Nixta Sinks

I normally plagiarise (well, shamelessly reference, which isn't the same thing at all, I guess) Kottke's stuff. But when I'm not doing that, I spend time fuming at the Gizmodo Gizmorons. But despite a solid focus on PS3 for what seemed like a couple of decades, they appear to have redeemed themselves of late, having sipped a little from the sasspool (or I'm turning nerd again). Perhaps though my Alzheimer's really is making everything fresh and new for me again.

Staff must wash hands

Article 1 (via Gizmodo via ZNF): Tits Sell PS3s. Obvious, I suppose. But it's had perhaps a slightly unintended effect on me: I wouldn't buy one now unless it was advertised poking out of Scarlett Johansson's vag while Laura Harring gives her a Cleveland Steamer.

Article 2: Poop soap. Useful in the shower after they've sold me that PS3. Nuff said. I was going to give this one to TSF but I need the material. I've just realised TSF is not only The Sherman Foundation, but also my brother (the S is for Samuel). Appropriate, since they are the only two people I know who would not only accept a gift of poop soap but be positively enthralled by it.

Article 3: No sass, but I like it. For once the reference to "pod" predates Apple's predominant dominance.

Finally, since we're in a bottom-joke, toilet-feeder, Scarelett-Steamer kind of mood, some American Pie, Swedish style (SFW@discretion):

Ketchup Rules, even in Sweden

Yurope

I'm in Slovenia visiting my mother and brother and working from here when it's not the weekend. Beats the office and my Marylebone flat. It's physically impossible to spend too much here, and still the food rocks. A gazillion photographs to post on Flickr for you unfortunate bastards to peruse (though I suppose in this era of on-demand entertainment that's not much of a threat).

Being here, and being gifted a lovely pair of Marshal Tito socks, along I suppose with the justified pasting I got for my John Lewis bitchpost, I feel it's time to post that display of ceramic armaments The DMC sent me a while back. Many of these ceramics would fit right in with the locals' homes - that's the truly scary thing. And be sure to check out this flash gallery of Krafft's work (mortars and shells - nice). It's all a bit old, but good nonetheless.

Looking at a collection of photos of Marshal Tito, I am reminded that things were actually not too bad in Communist days. Certainly there was a proud sense of patriotism that even today I find it hard to argue was misplaced. It was stronger than I've felt in the UK, and paid much more than the lip-service of US patriotism (after all, we were socialists). I miss the simple old days. No easyJet. No morons with money. No sellout peasants.

But Yugoslavia did create a certain mindset that's a wee bit off the rails for my liking. Witness the album covers I posted before. And you have to question this, although it's not actually far removed from your average "dedicated" UK football fan.

Whaaaaaa?

We'd all be dead. Or without fingers. Or at least scared shitless the whole time. And Greeks are pretty scary anyway, with their penchant for dangerous driving, surreptitious buggery, and Ouzo.

A particular favourite image for me is that of Americans (or Brits) trying to leave a shop, constantly being beckoned back in. However, that never happened to me once in many many weeks spent over there. It's an interesting piece, but full of holes and inconsistency.

For example, there's nothing on the UK's rules for tipping nor how it's impolite to talk loudly yet acceptable to run around naked chased by men in uniform. A bit like America, I suppose, only there you give them the brown-eyed once-over. Why AMTRAK? Why?

Via, as often is the case, Kottke. See also his unrelated but thoroughly fascinating link to perhaps the most endearingly nerded-up article I've read.

I'm frankly surprised that Kottke's BS-ometer didn't shoot through the roof with this one. Perhaps the subtle sarcasm of the article has passed me by. I was in two minds, but then fell heavily on the dead-pan side of the fence.

It's a ten-step guaranteed way to get your balls kicked firmly into the back of your throat and deservedly so. Could as well be entitled "Drive like a Nova, dress like a Mustang".

No, I'm sure I missed the joke with this one.

But the comments are so full of self-help claptrap that I feel I'm not the only one. Then again, it could be a concerted and well-rounded effort to delude, like WESC. Keep up Streethorsing, y'all.

I went to return a totally pristine unopened telephone to John Lewis today. My cleaning-lady had accidentally thrown away the receipt of this purchase, so I copied down all the pertinent details from my on-line bank statement for the transaction when I bought two sets of phones for my mother to choose from for our house in the Alps (electronics being so much more expensive in Slovenia).

Now, I concede that I shouldn't have lost the receipt, but shit happens. And when I got to John Lewis they wouldn't accept the phone. I had the date, the time, the amount, the name, even a reference number (which they pointed out somewhat rudely was a bank reference number, whereas it isn't - none of my other transactions have a number like that on them - only the two John Lewis transactions from that week). What they wanted was a bank statement. I pointed out that I don't get bank statements - I only get them online. Apparently though, that will do. A print-out of a web-page that I could fake sooooo easily is worth more than the exact same information written on a post-it note.

So I went to HSBC, but they couldn't print my statement because I'm with HSBC Offshore. And they don't have internet access other than to their own website. So I went to an internet cafe, but they don't have printers (I'm glad actually, because I didn't like that I was about to enter my banking details into a public machine, nor that the bank had advised me to do that).

Angry Nixta says:

• Why is a print-out of a web-page I could mock up in 2 minutes worth a shit?
• Customer service is about helping the customer. The staff at JL were totally unwilling to help come up with a solution. I know there must be a computer in John Lewis that has internet access that they I could have used, whether it had a printer or not. And what kind of proof-of-purchase of an £80 phone is a record in my bank statement that says I spent £175 at John Lewis on Oct 25th? The little squit behind the counter even had the gall to adopt a questionable tone for "Sir, let me make it nice and simple" and turned another receipt over before adding "Here are our terms for refunds". The terms read

  "We hope you are pleased with your purchase. Should you wish to return anything bought from us, we will be happy to exchange or refund provided it is in fully resalable condition. Returns should be made within a reasonable time (usually 28 days) and in original undamaged packaging. This does not affect your statutory rights."

  So I read it, and replied "Thank you, now explain why you won't take it back." Of course, having just been a total bitch and getting a smackdown for it, he had nothing to say. At that point his manager saved him and spun me a yarn about bank statements.

John Lewis are cunts. And I've spent so much time and money with them. Good money. Good times. Why, I remember the time I saw their television-sales chap collapse in an epileptic fit, the pressing of nose against window by the television displays on a Monday afternoon when they were closed (a 5 day week for a shop? What's that grandpa?), the browsing of Commodore 64 games that no-one else in town stocked (I think I bought Beach Head there), their best-in-town selection of early Apple and late Acorn hardware, their sports section at the back with my school colours proudly on sale next to the Gray's hockey sticks. All shattered.

By the way, John Lewis are frequently knowingly undersold. Fuck 'em.

In the interest of fair disclosure, they did exchange a faulty pepper-grinder downstairs with no trouble at all, although I did have the receipt for that.

It's a simplistic take on things, and frankly the market often dips 0.2% (28 points? Who's scared of 28 points?), but to hear Goldman analysts interpreting the election results as portentous of an untenable position for the market's growth adds a little more weight. Surely nothing being promoted is anything short of a sensible set of checks and balances to claw back at what's left of the country's very slight control over its own solvency. The one-armed itchy-arsed man hanging off the cliff may just have got a foothold, but it's indicative of the artificiality and ritualistic sand-based head-burying of the current market that it should be so scared of last night's results. Let's hope the markets do learn to cope with the supposed impending uncertainty, or else John "Jackass" Doe will doubtless hanker for the good old day of visionless guidance.

I recently had an eye-opening conversation with a friend who pointed out that in today's climate, consumer spending power is all. Nationwide personal debt is a small price to pay for the international trade demands it brings, casting a country eventually not as a dependent of a supplier, but as an irreplacable symbiote to the exporter eager to grow. In my chum's eyes a Republican defeat would be a global financial disaster. This may be true, but only in the near-term. The continuation of Republican governance is globally catastrophic, way beyond mere finances.