Macarthur Park is the greatest song ever

Before I start with my rationale why Macarthur Park is the greatest song ever, I would like to issue a challenge to all those who read this title and thought "Heheh, Sam's being ironic - like that stupid pile of semi-musical horse shit is even worthy of the title of WORST song ever" to prove, logically, empirically and definitively with reference to at least TWO respected scientific journals, why it is not the greatest song ever. It cannot be done. Therefore, logically, it simply MUST be the greatest song ever. But for those sceptics who would like to throw my own arguments back at me, asking me to prove my own points, well I provide you with the WHY.

REASON NUMBER ONE: It was sung by Richard Harris. How many songs can claim that they have achieved this incredible feat? Well, eight, it seems. But of all the songs in the world that are generally regarded as 'the greatest ever', virtually none. (Although "How to Handle a Woman" did once make it to number 834 on the 'most popular songs ever' list produced by the national recording company of Malawi). Anyway, the fact that Macarthur Park was sung by Richard Harris in itself makes it the greatest song ever, as found by Vingerhoetz et al. in the distinguished and really down-to-earth empirical scientific journal, volume 34 issue 2, September 1968, which stated that "Any song made by anyone who isn't Richard Harris is NOT the greatest song ever"

REASON NUMBER TWO: It is about a cake. This is singly the greatest idea in the history of music since some guy said "Hmm, I think I'll invent music", and what's more is that writing a song about a cake is incredibly difficult in itself. But what makes this song even greater and therefore intrinsically worthy of the title 'greatest song ever' is that in this case, the cake is simply used as a metaphor for what was seemingly a nicely fulfilling springtime romance with a young person of the ladyship persuasion that was tragically fated, and will never happen again. The brilliance of using the cake as nothing more than a metaphor is a mark of absolute genius that alluded such other similarly themed opuses as "Pat a Cake, Pat a Cake" (Although there is a rumour that this latter song is very subtly and sinisterly a revelation of who really assassinated JFK). Furthermore, this metaphor is joined by the greatest simile ever put onto parchment, "Like a stripey pair of pants".

REASON NUMBER THREE: It's really, really long. Often this would be considered a downside but in this case, since it is a song about a cake, it is a feat worthy of smacking the ground with one's violently-dropping jaw in absolute awe. It is barely even imaginable the idea of being able to insert one line about a cake into any song, let alone drag out a song about a cake for seven minutes plus. Just imagine John Lennon trying to produce an extended version of "Imagine" to include the bridge:

Imagine there's no cake
And no chocolate icing or whipped cream either
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one...

Would that work? Of course not. But in the case of Macarthur Park, not only does the cake theme MAKE the song, but it transcends the whole song. This is more than a song, ladies and gentlemen. It is art itself.

REASON NUMBER FOUR: Unlike all other songs, it is actually ENHANCED by being played on the tabla. This is not because the song by itself is poor, but in the same way that it being about a cake makes it so much better than it would be if it weren't about a cake, an otherwise unbeatable, perfect song is only made better by being played on an obscure, non-musical instrument from the Asian subcontinent. It is the genius of Richard Harris' original version that makes the original absolute perfection and yet made better in subsequent, tabla-involving recordings. No other song can claim that it anticipated further recordings to the point where it was perpetually destined to be improved in this way.

I hope I have put you sceptics in your place. No other song, in the history of everything, can claim to be by Richard Harris and use a cake metaphor as its primary theme. This stands in the face of any contrary evidence and proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Macarthur Park is the greatest song ever. It is a sad fact that Richard Harris is now no longer with us, and knowing that, like him, we (the human race I mean) will, indeed, never have that recipe again.

Sam Reviews Public Toilets III: Manly Beach

Part III: Manly Beach (In the yellow surf lifesaving building)
(North Steyne, Manly NSW)

Capacity

Somewhat less than adequate. There are two cubicles and that's it. I imagine that during any busy periods, there could be lines out the door. And as I'll get to in 'cleanliness', this could be fairly unhygienic. The trough is average size, three people can stand there without feeling uncomfortable. 3/10

Cleanliness

Oh dear. There's something about beach toilets - I mean I don't know what is involved in the maintenance of such toilets but starting with Brighton-le-Sands (I think it was actually Monterey, thinking about it, but we started in Brighton and just walked down the beach) my experience with beachside public toilets has been pretty abysmal. So I think maybe 'nothing' is what maintenance of such toilets involve because seriously, it's quite bad. And it's made worse by the thought that people might be walking on that stale urine-soaked floor with bare feet. Mercifully I was wearing thongs at the time but if I had not been, well let's just say I'd happily hold it, or at the very least I'd be grateful for my proximity to the water, so I could wash and scrub them clean. 1/10

Washing Area

This was a shade better. The taps were pretty crap but at least they were normal faucet-style ones, rather than push-button that just vomit out one sudden gush of water and then stop. Unfortunately, only air dryers. And crappy old ones, at that. 5/10

Tszujiness

It's a purely practical facility. I daresay they assume there's no need to make the toilets nice since it's a beachside suburb and nobody really cares about what's in the inside. Plus everyone presumably urinates in the water anyway. We all know what surf people are REALLY like. Having said that though, if it weren't so filthy, it might look okay. They were going for some sort of tile-floored, concrete-wall motif I'd say, with a stunning diamonte fleur-de-lis that sadly didn't make it to the final blueprint. 5/10

Overall Satisfaction

It's difficult to say considering I really did need to go to the toilet when I went in, so upon leaving I was really quite relieved. Whether I was satisfied though, that's a different story. And a different answer. Which would probably be 'no'. I mean, they could have been alright but realistically they're bloody filthy. 4/10

Ranking in the Public Toilet System

1) Carlingford Court Ground Level
-> 2) Manly Beach Surf Life Saving Building
3) Top Ryde Shopping Centre Food Court

Engrish, it's a funny old game

Yesterday when I was waiting for a bus at Epping Station, I was looking at a 'housemate wanted' flyer stuck to a post that had obviously been written by an international Macquarie Uni student (Is there any other type of Macquarie Uni student, by the way?) which had a delightfully incorrect piece of punctuation. Essentially it just had a comma where it should have had a full stop, and vice-versa. But the unfortunate result was that the final sentence read thus: "Non-smoking student wanted, including electricity and gas."

Although I can understand that getting a student who didn't come with gas would be quite irritating, it's obviously not what the author of said flyer was aiming for. Anyway, if there is a clearer example of what a silly and unforgivingly confusing language English is, I can't find it. Just two little symbols round the wrong way, and you get a sentence so hilarious some idiot who'd just had a long, hard, hot day at work would memorise it and use it as the basis for a blog post. What pathos.

I have realised lately though how much it would really suck to have to learn English because there are a million and one rules governing it, and a million and one exceptions to every single one of those rules. I mean it becomes quite apparent when walking through Lakemba on a Friday night which I do very often that half the people who were born here can't even speak a bloody word of the language. The other day I even said, totally accidentally (for once), said "more better" and I have no idea why - although the flagellation I gave myself as a punishment will remind me never to do it again.

But this has also been striking me a lot lately because I've resolved to learn to speak a basic level of the Chinese language - not just because Bec is Chinese but also because I deal with innumerable customers at Myer who are Chinese and some of them have a really very tentative grasp of English (Today I spent twenty minutes explaining the benefits of a Sunbeam Cafe Ristretto Espresso Machine to a nine-year-old kid because his Dad didn't speak a word of English - and like a nine-year-old would appreciate the benefit of a 15-bar pump system) so I thought it would be really quite handy if I could communicate to a basic level with them without having to resort to weird, pancultural body language (One lady's frantic and exagerrated hand symbols about a week ago were hilarious, although not quite as useful as the phrase "Excuse me young man, could you please direct me to the locale in which you keep your hand-held body massaging kits?).

To this end, I have learned a full one phrase in Mandarin, albeit the most helpful one in the world of customer service, "Can I help you?" Naturally, the most useful one in the real world is "I sorry, I doonut speeky dee Mandarin" but we're saving that for Advanced Mandarin lesson 1. The amusing part of the story however, is that when Bec got me to 'try out' this line on her mother (who, by the by, actually pronounces the word as "Engrish" which I think is really cute), I sort of mispronounced one word the slightest bit which changed the meaning from "Can I help you?" to "Can I hug you?" which is far more amusing - for me, at least - in hindsight than it was at the time. At the very least though, apart from being ample payback for all the times Bec and I have laughed secretly and maliciously at her Mum's pronunciation of difficult words, it made me realise yeah, language is weird. I mean, I can't even imagine now how hard it's going to be to learn a language in which tone is phonemic (That is, a different tone changes the meaning of a word) when the slightest pronunciation error so radically changes the meaning. Much like my friend 'David' who wrote the flyer mentioned at the start of my post might discover if anyone were ever pedantic enough to bring it to his attention.

However, with all of Engrish's little ambiguities, subtleties and downright silliness, I still can't figure out what the people in that Korean restaurant in Capitol Square were trying to say when they called their dishes "Sexy Chicken" and "Passion of the Eel". Can anyone help me with that one?

Sam Reviews Public Toilets II: Carlingford Court

Part II: Carlingford Court Shopping Centre (Ground Level)
(Corner Carlingford & Pennant Hills Road, Carlingford NSW)

Capacity

One would assume these toilets have adequate capacity, since there is a trough as well as three cubicles. However, during lunch rush (which is the only time I need a cubicle for, as we discussed, medical reasons), there is a constant rush and everyone, EVERYONE heads straight for the cubicles. So all in all, for such a popular area of the shopping centre, the capacity is actually very poor. Because the trough is actually very small, as well. Only 3 people can fit at any one time. 2/10

Cleanliness

In spite of being very heavily populated, these toilets are actually pretty well maintained. This is because the cleaning staff, as I have seen, are frequently checking up on it; they don't just clean it once a day and so overall I have to say this is pretty good. 8/10

Washing Area

Average. Those annoying push button taps that explode on you and then suddenly shut off. However, at least they provide cold water which puts them miles up on the Stalinist regime known as Macquarie Centre (which we will review later, of course). Only air dryers available, although they are pretty good quality for auto-sensor ones. 5/10

Tszujiness

Meh. They have all the stuff that was once considered trendy and new like the push-button taps and the auto-sensor air dryers but they're still the oldest type available and so they're really just annoying, in the way that a 1980-model computer is. As in, it may have been miles ahead of technology once but now it's just shit and user-unfriendly. However, cleanliness is a bonus. It's really just a very standard, bathroom-y type feel which all in all is all you can really expect. 5/10

Overall Satisfaction

I'm often inconvenienced by these toilets but that's more a problem with patronage than the facilities themselves. It would be nice if Carlingford could provide a staff only male toilet, to go with the female one. I mean I understand the need for more female toilets than male, but still, it's the patrons rather than the staff who insist on clogging up the cubicle system. Overall, 6/10

Ranking in the Public Toilet System: "Amazingly" (Sarcasm detector explodes), this beats Top Ryde. Currently 1st.

Sam Reviews Public Toilets I: Top Ryde Shopping Centre

Well, following on from my rant about the behaviour of public toilet patrons, as well as my super-normal frequenting of such places, both coupled with my desire to satirise my brother's blog and its "Rate the Oporto" section, furthermore added to by my belief that public toilets really should be scrutinised with the same critical eye as, if not to a greater extent than, we apply to opera and interpretive dance, intensified by the knowledge that my blog is distressingly sparse in and wanting of more posts, indeed Sam has forgotten how this sentence began and so shall end it abruptly.

So we present part I in a series of posts (or rather, a series of excuses for posts when nothing else comes to mind) exposing the highs and lows of the Sydney (and beyond) public toilet system. Each venue shall be marked (out of 10) on:

Capacity (How many patrons can fit per urinal trough, how many cubicles there are and how frequently they are NEEDLESSLY OCCUPIED *Sam wipes foam from the corners of his mouth and continues*, etc.)

Cleanliness (Surely this speaks for itself)

Washing Area (This includes how well the taps work including for other purposes such as filling a water bottle, the overall neatness of this area including water splashes, as well as the drying system provided)

Tszujiness (How stylish, modern or unique the toilets are)

Overall (How satisfied I felt upon leaving)

(And I mean, SATISFIED)

Part I: Top Ryde Shopping Centre (Near the food court)
(Corner Devlin Street and Blaxland Road, Ryde NSW)

Capacity

While I was the only patron at the time, it's nevertheless fairly obvious that if there were a dysentery epidemic in Top Ryde, we would be in trouble. The urinal trough is sub-average size, maybe four people could fit if they were particularly close or if one was a child. But worse than this, there is only one cubicle. Fortunately though, it's one of those cubicles with the door to the side of the toilet so if the door is unlocked and you push it open it doesn't smack into the backside of whoever's in there. 2/10

Cleanliness

Dear Christ, somebody please alert Ryde Municipal Council of the imminence of a cholera outbreak. There is a reason I was the only patron on this day, since there's only space for one person in between all the flies that inhabit this - and I use the term in its deepest and most literal sense - shithole. The toilet-related employees (to call them 'cleaners' or 'maintenance personnel' would both be hideous misnomers) seem to think the solution to this is to put more and more urinal cakes in. I mean there are six in this not-so-massive trough, at least two of which are quite obviously empty of any disinfectant-cum-slightly-banana-scented-air-freshener. And the final crowning glory of this putrid pit of pestilence is that the lock on the cubicle door is broken. I know that's technically not cleanliness but it does add to the overall neglected, I don't give a shit who catches what instantly lethal and rapidly contagious infection from these toilets, feel of them. 0/10

Washing Area

I'd say partly because nobody ever dares venture inside, splash wise this was okay. However, the cold tap on the left sink was broken, and yes, there were only two taps. I mean I know Top Ryde food court isn't the major place to hang out in Sydney but still, gah, poor poor poor. Crappy old air dryers as well. 2/10

Tszujiness

If this toilet were in the middle of a slum in plague-ridden London, I'd still think it was a bloody mess. I mean, quite frankly it wouldn't be too far to wish that this place were walled off as a hazardous waste zone. Useful only as a torture venue. 0/10

Overall Satisfaction

An absolute bloody disaster. You'd be better off shitting on the pavement. 1/10

Ranking in the Public Toilet System: Currently 1st

Public Toilet Etiquette

Before I begin today's rant, I should like to make it publicly known that this post is not in any way inspired or influenced by the recent spate of bombings, kidnappings and harming of innocent kittens that has followed my inability to post of late, but as I always stated, simply comes from my actually having something rant-worthy about which to rant for the first time in a long while. So, just in plain words to all those impatient hustlers out there, your insane schemes to intimidate me did not work, your lord and master Samuel has simply finally deigned to write to satisfy your plebeian thirst for drivel. Also, I'm really really really sorry I took so long to write and please don't hurt me *Sam cries and wets his pants in fear*

Anyway, down to business. Something that's always somewhat irked me but only recently has begun to actually piss me off to the point of mouth-foaming and complete stranger's head smashing with a ballpoint hammer is, as the title to this post would suggest, public toilet etiquette, or the lack thereof displayed by practically every male in existence.

Firstly, something which I've noticed for a very long time but seems to have only really become prevalent lately, is why does every single male, upon entering a public toilet, insist on clearing his throat in the most
disgustingly phlegmy way (in a room, let's not forget, with quite excellent acoustics) and hocking it into the toilet bowl? So okay, farbeit from me to complain about a place specifically designed to expel our bodies of substances in this way, but seriously, does everyone need to make such a public display of VOLUME as they do it? It's quite amazing but there are no exceptions to this rule - young and old, rich and poor, Caucasoid or Australoid, it's like the one thing that unites men across the world - no it's not Dr Martens boots - is making revolting throat noises in the bathroom.

I realise that in some respects this 'lack of bathroom etiquette' is in actual fact a triumph for otherwise public etiquette, in that it's no longer acceptable to spit in the street, but still, why the noise? I very rarely hear guys proudly displaying the noise produced by certain other activities that go on in there (in spite of what may have been mentioned in that pre-honours English tute recently) and honestly, I mean I know it's the most hygienic place to do it, it just astounds me that every time I enter a toilet, that's all I hear, over and over again - HWOOOOOOIK!

However, what really, really gives me the shits is nothing to do with hygiene but rather simple manners. This matter rather revolves around the use of cubicles in male toilets. This recently made me unutterably mad at Bondi Westfield when I was clearly waiting for one of the three cubicles, all of which were occupied, when this dude walked in and was about to head to the urinals when someone exited one of the cubicles, at which point this dude completely ignored me and wandered in...

Now when did it become the norm for males to want a cubicle to urinate? Honestly, the reason there exists such a thing as a urinal is that it is NOT genetically preordained for a member of the masculine gender to require sitting down when expelling urine. In fact, one of the greatest spots for male bonding is when two guys take adjacent spots at a urinal, each one takes a covert glance across, which is followed by either – a nod of respect from one to the other, or mutually between the two, or a sympathetic eyebrow raise – and from that moment on, an understanding is formed and a relationship exists. However, if you cloister yourself away in a cubicle, it’s either because you’re ashamed, or because you’d rather read graffiti that form alliances with other members of the male species. Either way it’s just plain antisocial, in more ways than one.

Because seriously, the reason it annoys me so much is because I don’t just use the public toilet, and cubicles in particular, for conventional purposes. I also use them as the setting where I give myself insulin shots. Call me crazy, but recently diagnosed as I am, I’m not entirely comfortable standing with people buzzing about me while I stab a needle into my flesh – and I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable with that. Besides, who seriously wants to see someone else doing it? It’d be like, ooh I don’t know, making everybody listen while you clear your throat of mucus… As in, it might seem perfectly normal to you but other people have their own views.

So all in all I’d actually say I have a medical reason for wanting a cubicle, not simply because I’m a little wuss boy who’s afraid of a male bonding ritual that goes back further than punching-each-other-in-the-head competitions. That means, and I’m singling you out, people who use the ground floor toilets at Carlingford Court near the chemist, you’re interfering with the treatment of a serious medical condition and if my feet fall off at the age of thirty because you’re too afraid to urinate next to someone else, I will personally come around and hack all your extraneous limbs off as compensation.
Stay tuned for my next series of toilet-related posts. Seriously.