Scribbles: Ubuntu's looking for its inner Koala

So I put some photos up on Flickr in the Ubuntu Artwork Group:  

http://www.flickr.com/photos/40566121@N07/

Ubuntu has called for public submissions to find new screen savers for the
forthcoming update of its software - an operating system called Karmic Koala.

I don't know anything about Ubuntu. So I Google. It's a community-developed
open source software.

For those of you who doubt my qualification for writing about operating softwares -
I totally understand. 
But I do know what open source software is: freeware - everyone likes free downloads.
Ubuntu, though, has a greater purpose than promoting itself like other market forces
which attract customers and readers using giveaways... 
free Flash icons, free typeface, free music, free wallpapers, free slideshow programs,
free audio editing programs: 
bla-blaa-blaa! Listening to the Twitter it's obvious that free apps make
the world go a round and a round...
It's the word itself - Ubuntu - which unsettles me. Certainly not friendly like an apple.
Turns out Ubuntu is a Zulu word meaning "humanity to others" which Wikipedia
says is at the heart of the Ubuntu philosophy:
"I am what I am because of who we all are". 
That I like. "Ubuntu." Sounds better now. Though not as good, Mazoombi.
It's a bond - like a pinkie promise or a secret handshake - between us
initiated into a tribe created by my nieces.
Squeals of hello, quickly followed by a hushed whisper of the password: "Mazoombi".
GRINS from ear to ear. Contact established.
Iconic brands have that connection with their customers.
Apple doesn't even have to work to sell the i-Phone. i-Phone = "Mazoombi".
Something not only Ubuntu aspires to. But is Karmic Koala ... "the way?"
Software freedom, based on the greater principle of public benefit to all humanity.
It's the same principle people use to argue when they oppose the patenting of
genes by those who would prevent competitors from using their work to progress 
science and humanity.
Most people don't acknowledge a lofty ideal until they walk
smack bang into it like a closed glass door.
To walk through the door they have to open it.
I acknowledge the door but I don't want to walk through it.
">I"> paid for software that works why would I download Ubuntu?
People don't like the bugs in Microsoft and they fear what they will
find in something called Ubuntu.
It's all about the bugs ... that's the upshot of what I'm picking up on.
Instead of Karmic Koala, Ubuntu should release the Karmic Swine -
a black pig, a viral campaign to spread Ubuntu around the world faster.
The Ubuntu Artwork group on Flickr has over 900 photos vying to
become new Ubuntu screen savers, and right now I think my gum
leaves are the only entries that have any association with Koalas.
It's more about zen and peace, sunsets, spirals, calm seas and angels sing.
I'm looking at Ubuntu's Artwork Catalog I don't think my gum leaves
are what they're looking for at all.

"Find your inner Koala": https://wiki.ubuntu.com/Artwork/Catalog

Now I'm thinking: when lazy Koalas're awake - and that's AT NIGHT
when they're grunting LOUDLY - they're not that serene at all.
I had a dachshund who died at the hands of a sharp-clawed
koala in the middle of the night.
((( And yes, I know!! More koalas get ripped up by big dogs
than little dogs get ripped up by Koalas - BUT!...!!!)))

Whatever.


The open source software group is looking for new wallpapers
for it's forthcoming edition which they've called Karmic Koala.
Have a look: http://www.flickr.com/groups/ubuntu-artwork/ Find your inner Koala.

Scribbles: Dial the Devil

For many years now, I've fought tooth and nail to keep the

same phone number at work.
I just love the silence, the shock, the amusement...
each reaction is different, but there's always a reaction.
"For it is a human number.
"Its number is the Six Hundred and Sixty Six."

Author David Seltzer quotes Revelations at the front
of The Omen. It's such a GREAT story.

I picked it up from a second-hand bookstore:
Great Horror Film Stories: The Omen, Rosemary's
Baby, and Salem's Lot.

 
666
It's the only story I've read in the book.
I watched Rosemary's Baby with Mia Farrow years ago and
was almost sick at the sight of her eating raw meat. Still
can barely think about it.

And there's no way I'm sitting up a night reading Salem's Lot.
I read Stephen King when I was teenager.
One night I was reading Cujo and I almost died when the 
wardrobe door creaked a the same time as I was reading
about something creaking. I swear.... I still can't stand
the sight of a clown or a drain thank's to his novel It.

And yet I cling to my number. 
I don't believe we choose our curses.
Our curses we can't escape.

The ironic thing is that people looking for the help desk seem
to dial 666 rather than 660 - it's the thought of people in
hell ringing the Devil's number for help that makes me chuckle
inside when I they interrupt my train of thought with their
wrong number. :-)

Scribbles: Seeing the Light

You can't stop the tide from turning.
You can't catch a moonbeam.
You can't step into the same stream twice.
You can't ... paint with light ...
But you can photograph it through a painting.
Part of a series I did on light.

A Which - What - Who?

Two good sources of information about life:

  
Everything flourishes; each returns to its root
Returning to the root is called tranquility
Tranquility is called returning to one's nature
Returning to one's nature is called constancy
Knowing constancy is called Clarity.
_ The Wisdom of Lao Zi (Translated Dr Han Hiong Tan)

  

 "I WISH that I had DUCK FEET ... you can splash around in duck feet..."
_ Dr Seuss.

Scribbes: Zac's frauding!

 

"Zac's frauding!" - screams Emma.

She'd just asked me if she could put her name to my drawing and I  told her that was fraud.
She laughed and said,"Yeah, I know."

Then she says: "You know the lion on the wall in the computer room? I did that. Go and have a look."
Zac screams after me: "NO, I did the lion!"

And Emma screams: "Zac's FRAUDING!"

Said lion:

Scribbles: Saw Balibo today

I don't believe that a journalist is just a bystander. When a reporter is sent to a cover a story they become part of that story. As a reporter, I've rarely felt like a bystander over the years.
I think the reason people don't want to do hard core reporting - like police rounds - is because it makes them feel uncomfortable - they are no longer bystanders.
 
Not everyone is capable of doing a death knock.
Interviewing devastated young parents in the cold night outside the smoldering husk of their home in which their baby had died - I didn't feel like a bystander.
It's a little different covering lifestyle, IT, TV and entertainment - when they don't really care if you tell the story well, just as long as their name is in the paper because they're so special that they're bothering to talk to you. It's called PR.
 
Balibo is about a death knock.
 
A journalist named Roger East, played by Anthony Lapaglia, investigates the disappearance of five Australian TV journalists who'd gone to cover the Indonesian invasion of Portuguese East Timor in 1975.
 
Anthony Lapaglia (who's from Adelaide) is nominated for an Outstanding Actor Emmy for the American TV drama Without a Trace:
http://www.hitfix.com/galleries/2009-7-15-emmy-nomination-preview-2009-outsta...
 
Journalists who go to war definitely are not bystanders. They see themselves mostly as soldiers of truth, shining a light into the darkness of propaganda and misinformation.
 
There's two moments in the film where I heard echoes of the Australian film classic Galipolli: the end, and the moment where the actor playing East Timorese leader and Nobel Peace Prize laureate Jose Ramos-Horta tells the Australian journalist Roger East that the Indonesian helicopter hunting them down knows where they are because of information provided by the Australian Government.
 
( Ramos-Horta link: http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1996/ramos-horta-cv.html )
 
I suddenly had visions of the English generals having tea in safety while the Aussie troops were breathing their last before going over the top ... it's one of those clinical but seething ... "bastards have blood on their hands" moments.
Balibo is written by playwright David Williamson (who wrote Galipolli) and Balibo director-producer Robert Connolly - and they don't mince words - they even get a light-hearted Republican dig in at the constitutional monarchy which is lovely.
 
But I came away from the film thinking that East Timor's story (it's now a independent democratic nation) would have been very different had the Indonesians not murdered five white journalists in Balibo.
 
The Indonesians ran a line which had the United States and Australia on side - they said East Timor's freedom fighters (Fretilin) were Communists.
 
(Fretilin link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Revolutionary_Front_for_an_Independent_East_Timor )
 
They didn't send troops into East Timor - they already had Vietnam - but they apparently gave the Indonesians helicopters and support.
But whether Australia and the United States actually sanctioned the murder of innocent East Timorese civilians (women, children, the elderly and six Australian journalists) is a contentious proposition - which this movie does tend to suggest.
 
Like Lapaglia's character says Australians (therefore Australian editors) weren't really interested if Indonesians massacred a village of "brown" people - the Indonesians relied on that sentiment.
Figures quoted at the end of the film say 180,000 East Timorese people were murdered - as compared to six Australians but even this movie about their fight for freedom would not have been made had those five not paid the ultimate price.
 
On a lighter note though, I don't think anyone will lament the passing of that diehard Aussie fashion statement they sport in the film: Stubbies. Thank goodness for long boardshorts.
 
 

Scribbles: 2.7 second cure for frown lines ( } :-(

Don't give a damn. That's the secret cure. If you don't care, you don't frown. Ergo: no wrinkles.
I'm clutching at straws here, I know  -  and I'm not saying that Peter Shankman or anyone in particular does or doesn't give a damn, either has or hasn't got frown lines...
But!  Some of the stories I read today have got me thinking about the words of my ballet teacher (many moons ago) and my grandmother.
Funny how words echo through the centuries ...
Don't fro-ow-n...ow-n...ow-n....  ...!

One Peter Shankman:  http://shankman.com/about/  CEO / Entrepreneur / Adventurist / social media guru : says people today have an average attention span of 2.7 seconds.

This picture appears on his webpage. Is he trying not to frown? 
Cause that's the face I'd make when my ballet teacher would tell me - as I tried to hold arabesque and leap on one foot - "Don't frown Lisa!".
And my grandmother tried unsuccessfully for years - along with others concerned with marriage-ability and such things - to stop me from frowning.

Don't frown, don't wear sneakers, don't run around barefoot, don't slouch, don't wear dresses too tight, or too short, or short shorts, 
don't wear jeans, don't swear, don't laugh too loud, don't point, don't drink ... there's so much more... sounds more like Iran or the Taliban doesn't it?
Golly. I think these rules are easier than today's rules ... No wonder people have attention spans of 2.7 seconds! Who can stand the assault!

 

How straight are your thighs (read thin), how broad is your nose (read fat), how thick are your ankles ... makes you want to hide online as photoshop avatar!

Never fear, evolution's here! I read today about an evolutionary twist in the story of humanity, a new process of natural selection, survival of the most beautiful.
Apparently, it is beautiful women who are having more children these days - which explains why the beauty of the world is so much more arresting in the 21st century.

For some reason I now think of shopping malls where I can't walk apace because if you have two large-ish women pushing trolleys and prams in a row there's no overtaking space.
Has anyone strolled around Garden City or Carindale lately?

This 2.7 second attention span that Peter talks about probably has something to do with the fact that a lot of STUFF today may not even warrant 2.7 seconds of attention!
 .... ....  ..... .... what? huh? Sorry, my attention span just collapsed ... and now I'm frowning ...   (} :-(
Perhaps this too is an evolutionary thing, this 2.7 second attention span, to eliminate the crime of frowning - ergo, beauty is preserved for the eyeballs of discerning observers.
And if you've reached this point then I've held your attention for more than 2.7 seconds. :)

Scribbles: Earth's last hope: trees.

I stopped at a top little food nook that serves the freshest sushi in Brisbane, not in the mood to cook after gym.
I strolled out the shop door to wait for my food outside, away from the TV news, and walked right off the time spectrum - just for a few moments.
Trees have this effect - on me, not all trees, there's some kind of perfection that can be found in the shape of some trees.
Can't remember when this started - it's not an obsession. I don't go around hunting trees.
They just appear before my eyes like Gods.
Perhaps I was set off when I got my first oil paints and tried painting trees, studying their shapes in painting manuals.
Could've been years before when I was climbing 40ft pine trees - well, racing my brother and friends to the top.
The memory is vivid, rough bark, stinging needles, dizzying heights.
But this tree now ... this tree is small, shaped like a delicate bonzai - a leopard tree just starting to make its presence felt in this car park on the corner of a busy intersection.
The curves of its branches reaching into the dark night sky.
I'm not thinking about sushi or traffic or anything except: "Superb!"
The street light falls on the trunk and yet the leaves are just shadows.
I don't want to draw it. I don't want to hug it. I think I just love it.
And then I catch myself.
"Is this what people will think and feel when a tree like this stands alone, the last of its kind on earth?" - there's a thought.
Suddenly I'm conscious and I'm thinking and the moment is gone.
And the finale of Wall-E springs to mind.

That tiny little fragile hope of life on Earth - a seedling preserved by a funny little robot who sees the beauty of life.
I bookmarked Wall-E from the first moment I saw the awe in his eyes as he looked at the stars.
I look at a screen for most of my waking life these days - I love it and sometimes I get lost out there in a wilds of everything at once...now...now...now...right now! YES!
Intellectual life - it's just like sport these days. People sprouting the words of long-dead philosophers in 140-character tweets.
People spruiking themselves and their companies in cleverly disguised pitches. People searching for meaning.
Someone at gym tonight said: "To hear you've got to listen, but most people are too busy talking."
Really. I'm guilty of it. How many times I've kicked myself after realising too late the significance of what someone was trying to say.
Or the significance of silence.
 
I turn from the tree and look through the door at the TV showing the nightly news and read the subtitles - the sound is turned down.
Funny how text has such a powerful effect.
Words like revenge and slaughter rile me to silent indignation - and this is the sports news!
Michael Phelps broke his own world record without the use of a floatation suit.
That's wonderful, not just for him, but for all those who seem to feel that, by virtue of their shared humanity with Phelps, his achievements are theirs by association.
And they don't have to lift a finger. Shifty, risk-averse folks who are quick to judge and condemn and hide. They usually travel in packs.
The same dullards go on about how bad "virtual reality" and "cyberspace" is for mental and physical health.
 From my observations, it seems that all of us navigate a "virtual space" we construct in our heads - and we call it reality.
As you can see, my reality's quite different from yours.
Once I was at the physio, thanks entirely to a little computer mouse and deadlines, my eye focused on a tree in the middle distance beyond an oval.
This was a tree you could have a beautiful picnic under - and you could pretend to be Helena Bonham-Carter in Room With A View or Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma.
And then I catch myself.