Robot Rugby League – No Dramas

Hugh Jackman got me thinking. Well, he is the “thinking man’s sex symbol.”

You won’t find this fullback doing a thing in Schlossy’s shoe

Remember Real SteelHugh’s futuristic movie featuring robot boxing? With the rugby league season about to kick off, I believe Australia’s National Rugby League should run with this concept immediately — simply do away with human players and replace them with robots. Think about it. No more alcohol-fuelled 4am Kings Cross incidents. It really will solve all the off-field dramas,
as there will be no off-field, you just hit the off switch.

How good will it be? No more nightclub groin-groping and flashing, no shady betting scandals,
no delightful alliteration of “I just shat in Schlossy’s shoe”, no mid-season inter-club or other code defections, and an end to on-field proctology examinations, which apparently have even spread to the netball court.

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Okay, you may be concerned the play could become a little bit, er, robotic — I am across that — occasionally you could program a bit of rogue robot action, just like when Yul Brynner went all random in that classic film West World. It would be quite easy to ramp up the “bring back the biff” setting for State of Origin, or fire up the “traditional softening up period” program for Grand Finals.

The league and TV bosses would love it, Kings Cross police would love it, and Schlossy’s shoe would forever be empty.

Thanks Hugh.

©Steve Williams 2014

WTF is a phablet? When stupid words attack

Yes. I do know that a “phablet” is a frankensteined hybrid of a phone and a tablet, but I am assuming whoever came up with that name had obviously taken a handful of them.

A stupid word, and they are everywhere — I was reading about a “wriblet” today — with the advent of wearable technology, a wrist-bound tablet will become a thing — Dick Tracy style.
That name definitely puts the dick in it.

Try wearing that on your wrist, geekboy

It is not just new technology that was on the receiving end of clunky nomenclature, take shoelaces — that metal bit on the end is called an “aglet”. You’re welcome.
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An affliction. Stupid words are like a rather nasty rash — they are spreading and are extremely painful — one can only hope they’ll scab over and drop off. Here a few off the top of my head: “cronut”, “crowdsourced”, “bromance”, “thought leader” and anything with the prefix “man” i.e. “manscaping”, “mancave”, “manorexia” and “manflu”. Stupid.

Social media has a hell of a lot to answer for. I’m an avid 140 character writer on Twitter (@randomswill), but can’t bring myself to use the word “tweet”. I may have inadvertently used “twitterverse”, but never again. I can guarantee I have never travelled to the dark edges of the “twittersphere”.

“Selfie” is also a very stupid word — I always assumed it had something to do with masturbation, which in a sense it is. Sadly, you can’t escape the scourge of the selfie, it was even a political tool much loved by a not so much-loved former Australian prime minister — see previous sentence.

©Steve Williams 2014

Foodporn — It’s already been shot, just eat it

When Frenchman Joseph Nicéphore Niépce shot the world’s first photograph in 1826, it was of the view out of his window, thankfully not of his coq au vin.

A restaurateur’s deterrent against food photography

Speaking of such meaty subjects, I’d like to discuss foodporn — amateur photographers recording their food for posterity instead of merely eating it. Today, if your phone isn’t equipped with a camera, you’re using iTroglodyte. That means basically everyone is a photographer — and this isn’t a good thing, especially when you’re trying to eat.

Amateur restaurant food photographers should be skewered, basted and lightly roasted. Instagram and Twitter have a lot to answer for. Why do you need to photograph your food before you eat it? Who are you going to show these badly composed, badly shot and badly shit photos to? Is the plan to bore your Facebook friends into a coma?

It is always a dining delight when the couple at the next table is photographing their fettuccine or shooting their shark fin soup. This is often undertaken with a ginormous SLR, emitting strobe flashes that illuminates the food and everyone in the vicinity like an atomic bomb has just detonated. If I wanted to book a table for two in an epileptic-fit-inducing lighthouse I would.
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That’s just the entree — for main you get to sit back and marvel at the elaborate production of the couple photographing each other eating said food. Are we talking foreplay to some 9½ Weeks inspired erotic food-feeding-frenzy? Hope the shark fin comes to life in the bedroom.

There was a hallelujah moment last year when New York restaurants started banning food photography. The usual “freedom of everything” suspects choked on their amusebouche in predictable outrage, but f. them — they should be skewered as well.

I’d take a photo of that.

©Steve Williams 2014

So This is New Year’s Eve…

So. This is the last day of 2013.

I’m not going to ramble on with one of those turgid “year in review” pieces, or inflict nauseatingly feel-good new year’s resolutions on unsuspecting passersby of the internets. I’ve never made one, and December 31, 2013 seems like an ideal time to continue not making one.

No, I was jolted into writing this by realising I’ve apparently committed a heinous “blogging blunder” (not that I call www.randomswill.com a blog, I am not a fan of that word or “tweet” while I’m at it) by not writing something, anything and nailing it to the wall of swill for about a month.

With humble apologies to “growth hackers” and purveyors of “snackable content” — interesting and somewhat mystical occupations those — much like “entrepreneur”, “life coach”, “guru”, “maven” or “thought leader”. But I digress, life got in the way in a good way — travel, family, travel, Christmas, family, new year, family, etc etc.

To those noble exponents of whatever they expone, I prostrate myself at your feet in forgiveness.
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In closing, I trust that 2014 is whatever you want it to be.

As this is New Year’s Eve, I believe there is a glass of Champagne with my name on it somewhere, so until next year…

©Steve Williams 2013

Shit! No doubt I’m now guilty of some digital delinquency by not having the required number of words in this post…