11.2 km/s

Since I'm now busy in an office from morning to evening, I find I have plenty of time to blog when I get home. Strange how that turns out. When you have all the time in the world, you have zero motivation to do anything with it. When you're forced to squeeze every free minute out of your schedule, suddenly, you're inspired!

A friend mentioned in passing that it seemed that I'd finally returned to the corporate world. I don't think I truly ever left. I'm sure that when Sputnik was soaring through space, it too thought it had slipped from Earth's grip once and for all. But the great funnel of gravitational suck that is the Earth wasn't through yet. Within three months, it had dragged the spunky little satellite low enough that it burnt up in the upper atmosphere.

Escape velocity is hard to achieve, especially when having attained separation, you realise just how cold space is.

A streak of light in the sky;
celestial debris coming home.
Wish upon a falling star.

God, I sound depressing! :-/

Khaki Blues

Steve Irwin bites it. And good riddance!

Here's a man who spent his life running around after hapless beasts, provoking them into attacking him and then prancing around as if fending off animals with brains the size of walnuts is something to crow about.

"Lookit me! I'm sitting on the back of a trussed up croc while ten men hold it down! Ain't I the man!"

South Park 's caricature of him was biting and insightful. An empty headed, khaki shirt filling buffoon, running around shouting "I'm going to pin 'im down and jam my thumb up his arse!" in his trademark 'australian-for-beer' accent. Pray tell, how exactly does wrestling with a Dingo or putting the smack down on a Koala further the cause of either science or conservation? Will the fact that you clotheslined an alligator help protect the species or will giving a Kangaroo a pouch wedgie help spread environmental awareness? I don't see erstwhile Steve's audience of WWE watching mouth-breathers running out to embrace either trees or conservationism anytime soon.

Nature has the last laugh as usual though, as Steve is stabbed through the heart by Touche the Sting-ray; no doubt as he tried to wrestle it to the seabed and jam his thumb up its arse. Et tu Brute! and all that.

Now it's off to the happy hunting grounds for Steve, to spend the rest of eternity being chased by the spirits of the very animals he abused, as they for once, get to shove their thumbs, claws, pincers and what have you up his arse.

Crikey! Now that's what I would call some real entertainment!