Just a Disgusted Little Rant

 I've always been under the impression people attain qualifications or knowledge after the requisite study and due assessment, or otherwise via osmosis. But over the past week, everybody seems to have drawn on innate knowledge and - hey, presto! - looky here, maw, we done got us a dagnab true load of ballistics experts. No, I don't know why I'm attempting to type in a phonetic Appalachian patois, either. 

I refer to, of course, the tragic on-set incident involving Alec Baldwin and the cinematographer, Halyna Hutchins. 'Why was he pointing a gun at her?' 'Why was there a live round on set?' 'Who's the armourer?' 'How can a blank kill someone?' The aforementioned are a cross-reference of the overriding tone of the questions and demands. Here's the thing where I'm concerned: I don't know. I can hypothesise and say stuff I DO sort of know, like:

1. A 'blank' can kill someone if fired at close enough range. Remember Jon-Erik Hexum, the actor who died after fartarsing with a blanks-loaded handgun in a mock game of Russian roulette in 1984? 

2. I don't know if the bullet in the weapon fired by Baldwin was a blank or real one, but I'm more than happy to let the inquiry that surely must transpire take its due course. 

3. There's a good chance Baldwin was directed to perform an actor-facing-camera shot, and the cinematographer and director were standing behind camera. From what I understand of filmmaking, this is pretty common. 

4. There's every chance Baldwin is devastated about this and my heart goes out to him, and the family of Ms Hutchins. 

People have predictably been making unpleasant or snide comments about it, and while I will own up to having a crook sense of humour at times, I just cannot joke about something like this. I'm glad, because that would put me in the same league as Donald Trump Jnr, who has been selling online tee-shirts with the epithet: Guns don't kill people. Alec Baldwin kills people. Seriously, Trump-Spawn, what the fuck is wrong with you? Did Baldwin lampoon your shitgibbon father once too often for your liking? A woman lost her life in this incident, and all you can do is make foul humour of it. Still, given you get a boner when you shoot wildlife, I shouldn't be surprised. 

Oh well, study awaits.

For Future Reference

 Apropos of my last post wherein I had a good old bitch about APA 7th edition referencing, I am validated. It is DEFINITELY a whole new layer of Hell and Dante would do well to steer well clear. I received an assessment back this morning and I have been let down by my referencing. Can I just say referencing totally fucking bites the bag? There, that's off my chest. 

Here are my options:

1. Cry.

2. Start a whiny Change Dot Org petition wherein I call for the person responsible for this dastardly requirement to be stuffed into a weapons-grade trebuchet and catapulted right out to Betelgeuse. 

3. Accept that my referencing skills need work, speak to a tutor, install some referencing software, and work like a Trojan on my next assessment to ensure I get the overall marks necessary to pass this unit which, ironically, is about resilience. 

Guess I'll go with the third option. 

So, what's good at the moment?

1. My new kitchen is coming along nicely and I adore the new white tiled splash-back. I hyphenated the words 'splash' and 'back' because they refer to a noun, but spellcheck won't let me type them together, and I therefore say they must be hyphenated. 

2. I had a good tutoring session via Zoom this morning and successfully shared a screen. To all you digital natives out there, I know you're thinking: 'Ho-hum', but this is a big moment for a digital immigrant of my age. 

3. We have a new TV. Our old one died so we bought a new one yesterday, you know the kind: apps like Stan and Netflix already on it. I am old enough (why I'm a digital immigrant) to remember colour television being introduced in Australia, and how exciting it was to get a new colour TV. Also recall having to roll a button back and forth to tune in a channel that was blurry or snowy. Guess what? Had to get up off the lounge to do this. If the kid I was back then could envisage the television set I now have, that kid would not believe it. 

Anyway, I will now either work on my other assessment or watch something on this big-arse new TV.

THAT Lyric from 'Won't Get Fooled Again'

I had a look at my blog site tonight, and oh my giddy aunt, I was aghast to see I haven't written in a long time. This I attribute to a few factors. I've been renovating and my house is a chaotic hellscape. I've also been busy doing two uni assessments. Truth be told, I enjoyed the subjects and writing the assessments. What I did NOT enjoy was the referencing because, as anybody who has ever written a university paper will attest to, it is a special new level of Hell. 

What a clusterfuck New South Wales politics has been over the past few days. Gladys has resigned. I am not at all saddened by this, particularly in light of the scurrilous sale of Scone TAFE. Today, her co-conspirator in koala slaughter also resigned. I heard about Pork-barrel-aro's resignation and mentally fist-pumped (I was driving at the time and am mindful of keeping two hands on the wheel). No more misusing anti-terrorism police units because he couldn't take a bit  of teasing for him, eh? The Twittersphere has been dropping a few hints about some circumstances of his leaving, and if true, they're veee-rrrrr-y interesting. They are unsubstantiated, so I will refrain from repeating them here.  The problem we are facing now is the most likely contender for the role of premier is Dominic Perrottet. This man is a self-righteous Holy Joe type, and I am aware people are entitled to religious beliefs, but  I am concerned his ardent and fervent views will colour his decisions and actions, should he become premier. This is a dude who, in 2015, stated words to the effect that it is selfish of childless people to expect the pension in their old age, rather than having had children to look after them in those golden years (seriously, dude; was your arse jealous of the shit that came out your mouth?). Let us not forget he also allegedly blundered the iCare scheme with a level of incompetence that created the most monumental balls-up since King Kong stood on his head. 

So as The Who insightfully sang: "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss".

Speaking of The Who, and bands etc, tonight I'm listening to the strains of George Thorogood and Motley Crue as they waft from my seventeen-year-old's room. I'm so proud he does not curse my ears with the following:

1. Fast Cars by Tracy Chapman. I like her voice, but that song depresses the living snot out of me, and I feel as claustrophobic and trapped as the narrator thereof. 

2. Africa by Toto. A bland blancmange of a song from a bunch of dudes who've clearly never looked at an Atlas in their lives. 

3. Copperhead Road by Steve Erle. Lugubrious bitter bilge that's overplayed and I'd rather stick a handful of Fisherman's Friends cough lollies up my bum than listen to it again. 

 Well, that's me for tonight. I'm about to do my physio exercises and watch The Newsreader on ABC iView. Excellent series set in a fictional Aussie newsroom in 1986. Highly recommended.