It's SMTT Day

There has been, in the last month or so, a strong focus in Australia on mental health. It is an important issue and the change in community attitudes and improvements in treatment options in recent years have been excellent.

In support of this noble cause, in acknowledgement of the tragically irrational nature of many of our dislikes, and with tongue firmly in cheek, Sound and Fury is proud to inaugurate International Shits Me To Tears Day.

As a celebration of what is perhaps the strangest construction in the English language and to give us all a good laugh, Shits Me To Tears day is a way to vent. Not about the big things. SMTT isn't for rants against refugee policy or gun control or the ongoing existence of Alan Jones, but for those little things - innocuous or perhaps even slightly beneficial in and of themselves - that just shit you to tears.

So, dear reader, I will start with a couple of my own and I invite you to spread the good word about SMTT day and share tear-jerkers of your own.

Lane filtering.

Motorbike riders do it. They ride up between lanes of stationary cars at traffic lights to they're first off when the lights go green. In NSW at least, it's perfectly legal and doesn't really harm me but it shits me to tears. Stay in the bloody queue like the rest of us! You too should know the frustration of a neutral-at-the-lights driver that causes you to miss the change. Suck it up!

From, to, to, to

"We can meet all your flooring needs from carpet to tiles, to lino, to floating floors and lots more". Aaagh! Journeys are from, through (or via) and, ultimately, "to" as a final destination. "I traveled from Sydney, via Newcastle and Tamworth, to Armidale" not "I traveled from Sydney to Newcastle, to Tamworth and to Armidale". This particular construction isn't the worst abuse of the Queen's English that's out there in the ether but it just shits me to tears.

And a quick recap of our main advertisement.

The habit of TV stations to run an advertisement at the start of the ad break and then give you a little recap of that ad again at the end - the 15 second version. Some genius with a PhD in Marketing or some other thing that's not a real discipline that you should be able to get a PhD in, probably thought that it was a way to keep the product fresh in the viewer's mind. No, it isn't! It just keeps the tears fresh in my eyes because the whole thing shits me to tears!

And now it's your turn. Remember, dear readers, SMTT day is about the little things, the small stuff that you know you shouldn't sweat but gets so far under your skin that you're beyond sweating - it just shits you to tears.

I get the look!

If you've got four (or more) children, you know what I'm talking about. Tell someone how many children you have and ... you get The Look. The Look is more than just a facial expression, it's a full narrative of someone's mental state from "Stop joking", through "You're kidding me", through "Pity for the insane" and then a facial expression that doesn't have an adjective you'd use in polite company but is probably one that lepers used to know well and is summed up by "I feel sorry for you but don't get too close in case some of it (or some of whatever's coming out of that kid's nose) rubs off on me".

That's The Look.

But I tell you it's nothing compared to the facial expression you'd get if someone who doesn't have kids at all had to live in a home with four of them.

We don't get much time to watch TV, my wife and I, but we always get a good laugh at cleaning product commercials. I think you know the ones. Mum's at home in a sun-drenched open plan kitchen, kids come bouncing in from school - miraculously remembering to wipe their feet and not already half-way through round one of the afternoon bicker - and they line up their improbably clean faces at the bench, ready for their healthy afternoon treat.

(Why do organic people always have curly hair?)

The funny part comes when a child spills something - say a small blob of pureed organic watermelon in a suspiciously small quantity on the clinical benchtop and mum leans over, with a wry smile, and wipes it away with a mere flick of the cloth and a spray of the magic spray.

Funny because I don't need the magic spray and a cloth - they are for naive beginners - in a house of 4 real actual children, I need to be kitted out like Lara Croft - ready to deal with the mummified grave goods that will emerge from the bowels of the school bag - like a cursed menace from the First Dynasty - which are just vaguely recognisable as morning tea from Tuesday on week 4, two terms ago. 

BTW - why is is that ad-families always seem to have angelically clean homes other than one thing - a floor, a toilet - which has been allowed to degenerate to a state of cleanliness more usually associated with abandoned-public-housing-project chic.

Even funnier are people who opine on how much better families would be if only the birch of law and order was wielded more firmly by parents.

Let me tell you that there is certainly law and order in my house. I give the orders and the law - or at least the four lawyers my wife seems to have given birth to - find ingenious ways around them. The cases for the defence include:

1. I'm still carrying out the last order. Which was to pick up a pair of socks, and was issued sometime around Michelmas in the Year of our Lord 1573.

2. I didn't hear you. But I did hear when you whispered "Would you like ice cream" with your head deep in the freezer.

3. It's not fair because [other sibling] doesn't have to do exactly that thing at exactly the same time as I do it and I will be subject to ridicule by said sibling as they lounge, eating grapes, and mocking my servitude.

4. I am physically / psychologically / emotionally incapable of carrying it out. I can carry twice my body weight in Lego to any destination you like but the specific gravity of my school shoes prevents me from moving them even slightly out of the kitchen doorway.

5. It would traumatise me. In fact, I'll show you right now - with a quick burst of slammy door - just how traumatised I would be if I had to have a shower and clean my teeth.

6. Eating that would be a breach of my ethics and beliefs - formed just this instant past - to be a vegetarian, a meat-i-tarian, sauropod, theropod, have a deep and abiding conviction that I'm allergic to peas or have a general and non-specific stomach complaint what would prevent me eating anything that isn't at least 50% sugar.

And so the long court case wears on. Most of the time it would be quicker just to have an extra shower myself and console myself - in the way that guilty parents do - that there is a universal balance in these things and that I'm just doing it - this once - because the kids have had a tough day.

Our opiners are not asking for law and order, they're asking for militant dictatorship. And only someone who doesn't have kids would think that that was a possibility. Saddam wouldn't even get the first statue up before he was ousted, roasted, toasted and beheaded by the righteous citizenry. You can take a child to water but you can't make them wash.

There may be some justification for The Look!

Proofreading

One cannot deny the importance of proofreading. Take this gem from Renault.

Which leaves you wondering what's under the hood and if your husband will ever be able to find it.

Or take Coke's famed Chinese disaster in which an attempt to render "Coca Cola" phoenetically into Chinese (make it sound like "Coca Cola" when you said it out loud) wound up inviting citizens of the middle kingdom to "Bite the wax tadpole"

But it is possible to take it too far - as anyone who has ever worked in an office will know. This little gem of advice for Pooh Bear managers (manager-of-very-little-brain) is a classic case:

There is no resort more certain for the feeble mind than the resort to paperwork. If your wetware version is still at Commodore64 and you absorb information at a rate suggesting that the only way to get data into you is to stick hole-punched cards up something fundamental,  then critiquing of documents is for you.

Let's face it.  You've got almost no hope of actually understanding what the document is talking about;  you were promoted based on your mastery of style over substance- and your ability to kiss other people's card reader.  You certainly don't understand what the author is talking about and you don't want to appear stupid. So don't go for substantial critique - we're looking for critique in a vacuum here - and if you stand side on to a mirror, contort yourself into an odd position and shine a torch in your earhole,  the extent of the vacuum will become obvious.

Start with font. You probably have a corporate style guide hidden somewhere that no one can easily find. If the document's font doesn't comply with the 12.5 sans serif New Moron that is only installed on a tenth of the computers in the company,  put a snide little note at the top of the document and make sure you imply that any competent employee would know these things intuitively and that your precious - or at least overpaid - time should not have been wasted by intern level mistakes of this kind.

If the font is ok then the heading style probably isn't.  Or the line spacing. The bullet style on the dot points perhaps? Thickness of the underline? You can't be too pedantic in executing your sacred duty as the Defender of the Corporate Image.

Every so often you'll get a smart-arse. There's always someone who will not only dot the 'i's but will have measured those dots to make sure that they are exactly .05 the size of the i - just on the legal limit.  This clown thinks he's going to get a document through without an edit.  As if! Where would the pleasure in your workday come from if you couldn't keep them dangling;  striving futilely to write just one single draft document before they retire.

Now you need to bring out the big guns.  The novice manager tries to correct grammar at this point. Mistake.  Why?  Because grammar is either right or wrong.  The author has grounds for appeal if you make a mistake about their participles. The seasoned pedant at this point starts to rearrange sentences and paragraphs at random.  Justify the changes in vague, subjective terms like 'polish' and 'tone'. You can never be wrong about those.

And,  if you get the corrected draft back too soon, correct your own corrections and
send it back again.

The B@titudes

And Jesus gathered his Twitter followers together and spoke to them most solemnly, saying:

Blessed are the slacktivists, for they shall shall dwell forever in the house of self-satisfied ineffectiveness.

Blessed are they who do not scroll past without typing "Amen" for God will care just as much as they do.

Blessed are the mememakers for trite shall be their lot in heaven.

Blessed are ye when you share all sorts of calumny without checking your facts, for righteousness sake,  for you shall get the justice you deserve.

Blessed are the misquoters for they shall have their words twisted also unto them (Albert Einstein).

Blessed are the atheists for theirs is the kingdom of heathen.

Blessed are the drunk for their Revelations will last for all time, haunting them even into Armageddon.

 Blessed are the cat lovers for they have misunderstood the popularity of pussy on the Internet.

Blessed are they who rub our noses in their family holiday to Hawaii for so many days shall be deducted from their eternal paradise.

Blessed are they who pour their righteous ire out upon hoaxes for they shall be ridiculed.

Blessed are they who post veiled complaints about their lot in life for they shall be called fishers of sympathy.

And, ye verily, before Jesus had finished speaking, his video had gone viral and he had been flamed by Gentile and Jew alike.

Real-erata - or an attempt at morning meditation

Go placidly amid the noise and - Alex, for the third time get out of bed

And remember what peace there may be in - no, Liam, you are not having a choc-mint bikkie for breakfast - there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with - sports socks, Alex, it's sports day - all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and - we are late! You don't have time to experiment with hair styles. Get some breakfast!

And listen to others - no Liam, I don't have time to glue pieces of refuse together this morning to make a spaceship.

Even to the dull and ignorant - no, you can't put your shoes on without undoing the laces. Give them here! - they too have their story

Avoid loud and aggressive persons - Eamon, don't hit him with that. I don't care what he said about your Pokemon cards. Alex - they don't suck! - they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become - Eamon, Liam is 3 and he's managed to brush his teeth, why do you always give me a hard time about this? - vain or bitter.

Enjoy your achievements - right, do you have your lunch in your school bag? No you don't Alex, it's still here on the bench - as well as your plans - we needed to leave five minutes ago!

Keep interested in your own career - I need to get to work guys. We don't have time for Weet Bix now - it's toast in the car this morning - it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time

Beyond a wholesome discipline - oh F@#K how difficult could it possibly be to put your hat in your bag every afternoon - be gentle with yourself.

And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

Yes, it's been one of those mornings. Triple shot with whiskey, please.

Families against white male oxygen breathing, social media using shooters

An out-of-style post today in support of the efforts of those dealing with Families Against Autistic Shooters

Families across the United States are rallying to support our new cause "Families Against White Male, Oxygen Breathing, Social Media Using Shooters".

We're not saying that every white male that breathes oxygen and tweets is a mass murderer but almost every single mass shooting in the United States in the last year has been carried out by these people.

It's time to take a stand to protect our families and our way of life.

Do you have white males living in your neighbourhood? Do you let your kids play with them?

I don't and I won't! There is too much risk.

What about your friends. Are they married to a social media using, oxygen breathing white male? If so, you need to choose your friends more carefully. Don't invite them to your home! They are putting your children at risk.

And here's an emotive image and a link to a credible sounding website to support my contention

http://www.politicalresearch.org/2014/06/19/mass-shooters-have-a-gender-and-a-race/#sthash.94H7BEKK.dpbs


Do you know anyone on social media? Are your kids talking to someone on social media? Are they oxygen breathing white males?

I call on our congressmen and our senators to crack down on this menace to our society. We must stop white men accessing social media now!

And shut off the oxygen supply.