport in it (who is awesome, and to my surprise has great comic timing) the thing is bloody funny – really well written.

But beyond that, there are two things that leap out at me about the program.

Firstly: that it’s a fascinating look at relationships between people who don’t communicate properly.

Why get awkward if your new partner finds a porn tape lying around? So what? You have some lesbian porn. It’s not exactly uncommon, given that most men aren’t too easily able to ‘imagine themselves’ in place of Ron Jeremy or the like.

These sorts of things should really be discussed, and quite early. Anyway, this brings me to the second thing about the show. It’s about early 30-somethings in the year 2000 (first season).

Why in fuck did anybody even HAVE porn cassettes as recently as ten years ago? I mean, these days the internet can dish up whatever your fancy is with a quick collection of google phrases. You don’t even need to keep the crap on your computer, much less in some archaic format like that.

I understand that these would be 30-somethings in 2000, meaning they were probably busy clubbing, tripping, getting smashed and picking up while I was busy learning about this new thing called the ‘internet’, but it still seems awfully strange as a concept to me.

Hardcopy porn? Really? How… odd.

Even before the internet, I don’t think I’ve ever owned any.

So the real question is: how long before there’s nobody left alive without a magazine fetish who actually owns hardcopy porn?

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iPad, Perspective and Productivity

Sunday, June 13, 2010

When I began to discuss getting an iPad some months ago, I found that people responded to this in one of two ways. They either said, ‘Ooooh!’ and got excited, or said, ‘Why?’ and genuinely could not understand why anyone would want such a device. (I’ve literally only heard those two reactions – never indifference – although the ‘Ooooh’ was often modified to ‘Aaaaah’ and the ‘Why?’ was often shortened to ‘Ugh’)

I think there’s really a few reasons for each reaction. The three kinds of ‘Oooooh!’ reactions are:

  1. From the “Steve Jobs Is My God” zealots. They react this way to everything, and not even they know why. Maybe they have some kind of virus.
  2. From gadget nuts who just like The New Shiny.
  3. From people who are genuinely fascinated by its potential. Sometimes, people fit both this category and the gadget nut category.

Then you’ve got the “Why?” reactions. These seem to be for two reasons.

  1. The Apple-haters. (Arbitrarily hating something because you dislike the marketing or dislike it because it’s popular is bloody stupid. Trust me. I was like that for way too damn long. The moment something became popular, I switched to an even more obscure brand or operating system – from Windows to Fedora to Slackware to FreeBSD to Linux From Scratch, etc)
  2. A genuine inability to imagine how the device might be useful.

It’s the latter I want to talk about. Or, more specifically, how having an iPad has actually resulted in fairly major changes to my lifestyle. (Whether it’s for better or for worse is to be analysed with the benefit of hindsight)

(Continued)

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Apple Marketing

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Okay, so Apple announces some stuff about iPhone OS 4 (now called iOS in order to frustrate people who can use Cisco routers on a command-line level). These things include Multitasking and FOLDERS for APPLICATIONS.

It’s the latter that had me laughing. Not because they announced it, but because of the way in which it was announced.

The video, in typical Apple style, has a guy who’s a Vice President of Some Division Or Other talking about what “we all” want. Which is, apparently (and correctly) the ability to have more than 4 Applications on our iPhones, iPads, iPods and iTables (what, you haven’t gotten that one yet?) without having a simple way to categorise them.

“FOLDERS!” he screams. “FOLDERS!”

Pretty impressive stuff. I mean, we’ve had it since Q-DOS. Oh, wait. No. Since CP/M. Oh, no, wait. Since Unix systems before that.

I literally laughed. I mean, I love lots of the stuff that Apple do. They make my online life a metric fuckton easier most days (an imperial fuckton on others) because they know how to make things Work(tm) iEfficiently(r).

But Jeebus H Psykes that’s silly. Why make a big deal about something we’ve had for ages? Like, say, Video Calling? You wouldn’t make a big deal of that, right?

But anyway, I digress. Folders.

Apple: “You can just drag two applications on top of each other, and it makes a folder…”

Me: “Oh, cool. That’s actually pretty simple and intuitive. I can get why that’s worth smiling about once you’ve updated your iDevice.”

Apple: “… and it intelligently names the folders based on the app types within!”

…

Okay, now that just fucking rocks. I mean, it’s obvious – the iApps are already iNamed and iCategorised. They have to be in order to go through the iRelease process. So why not just use the meta-data you already have in an intelligent and useful way?

My only question is this: Why in FUCK not start with the cool shit, instead of sounding like a iWanker who doesn’t understand the strengths and weaknesses of their own products, much less what innovations have happened in the last 65 years?

Let me re-write that pitch for you.

“… we’ve noticed that people are using a lot of the many useful and cool applications available for the iPhone, and as the number of applications on your iPhone increase, the harder it becomes to find things. So in order to help you find and sort through your applications better, we’ve introduced an intelligent and intuitive folder system.

Just drag applications on top of each other, and you’ll get a folder describing what sort of apps you’ve thrown in there. Easy!”

Probably too long-winded, but eh… I’m too tired to be concise. Which is why a facebook status update became a 500 word blog entry, I suppose.

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Thoughts for the Day

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Some random thoughts:

As domestic flying becomes more and more like catching a bus or a train, how long until my hang-over goes away?

Brisbane has water restrictions. Why do they not just squeeze caine toads? Also, when will my hangover go away?

In Brisbane, people seem much more willing to saunter out in the middle of the road while drunk, trying to hail cabs and such the like. Certainly, at least, a lot more so than in Sydney, where the act of doing this on George or William Sts would very likely result in you becoming a very drunk pancake. My question to the Brisbane jaywalkers is: when will my hangover go away?

Brisbane airport also seems rather dead if you happen to fly in too late. This is a pity if you’re waiting for the next person in your troupe to arrive. My question to the no-shops-or-bars-open Brisbane Airport is this: where am I supposed to work on my hangover?

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Idiots, wankers and dickheads.

Monday, May 10, 2010

So, I can handle the occasional idiot in my life. You deal with them. They breeze in, do something monumentally cock-handed, and you sigh, fix the problem, and get back to it.

Then you have wankers. They can be good fun, really. I mean, everybody knows complete wankers. Especially when you’re out on the town, you meet a lot of them. And sometimes a complete wanker can be very entertaining. He rides in on his wankery horse, spouting complete arse-shite and inventing new ways to embellish stories. And that’s fine. Everybody needs a wanker every now and again. Hell, most of us are wankers, when given the right prompting. (Usually a half-dozen shots of some kind of draino-like spirit)

Dickheads… well,they’re something much more common. I’m a dickhead most of the time. Bet you are too. Generally not to our partners, ’cause that’s not appropriate. But otherwise, ‘being a dickhead’ – or its lesser cousin, just being ‘a bit of a dick’.

Fuck-knuckles can be pretty frustrating. You can’t do much about them. You usually work with the fuck-knuckle in question. He or she might be that person who steals the last tim-tam out of the fridge, or maybe the guy who uses your coffee mug or uses the serving spoon meant for the sliced tomato to serve up tuna, getting the feral dessicated-corpse-matter all over the tomato in the fucking process. So, yeah, I don’t have much time for fuck-knuckles. Especially the tuna/tomato/coffee-mug kind.

Turd-burglers are also frustrating. You can’t avoid them, even if you try. So, the turd-burgler in question steps the fuck up to you and invites you really awkwardly to have coffee, and you don’t want to because you’re currently standing in fucking line or waiting for your fucking coffee to be made by that weird Christian/French dude who seems uncannily good at turning out a wicked espresso. So you don’t want to deal with a random meeting with a turd-burgler. But in he walks, and your mouth twitches. Best you can do is lie. You’re busy. You’re doing something like, say, shooting the second fucking series of your web-tv show thing, and you’re too fucking busy to catch up and hear his or her warbling arse-boogers singing the song of the turd-burgler. Of course, if you happen to ACTUALLY be busy shooting the second series of a web-tv show, then you’re in luck – no lying required.

But the absolute worst of all – the ones you can’t deal with, cope with, get over, or sometimes even survive? Well, they’re not idiots, wankers, dickheads, fuck-knuckles. Not even total fuckers. Nor tools or cock-breaths or fishy joes or bogans or pretentious gits or raptor-toothed monkeys or politicians or giant steaming piles of semi-congealed cheese that walk around and praise God. Hell for man-made fucking inventions because they’re incapable of realising that they’re inherently pattern-seeking creatures and so of course you’re going to fucking see patterns if you’re looking for them. Aint no such fucking thing, you monkeys, as fucking starsigns. You read whatever fucking ass-hattery you want into anything you see. Now get the fuck over it, tune out, tune in, or do whatever the fuck you do when you aren’t being a total fucking shit-beaker or douche-nozzle.

But I digress. They can be dealt with. The ones I really can’t handle? They’re not even bimbos, tramps, boof-heads or just plain-old, basic, industry-standard nostral-fuckers.

No. These are much, much worse. These are muppet-fuckers. I hate those guys.

And now, it’s time for my morning coffee.

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Interview with Me, By Me, Part Two

Friday, April 9, 2010

So, after the roaringly successful interview with myself yesterday (it was published in four magazines and adapted the film rights were sold to Paramount) I decided to continue the interview. I caught up with myself while I was staggering out of bed this morning. (PS. The previous comments in brackets may be a slight exaggeration)

Me: Hey, I just have a few more questions…
Me: GAH! Fuck! What the hell are you doing in my house?

Me: Well, I live here.
Me: Oh yeah.

Me: So, anyway. I was wondering what you thought about the idea of beer in kegs instead of in bottles?
Me: Oh, now that’s just harsh. You know damn well I feel crap his morning, and it’s almost exclusively because you can’t figure out how many quiet beers you’ve had while cleaning the house when they’re not in a specifically sized bottle.

Me: I know, I just wanted to hear you say it so that I could say, “Ha-ha!”
Me: Fuck you. Now let me get some breakfast.

Me: No, no. More questions. Now, let’s see… anything interesting happen last night?
Me: Look, can we do this while I make breakfast?

Me: Sure, I guess. Can you make me some too?
Me: Fine.

Me: So, last night.
Me: Yeah, right. Well, last night the building fire alarm went off at about 11pm or so. Real loud. At first I thought it was somehow my fault, but then I realised one was going off in every apartment, and people were running downstairs.

Me: Bet that was fun.
Me: Yeah. Watching 15+ people stagger downstairs in various forms of undress, looking bleary, only to find a very embarrassed looking woman down there before us and a fire engine filled with fellas storming the place. “I think it was my fault… there was lots of steam,” says the concerned woman.

Me: Steam? Why in the fuck would steam set off a smoke alarm?
Me: I know, right? No sense in it. I mean, the saying doesn’t go, “There’s no steam without fire,” does it? But apparently, according to our volunteer fire warden dude or whatever he is, they also respond to steam. Well, most of them do. The ones in the bathrooms don’t.

Me: Well that’s bloody good.
Me: Yeah. And what’s more – hey, do you want tabasco with your eggs?

Me: Hmm? Oh, yes please.
Me: So, yeah, there’s more – they also respond to FLY SPRAY, apparently!

Me: Fly spray?
Me: Yeah, or kitchen grease spray. Anything with a propellant. The stupid things can’t tell the difference!

Me: I’m not sure if that’s good to know or not.
Me: Yeah. I smell a script coming along…

Me: That’s not a script, that’s your toast. It’s burning.
Me: Oh, fuck.

Me: Do you want me to cover up the smoke alarm so it doesn’t set off the building fire alarm again?
Me: Please.

[Segment deleted]

Me: Those were good eggs.
Me: Thanks. So, I’m going to have a quick shower.  You’re not going to follow me in there, are you?

Me: Well I don’t have much choice, really. But can you just, uh… now… for the readers at home… what’s your favourite egg recipe, and do you think it affects your filmmaking?
Me: Fuck OFF!

Me: I was just… hey! What’s your favourite colour?
Me: FUCK OFF! I’m trying to take a shower-

Me: Fuck isn’t a colour.
Me: GAH! Go AWAY! I mean, I’ve heard of imaginary friends, but this is RIDICULOUS.

[Segment deleted]

Me: Do you want me to put some cream on that? I didn’t mean to bruise you so hard.
Me: Just go away.

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Interview with Me, by Me

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Lots of people get interviewed. I tend not to, because nobody really knows or cares just who I am. I suspect that’s probably a good thing, in all occasions except those when I’m failing to get funding for some projects I want to do.

But anyway, as nobody else is interviewing me, I thought I’d fill the gap and interview myself.

Me: Hi.
Me: Hi.

Me: So, you’re Rohan Harris, right?
Me: Mostly.

Me: What that your attempt at an ironic reference to something you wrote last year?
Me: I guess so. It didn’t really work, did it?

Me: No, actually that was pretty pretentious.
Me: Sorry. Shall we get on with the interview?

Me: Yeap. Okay, so… you make films, right?
Me: Not really. I have in the past. I mean, I film stuff, don’t get me wrong. And it’s usually (read: always) things that I’ve written. But it takes so damn long to do that I”m beginning to suspect that it’s really just a hobby and probably not worth mentioning as much as my other projects, these days.

Me: Wow. That was a pretty long-winded response.
Me:  I could draw it out further, if you like.

Me: No, no. I’m already bored. So… you make films… now, when did you first realise that you wanted to make films?
Me: Actually I don’t. I want to make computer games, really.

Me: Oh. So why don’t you?
Me: Fuck, now you’re depressing me.

Me: No, really. I mean, you’re a professional software developer by day. And didn’t you get into that originally to become a game programmer?
Me: Jesus, being interviewed by yourself sucks. And yeah, I did. Back in the Microprose days. When most games were 70% coding/design and 30% art.

Me: And now they aren’t?
Me: No.

Me: So you like playing the type of game where-
Me: Small games. Turn-based, usually. Thinky strategy games, usually with a basis in economics, business or espionage.

Me: Right, right. Why not make those? If they’re mostly coding, then shouldn’t it be easy to-
Me: Fuck me, you really are depressing. Can we get back to filmmaking?

Me: I thought you said you didn’t really want to make films.
Me: What? No. I mean, well, yes. I mean no. I mean, I don’t really want to make really big stuff. I’m not into action films, and I’m not out to make big award-winning films. I’d just like to make the kind of films that I want to watch, that are missing from the market.

Me: So you do want to make films?
Me: Well, yeah. I want to MAKE them. They’re fun! Being on set is the most fun you can have, I think.

Me: Great. Good to know.
Me: Yeah. Uh… was that a question?

Me: No. I’m out of questions.
Me: But this is supposed to be an interview.

Me: Oh, okay. Uhm… so… what did you have for breakfast?
Me: Eggs on toast.

Me: Cool, cool. So, uh… how’s the, uh… the whole SZA thing going?
Me: Oh, a little tiring. It takes time to make these things, you know.

Me: Yeah, I know. So… what’s next for you after the second season of Sharehouse Zombie Apocalypse is done? Another web series? Perhaps moving into actual, on-the-air TV?
Me: I dunno.

Me: You’re shit at answering questions, you know that?
Me: You’re shit at ASKING questions!

Me: Hey, I’m just trying to give you really open questions that might give you the chance to get onto interesting topics.
Me: Oh. Can we just have a beer instead?

Me: Okay, you sold me.
Me: Righteous.

Me: Oh, wait – one more. What did you have for dinner last night?
Me: A small tree and a volkswagon beetle.

Me: I think you’re lying.
Me: No shit. I mean, fuck, does it really matter? Even if I was fuckin’ Famous McActor, the Scottish performer who headlines every movie and directs random plays on the side, nobody would care what the fuck I had for dinner.

Me: Okay. So, feature film or web series next? You didn’t say.
Me:  I’m going to write and direct a web series about the Romanian textiles industry. There. You happy?

Me: No, I’m thirsty. Can we get some coffee now?
Me: I thought you wanted beer!

Me: Beer? Oh yeah. I did say that, didn’t I? Well, let’s go with coffee instead.
Me: It’s a diuretic, you know.

Me: Oh, shut up.
Me: You know, you’re a really boring person.

Me: Speak for yourself.

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Drunken Gaming

Friday, April 2, 2010

No, not the kind with friends.

I mean that occurrence, late at night, when you stagger home, drunk, and aren’t tired. You think you want to play a game. But something is different. It’s not that normal urge to play Mass Effect 2 / Bioshock 2 / Napoleon: Total War or whatever else you’re playing right now.

It’s that urge to revisit some classic. Something from your past. Something that makes you warm and fuzzy inside.

You want to visit a place in a nice, low, safe, comfortable resolution.

With banana-pickers. And vegetarian cannibals. And giant Monkey-heads.

Of course, I’m talking about the world shown in “Full Throttle”.

So, my question is this: what worlds do YOU want to re-visit when drunk? And what worlds do you think the generation after ours will want to visit when drunk? Will they boot up HALO? Or quickly re-download and play that classic, “Modern Warfare 2″?

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Fuck I Love Swearing

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

There are a lot of things in this world that I just fucking love. A really fuck-off well-brewed beer. Worryingly expensive single malt whisky. A brilliant computer game. Awesome films. Documentaries on the making of a particularly difficult film. Books on logical fallacies and atheism. James Ellroy books. Breasts – particularly when attached to highly intelligent women (so sue me, I have a brain fetish – and not in a Zombie-like way). British comedy.

But beyond all these wonderful things, lies a deeper, and much more creative love. The kind of love traditionally reserved for soldiers & their rifles, people from Rooty Hill and their utes or first-world women and their shoe collection.

I fucking love – fucking love – profanity. And I don’t mean some twelve year old using the word ‘cunt’ because heard his father call his mother that after she got smashed on the cooking sherry one too many times. That’s just lame And I don’t mean some homeless man yelling the word “bastard” from his stinky corner near the local pub. That’s also piss-weak.

Those are the profanity equivalent of comparing a XXXX to Chimay.

No, I mean real swearing.

I mean Al Swearengen making business negotiations where the counter-offer is “go fuck yourself”, or telling somebody to get a haircut because it looks like their “mother fucked a monkey”.

I mean Bunk & McNulty investigating a crime scene in a five-minute sequence where the only word used is ‘fuck’ – and you still understand what the hell is going on.

I mean Malcolm Tucker blackmailing somebody and ending the conversation with “Fuckity-bye!”, noting with frustration that “It seems one can no longer call a spade a cunt,” or Jamie, his not-so-loyal lap-dog, going on a 30 second diatribe about how he’s going to shove somebody’s iPod up through their arse, wedge it against their prostate and squeeze the unlucky guy’s sweaty ballsack to change the track.

But what makes these guys swear so incredibly well is performance and context. They’re just straight-out experts in the art of using profanity. They can deliver the simple line “go fuck yourself” and make it work – something few people can do.

There is an art to swearing. A real, true, art – and becoming true masters at this important skill is something that is seemingly limited to the Scottish, Irish and we not-so-humble Aussies.

Let’s face is: hearing somebody talk with an Aussie accent without profanity is just plain-out wrong. And why? Because we do it so frequently. It comes naturally to us. Just listen to Question Time in our Parliament. Sure, the socially-unacceptable words like cunt and fuck are left out (mostly), but otherwise the leaders of our country spend more time using creative expletives and abusive analogies than anything else while parliament is sitting.

Compared to many cultures, casual (and even non-derogatory) use of words like bastard, bloody and bugger is not just accepted, but an important part of our common vernacular.

American TV have slots on cable where there are plenty of shows that showcase profanity (where it’s appropriate).

On British television (particularly satire), swearing in a show seems more likely than not. And yet on our television programmes and even many movies, we seem to censor ourselves more than any other.

I’m a filmmaker, and I come from a culture that swears. So why the hell can’t we express that? I’ve made two films and a web series that feature swearing very prominantly. Why? Because the characters seemed the sort to swear. If I was writing about nuns, I probably wouldn’t. And yet I’ve been told by numerous people in media that they’d love to help promote or… but for the profanity.

Well, horse-fuckit, I hate that. I really do. And I don’t plan to tone down my fucking language just because it’ll increase my chances of being shown on television here. If it means every project I do from now until I die remains an internet-only affair, then that’s just the way it’ll bloody be.

I’m an Australian.

And I swear.

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You Can’t Spell Conspiracy Without Piracy

Monday, January 25, 2010

I’ve got it. I understand now. Sense is made. Logic won out.

I get it.

Now, why would Dingus Features, the fellow leading the opposition come out with fundamentalist, offensive, load of tripe like this… all the damn time?

I couldn’t understand it. He’s alienating so many voters. Like, say, almost all self-respecting women. Bet they like being told that they’re worth more as virgins! Bet they just love that indeed.

So why would somebody possibly do that?

I figured it out. I bet if you investigated deeply enough, you’d find that he’s being paid off by Chairman Rudd to ensure that the Ruddvernment has an even SMOOTHER run after the next elections, with the Liberals losing even MORE seats until the entire opposition is this one scary (but amusing) fucker sitting in the back heckling the PM during Question Time and being told to shut up by the speaker of the house.

Because seriously, is there any other reason that this useless waste of space would conceivably be doing this?

But, y’know… I could just be making the silly assumption that SOME kind of basic logic gets employed when he decides what comes out his that grotesque pie-hole of his.

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