Genius, Idiocy, Or Both?

I got an email the other day, and once I took it in, I loved it. Absolutely hilarious. I've reproduced it in full below. I've even left in the email address they cited for contact, in the hopes that ten zillion web-bots read this and spam them into despair. Probably won't happen, but it's nice to think so. The email:

SCAMMED VICTIM/US$1,000,000.00 BENEFICIARIES.REF/PAYMENTS CODE: 06654
$1,000,000.00.

ATTENTION SIR/MADAM,


CBN./UNITED NATIONS 2006 SCAM VICTIMS COMPENSATIONS PAYMENTS .

This is to bring to your notice that we are delegated from the United
Nations & Central Bank to pay 150 scam victims US$1,000,000.00 (ONE
MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS) each. You are listed and approved for
this payment as one of the scammed victims to be paid this amount, get
back to us as soon as possible for the immediate payments of your
US$1,000,000.00 compensations funds.

On this faithful recommendations, we want you to know that during the
last U.N. meetings held at Abuja-Nigeria, it was alarmed so much by the
world in the meetings on the lost of funds by various individuals to the
Nigerian scam artists operating in syndicates all over the world today.
In other to compensate victims, the U.N Body in conjunction with the
Nigerian Government is now paying 150 victims of these operations
US$1,000,000.00 each in accordance with the U.N. recommendations.

Due to the corrupt and inefficient Banking Systems in Nigeria, the
Payments are to be supervised by the 'United Nations' Officials and the
Central Bank of Kenya, as the corresponding paying bank is STANDARD
CHARTERED BANK. Nairobi branch - Kenya. According to the number of
applicants at hand, 114 Beneficiaries has been paid, half of the victims
are from the United States, and we still have more 36 left to be paid
the compensations of US$1,000,000.00 each.

Your particulars was mentioned by one of the Syndicates who was arrested
as one of their victims of the operations, You are hereby warned not to
communicate or duplicate this message to him For any reason what so ever
as the U.S. secret service is already on trace of the other criminals.
So keep it secret till they are all apprehended. Other victims who have
not been contacted can submit their application as well for scrutiny and
possible consideration. If you have already been notified of this
payment programme previously, do proceed with your claim as required.

As directed by the Global Settlement Committee, You can receive your
compensations payments via any of this payment Options you may choose:
(A.)CERTIFIED CHEQUE (B.)ATM CARD PAYMENTS (C.) WIRE TRANSFERS. We
shall feed you with further modalities as soon as we hear from you.

NB: To proceed with your claim, write/email the secretary to forward
your payment file to required department for your immediate payment on
below email:

ATTN: Ms. Melissa A. Pascal
Mellisa00pascal@gmail.com
Mellisa33pascal@gmail.com


On behalf of the board,
Mrs. Rosemary Bandu.
SCAMMED VICTIM/ REF / PAYMENTS CODE: 06654 US$1,000,000.00

On behalf of the board,
Mrs. Rosemary Bandu.
SCAMMED VICTIM/ REF / PAYMENTS CODE: 06654 US$1,000,000.00

___________________________________________________________________

Now, there are a whole bunch of reasons to like this email. First, I absolutely love the fact that they're trying to get a second bite of the cherry. (This is, of course, yet another Nigerian Email scam. A 419, I believe they're called.) Clearly, they've reasoned that people who were stoopid enough to buy into the original scam will now be incredibly pissed off -- but no less stupid. In fact, the combination of stupid + angry in the world outside the 'Net generally adds up to 'much more stupid than before', so frankly, they're probably onto something with this. Which is just hilarious.

I also love the fact that they've managed to find someone who can actually (mostly) handle the English language, and put capital letters in the appropriate places. Sorta. Every now and again you get a sentence that kinda boggles you a little -- the line about 'feed you with further modalities' makes it sound like the writer already ate too many modalities and is about to regurgitate a dictionary, for example.

The final reason I like this email? Well, it strikes me that if they're now deliberately re-targeting previous idiots, then perhaps the 419 business has been slowing down lately. Maybe enough people have finally heard that mis-spelled emails from Africa promising you a fortune in exchange for a few banking details and maybe just a little money of your own aren't actually a private goldmine. Who knows? Cull the flock long enough, and maybe it does get smarter. We'll see, eh?

...and in other news: the Mau-Mau didn't want to get up this morning. She made her Saddest Face In The World, and told me that she hurt all over, and pointed to many different places on her body by way of illustration. Including her elbows. Then she lay back down.

When Natalie came downstairs, I suggested she should give the kid the medical once-over. Unfortunately, the arrival of Mum in the Mau-Mau's bedroom provoked much undesirable excitement, and Natalie shouted for a bowl. Being well versed in this routine, I seized a large salad bowl and made it into the bedroom in time to keep 'most everything except the top sheet from being covered in very stinky vomit.

So. The Mau-Mau is at home today, on the couch, extremely subdued. The vomit contained pretty much everything she ate last night, undigested -- and horribly reeking -- so there is something astray. And I am thus confined likewise to the house, as nurse.

Oh, goody.

Doughnuts

I indulged myself in a bit of a rant a while back; a rant which is likely to turn up in somebody else's blog sooner or later seeing as how I was asked to do it by the delightful and terrifyingly talented Mme Slatter. In said rant, I expounded upon the qualities of the true yeast doughnut, and I spoke disparagingly of the crapulous, battery junk pushed on us in the name of 'doughnut' by a horde of vile purveyors of toxic waste disguised as fast 'food'.

Indeed. And I note with a certain sense of satisfaction that one such purveyor of 'doughnuts' is in deep financial doo-doo here in Australia, which suggests to me that the humble Aussie doughnut-sucker knows a thing or two about dough.

Maybe. Or maybe they just can't eat the damned things fast enough to keep the company in question afloat, seeing as how it originated in the deep south of the US where the doughnut is regarded as one of the essential food groups.

Not that it matters. Because today is Friday, and on Fridays it's me and the Mau-mau, pretty much all day. She stuck out the morning shopping run like a champ. She dealt with the pump-operating part of the day very nicely, even though she knew there might be leeches. (I got leeched down by the spring just last week...) She did her piano practice, and raced the dog up and down the spring-green paddocks for a while. Then she enjoyed her lunch, and took in a Godzilla movie, and finally, I agreed we would cook something together.

She likes her some cooking, does the Mau-mau. 'Specially if it happens to be some sort of sweet.

The end results are visible in the photo above, and I assure you: those are genuine, finest-kind, home-made yeast doughnuts. Twice-risen, hand cut, then fried in peanut oil, and lightly glazed with a mix of milk and icing sugar flavoured with vanilla and cinnamon.

The sprinkles were the Mau-mau's idea. I couldn't convince her to leave 'em off.

Never mind: still the best goddam doughnuts I've had in a looo-ooong time.

Mr Flinthart makes doughnuts as follows:

Ingredients -

1 tb Dry yeast

1/2 c Lukewarm water

1 tsp Sugar

1 lge Egg

1/3 c Sugar

1/2 ts Salt

1/2 c Milk

3 tb butter

3 1/2 c plain flour

Vegetable oil

Preparation

Put your warmish water in a bowl with the yeast and that first teaspoon of sugar. I used brown sugar. I don't suppose it matters. Whisk the mixture and set it aside until it goes all foamy. That tells you the yeast is ready to rock and roll.

Put the milk and butter together in a small saucepan over a low heat, stirring until the butter melts into the milk. Don't boil it. Just melt the butter, and then put the saucepan aside. You want the milk to be no more than pleasant warm to your finger.

Break your egg into a big mixing bowl with your 1/3 cup of sugar, and that sprinkling of salt. Beat the crap out of it with an electric mixer until it's light and thick and fluffy. Now you can beat in the foamy yeasty stuff and the lukewarm milk-and-butter mix.

Put your electro-mixer away and get yourself a wooden spoon. Start gradually beating your flour into the liquid until it becomes a batter too thick for comfortable spoonage. Scrape the spoon into the batter. Put the cleaned spoon in the sink. Get some butter on your hands and prepare to get messy. You have to work the last of that flour in until you have a nice, soft, dough that you will knead for the next five minutes, until it becomes smooth and springy. Now stick the doughball into a buttered bowl. Cover it in plastic, stick it in a warm place, and leave it alone until it doubles in size. (About an hour. Maybe an hour-and-a-half.)

Now: spread out some baking paper. Punch down the dough, and roll it out to a bit less than 1cm in thickness. With an egg-ring (buttered!) cut rounds out of the dough. To cut the centres, you will have to improvise. Or just poke a hole with your finger and stretch your doughnut to shape.

Take all the scraps, reroll'em, and cut out more doughnuts. Keep going until you've got about twenty or so. Take the remaining scraps, and roll 'em into a long snaky tuby thing about 2cm thick. With greased scissors, cut the tube into 2cm lengths. Put all your doughnuts and your doughblobs aside on baking paper to rise for the next hour or so - or until they roughly double in size again.

Get a decent saucepan. Put about 8-10cm of clean vegetable oil in it. Make it hot. Very hot. Grab one of your little dough-blobs and put it in the oil. When it starts to bubble and float, the oil is hot enough. Start frying your doughnuts.

When you drop 'em in the oil, they'll bubble, and rapidly float. Fry them in batches of three (more of the bloblets, obviously!) Turn them once as needed, so both sides go that wonderful golden brown colour. Drain them on paper towels or butcher's paper or newspaper or whatever you like.

While they're cooling, mix a tablespoon of cinnamon powder with a cup and a half of castor sugar, in a sturdy plastic bag. Once the doughnuts are cool enough to handle (but still warm, dammit!) put three or four at a time in your bag, and shake like hell, thus giving your doughnuts the perfect sweet, crunchy-cinnamon coating.

(Or you can just glaze the damned things and cover 'em with sprinkles if you're cooking with your bolshy five-year-old daughter who loves sprinkles as though they are the very Fountain of Youth and Life...)

Gnerrrghhh!

So I promised a short story to an anthology a while back. Deadline end October. And I had a lovely idea.

Except it was a complex idea, with about three different themes resonating through it. And really, it coulda, shoulda probably been a novella. So getting it pared back to short story form was a real bastard of a job. A screaming bastard.

By the weekend, I had it mostly in shape, at least in my head. All I wanted to do was write, and get it done. But we had rain, didn't we? Fuckbuckets of rain.

That wouldn't have been so bad, except Natalie was on call for Saturday, and theoretically, not so much on call for Sunday. Which meant she was cranky on Saturday. And then on Sunday, when it really pissed down, she was even crankier because the kids were trapped indoors, and she is totally not adapted to the way the kids fight with each other.

It's a nightmare, really. When the kids start fighting, I just break 'em up and send 'em off with a few sharp words. But Natalie wants them to negotiate, and speak nicely, and so forth... and so she winds up deep in a four-way brawl, with the kids bitching at each other, and herself getting snakier by the moment.

It's not good.

Normally, when that sort of shit starts to rain down, I excuse myself from the study, go out, and quietly redirect some energies. Maybe take the crankiest kid off to the garden. Maybe haul out some forgotten toys. Maybe grab a couple kids and get the shopping done. I do it quietly, and it wasn't until the weekend that I realised: they don't know that I'm doing it.

I realised that because when I STOPPED doing it because I ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY HAD TO WRITE, I put up with most of a day of some of the stupidest, most petty infighting I've listened to in a long time.

It is very, very hard to write anything good with that kind of crap going on just outside your study door. I was up until three in the morning making that thing come together.

Erf.

Monday was a lot better. We didn't do much, but the sun was out, and I had the story away, and we went into Launceston for the evening and ate at the new Korean Barbecue place. It's just a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant on Elizabeth St, but the food (it turns out) is inexpensive, and delicious, and according to a Korean friend of mine, not too far off what it's supposed to be. (Though the Kim Chi wasn't as spicy-hot as I'd hoped. Not that I've ever had Kim Chi before.)

Tuesday's dinner was good, too. Friend of mine dropped off a big, fat, wild-caught trout, and I baked it over the charcoal gorilla, with lashings of ginger, salt, pepper, lemon and curry-leaf. Woo-hoooo! Mind you, my mashed potatoes were too gooey. I had a brainwave, and made 'em with chicken stock and a little cream in place of the usual milk/butter/whatever. They were totally frakking delicious... but too damned runny. I used too much stock by accident. Ick.

And today? Today I got the job of being Natalie's tech guy for telephony. Which meant I had to go into Launceston with her, and with Younger Son and the Mau-Mau, and while Natalie and the Younger Son went to his first double bass lesson (did I mention Younger Son has now aced his first two violin exams? He did. Really well. But he doesn't enjoy the violin, and we promised him that if he took his music seriously, we'd look into finding an instrument he really enjoyed. So now he has a 1/8th size double bass. Which he loves to death.) I had to negotiate through the minefield of phone plans and smartphonery and so forth.

Natalie now owns an i-phone. Well, phine, that's her problem not mine. I'm sure it's a lovely, shiny toy. And it only took me an hour to set up an appropriate plan, and carve a path through the bureaucratic Telstra bullshit. And now that we're pulling out the old ISDN system (which we don't use any more), what with Natalie's shiny new phone plan and shiny new phone, we're actually... umm... ten dollars a month better off. And she now gets four hundred dollars of calls plus 500mb of data on her new phone every month. Locked in for two years, yeah, but since she was running on the $20 per month plan for the last five years on her old phone, I doubt she'll be too upset.

Of course, now that she's home with it, the fun has started. She's been trying to synch it with i-tunes and her i-pod since... ummm about 1800. It's now 2100. She's just done over a year's worth of updates to the i-tunes software, and finally reinstalled all the drivers for the i-phone, and I think she may actually be coming to the light at the end of the tunnel.

Of course, what would I know? I just use a shoddy cheap-ass MP3 player, a little old Nokia flip-phone... and I organise my own digital music. I'm just a primitive, I guess. But then, my computer is still working, isn't it? Whereas Natalie's had all but locked up under the strain of all the updates. I had to give it the old three-finger salute, dive into task manager and strip out a couple dozen minor functions and stupidities that were eating into memory, etc.

She will keep using Vista, though.

Who Was That Masked Man?

“Ugh,” he groaned. “What happened?”

“Take it easy,” she replied, staring intently into his eyes.. “You’ve been dead. High-speed crash.”

“Dead!” His mouth worked, but no words came.

She stroked his forehead. “You’re okay now. A guerilla medic found you in time. One of the last holdouts from the Gene Wars. He rescued your neurochip and grew you a new body. He had all this military-grade medware in the back of his hover. It -- actually, it tool less than fifteen minutes. It was amazing!”

He sat up carefully, exploring his body with his soft, pink hands. “Unbelievable. And he didn’t even stay around so I could thank him?”

“That’s not his style,” she said, and opened her hand, showing him a silver hypodermic needle.

His eyes widened. “You mean that was —”

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes to the heavens. “Thank God for the Clone Arranger.”

__________________________________________________________

(Wrote it years ago as part of a little in-house competition at the VISION writer's group. I just found it, lurking in my notes. It made me laugh, so I thought I'd post it here.)

Preview of the Opera - Work In Progress

Well. I've been hanging out to be able to show this one off. You bet.

This link here: Outcast Opera Bedlam Video take you to the YouTube version of the video that Outcast have made for purposes of engendering interest in the project. I'm listening to it right now... and I've got chills.

You'll note it incorporates a lot of dance. In general, Opera doesn't - but this one is different, because the people behind it are different. And frankly, I think the movement, costumes and choreography will add a wonderful extra dimension to the whole opera concept.

For what it's worth, the basic plotline is relatively simple. It's set in the infamous Bedlam asylum, circa 1815 or thereabouts, at the height of the very dodgy doings of Dr Thomas Monro -- the boss doc of the place. Somewhere deep in the heart of the asylum is a prisoner with a terrible secret: the mad queen mentioned in the clip.

I'm not sure how much I should divulge here. The clip says the queen is out of time, which is correct in more than one sense, I should say. It also says one will try to claim her, and one will try to save her. So we've got the classic triangle thing going on, naturally.

But of course, this is a Steampunk fantasy piece, so the men trying to claim her or save her are not exactly as they seem, and neither is she... and so, good readers, there will be anguish and bloodshed, plenty of tears, doomed heroism, Victorian science gone mad (and in a madhouse!) and all wrapped up with gorgeous dancers in even more gorgeous costumes plus the marvellous music of David Lazar.

I know. Most of you aren't opera people. Well, heck - who is? But actually being involved in the creation of a marvellous collaboration like this is just fantastic. Watching your ideas as they evolve through dozens of other artists... it's amazing. And then to see a piece like this, polished, beautiful, ready to go, and to hear one's own words floating ethereally on that elegant soprano, over the top of all that dark, lovely, dangerous-looking choreography -

- yeah. It makes up for a lot.

First Spam

Better weekend this time.

Last weekend was... challenging. Natalie set us up in a nice holiday place, to have a weekend away. Unfortunately, she wasn't exactly prepared for the kids' response. It was, by and large, okay -- we went to a really groovy little restaurant in Launceston, played mini golf, and veged out -- but the kids are kids, and they weren't always pollyanna positive, and they clashed with their mum.

That's always difficult. I tend to stay out of it as far as possible. But it got a little over the top this time, and I think all of us were thankful to get home.

This weekend - well, so far I've spent roughly six hours putting a new doorframe and a new door on the chicken coop. Then I set up the barbecue so I could char-grill two lovely free-range chooks, stuffed full of tarragon and mushroom and chorizo. And I've been throwing fresh bay leaves and branches onto the charcoal, creating clouds of amazingly fragrant smoke. This chicken is gonna be Da Bomb.

I can't say I really enjoy fragging around with chook-coop doors and fencing and stuff. But it's spring, and the weather is gorgeous, and Younger Son insisted on helping, so we had a really good time. And I'm gonna have a couple more beers, and then the barbecue chicken will be done, along with twice-cooked baby taters and fresh green salad.

Meanwhile: the photo above depicts the children's response to their very first tin of Spam. Yes, they have discovered Hormel's claim to fame.

It all started with Monty Python - as many things do. The kids laughed themselves sick at a DVD of some of Python's better efforts, including the infamous Singing Vikings - who sing about Spam, naturally. And so, they wanted to know what 'Spam' might be.

I did my best to explain, but I don't think they believed me. So this morning, when I went shopping, I got a tin of the stuff.

They weren't impressed. About fifteen minutes ago, they were outside in the afternoon sun with that floggin' great magnifying glass, trying to set fire to a spoonful of Spam...

...this can only end well, right?

Woo-hooooo!

Every year, just before the school year commences, I get the job of going down to the school, signing the kids in, collecting all the books, paying for everything in sight, and making sure we're all duly accoutred for another wonderful year of education. And every year, after I've gone through all the other tables with books on them and signed stuff, and agreed that my kids will be doing this, that or the other, I'm shepherded towards a table with a cheerful, hopeful chap who says something like:

"And are you going to sign the kids into C.R.E?"

And every year, I smile. And I say: "C.R.E? Does that stand for Comparitive Religious Education?"

And the cheerful, hopeful chap duly smiles back and says, with a note of surprise, "Why, no! It's Christian Religious Education."

And then I say something like "Oh, what a pity. I would dearly like the kids to be able to study a range of religious beliefs. Well, never mind. No, they won't be taking part this year, thanks."

Now, I would in fact be extremely happy if the kids got an introduction to the world's major religions, placed on an equal footing, as belief-systems to study. Religions have played a huge influence on the history and on the cultural development of the world, and it's valuable to learn the basics. Especially if you live in a world shared with many different cultures and religions, yes indeed. But that opportunity seems to be lost on the education system.

However, I'm very pleased to note that in NSW, at least, they're doing something progressive:

Labor to defy churches: ethics classes likely to start next year

I think this is brilliant. I'm very tired of hearing all about how atheism cannot possibly offer a moral or ethical basis for behaviour, and I'm delighted to see that finally, finally, someone has had the courage to follow through on this. Ethics and religious beliefs are not the same thing, nor ever have been. If this programme comes to Tasmania, I will be very happy indeed to finally change the tired dialogue at that last table.

"You'll be signing the kids up for C.R.E, right?"

"Is that still Christian Religious Education?"

"Uhhh... yes."

"In that case, no. My children are going to study ethics instead. But if you do decide to teach a comparitive course, please let me know."