If you say “don’t quote me” to a journalist, you may as well hang up or walk away from them.
Don’t continue talking.
It’s like donating blood and telling them not to use it.
And when you continue with the conversation after asking not to be quoted, it’s like you’ve taken the blood and wrapped it up nicely, and placed it by a patient that needs it and let them look at it.
And in that time you’re still rambling on about useless unquotable information, a journalist could have been calling the next best person to speak to when they have a deadline, and the patient could be watching an episode of True Blood when they too most likely have a dead line.
See what I mean? It’s cruel and unnecessary.
It’s the opposite of a victimless crime.
It’s a victimful crime.
Your words aren’t that precious.
Let them quote you or don’t have the conversation.
As in when we referred to the ‘Bali nine’ a couple of years back?
These people did not smuggle drugs or face a death sentence.
They were born into multi-culturalism which last I checked, Australia was all about.
It’s ridiculous enough they can’t continue their line of work because their parents were born in other countries but now they are being named as criminals.
The whole thing is just insanely ridiculous.
And I’m sorry, but too little too late Australia.
You can’t tell someone they can’t be employed, years after they have already been in that role.
Where on earth are the Human Resources team for parliament?
If I got told I couldn’t be a journalist because my dad was born in Egypt, I’m pretty sure I’d sue the hell out of my employer for discrimination.
This just in. Well for me anyways.So we all know it costs about $1 million for IVF right?
I learnt today that apparently couples who have issues with conceiving are generally eligible for some form of Medicare rebate.
Firstly, I think this is great. It’s not their fault they can’t conceive and they certainly deserve a child as much as anyone else does.
Obviously there are medical circumstances beyond their control which has made it difficult for them to reproduce and it’s only fair the Government help with the costs as they have already tried to have a child just like everyone else, the cost free, sex six times a day way (tough gig).
However, a single woman who wants to have a child through IVF, by herself is not eligible for any form of rebate.
Once again, although they may not be medical, the circumstances preventing a woman from having a child alone are also beyond her control.
It’s not my fault I’m single.
I’m not intentionally seeking out men who are unrelationshipable.
Ok besides that one time I thought I could land myself a celebrity.
It’s not like I can just pick anyone either. If you’re going to have something for the rest of your life, it takes some serious consideration. No body just walks into a tattoo parlour and chooses the first one they see.
I mean, even my dog took some serious thinking. The decider was when he jumped into my lap and licked my face, but it’s not like men can do that. And the ones that will, well I certainly wouldn’t want to be dating them anytime soon. Lick a plate not a face mate.
I think these IVF funders should at least allow you to prove that you have been trying. Allow the applicants to send links to online dating accounts, and perhaps they could be issued with a dating diary, like they have job diaries for job seekers.
It can go to all dates and have the man stamp it or something, then could be filled out afterwards with reasons explaining why there will be no second date.
Might have a few more pages then a job diary in that case.
Might also be a brilliant scare tactic to get out of a bad date. “I’m trying to have a baby and I just need to show I’m making an effort to do it with someone else.
“Also, is there a history of heart disease in your family?”
I might actually create a fake one for myself for an easy escape. Genius.
How is it that I completed high school, after 13 long years, dozens of detentions and thousands of dollars (thanks mum) and now moving forward into life, I do not know how to fold a fitted sheet or what private health cover is or how to break up with someone or how to wear a playsuit without exposing my genitalia.
I do know however the process of photosynthesis and that CO2 is the chemical symbol for carbon dioxide and how to write a haiku, all of which 10 years post-graduation I am still waiting to use.
You should see my linen cupboard right now though.
It’s a smorgasbord of ruthless folding after spiralling my fitted sheets into balls.
And I didn’t know private health care was a thing until a put my back out (trying to fold a fitted sheet) and was thrown into physio and after forking out hundreds of dollars, quizzed by the receptionist who asks “Do you have private health?”
And “Well I wouldn’t brag about it on social media, if that’s what you mean,” was my response.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually broken up with someone face to face and well, I gave up on playsuits when I realised what sort of ‘playing’ they were for. Not my sort anyways, let’s leave it at that.
How about we toss a few core components of the curriculum and add in some life lessons that will save a lot of money and time and in some cases lives.
I mean, who the hell knows what to do if they come across a crocodile?
Or how about class 101 in Cyber Security.
Teach them from early ages not to hand out their home addresses or skip states because 19 year old Freddy who is a Zac Efron look-a-like thinks you have nice eyes.
And vice versa, teach them how to not become a creep.
Stop the dick pics at the source.
This whole new subject could replace, times tables for example.
And I’m curious; do kids still have spelling tests? Because as far as I’m concerned, the only word they need to know how to spell is google.
Does anyone else feel like they know someone better in text and emails rather than in person?
People are constantly communicating with one another when they are not together, and then when they get together they have nothing to say.
It’s never “How was your day?” anymore.
It’s “How was your afternoon?,” or “How was the rest of your morning?” or “How was the last hour” even though you may have known exactly how it was because you received a text an hour ago that said they were waiting for ages for a carpark at the mall and were second guessing heading over there to get a new purse and had started wondering if they really needed one after all because most of their clothes came with pockets.”
Dinner time banter has gone from “Today at work, I did this, and then this happened and it was so funny when…..” to “This chicken is dry,” or “The waitress is rude.”
It seems speaking via text is just a way of life now.
You literally can be with that person and want to say something but think to yourself, you won’t bring it up yet and will just text them.
How sad is that? Or is it just me?
If I get dropped home at the end of a date, I find myself thinking, ‘I wonder what he’s doing Saturday night,’ when I am literally in the car with him.
I won’t speak the question however; I’ll just head inside, wash my face, lose the bra and then send him a text that will literally say ‘what are you doing Saturday night.’
Emails are the same. In the office, I feel like I have some best friends. Jenny Morris from marketing has three kids and took them all to see Captain Underpants in the holidays, Jake Riley from HR is a skydive enthusiast and has a huge great dane and Sue Morris from editorial loves melting moments and just got engaged.
If you ask me to point any of these people out however, well I couldn’t.
It would come down to a process of elimination. I’d be hunting for desks with children’s drawings, melting moment crumbs and dog hair.
Alternatively, I could wander through the office and shadow the staff while mumbling ‘Jenny’, ‘Jake’, and ‘Sue’ in order to receive a response.
I’m sure that would make me look strange but who cares when no one knows I’m Danni the journalist. I could be Jenny Morris for all they know.
Anyways, just a sad thought coming off the back of the new iWatch that will no doubt add to my frustration of this millenniums constant communication movement.
If you missed all the media hype, apparently a surfer can now take a phone call from underwater.
I mean, what is the point of surfing if the missus can still nag you?
These poor surfers who once had the excuse of ‘sorry I missed your call, I was out in the ocean,’ now have to put up with being constantly harassed while doing an activity that is all about letting go and just riding the wave.
If they take the phone calls, I don’t think there will be much talking happening on the surfers end if they are underwater. It really was a poor choice of demonstration. Last time I tried talking underwater I only managed to blow a whole string of bubbles before swallowing a whole bunch of water.
With all the network towers going up too, the ‘out of range’ excuse is off the cards for most people.
You could be wrestling a crocodile in the centre of Australia and still get reminded to pick up dinner (crocodile stew perhaps).
The flat battery excuse died (pun intended) last year, with chargers available everywhere now in hundreds of forms.
And the amount of gadgets that allow communication now, means it’s difficult to not have at least one of them on you whether it’s a phone, watch, tablet or heck I think there are even glasses that communicate.
But is anyone else scared of what the world is coming too?
The way we are going, it won’t be long before maintaining contact with others is essential to them thinking you are even alive.
The amount of missing people searches is bound to expand, and it might be worth police removing that people must be missing for 24 hours until reported because when that came about, it was pretty hard to get hold of anyone unless they were at home sitting by a land line.
Within 10 minutes if you haven’t checked your texts, emails, Facebook, Instagram, Whats App, SnapChat, Marco Polo, Viber….you’re as good as missing.
“Officer, my 17-year-old son has not responded to my text or snap chat and was last active on Facebook 19 minutes ago. I’m fearing for his life right now,”
No one will ever be able to escape life’s daily events, take a minute for themselves or become unreachable.
What’s scarier than this is that no one wants to.
People don’t know what life is now without constantly communicating with not just their partner, but their 457 Facebook friends, Instagram followers, work contacts and family.
I had a new career path wave today and decided to do the obvious and google ‘how to become a….’
I’ve stopped there because from this point in the search, all the most commonly searched items beginning with ‘how to become a’ came up.
Surely you would think the obvious popular contenders would be perhaps actor, doctor, pilot or fireman.
Or even how to become a male or female, because it is 2017 after all.
Or how to become a mermaid for the true believers out there.
Or how to become a vegan, but I guess they don’t use computers, in light of minimal energy consumption to save the planet.
However number one was….drumroll…..
How to become a JP, as in Justice of the Peace.
Did people just get that frustrated at having to find time during the week to get to a court house or police station for the one hour a day on alternate Wednesdays and Thursdays to get to a JP to have a generally much needed important document signed and stamped, that they decided to just get their own JP accreditation?
That’s sort of like becoming Chinese because the local restaurant only delivers on weekends.
Another possible factor making people look into becoming one is that they rarely work. They must get paid a fair bit to only work three hours a week.
We can’t have JP’s working into their lunch hours after all. Give the poor people a break after an hour of signing documents.
It seems the majority of people on the planet have contemplated becoming one themselves so they can authorise their own passports and tax documents.
Would that even count though?
If a JP needs something signed by a JP, does he just whip out a pen and his stamp and hand over his document?
I’d be a JP under the table. It might be worth waiting out the front of a police station or court house and trying to find people in need of one, by wandering overt and whispering to them “Pssst. Need a JP? $20 for a signature right here, right now.”
You would make a killing I think.
Looks like I won’t need to google my options for my new career path idea after all.