A hot cup of snobbery

Have you ever thought about your taste in coffee? Probably not much, but consider now what kind of coffee you order and whether you can actually tell the difference between different shops, or indeed between the heavy handed descriptions of the rainforest the beans were loving ripped from? Even if you think you are in fact a Baristafficionadette (add it to your dictionary, judgemental bastard) and accept your caffeine habit confidently in good humour, I think it’s still possible to be surprised by how much a snooty culture can sink into your personality without you realising it.

I happened upon my snootier side after arriving in a new country, thinking that pretty much everything would be culturally the same in this modern world of ours. I was wrong. The whole place seemed to sell this brown stuff with pond scum on top that it was calling cappuccino. Prior to arriving I had heard rumours but I thought they were exaggerated. I thought, “This can’t be true” and laughed it off as the boring and snooty judgements of smarmy Australians who think too highly of themselves. Naturally though, my true colours would be revealed as I sipped my first British mud-bean-brew. I started to morph; my face was overcome by a ratty beard, my top button inexplicably did itself up with no tie to cover it, my pants became skinny and my perfect eyesight wanted framing. After I’d stopped wincing at that “coffee” in England I saw myself for what I truly was, the scum on top of that British cappuccino. I was a snooty arse wannabe hipster.

This was a shocking revelation to me. I had taken such care to avoid becoming such a lowly form of life and yet I had still failed horribly. How could this have happened, did I really have this little control over my life? This of course beggared another question. Am I still changing? As I write this down I’ll have had about my 8th daily cup of delicious tea on a saucer, so the answer is yes. For the weak minded, like myself, the world around you will influence you quickly, bend your mind, make you say “move along, move along.” This will happen without your knowledge whether you work for worthwhile experiences to change yourself by or not. So sitting around and thinking “I’ll never become a coffee snooting hipster!” while chugging back another latte out of a Toby jug on Lonsdale St will certainly not do anything toward that end.

Now I am a tea drinking coffee snob in a land without my now precious distilled rainforest injustice elixir. I shall soon be wearing a top hat and wonky teeth! I imagine that if I were to travel somewhere with decent coffee, like Italy for instance, It would go something like this;

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I actually drew this terrible cartoon on the back of an envelope, proving that I have no personality.

The truth of the matter is of course that if you worry much about how the things in and around your life are molding you as a person then you will miss out on actually experiencing your life. Everyone is molded by whatever experiences they have and worrying about it is just another fear standing in the way of your pursuing what you want in life.

Lol, I totally made you think this article had a serious side didn’t I. Well joke’s on you. I just write bad jokes. Why don’t you critique my lack of confidence over a macchiato.

-W

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A car wrecker’s yard is likely the closest you will come to space.

Car wrecking businesses in Australia are starting to feel the cold hand of bureaucratic oppression which is only the start of the fall from their lofty place in Romantic modern society. Cars really are the most futuristic and potent of all adventure tools. You can live within a mechanopod of comfort, fun and purpose when you are in a car. With societies’ love and even dependence on this fantasy come to life, that is the car, we can have swathes of people able to live nothing but these fantastical machines. Mechanics, panel beaters, fuel stations, parts shops and of course, car wreckers. The fact that you can make good money from all the parts of a machine that can’t otherwise be kept running viably is a throwback to when people cared about things. Hard working people maintained garden tools instead of swigging back another Mount-Franklin on your fifth daily smoko to whinge about how politicians are failing to uphold your ideals for environmental sustainability before going to Bunning’s to replace another bloody shovel. The car wrecker is that crazy old caricature who has a bunch of junk to sell to keep you moving at incredible speeds while sitting in comfort, safety, and technological wonder.

Walking into a wrecker’s yard is like walking in to a utopian retro-future. If you want to feel like you live in Star Wars the best thing you can do is drive a car to a wrecker’s yard and revel in the brief moment before the wrecker answers your query “My R2 unit has a bad motivator, and do you have a protocol droid which speaks Batching?” After all, cars are, for all intents and purposes, spaceships. Well it’s not that stupid; they move people around through spatial dimensions. That’s true. They might not be ships though. Call them spacecraft then, humour me. They have an engine bay, which is the car’s primary chemical reactor. It unleashes the power of controlled explosions to propel the craft at speeds hitherto undreamt of by snails and sloths. The battery is the secondary chemical reactor full of acid and shit, required for the ignition sequence for the primary reactor. It also powers the primary navigation beams and beacons, the headlights and blinkers. Windy windows control internal air pressure of the cabin in the craft where belts hold the passengers in place because of the incredible forces they are subject to (or maybe that’s just me). The things are packed full of future stuff, and they are also so readily available that any old star hustler can pick one up and go on an adventure to distant locations in the blink of a ten hour drive.

What do these machines run on you might ask? What mystical substance can produce such incredible power and unleash such blinding energy? Well that is a refined fluid millions of years old buried deep beneath the earth and formed from the remnants of incredible beasts and forests the likes of which astound and awe the imaginations of the mortals who unleash its improbable cosmic energy! Cars are better than you, face it. An ancient substance so valuable is mined from sandy wastelands to bring great riches to desert nations in order to propel the civilisations of the modern world, which wails out at any disruption to supply “The spice must flow!”

Now that we have the big picture in mind, back to the point. Car wrecking is undoubtedly the cheapest and most satisfying industry surrounding the automotive scene. This is because they are the ones who see the most value. They take the shitty bombs and even burnt out wrecks and turn them into value. They recycle, cannibalise and maintain, more than any other. This is why they are the best. They are the ones who spread the adventure of cars to the farthest reaches of society. A lowly slum lad, or desert farm boy, can get a bomb and keep it running, make it better and have more fun because the adventure is there for the taking, just as the wreckers took the cars no one wanted and saw their value. That said, I’m sure wreckers aren’t shitty philosophers, wasting time writing joke articles online, they aren’t snooty or anything, they are regular people living better than most people because their lives are full of wonder, or broken CV joints, whatever.

However, Australian society, especially NSW, is trying to stifle the populace’s will to live, and in so doing they have started already to wrap their masturbatory fingers around the freedom of our hero, the car wrecker. If you’ve been to one recently you’ll notice that there is white marker on every panel and pane of the heaped vehicles there. The RTA keeps tabs on every part, EVERY PART. So they can track down the stolen plans of their secret battle station, no doubt. I actually have no idea why, probably to give someone a job typing up serial numbers in the name of safety or something.

Reality sucks.

-W

‘✓Seen – just now’

Why? What genius (I SHOULD AT THIS POINT QUIETLY POINT OUT THAT THE WORD ‘GENIUS’ WAS USED FOR THE PURPOSES OF SARCASM) at Facebook thought this up? And not only that; there would’ve been a meeting at some point, with other Facebook executives, where someone presented this idea on a projector screen and everyone nodded in agreement – yes, this is a good idea, people will be really happy about it, it’ll make us millions. It boggles the mind.

Now, I’m afraid to read messages from anyone without that message passing a security screening via the notification on my phone first. If it demands a long reply, I don’t open it for days. If it doesn’t, I still don’t open it for a while, even if I’m doing nothing. Facebook actually trained me to not open messages. On the flipside, when I send someone else a message and they accidentally open it without replying within two minutes, I get saddened by the idea that they’re insensitive enough to leave it seen, and think they’re probably gossiping with my other friends about that sick party I wasn’t invited to. Basically, this function made me reply more slowly and feel more insecure.

At this point I’d usually try to rally you behind a solution but there isn’t one. Screw you, Facebook.

-Z