Excellence in mediocrity (and the award goes to..)

History books spread across classrooms around the world chronicle the venerable characters of the past, and whether they are portrayed as heroes or villians, they are nonetheless exceptional heroes and villians. Khan, Napoleon, Shakespeare, Gandhi, (Queen) Elizabeth, Hitler, Curie, Lincoln, Einstein, Churchill, Kennedy - all examples of historical figures and more importantly, whether applied for vice or virtue, people with outstanding talents and power. History has rightly been kind to the exceptional - defined as having or showing intelligence and ability well above average - as they are the ones who write it. With our culture dissolving into contradictory increases in consumerism in the face of a financial crisis, where celebrity worship and instant gratification reign supreme, it is difficult to discredit the arguement that (more so than in the past) many of those central to the history of our times (Paris Hilton? Hefner? Bush Jr?) are mediocre personnel whose impact has largely been a result of shock value, celebrity obsession, good start-up capital (Hilton, Bush) or factors more poignant than any aspect of excellence inherent in these people.

As a member of Gen-Y, and an ardent Gen-Y defender to boot, it is nonetheless disappointing to witness the degradation of what is considered exceptional talent in the public eye, and what appears to be an increasing preference for mediocrity amongst positions in which selecting outstanding individuals is crucial in instigating the change required for society to advance. Although quick analogies do not necessarily suffice in an arguement of this scale, they are nonetheless the most direct manner in which to make a point within the blog framework. So Bill Clinton - by any standards an exceptionally intelligent politician, was the first to begin to reel in the treasury deficit. George Bush - by any standards an exceptionally mediocre politician, has in accordance with treasury monkeys, congress puppets and the legitimate Mafiosi of the Fed board (with the exception of Bernanke and a number of others not directly running the institutions insisting on bailouts for debt which they are responsible for creating) has allowed the deficit to blow out to $11.3 trillion to 'save' the world’s financial markets. Spend on a futile war, spend to maintain US dollar supremacy, raise the deficit ceiling to breaking point. The actions of the mediocre have negated the progress of the exceptional and increased the regression of a society and its values.

It is in essence a vicious cycle - feed the masses the ignorant, easily digestible celebrity laden angle of the story, it will sell and propagate in value, further increasing demand for its supply. Nowhere is this more evident than in the comedy otherwise known as the US electoral race. That Sarah Palin can even be considered to be vice-presidential material can happen, as they say, only in America. That a man from Tokyo has made a multi-million dollar fortune in his homeland selling Sarah Palin glasses frames speaks to the ludicrous nature of this electoral race and the 'values' that underpin the Republican party. Even the political move to select a running mate such as Palin, however shrewd, is indicative of the sort of candidate political party's think will win over the majority of Americans. An average education, a strong belief in 'intelligent design', a bible belt buckle holder who ironically had a daughter knocked up before marriage, she thinks she can see Russia from her house, and is unsure of the meaning of the word 'doctrine'. I could go on, however surely the kicker is that she doesn’t even know how to turn up the volume on her TV (thank you Tina Fey for a hilarious impersonation). No amount of toy dolls, cheap-trick advertisements or calls to Americas misinformed and uneducated can hide what the rest of the world seems to already know - that surely the election of McCain/Palin will likely mark the beginning of the end of the great history of the U.S.

That someone of the questionable 'calibre' of Palin is not only standing on the same stage, but attaining greater popularity than Obama/Biden - an opponent with far greater qualifications, integrity, vision and charisma (yes, this is necessary to inspire people in a country that for all intents and purposes appears on the decline) - is an insult to a nation which has proudly displayed its supremacy largely through the exceptional characters of its history.

Although it is generally satisfying to watch the greedy suffer at the hands of their own indulgence, there is nonetheless a dollop of sympathy and regret. This is reserved not for the fat cats who will walk away unscathed, but for the general populace, who in this case seem to have been left highly misinformed (or uninformed altogether), swayed by passionate beliefs rather than the rationality which should be paramount in nation building. As all of us in the rest of the world laugh and shake our heads at the circus surrounding what to us appears to be a simple decision to elect a leader who has great promise to inspire, educate and revive a superpower, we also wonder if that country is smart enough to make the right choice. If you're unsure, buy a pair of Sarah Palin frames, note the blur that ensues, put in some earplugs and listen to confederate songs, while watching the TV with the volume down. That should do the trick.

Friends for the 00's

And we're back - to a rousing reception and much fanfare, people have lined the streets, they closed off George st and we all received SMS's from the Pope - oh no that was World Youth Day Sydney 08'. Nevertheless, with WYD coming to an end this week there are some interesting observations to be made by those of us constituting the normal population of the city. We have peeked into the pilgrim world with curiosity, bemusement, and perhaps the fear that belies the former (apologies for the lengthy sentence):

1) With all the face paint, large groups of various nations adorned their respective flags and were sprawled out across the city - some of us were half expecting a soccer (euro:football) world cup. I may have even seen a group of italians with the ball they love best (not meatball).

2) Being the chaste, cleansed and enlighted souls they are, I was surprised to find a report on a group of pilgrims who had entered a large shopping centre in the city (Myer). They were caught shoplifting. There may be reasons for this, including the following:
- It was a conspiracy organised by atheists/Jedi's who disguised themselves in WYD gear in order to undermine *conversion rates*, I mean Youth Day celebrations, and increase taxpayer angst.
- The pilgrims had discovered fine print below the tablet which contains the 10 commandments. The footnote attached to 'thou shalt not steal' details exceptions to this commandment, those exceptions being woolly jumpers, tracksuit pants, clubbing shirts, and those awesome novelty alarm clocks. Wait..theres a knock on the door..someones outsitde...oh it's Irony.

With all the hoopla surrounding the Papa's visit, it's difficult not to get caught up in the blessed atmosphere of the last week. Thus, I find myself in a pensive, reflective, perhaps even spiritual mood. And as such, I have a confession to make: I am and have been..a sitcom tragic (or a sitcom slut, as suggested). From the moment Vinny Barbarino swung into the classroom in Welcome Back Kotter to the daily dose of theme song opening line 'Now this a story all about how, my life got fliped, turned upside down..' and the teenage boy fantasy that was Rachel Green (seasons 1-6 being particularly spectacular) - sitcoms have become an escapist, time-consuming, educational and affirming feature of our idiot boxes. They are a tapestry of the absurd (Kramer, Joey, Balky) and emotional, peppered with light and ultimately inoffensive social commentary. When Martin Crane provides wisdom to the stubborn and pompous Frasier, which he ignores and ultimately pays for this ignorance, he is affirming a core belief of the working and middle class that the smartest guy in the room isnt always the one with the degrees and the money. This may be false, but in tapping into the belief of the masses, it is also a brilliant way to make a show popular.

More recently, shows such as Scrubs and 30 Rock have veered from the conventional and time-honoured (read: lame and unrealistic - but thoroughly enjoyable) format, opting instead for time jumps, special effects, and other filmic techniques otherwise reserved for hollywood. However, a new player has emerged, combining the best of the old and new schools, and thus becoming the Friends of our generation (Y, in case there is confusion here) and it is, legen - wait for it - dary.

How I met your mother has brought back the sitcom - with a simple yet clever idea, a set of five well concieved characters (where other shows would have 6 or 7 characters to put forth much the same). It is full of plot holes and inconsistencies, like Friends, but the characters SMS, have college debt, youtube, ipods, reminisce about the 90's and were too young to really know the 80's. It also includes the ultimate bachelor character perhaps ever placed inside the microcosm of the sitcom world. Evidently, you can see where this recommendation is headed - watch it, just don't steal the DVD. We move now from World Youth Day and back into the regular week, which can't be summarised sitcom style, in 2 mins before the ad break.

Big Man 'G' Bless, and signing off

FB

And so it goes..

A man, youngish yet withered by his jaded view of the world, sits at his desk and begins to type on his laptop - the first time he has attempted anything outside the creation of corporate memorandums, emails, proposals and literature within the similar vein, for 3 months. The cursor, blinking ever so steadily, akin to perhaps an elderly lady with a walker straddling a pedestrian crossing, entices his fingertips to translate ideas into words on a page. He stares at the cursor. It says nothing. He stares blankly. Nothing but self-absorbed, self-referential drivel emanates onto the screen. Why isnt there anything to write about? There appears to be a plethora of objects to inspire mediocre comment on. Phone bills piled up to the left of his laptop, an empty cup of coffee from the night before still bears the stains of cheap nestcafe, and amongst this mad modern mess, a pen sits idly by the ipod. Pen: mightier than the sword, might err in the presence of the word processor. He types a sentence, deletes it, and lets the pen idea slide - no point philosophising about the evolution of how ideas have been recorded by humans for other humans. He decides to summarise this idea in one sentence, not to trivialise it, but merely to point out the frivolity in thinking it can be expressed in an internet forum. He writes 'spoken word, cave drawings (ochre), sand drawings, papyrus, inks, quail, pencil, pen, printing, typewriter, wordprocessor'. So it goes.

He has called in sick at work today, in order to pursue other goals which are difficult to partake on working days. Despite taking the first step in making some time, laziness rears its head and fixates its eyes on the mind numbing entertainment that is Midday TV (free-to-air). Girls are screaming because some celebrity or the other with an axe to grind and a product/film/album to plug have shown up on a couch next to the ever omnipotent Oprah. Dr Phil spends an hour discussing various marital problems, before rubbing it in everyones face at the end of the show when he walks off ever so happily with his wife. Melodramatic antics ensue on various soap operas when someones husbands dog marries his sister, dies and comes back to life, or so you would think until you realise that the husband is actually the father, best friend and second uncles cousin of the girl who is the town bicycle. Very confusing. Next up, a man with a history of petty crime and a ragged checkered shirt requests the payment of $200 from his ex-lover: an overweight, underdressed and illiterate character who allegedly broke her ex-boyfriends window when they lived together 2 years ago. Judge Judy's verdict is final - someone wins, but ultimately the viewer loses. So it goes.

He sits back in front of his laptop, upon the realisation that none of the things he'd set out to do today had been achieved. His attempt at contributing to an otherwise (relatively) interesting forum has simply become a trite recollection of a day spent in the usual mediocrity and obscurity many of us in the middle(ish) classes have become accustomed to. He realises however, that things could be worse, the pain of midday TV or living in a sub-saharan slum. Middle class guilt sets in, and he decides to give some money to charity. He walks away realising that he hasn't yet given up his name to those reading his blog post, but that part of him continues to walk away from the screen. Since we don't know his name, let's call him 'I'. And so it goes.

Nice to meet you, stranger I've known a while..

If there's one industry that has profited from the steady increase in working hours over the last 50 years in most of the worlds nations, it is the beverage industry - specifically re (in wanky corporate office lingo we say 're' for regarding) coffee. The digital age has the whole world connected 24/7, and the playing field has been 'flattened' (Thomas Friedman - The World is Flat [2004]) thanks to outsourcing - quality skills at lower market rates - fiber optic cables, web browsers and everything else i'm sure all intelligent readers are aware of. However this flattening has seen the emergence and subsequent proliferation of the angular, yet cylindrical figure many of us take for granted as an integral part of our day to day minutae - your coffee cup.

To notice the coffee habits of coworkers is to understand their cycles, whether they're morning or afternoon people, whether they use coffee as an innocent pick-me-up, or they devour it 10 times a day just to get wired since it may be inappropriate to snort a line of cocaine off ones HP notebook (unless you're in investment banking, in which case this i'm told this is regular fare on a friday afternoon in the bathrooms - see http://www.leveragedsellout.com/ ). The direction of the lifestyle-coffee relationship is uncertain, but evident. As a result we grow accustomed to, perhaps even attached, to our local barista. This is the genius, the man amongst men, that works at the cafe which services all the caffene hungry constituents in surrounding office blocks, and memorises each individuals order. When you turn up, there's no verbal order but a code word - 'the usual'. Suddenly from being a cog in a wheel (in an office) one is made to feel like a someone.

The barista/regular customer relationship is a special one, and could well serve as a model for many a successful relationship. Some opt for an interaction of efficiency: for $3.00, you get satisfaction guaranteed with no questions asked, and bit of small talk before leaving with a smile. Others have their barista as a listening ear, rewarded for divulging their life secrets with something hot, possibly sweet, and certainly satisfying. It is precicely the sort of bond which keeps many of us office plebs going through the day, knowing that tomorrow contains the possibilty of the same.

Those who aren't coffee drinkers (or 'mocha' drinkers - please don't say you're buying coffee if you're getting a mocha) wouldn't understand this relationship, perhaps equating it more with traditional retail/consumer interactions. Maybe they're tea drinkers - the type who go out to essentially pay for boiling water, as most establishments will source teabags from your regulars; Mildura, Tetley, dare I say Dilmah. 'You ordered a camomile tea' - goodness gracious that cafe makes good boiling water. Hot chocolate drinkers are generally the types who don't frequent beverage establishments often, as it is not the sort of drink to have daily. The hot chocolate order, i'm told by our barista Ben, is either the order of the aloof, or the order of novelty - that is non-frequenters.

After posting this one here, i'm gonig to walk over and say hi to Ben. He will say 'the usual', there will be a nod of confirmation and a returning nod for recognition. We will lament and discuss the dearth of mens magazines in the cafe (only reading material is womens/gossip mags) and i'll get my card stamped and collect my 30 mins of satisfaction in a cup, and return to my desk. The Moccopan coffee brand has an interesting slogan which I never understood until recently: 'Coffee Philosophy'. Perhaps its my own particular delusion, could be a number of completely incorrect abstract connections, but this beautifully bittersweet drink does have something to say about people, their interactions, and maybe the world around us. Philosophy indeed.