Non Disclosure

Currently the level of cock-up in my current contract has reduced as after four weeks certain people are starting to get the idea that they can’t just throw company money around any more without proper recording or authorisation. The folks who hired me are looking at their cashflow and marvelling at how many procedural holes it was leaking out of. They’d been relying on an old fashioned cheque book and Corporate credit card to pay the bills and always wondering why they were struggling to keep their fiscal heads above water. Now they know. All we have to do is tidy up the in-house documentation and that’s another contract done. Think I’ve broken the back of this job with under two weeks to go. Well done Bill. Providing my clients stick to the Inventory, Purchasing and Sales order procedures we’ve thrashed out and don’t slip back into the bad old ways, they’ll be fine. Why they didn’t do it that way from the off is a mystery. They had the accounting package, the computerisation, all the software licences set up, they just weren’t using them. Oh well, it all makes work for the working man to do. Another happy tick on the old CV and another non-disclosure clause. Which everyone signs, but so few pay attention to because we humans are such terrible gossips.

Regarding non disclosure agreements, as a follow on from a recent post I’ve been asking around my legal contacts about civil Non Disclosure Agreements, those tricksy little contract clauses forbidding a signatory to publicly or privately discuss matters they have been paid not to discuss with others. The consensus seems to be that such orders are no protection against a criminal court action. Only courts can issue what are effectively ‘gagging orders’ and those will only be effective within a specific court’s jurisdiction.

So say if you know your organisation is breaking the law and that criminal activity is reported to the relevant authorities, that non-disclosure clause in your contract can be worth less than used toilet paper. In the case of a criminal prosecution, individuals are not allowed to hide behind NDA’s if called as witnesses. Especially if someone is trying to cover up fraud, sexual assault or worse. Which means the civil penalties outlined in such agreements cannot be enforced in a court of law if they were designed to prevent witnesses and victims testifying. Not without a charge of perjury at any rate. This is my understanding of these matters, if it is flawed, then corrections (With citations) in the comments, please.

Now, onto the juicy stuff. The Weinstein scandal. Ooh yes matron. The dark and shady doings circling actress Rose McGowan’s possible testimony are interesting. A warrant was issued for her arrest because she left drug contaminated luggage, which may or may not have been McGowan’s own drugs, on a plane. Unfortunately for the prosecution, mere contamination means nothing. Bank notes contaminated with cocaine still circulate out of ATMs. Indeed, back in 2010, it was reported that most British Bank notes were so tainted. Which is a whole heap of nose candy in circulation if you ask me. According to Wikipedia, most bank notes are contaminated and such false positives have even led to unfair dismissal of employees following drug tests. So the contamination of items left on a plane is meaningless and won’t hold up in a reasonable court. For a possession charge to stick, more than just trace amounts have to be found and the chain of possession confirmed. Besides, in the current climate, there’s a reasonable suspicion of evidence tampering.

As for potential paedophile scandal star witness Corey Feldman’s marijuana charge, that wasn’t him, that was his crew. He just paid the fines. Which is average for any rock band on the road.
Storm meet teacup. Whether he can name the names and out his erstwhile abusers is another thing. That has yet to come into the open. Although it is public knowledge that Hollywood has been manipulating their pet media for over half a century and then some. Just watch the documentary below about just one of the notoriously Gay film stars of the 1920’s and 30’s. You heard that. Public Homosexuality in the 1920’s and 30’s? – abso-freaking-lutely.

1930’s scandals aside; the problem with all these scandals and allegations is summed up in one word; evidence. The courts can get very picky about that. Verifiable proof is required. Unless you’re hauled before the laughably titled Canadian Human Rights Tribunal. Kangaroo Court of the Star Chamber more like. It’s no good just naming names, or going into “He said vs She said” territory, credible witnesses must be produced. Victims identified. Verifiable evidence confirmed. The chain of evidence has to be close to watertight or there’s no real hope of conviction. However, reputation damage is another thing.

Because Hollywood, as Kevin Spacey has recently found out, is a place where reputation is all. Reputation gets an actor their part in a movie, confidence from investors and Distributors funds Production companies, who fund movies. Tens of Millions can rest on a single word. Now that reputation lies in tatters. It was already under pressure after multiple box office flops, but now the money, the life blood for all creative endeavour is leaving. You might say that parts of Hollywood are bleeding out after being shot by moral outrage. And there lies the opportunity for more savvy small production companies to persuade distributors to fund and allow their creative products access to the wider US markets. Fresh new blood is needed to save Hollywood. New ideas backed by non politically strangled dialogue. Not the same shit different day. That and time to heal. Simply trying to paper over the gaping wounds with NDA’s won’t cut it.

On the other hand, the current feminist litany of complaint about ‘too many men’ either as actors, producers and writers has one major flaw; the market. Women can act, produce and write as well as any man, there is no question about that. Whether they can sell a heavily pro-feminist end product, or even if a mass market for such a product exists, is another question entirely. Wonder Woman worked, but only because of the strong female lead, long-established character and story. Which is interesting, as the comic books the character was culled from were written by a man, Dr. William Moulton Marston with an all male scriptwriting team on the movie. Hmm.

Yet women writers get rich from various projects. Margaret Mitchell wrote ‘Gone with the wind’. Harper Lee wrote ‘To kill a mockingbird’. J K Rowling isn’t exactly impecunious from the Harry Potter movies and associated merchandising to name but three. And there have been many others. Yet still the endless “It’s not fair we’re being repressed by horrible white men and their patriarchy!” Whining. Yet there are many successful female agents and one particular casting Director who works (Her name has slipped my mind for the moment) for Jerry Bruckheimer and gets credited in many major movies and TV series (Including Star Trek, the next Generation) from the last two decades. Don’t take my word for it. Watch the credits after a movie and look for specifically female names. There are more than you’d think, and they’ve all earned their stripes. Same as all the men.

This is because everything Hollywood puts out is driven by the market. Because if people like an idea they will go to see it, pay for their theatre tickets, buy the DVD’s and the movie or TV show will make lots of money, then the Producers and Distributors will be looking to fund another to make even more money. If an idea isn’t popular, then it will graunch and the likelihood is that particular writer or team will not make any more, regardless of sex. Simply because no one likes losing money. There’s no patriarchy involved. Just dollars.

The truth is that a big movie project takes years of concerted effort, even for established Writers, Directors and Producers. A hit is a hit is a hit, and it doesn’t matter if you’re whatever race or religion, male, female or one of the thirty or so recently invented ‘genders’ – if the idea isn’t a ‘sell’ the likelihood is that you won’t be asked to make another. Or even get in on the ground floor. If there’s a ground floor left when all the Weinsteins etc have finished coming home to roost.

Anyway, for me that’s rather academic. My path to the fabled land of Oz lies wide open. Australian dollars obtained. Ferry booked. Airport parking booked and paid for. Maple Leaf lounge (The VIP bit at YVR) booked and paid for. Tickets, visa’s and passports. Flights sorted. Hotels and cars all good to go. Friends and relatives eagerly awaiting our arrival. Christmas presents packed along with my best silk shirts and other lightweight clothes for those sultry climes. All we have to do is make sure the house is properly cleaned and shut down for our return in January.

Not much else for me to do but practice saying “G’day.”

Update: Sorry about the cookery video instead of the documentary I mentioned. Situation remedied. No idea how that one happened.

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Off the grid

Presently not posting as much because of work. One particular job has turned into a serious mission because before my hiring other people had gotten really sloppy. So at present it’s down to your working fingers to fix all their cock-ups and fit in some practical workarounds. Working wonders and shitting miracles to meet deadlines which heretofore have gone whooshing by like they were summer breezes. A lot of expostulations are being wrung from my lips like: “Oh, FFS!” or “Seriously!” as I dig through the layers of half baked buggeration, trying to clear their Augean Stables. Fortunately I do not have to do this the hard way like Hercules as I have the equivalent of a Bobcat mini excavator. Still takes up my evening time so I’m effectively working over twelve hour days. Which should give my sole remaining reader an idea of my work environment. This situation will continue until the contract ends in two weeks and I step out of the office and onto a plane. Or at least until I wrassle this hyar ‘Gator back down to a manageable place in it’s particular swamp. Oh what the hell, the money’s not bad.

So what has happened out in the big wide world while I’ve been busy? This whole transgender thingy looks like degenerating onto wholesale institutionalised child abuse. Especially if you live within the remit of the Victorian Department of Work and Education in Australia. Apparently one particularly poisonous piece has been written in policy since September 2017. Effectively giving the ‘Educators’ guidance that in the event of a minor (under 18) stating that they’re a bit fuzzy about what sex they should be and their parent(s) disagree, the Department will intervene and institute procedures which will lead to the prolonged torture of Gender reassignment surgery against the parents express wishes. Here’s the money quote from their ‘Diversity’ policy section on ‘parental guidelines’.

There may be circumstances in which students wish or need to undertake gender transition without the consent of their parent/s (or carer/s), and/or without consulting medical practitioners.

God help the families who fall into this trap. Bureaucrats can whisk their kid away and put and under age child through a life changing medical procedure? As a parent I could fully understand if some local authority busybodies did that to someone’s child and the affronted parent subsequently hunted the Bureaucrats down and cut them to dogmeat. If such a case came to trial and I was on the jury I’d insist on a verdict of Justifiable homicide or not guilty. Mutilation (Which is what gender reassignment surgery really is) of under age children as a matter of public policy? That’s insane. Wait until the afflicted hit that age of majority and are legally capable of making such a decision. Then do it on their own dime if they really, really want to. Not taxpayer dollar. Why? Because it’s an elective ‘treatment’.

Such a policy is misguided also because if these children come back a few years later, deciding that their surgery was a mistake, the resulting lawsuits will fall on the public purse. And who pays for these cock-ups? The taxpayer. This is why it’s a bad idea to make these things public policy. Even real TG’s and TV’s think it’s stupid because they simply want what we all want. To be left alone to get on with their own lives. Which should be an engraved in solid bedrock human right. To be left in peace so long as they do no physical harm to others and to have no physical harm done to them.

As I’m finding out unravelling the mess of my current contract, part of which is rewriting committee written procedures (No! OMG! NO!) so they actually make sense and trying not to shout at fluff-brained time wasters in video meetings. Especially about their arbitrary decision not to have a system of purchase orders to track their invoicing (WTF!). It’s a lot to get through in two weeks. But I will finish because my tickets are booked and I’m getting on that flight no matter what. At close of play a week on Friday my computer goes off, my cell phone goes off and I’m winging my way to the fabled land of Oz where I may find amusements to take my mind off the stupidity of the world.

I may be off the grid for a while, I may find time to post something. Who knows?

TTFN

On matters of diet

Regarding comments on the Low Carbohydrate way of life Mrs S and I have recently adopted, I’ve heard about Doctors and Dieticians warning about the risks of dire consequences when ditching most of the starch and sugars we urban humans routinely stuff down our necks and call ‘food’. The general consensus from some expert panels is that we need to ditch fats and proteins for a more carbohydrate based diet. Well, yes, maybe, and then again a resounding ‘no’. Because we’re all different. We grow up with differing tolerances and our digestive systems adapt to whatever foodstuffs are available although even this is not a hard and fast rule.

Now the battle of our respective bulges is seeing real results. Over the last three weeks my belt has come in a couple of notches and I’m feeling much lighter on my feet. Mrs S reports a similar improvement. One of the other improvements is the disappearance of bits of dry skin which no ointment has had any previous effect on. So dropping ‘taters, sugar and starchy stuff seems to have been beneficial. At least as far as we’re concerned. Mrs S’s Cholesterol has dropped well into the ‘normal’ range and her last blood pressure test is well within the ‘normal’ range of 110/70 and 130/80. So all the prognostications of doom for giving up starch and sugar seem to be ill-founded. Indeed, the complete opposite seems to be the case. Could all these dietitians and sciencey (Or at least the ‘educators’) pundits have it bass ackwards? Well, the rising rates of obesity and 30.6% increase in Diabetes II over the last few years would seem to indicate that they have. Despite a plethora of ‘Health’ advice and associated legislation.

A quick over the shoulder glance at our forbears and their way of life would indicate that, well, they didn’t eat much sugar. Not that there weren’t other risk factors in pre modern times, like being run over by a speeding Mammoth on the Stonehenge to Avebury bypass, but at least they were only plagued by things like, well, plague. That and the occasional peckish Sabre toothed tiger. The only real sweetener available to them was honey. Which is still packed with sugars, so we can’t have any of that for our modern Paleo / Keto / Atkins (Whatever, it’s all very similar) type diet to be effective.

A quick word about Gout and similar at this point. Yes it is a risk if you have impaired liver or kidney function, or simply don’t drink enough fluid. But since Mrs S and I drink plenty, it’s not a problem. The possible Vitamin C deficiency we get around by eating stir fried vegetables like broccoli, cauliflower, Bok choy and cabbage. We’ve also taken to knocking back the occasional sugar free vitamin C tab, so that’s us covered. Mrs S also kicks off the day with a fruit smoothie every morning (No banana), so she’s bouncing with health ans at no risk of scurvy. I get some of my vitamin C intake from a little grilled or fried liver, so we’re both pretty much covered on that score.

My sauces now tend to be sour cream based (Although I’ve just found a local supplier of Creme Fraiche! Yay!) and warmed through rather than boiled to buggery reductions. I’ve even managed to make a few casseroles with nice thick meaty sauces without any flour based roux. I’ll write up the method when work doesn’t take precedence although I have one piece of advice for the interim; do not, under any circumstances use Psyllium husk (Metamucil) as a thickening agent. Unless of course you like comedy food that looks like it was developed for a cheap Dr Who slime special effect. In which case, knock yourself out.

Not your average French Fry

One of the things I’ve been trying to do of late is reduce the amount of carbohydrates (And therefore calories) in our diet whilst retaining variety and taste. To this end, while burrowing around the Internet I found out about the uses of Celeriac or Celery root. At simplest it turns out that you can fry Celeriac like potatoes to make a slightly nutty tasting form of French fry or chips.

Now to look at, Celeriac looks like something dreamed up by a Dr Who scriptwriter with all it’s gnarly tight packed roots and rough skin. You could even be forgiven for thinking it’s some strange sessile alien creature awaiting it’s chance to leap out of the vegetable bin and burrow it’s way into what remains of an unsuspecting cooks brain. But this is not so. This sci-fi looking root vegetable has a firm texture like turnip, without the risk of horror filled school dinner flashbacks caused by mashed Swede or ‘Rutabaga’.

If asked to describe the taste, I’d say it was a mild form of Parsnip with a hint of hazelnut and Crimini mushroom. Actually quite pleasant when you get past the first shock of the unfamiliar, yet definitely superior in flavour and texture to the mouth cloying fries most Canadians are offered in ‘Casual’ dining outlets. There’s no starchiness, and definitely none of that horrible floury aftertaste so many commercially produced French fries leave in the mouth.

Right: Onto the method. Not much to it. Peel Celeriac root and carve off extraneous alien looking tendrils with a knife. Do use a sharp knife unless your vegetable peeling tool is really robust, remembering not to carve off your delicate little pinkies. I refer you to rule 1 of peeling and cutting. Fingers behind the blade edge children. Either that or invest in Bandaid futures.

Once peeled, cut into 12-15mm (About 3/8ths to 1/2 of an inch seems to be optimal) square sections for traditional English style. Put a pint of cooking oil into your oldest and deepest sacrificial saucepan or no more than a third full and put over a medium high heat. Why only a third? It’s very simple, filling less than half your cooking vessel will spare you kitchen fires if you’re called away for five minutes to tell someone on the Interweb that they are categorically in the wrong and you just have to tell them so.

Once your oil goes on the heat, in another pan, boil some salted water and dump your cut Celeriac pieces in. Take off heat immediately you’ve brought them back to the boil and leave for five minutes. Drain Celeriac chip shapes and pat them dry using paper or cloth towels. Check oil temperature periodically by chucking in a tiny piece of Celeriac. If it foams and sizzles immediately, your oil is hot enough for deep frying. If not, patience. All good things come to those who prepare carefully.

When first piece foams and froths in the hot oil, put in as many pieces of cut Celeriac as will fit in one layer floating in the oil and fry for five minutes. Then using a slotted spoon or similar haul them out onto paper towels or into a sieve and wait two minutes for the oil to reheat. Now chuck in the next batch. Follow the same procedure. Let the oil get back up to temperature then put in the first batch again until most frothing and foaming has subsided and the fries are a light browny gold. If you aren’t sure, nick a chip out of the hot oil (Not with your fingers, dimwit!), drain it, dry it off, and when cool enough to eat, taste for desired texture.

At this point it might be a good idea to heat up a serving dish, dry thoroughly and line with paper towels. As each batch of fries becomes ready, drain and decant into this lined bowl or dish to keep them drained and warm. When all batches of fries are done and in the bowl, switch off the stove and serve with Mayonnaise. Or Ketchup. Or Brown Sauce, in fact whatever you want as a dip. Be adventurous. Cook naked if you want (But this blog advises a decent cooks apron, because even a small spot of hot oil on your important little places can really put a painful crimp in the whole experience).

Now serve. Remember, this is a very adult taste, and those under 25 should not bother unless they are as sophisticated as wot you obviously are.

Talking of adventure and I haven’t done this yet, but it’s next on the list; try oven cooking these chips. Instead of deep frying them, after boiling and drying off, roll the cut pieces of Celeriac in a little olive (or any other cooking) oil, dust with dry seasoning of choice, be it salt, salt and pepper, garlic powder, a light sprinkling of curry powder or Chinese five spice, or even a hint (And I do mean only a hint) of Cayenne pepper. Whatever you fancy, but it has to be dry. Then bake, just like you would Oven chips at 220°C/ 425°F for around 30-35 minutes depending on your oven.

Oh yes, a word of warning about Cayenne pepper. Wash hands immediately after handling, just in case you feel the need to rub your eyes. Trust me, you do not want Cayenne in your eyes. Not unless you’re into heavily swollen eyelids and not being able to see properly for a few hours. Cayenne has the same effect as Pepper spray. It stings. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Awww…

Great news. My Tomato plants have started flowering. Awwww… innit pretty.

However, does this mean I’ll have to get the cotton buds out to do some assisted insemination? Just to get some baby Tomatoes to develop?

Oh goodness. Will I personally have to deflower my delicate ickle blossoms? Mmm-hmm. Kinky.

Damn! That’s SEXIST!

But somehow intriguing.

Back to the future

Well, we’re all set for our first odyssey to the fabled land of Oz, where according to some men who work, Where beers flow and men chunder. Flights are booked and paid for, visitor visa’s obtained, hotels booked and confirmed and cars hired. Eldest is taking care of SIM cards for our cell phones, so we’ll be in full comms less than two hours after clearing immigration and customs. So short of some unforeseen disaster or a direct nuclear strike we’ll be down under over Christmas and the New Year. In the case of cancellation we’re insured three ways to breakfast, so any financial losses by cancellation or delay will be minimised. Sometimes all you can do is try to stack the odds in your favour and let the cards fall as they may.

On the topic of cell phones, I sometimes look at all these handy little things that have so many Darwin Award contestants wandering across the road without looking, or getting killed driving while texting and wonder why they’re so fixated. What is it that’s so important they’re willing to court an untimely demise? It’s worth noting that some 16,000 of cell phone related road deaths were recorded in the USA alone between 2001 & 09 (I think – studies differ). In the UK drivers distracted by cell phone (Calls and texting) overtook the kill rate of all other forms of road death back in 2014. Allegedly (It was in the Daily Express). But even if it’s not completely true, that’s a hell of a lot of dead bodies just because dimwits can’t focus on what they should be doing. Specifically, keep their eyes on where the hell they’re going. If it was down to me, I’d set up a law that says if you were using a mobile phone at the time of a fatality causing crash, that should automatically upgrade to a manslaughter charge. But that’s just me. I’ve almost been run off the road many times because some tit behind the wheel simply can’t leave the phone alone. So colour me prejudiced. I don’t want my death certificate to read ‘Death by social media’.

Aslant to that topic, recently I’ve been suffering a bout of nostalgia for my old UK mobile, which even fifteen years after I bought it still does sterling service. As you can see from the picture below, I also have one of those rinky-dinky smartphones. The problem is that one of these devices is not really that much use to me any more. Guess which one it is, go on, have a wild stab. (Although not at me, I’m allergic to the sight of my own blood) Correct! it’s the Samsung Smartphone on the left. Yes it still does wi-fi and bluetooth, but so does my tablet. The main problem appears to be my version of Android. Now according to Samsung’s web site their devices will still support stuff like Whatsapp on Android version 2.3 up to 2020AD. The Samsung on the left has version Android 2.3.3 (and will update no further). Which might lead one to think; “Supported to 2020? Oh, that should be fine.” Only it isn’t. Unfortunately my network (Thanks a bunch Virgin) will not allow any of the new App upgrades like Google Maps and Whattsapp to update any more. So this all singing all dancing mobile phone, once a fully functional piece of kit, barely limps along. Not to mention the battery life being pretty crap. It no longer fulfils the purpose I bought it for and I’m still shelling out CAD$XX every month just for the privilege of connecting to my carriers cell phone network. Without the ability to make international calls, which is one of my chief beefs against Canadian cell phone companies. It’s not that phoning overseas costs, it’s just that my Canadian network block me from calling them altogether. Surely they can make more money if I’m allowed to call one of my overseas contacts like at 50+ cents a minute. Don’t they see that? Although perhaps they can, as an international ‘roaming’ charge is CAD$10 a day. Then they add your metered call costs on top of that. Sounds like a licence to print money.

“Well that’s okay Bill.” you might advise. “Go out and get a new phone contract. There. Fixed it for you. Off you go.” But honestly, as far as I’m concerned, a smart phone’s utility is limited. Especially if you’re prohibited from upgrading the operating system so that certain Apps can run. Yes, there are workarounds, but honestly, it’s a lot of faff for far too little return.

Frankly I’m buggered if I’m going to shell out for a sparkly new mobile phone every three years just so I have a functional means of communication. So the Samsung is going to be replaced by the phone on the right, my basic call and text only Nokia 6310i which plays no music or games yet after 15 years still has a battery standby life of over twelve days and three hours talk time and connects to any GSM network. For email, games, writing notes and general Interwebbery I’ll still have my Android tablet.

As for my new Windows 10 laptop. It’s not that wonderful. For onboard applications the ‘upgrade’ really doesn’t do a lot more than Windows 7, which was a worthy successor to the only other decent Windows platform, Windows 2000. The bundled application software like Windows Movie Maker are still better with Windows 7 than 10. Not sure what Microsoft are up to, but if Windows 10 is their best effort, then I’m distinctly underwhelmed.

Yes, yes, I could have bought a MacBook or iPad, I’ve got the funds, but I’ve never had the urge to be an Apple Fanboy. On the various occasions I’ve walked into an Apple store the customer service has been worse than useless. The only time I got decent service at an Apple store was because a mate was working as Tech Support Manager at that particular franchise. Every other time I’ve tried to attract the attention of an Apple store employee, all I got was a vaguely contemptuous look that said “What’s an old fart like you doing in here?” So I walked right out again. Which makes me wonder if there’s a part of the Apple store interview process that goes; “Are you a narcissistic fuckwit who loves Apple and won’t sell one of our darling devices to an over forty?”
If the answer is “Yes.” Trust me, you’ll be hired. At least if my previous encounters with Apple Store staff are any guide.

Anyway. My old Nokia 6310i. Is it unlocked for any network full size SIM card? Oh yeah. Does it work as a phone? Yep. Bluetooth compatible with my new stereo headphones and relatively new HK250 earpiece? You betcha. Does it pair with my cars satnav / radio / handsfree? Perfectly. Connects to any GSM Network? Dee-fine-ately. I’ve got a tablet, so why on earth would I need one of those new tiny screens to do my emails, notes and other general Interwebbery?

Answers on the back of a plain brown envelope please.

Farcebook rides again

Driving downtown yesterday. Mrs S and I were idly chattering about this and that when she dropped the bombshell that Farcebook have been asking users to send their nude pictures to Farcebook so that they can ‘Police’ the images off their platform. Which statement drew a loud bark of laughter from me. Apparently they want to get rid of ‘revenge porn’. “Are these people serious?” I enquired after my initial ‘WTF’.
“Oh yes.” She chuckled back at me.
“Oh my giddy aunt.” I responded. “That’s going to work, isn’t it?” We shared another laugh.
“Glad I don’t use it any more.” She said.
“I’ve tried to delete mine twice and it still comes back. Bloody thing. Worse than Zombies.” I replied.
“Eldest and Youngest use Whatsapp and Instagram anyway. So they’re not affected by this idiocy.” She said. The last Facebook post we saw from either of them was back when we lived in Nanaimo. And that was over four years ago. Even back in 2011 our family regarded Facebook as somewhat passé.

According to reports a pilot of this scheme is being rolled out in Australia. A ‘send us your nude pics just in case an ex has posted them. We’ll delete them -honestly.’ Then Facebook members of staff get to have their brains fried by overdosing on personal porn or perve off on the quiet because they’ve had ‘special training’ to view the stuff that the algorithms are supposed to dredge up. However, a much more studied perspective exposes the flaws in this plan. Which would tempt anyone with more than two functioning brain cells to express a big Oh. My God.

This is yet another Farcebook PR disaster. Which leaves me soo tempted to short their shares. From where I stand they’re a classic financial bubble in the making because real people are actually leaving the platform, which will ultimately leave it as a half forgotten digital wasteland strewn with diehard digital addicts and ‘bots. What’s that Sooty? Won’t happen? Remember Myspace.com? Oh. Right.

As for posting ‘revenge porn’, I mean seriously? There are even dedicated platforms for that sort of thing. You are more likely to find ‘revenge porn’ posted to Tinder (Which has Spotify and Facebook integration) or Tumblr. I’d argue that only the most Interweb-naive people will use Farcebook for posting any form of porn because it hurts both parties. Why? Because once your bedroom antics are public, there’s no going back. Your, and by the same token their inadequacies, are now subject to public ridicule and multiple reposting. Anything short of physical perfection will rebound on both parties. As a matter of interest, a quick pootle around many dedicated porn sites (The things we must do, eh?) will turn up Facebook and Twitter integration buttons. As well as huge archives of amateur porn pics and pictures. Which aren’t on Farcebook, so Farcebook can’t delete them.

Anyway. That discussion concluded, we turned right from Blanshard into View Street, noting that all the fancy painted pedestrian crossings at that intersection had been dug up after less than a year. No doubt more taxpayer dollars will be wasted there and on Victoria’s network of seldom-used bicycle lanes. Not that a lot of bicycle users know how to use them properly. Or that the fancy painting does anything to improve pedestrian safety or driver awareness.

Hey-ho. No skin off my nose. We don’t need to go downtown more than twice a month anyway. Like with Facebook, there’s not much of interest to us down there.

By bread alone

Man does not not live by bread alone. At least goes the biblical quote from Matthew 4:4. Which is kind of the introduction into a matter of diet. Mrs S and I have given up bread. And rice, pasta, flour, noodles and potatoes.

So apparently have brother and sister in law in the fabled land of Oz. Like us they’ve given up on chocolate and sugar entirely. Which some might find a little extreme, but honestly chums, I feel much better for it. Now you might be forgiven for thinking this expensive, but considering the price of bread over here, the cost of two reasonable quality loaves buys a pound and a half of steak once a week. The elimination of chocolate, sugar and other candy pays for more fish like Salmon, which is almost a basic staple over here. And of course there’s room in the budget for more bacon. Especially as I’ve found a decent butcher in our locale who actually knows their meats. They do four (Thank you God) varieties of proper dry cured bacon although I eschew the sugar maple cured stuff.

For her part Mrs S is eating more full fat yoghurt rather than that awful low-fat garbage with the strange aftertaste, and I’ve even taken a liking to garlic stir fried Taiwanese Cabbage of all things. Indeed our consumption of low carbohydrate vegetables has more than doubled. Which pleases Mrs S because she harbours the idea that vegetarianism is somehow virtuous. Odd how a lot of women feel this way. I of course, choose to differ. Meat is my métier.

Essentially what we’ve done is cut all the fattening starch and stodge out of our diets. Which does lead to a few strange looks from waiting staff when we go out for lunch and stipulate no fries or potato and definitely no bread. However, a good steak with buttered Asparagus is always a sound choice. We snack on Hickory smoked Almonds instead of popcorn or sweets when we rent or go and see a movie. I’ve even got to the point where I can easily out-stare a large bar of Cadbury’s Dairy milk fruit and nut without a single pang.

One issue I’ve been struggling with is sauces. So many require a roux of flour and water as a thickener, I’d almost given up hope of tasting the delights of a good thick gravy like substitute. And I do love lovely thick British style gravy. Fortunately, the jolly old interweb has ridden to the rescue to provide the outline recipe for a remoulade Cajun sauce. Which I have since refined to the recipe below.

A quarter of a large Red Pepper (Fresh Red cabbage can be substituted if no peppers)
Half a stalk of Celery
One Green (Spring) Onion
A quarter cup of fresh Parsley (Not dried)
Half a cup of full on Mayonnaise
Half a cup of full fat Sour Cream or Creme Fraiche (Creme Fraiche is best)
Two heaped teaspoons of Dijon Mustard
Two heaped teaspoons of Horseradish
A shake or two of Lea and Perrins Worcestershire sauce
A shake or two of Tabasco
Two heaped teaspoons of Paprika
Four heaped teaspoons of crushed Tomatoes or two medium size tomatoes
A third of a teaspoon of Cayenne pepper

Throw it all in a blender and puree until relatively smooth. It will come out pink, but this is good stuff which warms the mouth without setting it ablaze. Serve hot or cold. Just don’t boil it on the reheat. If you’ve gone down the red cabbage route, this sauce develops a fresh crunchy texture that never tires.

To serve, put a small amount in a side dish bowl, something about three or four inches across for immediate use at the table. Heat it in the microwave if you like. Stick the rest in the fridge or freezer. This sauce keeps. If it lasts that long. It also survives being repeatedly thawed and heated, even in a microwave. Goes pretty well with Steak, Chicken, Pork or Fish. Which is nice. It’s an all rounder with plenty of roundness and flavour.

Haven’t tried it with poached eggs, but I’ve found a quick and easy way to make fresh Hollandaise which is wonderfully buttery and mouthwateringly moreish over Asparagus. Then there’s the delight of French style omelettes, which kick the dessicated flat North American type into touch.  See Below.

Yes the dropping of starch and sugar has been challenging from a cooks perspective, but I don’t miss the rice, potatoes or starch and my waistline is thanking me for it. As for the substitute for cornstarch for a roux, I’ve been experimenting with Psyllium Husk powder, although so far some of the results have been disturbingly motile.

Will report back on this topic once I’ve cracked the method.

TTFN.

It’s okay

…To be ‘White’. Or ‘Asian’ (Indian, Chinese or variants thereof, whatever) or ‘Black’ (all the many shades) or simply a man or a woman or whatever in between. Honestly, if anyone can be bothered to ask, I belong to the it’s ‘okay to be a biped hominid’ faction. Which is a pretty broad church.

What it’s not okay to be is an arsehole. Indeed, all leftist Social Activists are definitively arseholes because they’re the ones saying you can’t be friends, or at least cordial acquaintances with people not of your skin colour or sex. They’re the ones stirring up all the race hate and sexual paranoia because they want to keep the minorities (And many women) on de ol’ plantation a-votin for de ol’ lefty massa. Just like LBJ’s infamous quote about keeping a certain section of the population voting Democrat. Not that I’ve got time for the extreme right either but come on guys this is so transparent it’s made of glass. Badly made distorting glass, but glass nonetheless.

However, the epic trolling of SJW’s on an Alberta college campus recently has made some of those noisy lefty heads explode with the ‘it’s okay to be white’ meme. And it’s an obvious meme (Definition 2), a gag, a practical joke, a complete piss take on racist ‘diversity’ politics. Because the authors of the meme understand that ‘diversity’ identity politics isn’t diverse at all. Indeed it’s divisive and poisonous. Identity politics seeks to play favourites by saying; “If you are A then you must be hated by B because of X, therefore A is bad. Let us help you hate them, even though we are actually A.” Even if X was over a long, long time ago and the ghosts of grudges had settled down, raised kids, retired, died and been Requiescat in pace for a number of years. The current tranche of such grudges are revenants of zombies that should have been laid to rest years ago. However, without them the activists wouldn’t have anything to do, poor lambs.

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Which is proven because proponents of ‘diverse’ identity politics just lurrve to dig up ancient grudges and hang them on the fence, then use the resulting mistrust to generate support and ride those coat tails to political power. Which is all they really want. Power to bring about their utopian nightmares, as all utopias become because they are a narrow clique’s dream, not anyone else’s. Like the religious freaks from various ‘Churches’ who turn up on doorsteps. They too peddle their own utopian visions and are, like the political activists, not to be trusted.

As a note for reference I always apply this simple rule; if it has to be peddled door to door, it ain’t worth the price. The Claymore mines, Punji sticks, man traps and moat of hungry crocodiles in the front yard Chez Sticker should be seen as part of my customer-don’t-bloody-care-pal-sod-off service to such people. Although of course these are automatically disarmed for deliveries and welcome guests. The rest have to run that gauntlet then face the ‘No Soliciting’ sign on the door which dares them to sully my doorbell and face my well-honed sarcasm.

While we’re on that topic, another target for sarcasm is Martha Lane-Fox, late of lastminute.com (Hint; Tripadvisor or Expedia are much better), now the House of Lords. How by the moonlit glow of Satan’s left testicle did she get there? According to The Register she wants all reputable web sites to wear some sort of virtue-signalling ‘Fair’ badge. I can reassure my last remaining reader that this blog will not be falling in line. Apparently Ms Lane-Fox is one of those miffed about Pepe the Frog memes. Fortunately we were able to contact Pepe for comment on this issue, and although not a big talker, his sotto voce response to Ms Fox and those who get their panties in a bunch over him can be viewed here.

What this blog would like to offer as an alternative to the divisiveness of SJW’s is this; Be whoever you are. It’s okay. It’s fine. No worries. Relax. Life is too short for their crap. Fancy a beer? You’re paying.

All quiet

….at least on this Western front. We’ve had a little more light snow, but nothing to interfere with tomorrow’s trip up to the mid island. A bit more snow. No hordes downtown ‘screaming at the sky’ (Why bother, we’re Canadian, eh?) to mark Trumps election a year ago today, and certainly no raised voices in our neighbourhood. In fact the only shouting we came across was on the way back up Douglas Street when two Darwin Award applicants decided to have a row right in the middle of the main drag. So really, nothing to write home about.

The interesting stuff is happening in Saudi Arabia. Dozens of arrests on corruption and money laundering charges. Announcements that women will be allowed to drive (Sorry officer, didn’t know I was speeding, me Hijab got in the way) and a number of other overdue reforms. In addition to the reported grounding of certain Princes private planes. Well that’ll hit the takings in certain European Casinos. Don’t know much about the new 2030 agenda, but I’ll be researching that when we’re back from the mid-island this evening. What larks eh?

What else? The Madrid Government continues to mishandle the Catalan Independence affair by throwing people in jail. Same old same old. But hang on a minute! Whats’ this? Our tickets and visas to the fabled land of Oz just landed on our doorstep. Mrs S has just taken possession of a bright sparkly brand new phone. Hooray! And there’s another bit of news. As of 1st December, all cell phones in BC have to be sold unlocked from their carrier. Well, it’s rather a weekend for turning up of books.

Makes a nice change.

Expatriate expostulations from wherever; a.k.a. A Sarcastic man abroad trying to stay in the middle of the road without getting run over.

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