It's Not People - I Hope...

Once upon a time, there was an American computer programmer who decided that it took just too much time and effort to feed himself, and took up time that he might otherwise be spending programming computers. So he decided to invent not having to eat.

He went onto the internet and Googled all of the things that humans need to ingest in order to survive, mixed it all up in approximately the right proportions, and put it in a bottle.

He was able to survive consuming only this concoction, with some tweaks along the way, for some time before some of his computer programmer friends saw how much programming he was doing without having to take breaks to prepare and eat food, and they convinced him to put it onto the market. He called it Soylent, after the 1973 movie Soylent Green, in which the eponymous food (spoiler alert) is people. To be fair, I believe it was only Soylent Green that was people, and not other colours of Soylent, but that's a distinction that only computer programmers and film nerds care about.

Soylent doesn't ship to Australia, but there is a knock-off made here called (wincefully) Aussielent. I have some, and on those days that I don't simply forget to grab a bottle on my way out, I have been consuming it for my lunch at work. It's cheaper and arguably more nutritious than food court food.

It tastes like something that you might expect a computer programmer to invent. It has a nominal vanilla flavour, but it is almost like an afterthought. It's not unpleasant, but it isn't especially pleasant either. It is filling enough, although I seem to be more hungry in the evenings than I would be if I ate "real" food at lunchtime. Moreover, it means that I don't have to deal with the food court in the week before Christmas. So it's a win-win.

The above history of Soylent may or may not be completely accurate.

What's been happening in Arthwollitown?

It's been some time since my last post here, so I'm going to do as full and complete an update as I can about what's been happening with my life.

First, I have moved out of Waramanga, and in with my parents. In a couple of weeks I'll be moving to a lovely little two-bedroom townhouse in Page where I'll be living by myself for the first time in my life. It's a little bit terrifying, but also exciting.

I've been a driver-partner for Uber since the beginning of March, and it's the best thing ever. No really, I'm not being sarcastic about that. Drunk people are hilarious. Damn, I'm sounding sarcastic. I'm not being sarcastic - I really do enjoy Ubering.

For a start, I get to make my own hours. Since I don't like being on the road for more than about six hours at a time, I've been regularly going online at about lunchtime on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and working until the early evening. Friday and Saturday I start at about 6pm and work until 11:30 or midnight, which just happens to be before the time that the really obnoxious drunk people want to go home. So that's about a 36 hour week that I aim for.

I'm often asked if anyone has vomited. Seriously - that's almost the most popular question. No, no-one has vomited in my car. I have had one close call, but she managed to get the door open before she spewed in the gutter on Bunda St. She has been my only one-star passenger since I started doing this. Pretty much everyone is super-cool.

No, I don't get politicians - they have their own drivers - but I certainly do get political and party staff. When parliament exists, I make several trips up the Hill each week.

The craziest ride I've had is a guy I picked up in Dickson and took to Giralang. He had white-guy dreads and a bottle of hooch in his hand that I was getting drunk from just by being in the same car. After laughing uproariously about the fact that I was wearing a shirt and tie, the first thing he said to me was "yeah, this morning I was up in the Brindies picking mushrooms and now I'm tripping balls!"

One time quite early on, I picked up a guy at about 12:30 on a Friday night (Saturday morning, I guess) from the Eastlake Football Club in Kingston, and when I started the trip and saw his destination, I asked "Are we really going out to Murrumbateman?" And he replied "yeah, we're really going out to Murrumbateman." It was about a 45 minute drive and cost the guy about $80. After dodging bunnies taking him out to his hobby-farm home I decided that I was going to close up shop for the night and had a lovely drive home.

I get to drive around Canberra - and Canberra is a great city to drive around in - work only the times when I want to, and meet some interesting and strange people.

So that's Uber. It's fun, and interesting, and it's been keeping my head above water. It hasn't, however, allowed me to build up my savings at all. Hence my new job.

I have a new job. It's with the Australian Bureau of Statistics. For the Census.

Yes, I know.

It's just data entry. I do have some problems with the way the Census has been handled this year, definitely. But at this point I need to be back in the workforce. It's always easier to get a job if you already have a job, and not very many people are interested in employing a 46-year old ex-IT guy who's been out of the regular workforce for a year. So I'm getting back in the workforce, starting the day after tomorrow. Timing could have been better, with the move and everything, but I'm not about to complain.

So that's where I am right now. I do want to have a small housewarming party when I'm moved - I'll keep you updated on that as circumstances warrant.

Introvert Moment

I had a major introvert moment earlier today.

I was sitting in the food court, eating food and reading an article on my phone, minding my own business, when a guy came up to me, said "Hey Andrew, what'cha doing?", sat down and started eating his hamburger at me.

Now, I did know this guy. He's from the LARP group. So it wasn't like he was a total stranger to me. But there he was, watching me eat, and smiling as though expecting me to make conversation.

In response to his question, I said "Eating," and continued eating and reading. When I had finished eating, I said "...and having et, moves on." Which is a riff off a line from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam ("The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on.") Then I got up and left without having finished my drink. I took my drink to another part of the mall, then sat down and drank it.

While there I had a minor panic attack. Nothing serious - but I had to stop and breathe for a while to calm myself. Let me explain.

My job right now consists in large part of being very nice to perfect strangers, repeatedly. On occasion I need to make conversation with them. A small minority of Uber passengers are good conversationalists - for example, one evening I had a lovely conversation with a guy about electric cars and how they are going to change society. I think my ability to carry on a conversation with someone on a wide range of subjects is one of my strengths as a driver. But whether they are interested in conversation or not, I have to be nice to them. This is an obligation of being in a service industry, especially one where explicit judgement is invited from the customers in the form of a five-star rating.

I don't particularly like to label myself. For example, I do not call myself a feminist or an LGBTI ally. I don't think it's my place to say those things about myself, especially since sometimes I see people using those labels in place of actually being a feminist or an LGBTI ally. I will behave according to my beliefs, and if members of the LGBTI community want to call me an ally, then I will happily accept that. But I won't merely declare myself an ally as an excuse for not acting like one.

Similarly, I don't like to call myself an introvert, even though of all the labels that could apply to me, this one applies most strongly. But I've found that when I call myself an introvert, some people use that to pigeonhole me - as though now that I've got that label, they know how they can treat me. They put me in the little "Introvert" box with all the other introverts. This box comes with a set of assumptions and instructions that have been downloaded from the internet on how to behave around people in the box.

But I, like all other introverts - like all other people - am an individual, and generic instructions sometimes don't work on me. I'd rather you deal with me as a person than as an introvert.

This fellow either did not realise how much of an introvert I was, or had no knowledge about how to deal with introverts. When he came down and sat with me, he upset my equilibrium. I was using my lunchtime to relax - to unwind a little before going back to work being friendly. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want to be talked to. I didn't want to be distracted from the article I was reading. In short, I didn't want to people. I was there specifically in order to not people for a while, even if only half an hour.

On top of that, I now worry that I came across as rude. Which is absolutely true - I was rude. If the fellow I was rude to happens to be reading this, I am sorry that I was rude to you. But I hope you can understand that to me, coming and sitting down uninvited while I'm eating lunch is itself rude. In this case it actually threw me off my stride for the rest of the day, and I had to finish up and come home earlier than I had intended to.

There are some people who have license to come and talk to me at any time, for any reason. Generally, I'm pretty sure that they know who they are - though there might be one or two people who don't yet realise that they're in this category. Most casual acquaintances are not.

So if you see me sitting on my own, and you're not one of those close friends, please don't impose yourself upon me. I find it very stressful to have that happen to me unexpectedly.

It's not my fault if you take offense at my words.

You asshole. You complete fucking moron. What? You're offended? That's not my fault, you fucktard. If you're so fucking sensitive like a little sensitive tiny baby that screams at everything because you're just so goddamn terrified of every little fucking thing, how is that my fault? You are the one who is choosing to be offended, you gobsnaggling dickpunch. I'm just being descriptive - you're the one who's interpreting it emotionally. How can you blame me for your tiny teeny snutmunching feelings, you quimster? They're your assbanging feelings, not mine. You're just too goddamn sensitive. You go out looking for things to be offended by like a cocksnogging snopwatcher. You put your tiny baby feelings on everything you read - how can that be my fault?

On A Lighter Note...

Here's a detailed description of one of the games I play on my iPad. I doubt this will be interesting to very many people.

It's The Sims Freeplay, and it's one of the few games I've been able to get deeply into without having to pay for anything. I miss out on a lot of the timed challenges because some of them just can't be completed in the time available unless you pay to get boosts, but none of them prevent you from continuing to play or spoil your enjoyment of the game. If you pay, you can get additional funky stuff and that's it. There is no pay-to-win.

I've been playing for about half a year or so now I think. I know a few of my Facebook friends have tried it, but none of them are still doing so - I can tell because their towns haven't grown in all that time. There are social tasks that you can do with friends, but I generally just ignore those.

Anyway, the idea is that you build up your town and stock it with little Sim people that I like to refer to as tamagotchis because you have to keep their needs met - hunger, toilet, sleep, cleanliness, social and fun. Each time they do something you get experience points and money, which you can use to buy stuff for their houses. You can also make Lifestyle Points and Social Points, which you can also spend to get other stuff.

Each sim can have a job and a hobby, and has to live in a house. They can date and get married to either sex and have children. Each sim can be one of several different ages - infant, toddler, preteen, teen, adult or senior. Currently I have no infants - I try to avoid having infants because they seem to have no way to fulfil their toilet need. Changing their diaper seems to only fulfil their cleanliness. I also have no toddlers, because I grew all of them up.

Anyway, it's a fun little distraction. When the town gets to the size I have (level 43), it takes about half an hour in the morning to get all the sims to work with filled needs. When all their needs are filled or mostly so, they are "inspired" and earn more XP and money for each thing they do. It's pretty easy to get them and keep them there, as long as you pay attention to them every day (which is why I refer to them as tamagotchis).

Anyway, here is my list of sims:

Emma and Joe Dighe: Emma was my first sim. This is my magic couple - yes, magic exists in the Sim universe. Emma works at the fire station and currently her hobby is broomstick flying. Joe is one of the mayors of Sim Town and be brews potions in his spare time. Emma previously was a spell caster, but gave that up to fly broomsticks instead. They have no children, but I'm thinking of giving them one so that there's someone to cast spells. They have a pet dragon, and one of the rooms in their house is decorated to be their magical studio.

James Snr, Jean and Nigel Holmes: James and Jean have had two children. One, Renee, grew up, got married and moved out of home. Their younger son Nigel has followed in her footsteps and become the town's teen idol. He and Emma Carter have been seeing a lot of each other. James breakdances and Jean puts kitten videos on the internet, although they both started out as salsa dancers. James is a firefighter and Jean is an athlete. They live in a two-storey house two doors up from Emma and Joe. The top floor has Nigel's instruments, while the lower floor has the kitchen and dance studio where James practices his breakdancing.

Ali and Ben Collins are currently this town's only two seniors. Ali spends a lot of time at the bingo hall while Ben is trying to find some birds to feed. As seniors, they do not have jobs and therefore don't earn money, but bingo pays off occasionally. They live across the river from the Holmses in a nice one-bedroom home.

Erin Tonkin lives alone, because she's a bit weird. She wears goth makeup and hunts ghosts, filling her two-storey house with haunted furniture. She used to be a talented cook, and she has a pool in her backyard that she never uses but still has to keep clean. Sometimes people come over to use her diving board. Her house is right in between the Dighes and the Holmses.

Warren and Amanda Tonkin: I think Warren is Erin's brother. The Tonkins live next door to the Collinses. Warren is a cook, while Amanda ice dances. She's a bit of a nerd though, and when she's not ice dancing she hangs around the house in a track suit and wears large round glasses. Warren works at the recording studio while Amanda is a scientist. They have a pet cat named Shuffles, who used to live with Emma and Joe.

Renee and James Holmes Jnr: Renee is James Snr and Jean's elder daughter, and the town's original teen idol. They live across the bridge on the island - the first family to have moved in there. Renee now works as an actor while James Jnr works at the recording studio. They started seeing each other as preteens, when Renee did karate and James did ballet at the community centre. They have a one-bedroom house on a large and currently bare lot.

Susan, Craig and Emma Carter: Susan and Craig are the parents of teenager Emma and live next door to the community centre. Emma has rainbow hair and dives at the swim centre when she's not at high school. Susan and Craig are both politicians. Susan mastered diving, but no longer practices, leaving that for her daughter instead, and Craig tries to cook. He's not very good at it though. All the Carter family wear pink for some reason.

Edward Clayton is a bit of a loser. He lives with his pet German shepherd Ford next door to the Carters in a small house with cheap furniture. He works as a real estate agent and spends all of his remaining time at the bowling alley, trying to get that one last strike.

Ali and Edward Kay are James Jnr's parents. Now that he's moved out of home though, they have only their greyhound Slowpoke to keep them company. Ali is a catwalk model who went into politics, while Edward is a real estate agent who does woodworking in his spare time. He has a woodworking studio behind a secret door disguised as a bookshelf. They have a small pool. James used to spend a lot of time in it, but he's gone now. Ali and Edward wear Tron costumes - Ali in blue, Edward in red and black.

Belinda and Carol Thompson are married and don't have any children. Belinda is an artist, and a fashion designer in her spare time. Carol works as a musician at the recording studio, but she often either serves or browses at the makeup studio in the mall, accompanied by Hayley Schofield. Belinda and Carol live in a one-bedroom house next door to the town vampire.

Daniel Finegan lives alone, but seems to be pretty well-off. His kitchen is decked out with an ice palace theme. he works at the lab as a scientist and cooks in his spare time. He isn't dating anybody, but he has lots of friends.

Pace and Ben Richards are married. Both work as actor/writer/directors at the movie studio. The two of them were largely responsible for cleaning up the romantic island retreat this past Valentine's day. Their kitchen has a science fiction theme. I'm not sure what the deal is with these themed kitchens. Ben cooks (poorly) and Pace dabbles in fishing, but not as often as he'd like.

Darren Schofield was kicked out of the house by his ex-wife Hayley and now lives in a cheap studio near the fire station. He is an athlete, and bowled with Edward Clayton for a little while before losing interest.

Hayley Schofield is Darren's ex-wife and still lives in the house she kicked him out of. She is a scientist, but in her spare time shares makeup booth duties with Carol Thompson at the mall. Darren is a bit jealous of the time Hayley spends with Carol.

Maciej Thomachot is the town vampire. He wears black clothes and pale makeup, and his tiny one-bedroom house is painted black inside and out, and has no windows. He has a coffin-shaped bathtub and red velvet lined couch and dining chair, which is positioned at the head of his octagonal dining table. He's a nice guy though - he works as a schoolteacher. I'm not sure how to pronounce his name, so I usually refer to him as "Macey".

Mary De Anda lives in a boxy little two-roomed house on a plot filled with trees and flowers. She is also a schoolteacher, but every other moment she spends bonding with her puppy, Bobby. She doesn't really socialise with anybody in town. She dislikes Maciej and absolutely hates her next-door neighbour.

Alfred Spicer is Mary's next-door neighbour. He lives in a Japanese mansion and just started a new career as a real estate agent. He used to spend a lot of time showjumping on the island with his horse Whinona Rider but the horses are neglected now. They say a unicorn has been spotted, but none has shown up. Unicorns are expensive.

One last thing. I tend to refer to my sim town as "Oniontown" because whenever anyone has any spare time, they grow onions in their garden. Growing things is a way to get more money, and onions seem to have the best cost/time/payoff ratio.

Not Junk Mail

So I've quit my job in the advertising industry. "But why?" I hear you ask. "Wasn't it just so exciting being part of such a great undertaking as delivering catalogues? Wasn't it so fulfilling, bringing joy - or at least catalogues - into the hearts of so many people? Wasn't it good exercise?"

Well that last bit I guess, yeah.

To be honest, I actually quite enjoyed walking around suburban streets. It was nice - pleasant, even. Especially when I changed my region to one that was more shady and less uphill. What wasn't nice was the four hours of folding and collating that I had to do beforehand. And lugging the bag about wasn't that great either.

Also, I had a bit of an ideological problem with the whole idea. It wasn't just the massive waste of paper, though that was a big part of it. I received many more catalogues than there were houses without "No Junk Mail" labels, and all of those had to be returned for disposal. No, it's the fact that advertising as an industry is on the way out - or at least, undergoing a massive change. I don't think manual delivery of catalogues to anyone who doesn't actively opt out is sustainable in the long term, and I think it's going to take quite a while for the advertising industry to realise that.

Anyway, they say you should never leave a job without another one being lined up. Well, I didn't do that when I lost my job early last year. I have also been singularly unsuccessful at finding another job - I was once knocked back for a job as a shelf packer at a supermarket, which did wonders for my confidence and self-esteem. But I have finally got myself into another job.

I am a driver partner with Uber. If you don't stop me I will refer to myself as an Uberista.

Even this has been quite a struggle. I decided to apply to be a driver late last year when an organisation called Splend offered to give me a car. Well, not give. Rent, really. They would take a certain amount of rental out of my Uber earnings and in return they would pay for all insurance and maintenance on the vehicle.

Then there was the police check which happened at an unfortunate time - the Christmas period meant that it took a few weeks longer than it otherwise would have. Then Splend told me that the only vehicles that they had available were fully electric Nissan Leafs, which are not practical for me for a number of reasons.

In the end I was able to actually buy a new car. Thanks Dad. No seriously, my dad gave me money for a new car. It's the first new new car I've ever owned. It's a 2016 Honda Jazz VTi-L, and it's really nice. Like, really nice. Like, leather seats and keyless entry nice. With this, I was able to activate my Uber driver profile. It took a few days, but it's done. I will start taking fares tomorrow morning, since tonight I had to finish the last of my catalogue deliveries.

I don't have to pay rent or pay off a loan, but on the other hand I do have to pay for all maintenance, registration and insurance, because it's my car. Also, I get to pro rata any expenses as a tax deduction, since I will be using it privately as well as for business.

No, I do not intend or expect to be doing this for the rest of my life. But I really do like driving (especially in this new car) and the idea of getting paid for driving appeals to me a lot. I am still studying, and with any luck that will net me a higher-paying job in a year or so.

But until then, Uber ON!

Junk Mail

Those of my many, many readers who are also actual personal friends of mine, or who follow me on Facebook, will know that I recently got a job in the advertising industry. I use ambulatory technology to ensure the delivery of high-quality marketing presentations direct to the consumer. In other words, I deliver junk mail.

It doesn't pay much, but at the moment every little bit helps. I see it as a way to get paid for doing exercise. A few things have come to my notice since I started doing it, and I'd like to talk about them for a moment.

The main thing I've noticed is that some people really don't like getting junk mail. I've noticed that there are several strategies that people employ to avoid getting junk mail, but there is one effective strategy that I will recommend to all my readers - those in the local area, anyway.

Get a "No Junk Mail" label for your letterbox. You can get one for under ten dollars at the hardware store.

Now, I'm not the only person who delivers junk mail in my area, but the contract that I operate under requires me to honour these labels. And it doesn't matter if you don't want to fork out the cash for one - you can just write it on in sharpie if you like, and I'll walk straight past your place without stopping. I'm required to - it's part of my contract. I don't know for certain, but the other person who delivers in my area also does not appear to put junk mail into boxes with a label, so it looks like it's pretty universal - in the areas that are covered by either company, at least. I can't speak for any other jurisdictions. For that reason what I say here probably isn't applicable in other countries. For my American readers - there are so many of them - all this is probably just a curiosity.

The simple "No Junk Mail" sign is the best, but there are other styles of label. Some say "Postmarked mail only", or "Australia Post Mail Only" or "No Circulars" and these are all fine. Quite a few people seem to have ones that say "No advertising material accepted", and I think that's hilarious. No, you don't get to say whether you will "accept" it, unless you happen to be out on the street during the time that I happen to be walking past your place. If I want to put advertising material in your letterbox, you are going to "accept" it. Of course, I won't, because these labels are just the same as the regular "No Junk Mail" labels and I am obliged by my contract to honour them.

Then there are the people who literally tape up their mailboxes. As in, cover the slot with duct tape. That's fine - my contract also states that if it's physically impossible for me to put junk mail into the mailbox, I am obliged not to. It seems a bit... I don't know... excessive, though. A bit over-the-top, if you will.

There's even one place on my run that not only has tape over the slot, but it has a BIG sign - much larger than any other label I've seen, that says "NO MAIL NO JUNK MAIL PHONE 13xxxx". Um, okay, sure. You don't want it, you don't have to get it, but I'm not sure what the phone number is there for. The fact that it's a 13 number indicates that it's something that extends over multiple regions. I don't know - is there an Organisation for No Mail somewhere that I don't know about? Some day I might phone that number just to see what it's all about. Do I phone it to find out the reason this person doesn't want mail? I don't care. You don't want it, I won't deliver it. Weird.

Some people just seem to leave the junk mail in their letterbox to rot. Granted, some of those people might have been on holidays for the last month and a half (holiday season and all), and haven't been home to collect it, but most of these places still have cars in the driveway. That's cool - clogging your letterbox with half-rotted old paper works as a technique for getting me to not put more in. But you might want to do something about that at some point.

So here's what putting a "No Junk Mail" sticker on your letterbox will do: It will cause me to walk straight past your place without giving you any junk mail. Here's what it won't do: Save the planet.

These catalogues are getting printed regardless of whether you want me to deliver one to you or not. One catalogue per house in the region, probably rounded up to the nearest hundred. If some houses don't receive a catalogue, those catalogues are left over and I return them to the distributor, who presumably recycles them. Do this because you don't want me to give you junk mail. Do something else to save the planet.

I understand and appreciate that some people don't want junk mail. I really do. And if you don't want junk mail, all you have to do is ask. A majority of labels that people have are super cool - "No Junk Mail - Thanks!" Some are a little passive-aggressive. A few seem a touch rude. If you don't want junk mail, just get one of those labels, display it prominently so that it's visible from the road, and you never have to worry about me delivering it to you.