Category Archives: Articles

How to Win a Nobel Prize in Economic Theory

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Today, boys and girls, we are going to have a lesson in Economic Theory. Even if you haven’t studied Keynes, Hayek or Economic Theory for Idiotsand you are generally clueless about how the economy works, do not feel discouraged. These are the exact qualifications needed to write a book on Economic Theory and/or win a Nobel Prize in Economics.

Before you race out and buy your white tie and tails for the Nobel Prize ceremony, we ought to, perhaps, cover some of the basics of Economic Theory so you have some thoughts to string together for your acceptance speech. We will begin with budget estimates. Think of a number between 1 and 10. Don’t laugh; this is serious. Now multiply this number by one trillion and you have just calculated the USA National Debt, China’s monthly surplus or the number of hits on Britney Spears website. As you can see you will get a handle on this Economic Theory business in no time at all.

Full Article: How to Win a Nobel Prize in Economic Theory

OMIGOD IAMGOD

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This week I’m God. It seems we have been struck with alarming bouts of biblical weather, of late, and many claim these tempestuous events are some sort of sign from above. As I am God (or to be precise I am Acting God Level 3) it is my duty to bring clarity to this situation.

How I came to be God is interesting. I read the ad seeking an enthusiastic, committed and self-motivated individual or deity ready to employ their powers of omnipotence to introduce a program of universal harmony and co-operation and I thought ‘That’s for me’. So I applied for the position of Team Leader of the Asset Management Group, Universe Administration Office, Job Reference No. 0000003, temporary and, to my surprise, I got it.

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A Tribute to Fathers

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Fatherhood is a complex job. These days a father is meant to be a psychologist, a literacy and numeracy expert, the birth support team leader, the weekend fun guy, the custodian of sports team allegiances, DIY almost-everything handy man, the kid-money accountant, the Human Google Service, the local CSI unit (Who ate the last chocolate?), the Lost Computer File Recovery Unit, the Home Theatre hardware expert, the back of the toy box instruction reader, the All-Sports Sports coach, the driving instructor, the First Aide Expert, the mum calmer, the resident surf life saver, the 24/7 On-Call Homework tutor, the BBQ King, the referee, the Stop Whinging Enforcer, the gopher (especially of medicine in the middle of the night), the Piggyback Guy, the camp guru, the resident furniture mover/removalist, the all round navigator/driver, the Cheer Up Squad after the Grand Final/Audition/Competition loss/failure, the (swear word free-ish) IKEA flat pack assembler, the cycle team transport/manager, the local faction of WWF, the second hand car expert and/or financier and much, much more.

Full Article: A TRIBUTE TO FATHERS

Stop Pinging at Me!

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I appear to be failing modern life. My first surreal, Clockwork-Orange-tinged experience began a while back when I entered the kitchen and casually commented “Oh! Something is pinging!’ Having a modern kitchen meant there were a number of contenders.

I checked the fridge, the microwave, the oven timer and the remote phone hand-pieces. They all appeared to be in full working order but the pinging remained. Next I inspected the smoke alarms, the digital alarm clocks and our 4 mobile phones for flat batteries. Mobile phones tend to ‘chirp’ rather than ‘ping’, but desperation was building; I began to twitch. Nothing.  The drier, the washing machine, the computers, the fax, the radio, the CD player all turned up a blank. At this point, I started having conversations with appliances. ‘I know it is one of you. You’re not going to get away with this, you know!!!’

Full Article: Stop Pinging at Me

The Idiot’s Guide to Banking

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I’ve made a decision. The time is right. You may think I’m being a little impulsive, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to buy a bank. The reasons for buying a bank are obvious. Firstly, they’re very cheap at the moment. You can probably pick up a middle-sized bank on eBay with a lovely portrait of the Madonna and child burnt onto toast thrown in at no extra charge. And the thing is, my current bank has been so eager over the past few years to extend my credit limit; I think I could actually afford to buy a smallish bank on my VISA card.

The next reason for wanting to buy a bank is the prestige. Let’s face it, in all of those Occupations-You-Trust Surveys journalists usually rank somewhere between nightclub bouncers and Charles Manson. From now on, at dinner parties and the like, instead of admitting to being a journalist and therefore responsible for the decline of Western civilisation, general morality, community values, grammar, spelling and IQs everywhere, I can say ‘I own a bank’.

Full Article: The Idiots Guide to Banking

Super iPhoneman

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Look up in the sky. It’s a bird. It’s a Plane. It’s Super iPhoneman! You may think those fanatics, who were crazy enough to camp outside shops overnight in winter so they could get their hands on the first iPhones available in Australia, are super geeks. But this is not true. They are the superheroes of the new millennium. All right, Super iPhoneman may not be able to fly unaided, but you will find your friendly, neighbourhood super iPhoneman is nearby, ready, willing and able to fight for truth, justice and other stuff as long as it involves a really cool mobile phone with amazing functions. Oh Yes, Super iPhoneman is about to save the world.

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It’s Over, Paul!

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You can’t stop me. I’ve thought about it and its over. I’m going to divorce Paul McCartney. It’s been a long term relationship. Me and Paul go way back. When The Beatles first stepped off the plane onto the tarmac in Australia it was love at first sight. It had to be by sight because I couldn’t hear a thing as my friend Lynette spent the entire broadcast screaming at the black and white tellie. We were both in Year 8. She loved Ringo.

But it’s over with me and Paul. I’m talking about the end of a 44 year relationship. That’s a better track record than some of his other relationships. It was intense too. I had all the Beatles Albums. They were in my head, actually, because we couldn’t afford records. I can hum the entire Beatles collection. You try and hum Maxwell Silver Hammer. It’s not easy. I was so dedicated to Paul I was even prepared, if I had twins, to name them Ebony and Ivory. Now that we’re breaking up I think I deserve something. I wouldn’t ask for much, maybe, a masseuse for my dog and a small Lear Jet. There will not be custody issues. I’ll return those bootleg videos of The Beatles recorded live, obviously, by a drunk in a swivel chair.

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They Call It the Stock Market because They Behave like Sheep

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The current stock market crash resulted, say analysts, from the interplay between the Bull and Bear markets, the sub-prime crisis in America and the slowing down of growth in the global economy. All true, I guess. But the simple explanation for the stock market crash is that investors behave like sheep.

A few years ago some brave mathematicians at the Mediterranean Institute for Advanced Study in Mallorca used mathematical models of flocking behaviour to show that investors behave like sheep. But you don’t need mathematicians to verify the sheep-like behaviour of investors. It’s bleating obvious!

Everyday you hear, tagged onto the end of the radio or TV news, that some stock market index that sounds like the Nasquack has risen three points, that the Hang Long has suffered its greatest fall since 2pm yesterday or that the Footski has gone capute-ski. You don’t have to be an expert to realise that the stock market has more ups and downs than a leading zip fastener in Desperate Housewives.

Full Article: They Call It the Stock Market

Stone the Crows

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This is a story of suburban survival. It involves drugs, vandalism, alcohol and a neighbourhood under siege. This sorry saga began several months ago in my quiet tree-lined street. So quiet is this neighbourhood, the kids have accused me of dragging them to live in a suburb that could double as a morgue weekdays. Local entertainment reaches its frenzied peak on the weekend when everyone pushes out their wheelie bins.

Even in this suburban backwater, we’d experienced some vandalism over the years. A bent car aerial here. A nicked wheelbarrow there. Neighbourhood Watch works in my street. There’s nothing else to do, I guess. We’ve caught a burglar. I saw this guy in a tracksuit and did nothing. I probably waved. Idjut! He was, in burglar speak, casing the joint. Another more alert citizen saw him walking out of a neighbour’s house carrying a TV. She called the police. And they nabbed him.

Full Article: Stone the Crows

Yummy Mummy

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Having a baby can be a stressful time, but the pressure on pregnant women today is ridiculous. It is more or less expected that a girl will have a perfect orgasm followed by a perfect pregnancy and a perfect birth to produce the perfect child. As if that is not enough of a burden, now a girl must also look drop dead gorgeous while she is doing it. This is the era of the totally glam mum known as the yummy mummy.

Previous generations of Aussie women were not expected to be sexy, pert and pouting when pregnant. Back, way back in the fifties and sixties, my mother’s generation of young Aussie women had their problems. Their only career options were housewife and mother. But in there were comfort zones built into the womanhood package.

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