Hell in a handcart
Baby food and air travel
These are the rules on taking baby food in your carry-on luggage, from the Department of Transport:
Liquid baby food or sterilised water, sufficient for the journey, can be taken through airport security. The accompanying adult will be required to verify by tasting.
The sensible thing, then, would be to make a parent sample one carton or bottle, randomly selected by security. But what actually happens - at least, what happens at Glasgow and Belfast International airports - is this: when you’re carrying cartons of ready-made baby formula, the adult will have to decant *every single sealed carton* into bottles, tasting each and every carton.
It’s not that formula is minging, although it is; it’s that the cartons state (and pretty much every baby book says) that ready-made formula *must* be discarded if it hasn’t been consumed within an hour of opening*. But, hey! Only terrorists want their kids to have uncontaminated food!
For fuck’s sake.
* Personally I think the 1-hour thing is balls, but that’s what the manufacturers, and the doctors, and the baby experts say.
Government listens to turkeys, bans Christmas
Rather than go over the insane anti-file sharing plan the government apparently intends to implement, here’s an extract from this month’s The Word magazine talking about EMI.
The average salary across EMI is estimated at £57,328, heavily weighted towards the top. A FTSE 100 company on average has fewer than 20 execs on £500K-plus; EMI is reported to have over 50. These top execs are the ones sitting on top of massive severance packages too…
While all labels rely on that 10 per cent of signings who are multi-platinum successes in every key territory, EMI has (Norah Jones excepted) not signed and nurtured one this side of the millennium…
EMI ignored the warnings of the last ten years to its detriment. The same accusation can be levelled at all the majors. For the first time, a format (MP3) and a delivery channel (online) were developed outside of the labels’ control; their inability to understand the opportunities and possibilities were pre-Luddite.
So obviously, the solution is to cripple the internet industry. Sheesh.
Taxpayers’ money well spent
From The Register:
The Scottish government has tackled the thorny issue of cat welfare by issuing a Draft Cat Welfare Code of Practice aimed at providing “basic information and guidance to those responsible for cats on how to care for them”.
How bloody stupid do you need to be to name a kids’ bed Lolita?
Yet more proof that it’s time for humans to quit the planet and let the insects take over:
Woolworths has withdrawn bedroom furniture for young girls bearing the sexually charged name Lolita after a campaign waged by a mothers’ online chat room.
The Lolita Midsleeper Combi, a whitewashed wooden bed with pull-out desk and cupboard intended for girls aged about 6, was on sale on the Woolworths website for £395.
…“What seems to have happened is the staff who run the website had never heard of Lolita, and to be honest no one else here had either. We had to look it up on Wikipedia. But we certainly know who she is now.”
ID cards: Scots screwed again
A superb post by Mr Eugenides on the ever-entertaining ID cards scheme: if you’re in Scotland but don’t live near one of just 11 processing centres, you’re stuffed.
The true insanity of the scheme is demonstrated most starkly by the fate that awaits the good people of Orkney and Shetland – some 40,000 souls in all. There are apparently to be no processing centres for ID cards on the islands – any of the Scottish islands, as far as I can see – and so every single inhabitant of Orkney, Shetland and all the others is going to have to go to the mainland to be registered.
The nearest centre is in Wick, which is nearly 200 miles away from Shetland. But it’s not too difficult to get there. From Shetland’s capital, Lerwick, simply hop on a ferry to Kirkwall in Orkney (7 and a half hours), then it’s a short bus transfer to Burwick (45 minutes), a ferry across to John O’Groats (45 minutes) and another bus to Wick (about an hour). But make sure you don’t show up at lunchtime; there’s usually a queue.
A masterpiece of Daily Mail writing
No, I mean it. This is the Daily Mail doing what it does best, reporting on an alleged internet suicide cult:
A wild child who surfed her way to suicide and ‘virtual immortality’
The secret life of Natasha Randall was laid bare on an alarmingly candid web page.
At the click of a button you could discover her likes and dislikes, study revealing photographs, chat to her online and find out who wanted to have sex with her.
Yesterday that page became her virtual headstone.
…But equally disturbing is the possibility - voiced by police - that young people may regard “virtual immortality” as the ultimate in cool.
To an adult unfamiliar with the peer status that celebrity on the web can create, it might sound unlikely. But a few minutes spent browsing Natasha’s page on “bebo”, one of the leading social network sites, would horrify most decent parents.
…Her invitation to potential on-line friends includes a questionnaire that poses only four questions before it asks: “Would you have sex with me?”
Then it descends into areas that should never be accessible to any juvenile with a fake email address, which, incidentally, is all it takes to join bebo.
Likewise, some of the replies she receives are unrepeatable here. A parent might reasonably question why T-Mobile, MTV, Ugg Boots and Capital One credit cards choose to be among the advertisers whose products flash up on the site.
Beware DNA, “athiests” and monkeys
Deoxyribonucleic Acid, for example… sounds impressive, right? But have you ever seen what happens if you put something in acid? It dissolves! If we had all this acid in our cells, we’d all dissolve! So much for the Theory of Evolution, Check MATE!
Various quotes from stupid people on the internet, via MetaFilter (this particular crop are from Christian fundamentalists, but it’s not the religion. It’s the dumbness).
More:
If we did evolve from monkeys then how come babies arent born monkeys
And:
I believe my son has a girlfriend, because she left a dirty magazine with men in it under his bed.
I particularly enjoyed “Athiests as a majority” [sic].
Sometimes the jokes write themselves
This is real: The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Understanding Intelligent Design.
[Via Graham Linehan - I know it's old, but I've just seen it]
What it’s like to work for a holiday club sales firm
A wee while back I ranted and ranted about firms flogging holiday clubs. John - not his real name - has been in touch to describe what it’s like to be the person doing the phoning. He’s a 21-year-old student who, like many students, decided to get a part-time job to help make ends meet.
Over to you, John…
I was first aware of something strange on arrival. I stood outside in the rain, completely soaked, and wondered why there were no markings indicating the company name. No sign. Nothing. And I was worried about being soaked, partly because I was attending a job interview and looked like a twat, and partly because I was afraid I’d drip water all over their computers if I had to do a data entry test.
Turns out I didn’t need to worry, because there were no computers and there was no interview. Well, almost. It lasted about 30 seconds, and if I’d quacked like a duck or baa-ed like a sheep I’m confident I’d still have been offered the position.
There’s a small office at the front - with computers! - but I’ve no idea what actually occurs there. It was never mentioned. The main area is one large room and it’s the call centre. One lonely computer sits on a desk at the front manned by a manager, who’s about 20, and the rest of the room is filled with scabby desks equipped with two phones each. There is a complex filing system consisting of state-of-the-art cardboard pigeon holes randomly dumped on the floor, each one overflowing with sheets containing names, addresses and telephone numbers. Random coat hangers decorate the wall.
Basically I was told that they are a travel agent, and that my job would be to call people who’d filled in a survey and won a free holiday. I was to call them and inform them that they’d been awarded a free holiday consisting of luxury accommodation for up to four people and two return flights. I would then have to arrange appointments for the people to come and collect their prize.
I would be paid £6 per hour, and I’d be paid £10 commission for every person that collected their prize.
I’d done cold calling before and this sounded like a piece of piss. If people had filled in surveys to win a holiday, then surely they’d be well chuffed to have won.
Yes, the place looked like a squat but I was broke - and being fairly well trained on the phone in previous jobs, I was confident that I’d make loads of cash from the commission. And I probably would have done, if anything they’d told me was true.
So it’s my first day and I arrive an hour early for training before starting my first shift. The group consisted of me, one other guy and our manager. After training the other guy bolted for the door with such pace and conviction that he nearly bowled over a poor girl who had arrived for work, still wearing her school uniform. I looked at the manager with astonishment, and he was exchanging looks with another manager - but without any obvious dismay or signs of caring. On retrospect, it occurs to me that it probably happens a lot.
I was directed to sit beside some guy who I was to watch working for the first half of the four hour shift, and then I’d be let loose on my own. I say “watch”, not “listen in”, because there wasn’t a second headset, so I could only hear his side of the conversation.
I watched as he worked his way through - not surveys, but sheet after sheet of names, addresses, phone numbers and credit card details. I’m kidding about the credit card details. But still, it didn’t look as if this stuff came from surveys. He did have the odd survey form, but from what I could gather they were only given out a few times per week and only if you were doing well. I also noticed that half the time he wasn’t offering free holidays; he was telling people they’d won a shopping spree.
For the two hours I was there, he didn’t have much luck. He got through to about ten numbers, of which half hung up immediately. And no wonder, because everything’s scripted. You basically start by saying “Hi, my name’s Gus from X Company, and I’m calling regarding a holiday survey you filled out for us.” You then ask if it’s okay to check a few details to confirm that you’re speaking to the right person. That checking is to see if you’re not married, don’t own your own property, are too old, are too young or don’t earn over £20,000. If you are, we say sorry, you’re not the person we thought you were, our bad, no holiday for you.
Halfway through we get a break, during which two or three people are sacked for not reaching the target of four appointments per hour. You’re warned about this at the very beginning of the shift. Apparently they can’t afford to pay people who underperform, even for just two hours.
The next two hours were the longest two hours of my life. I finished my shift and swore that I’d never again cross the door.
My friend - the guy who’d told me about the job in the first place - quit about a week later over a dispute with his pay or lack of pay. You’re paid cash, so I suspect they’re probably skimping on tax.
In summary, then: if they call you, please be polite - there are human beings on the other end, so don’t lower yourself to the company’s level. Say you’re not interested and if they persist, hang up.
New audio technology brings internet pop-ups to the real world
Just when you thought advertising couldn’t get any more intrusive:
New Yorker Alison Wilson was walking down Prince Street in SoHo last week when she heard a woman’s voice right in her ear asking, “Who’s there? Who’s there?” She looked around to find no one in her immediate surroundings. Then the voice said, “It’s not your imagination.”
Indeed it isn’t. It’s an ad for “Paranormal State,” a ghost-themed series premiering on A&E this week. The billboard uses technology manufactured by Holosonic that transmits an “audio spotlight” from a rooftop speaker so that the sound is contained within your cranium.
Holosonic boss Joe Pompei doesn’t see any problem with the idea.
“There’s going to be a certain population sensitive to it. But once people see what it does and hear for themselves, they’ll see it’s effective for getting attention,” Mr. Pompei said.
The assumption, of course, is that letting advertisers GET INSIDE OUR BLOODY HEADS WHENEVER THEY BLOODY WELL FEEL LIKE IT BECAUSE THEIR STUPID BLOODY CAMPAIGN IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN OUR THOUGHTS is something we should embrace.
It’s mental mugging - and it’s not going to be great for people with genuine mental problems either, is it?
[AdAge, via MetaFilter]
[Have I blogged about this before, or are the voices telling me that I have?]