Oh dear, what a week. We’ve had America once again torn apart by gun violence, Auspol’s most enduring bromance was cast into doubt, and Apple trusted the application of glass to see them through.
If there are two things that define America, it’s the size of the erection their semi-automatic hunting rifles give them, and the expanse of their fear of the Russians. Sadly, this week, the Encyclopedia Unfortunitca added two new pages to the dusty tome that clueless foreigners endlessly reference.
Yet again we’ve all witnessed boxes of bullets poured into our morning cereal as the worst shooting in America since the last one revealed itself, with the victims sadly being the fruit of tomorrow. However, the combination of automatic rifles and schoolchildren quickly birthed another American condition.
Blaming the wrong thing.
Not soon after the hideous, unforgivable, and just frankly fuck you crimes of Nikolas Cruz, organised America banded together to blame two people. The FBI, for not adequately acting on a solitary Youtube comment the shooter made, or, bizarrely the victims of shooting itself, with old mate stating:
So many signs that the Florida shooter was mentally disturbed, even expelled from school for bad and erratic behavior. Neighbors and classmates knew he was a big problem. Must always report such instances to authorities, again and again!
— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) February 15, 2018
In reaction to the brutality of modern-day America, considering that this week’s shooting represents the eighteenth in a school this year, educators across the nation are planning to peacefully down tools in an effort to convince legislators to finally clamp down on the availability of these uber rifles in suburbia.
On Friday, April 20th we want students to attend school and then promptly WALK-OUT at 10:00 am. Sit outside your schools and peacefully protest. Make some noise. Voice your thoughts. “We are students, we are victims, we are change.”
— National School Walkout (@schoolwalkoutUS) February 17, 2018
Fingers all the way crossed.
Pardon the chintzy segue, the entirety of the whole Russiagate deal remains a proliferation of information. There are too many names to remember to keep track of the issue, and to be honest, there are no home runs. No footage exists of Donald meeting a man in a Russian hat named Georgy, nor are there any substance beyond the headlines.
For example. This sounds great, right? Thirteen Russians charged for diddling the democratic process. Yuge, right?
Mueller’s indictment of 13 Russians strikes at the heart of the meddling matter https://t.co/aO36r4ZfD3
— The Guardian (@guardian) February 17, 2018
Well, no. The Department of Justice frankly planted in the presser surrounding their indictment, “There is no allegation in this indictment that any American had any knowledge.” The DoJ also added that the charges did not mean the Russian activity had an effect on the outcome of the election.
For those curious, please cast your eyes over the handy video explainer that really gets to the heart of the artichoke.
Barnaby Joyce and Malcolm Turnbull are that couple we all know and endure. They’re very much in love, despite that fact that no-one can really tell why, and yes, they might be currently trading insults over dinner while we awkwardly attempt to change the topic, everyone knows that they’re going to kiss, make up and probably fuck on the table before the desserts arrive; and they’re absolutely going blame you for bringing it up later when things are good now.
For those of you reading this who were fortunate enough to miss the last week, and please, let me know how you put yourself in a coma (I’m asking for a friend), the Shaggy to Malcolm’s Scooby, Barnaby Joyce, had a stormy week. Very simply, he had a friend in Malcolm, then he didn’t. Malcolm sent him home for a week instead of letting him do his job, Barnaby very publically abused Malcolm, Barnaby and Malcolm met behind closed doors to nut it out. And now they’re bros again? I think?
#BREAKING: Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull and his Deputy Barnaby Joyce have met in Sydney after a publicly criticising each other.
The ABC understands the pair met for over an hour and agreed they needed to work together.
— ABC News (@abcnews) February 17, 2018
I mean, we don’t know. There’s a very good chance that they’re totally no longer like together, and that, but if it does come to the end, hopefully, when they’re claiming back all their stuff from the cabinets within, they’d remember the good times. As much as the rest of us would really like to forget them. Really. Just break up, fuck or don’t. I’m over wringing mirth out of that jousty beetroot.
There’s a certain type of hubris that trails people who work for the largest of companies. The words fall out of their mouths and stain the floor, as the rest of us slip in their success, despite the fact it’s just a retail job. Slight preamble here, at the commencement of his employment at Apple, a friend of mine triumphantly tootled that it’s as difficult of getting a job at Apple as it is to get into Stanford University.
I mean, just go to Stanford. Then you wouldn’t have to work in retail.
Anyway, Apple’s new headquarters is a symphony of glass and incompatible practicalities, and while I respect the meta-joke of the building echoing their products, the employees within have a problem with it. They keep walking into the walls.
Per Time magazine: “…surrounding the Cupertino, California-based building are 45-foot tall curved panels of safety glass. Inside are work spaces, dubbed “pods,” also made with a lot of glass. Apple staff are often glued to the iPhones they helped popularize (sic). That’s resulted in repeated cases of distracted employees walking into the panes, according to people familiar with the incidents.”
Jony Ive, Apple’s design chief, spoke to Wired in May. “The achievement is to make a building where so many people can connect and collaborate and walk and talk.”
Apple. If you’re reading this, I’ve gone to the liberty of pre-interviewing the next wave of your talent.