The Inaugural Julie Bishop Award for Staggering Ignorance

I was watching the House of Representatives today. Unfortunately I missed Question Time. However I did catch an interesting exchange between Julie Bishop and Stephen Smith.
Julie Bishop launched a ridiculous attack on the Rudd government today immediately after Question Time.
She cited a list of reasons why I would never vote Liberal in her attack.
Included in her points of heinous crimes that Labor have committed were:
1. Australia took a tough stance on whaling and condemned Japan for its practices on the matter.
She stated that if the Liberals were in charge, they would have turned a blind eye to Japan's whaling because it might jeopardise our trade relations. Umm...good one Jules. I am now starting to understand why Malcolm stopped you from asking questions during Question Time.

2. Australia refused to sell India uranium.
Poor Julie. I don't think she realises that Australia is part of the International Atomic Energy Agency and was one of the original members of 1957. The IAEA states that a member country cannot sell to a non-member state or to a state that cannot guarantee the safeguarding of enriched uranium. India falls quite neatly into that category Julie. So please, shut the fuck up.

3. Julie condemned Australia for looking at China in anything other than Trade Relations terms.
Her criticism was targeted specifically at military and intelligence reports that proposed a 'What if' scenario where we were invaded by China. Julie thought that this was preposterous!
What Julie failed to mention is that every country on earth does this as standard practice. It is called 'Preparedness'. And the fact that we might be friends right now with a country, makes not the slightest bit of difference in the creation of these documents. It is purely strategic. We also have a scenario on Indonesia and have done since Gough Whitlam's time. New Zealand has a 'What if' scenario on Australia invading New Zealand. These are perfectly normal and perfectly sane and rational documents. Frankly, I would be more worried if these documents didn't exist. They are designed to demonstrate foresight and contingencies. But the Howard government didn't know a fucking thing about contingencies. And it shows.

4. The penultimate point was a little bit unfathomable. Bishop criticised Rudd because we condemned the Israeli settlements in Gaza and Israel's breaches of the Geneva Convention. Umm..since when did Australia start condoning breaches of the Geneva Convention? Oh that's right! With John Howard and our consent to have two Australian Nationals held without charge in Guantanamo Bay.

5. Julie then went on to say that Australia had failed on Border Protection because 'we had outsourced the problem' to Indonesia. Outsourced? Julie, do you have Alzheimer's? Do you not remember the Pacific Solution where we spent tens of millions of dollars to hold refugees on Nauru? Have you forgotten the Excised Perimeter that Howard set up, which effectively meant that even if you were in Australian waters you wouldn't be 'processed' in Australia?
Are you out of your fucking mind?

So for these points Julie, a special award has been named after you. Please, hold you head up high because you are the first recipient of the Julie Bishop Award for Staggering Ignorance.

A round of applause for Julie please.

It's Unastrayan I tells ya!

Kate Ellis released the much anticipated Crawford Report today.
And it upset a couple of people. Well, one person actually. John Coates, Head of the Australian Olympic Committee.
Coates, in a calm and measured tone said, amongst other things: This is an insult to some of our great Olympic champions. Is Mr Crawford suggesting the gold medals won in Beijing by Matthew Mitcham, Steve Hooker and Ken Wallace meant nothing to the Australian people? Is he telling us the gold medals won by our rowers and sailors count for nothing? I will leave it to you to tell Simon Fairweather and Dean Lukin he's no longer a hero.

Stirring stuff.

John Coates - Douchebag

And he is right of course. Amongst the insidious changes that Crawford has recommended are things like:
a) Measurable national objectives and priorities for public funding including success for high performance and participation, with domestic and/or international significance and capacity to contribute to the Australian Government's objectives for social inclusion and preventative health. b) Financial and non-financial strategies to achieve those objectives including strategies that provide for greater participation. c) The roles and responsibilities of various levels of government and their agencies in delivering those strategies; including the sport and recreation, health, education, Indigenous and youth portfolios.
And also
The Australian Sports Commission should develop a system for collection of participation data from national sporting organisations that is reliable, valid, repeatable and comparable across sports.

Got all that? Crawford suggests that the ASC should be transparent, accountable and responsible. It should also help the community to try and include the poor and disadvantaged. Out-fucking-rageous!

The Crawford Report also suggested that the ASC, once becoming the Focal Point of all organised sports bodies, should relinquish any service delivery responsibilities, specifically the running of The Australian Institute of Sport, as it would represent a Conflict of Interest.

In the new regime, the ASC would be responsible for the allocation of all government money, from Elite right down to Community. The AOC would then be forced to account for all of the money it is asking for. Coates argues that under this 'disrespectful' arrangement that Australia will slide from a top 5 result in the Olympics down to say 8th. Maybe even 10th.
I know! It's THAT serious! I'm ready to give my passport in now.

The truth is John Coates has seen this report for what it is. Gone are the Howard days of feeding the Elite Athlete Machine so that we'd perform like East Germans on the World Stage. Instead, we have a much more realistic and down to earth approach that says Australia places far too much emphasis on medal tallies and not enough on the journey. Or the fact that some poor kid from Beenleigh/Broken Hill/Broadmeadows has actually managed to realise his dreams and represent his country at The Greatest Show on Earth. That of course doesn't figure in Coates' equation, who has asked for another $100 mill on top of the $400 mill his organisation already receives.
Given the reaction from Mr Coates, all he sees is the unacceptable scenario of accountability and someone forcibly yanking his snout from the trough.
The icing on the cake today was of course John Coates' use of that magic word - UnAustralian.
You showed your true colours today John. Wear them proudly.

Let's do things The Old Way!

So Truffles released his hotly anticipated Super-Duper! All New! Asylum Seeker Policy today.
And, well, it sort of turns out it's the same as the old one.
Turnbull announced if HE was in charge, the boats would stop coming because HE's bringing back Temporary Protection Visas - or TPV's.
Good work Mal. It took you HOW long to come up with that? And the difference between Turnbull's and Howard's TPV's? Well, rather more charitably, Malcolm has put a 3 three upper limit on them. After that time, said Asylum Seeker is then either granted residence or shipped smartly back to where they came from.
That's a solid sort of policy when looked at in the cold hard light of day.
The real problem, as Bernard Keane so rightly pointed out today, is that Turnbull's Visa's don't allow for family reunions and if you leave the country at any stage to go back and see your nearest and dearest, you will never, ever be allowed back into Australia. Ever.
So what? I hear you utter under you breath (You heartless prick!)
TPV's are reason why women were 'throwing their children into the water' during the Children Overboard Affair.
Did you ever wonder why there were so many women and children on that boat when historically it is usually just men on these boats? Did you ever wonder why four times as many women and children died than men in the Ashmore Reef disaster?
The blame can be squarely heaped onto the shoulders of Howard's TPV's
You see, under TPV's, you can't go and see your family. As a matter of government policy. Family reunions are forbidden as a nasty and soulless form of deterrent/punishment.

Jesus! Last week I spent 5 nights away from my wife and children to go and look after my mum and it damn near killed me that I wasn't tucking my children in at night. So think of what a father has to live with when they hop on an unsafe boat, whilst leaving their likely vulnerable wife and children behind in an unsafe and hostile country, knowing that you will not see them for years. Or ever.
So rather than face years away from each other, families now travel together on these vessels. Which is why when something goes wrong, it goes horribly wrong, and entire families are lost. And it is the reason why Rudd abolished TPV's altogether.

Another point to make is that TPV's didn't work. The boats didn't stop. Refugees didn't stop arriving. In fact, under the careful watch of Ruddock, arrivals of 'illegals' by plane increased by nearly a third. And we aren't talking another 22 people on top of our usual 66. No we are in the tens of thousands. Right up until Immigration stopped publishing the figures in shame faced embarrassment.

I don't think Rudd has all the answers on this, and his current handing of the Viking crew has been less than stellar, but if I have to choose between the policies of Chris Evans and Stephen Smith and Julie Bishop and Sharman Stone, I'm sorry but the good guys win every time.
It's time we finally said that there is no place in Australia for these cold-hearted, unfeeling, remorseless, racist policies.

While I was away....

I was down in Melbourne last week. By myself. Well, that is to say without my wife and two sons. I was staying at my mum's and keeping an eye on her while she recuperated from a 'procedure' she had just undergone.
While I was down there, she insisted I buy her a laptop, a printer and get her up and running on the interwebs. So I did. Not much trouble at all. Then I had to show her how to use it all.
She's doing quite well for someone who, up until now, hadn't dealt with anything more hi-tech than a golf-ball Selectric Typewriter.
But now I am shitting myself that one day, somehow, she's going to discover this blog.
This blog is chock full of tid-bits that I'm perfectly happy telling a bunch of faceless strangers on the interweb but would never in a fit tell my mother.

God I hope she never stumbles across it...

Answer the question Joe!

Joe Hockey was interviewed by Fran Kelly this morning on ABC Radio National. He was talking about his views on God (Amongst other things). However, things went a bit wobbly at 4 minutes in to the interview when Fran asked Joe repeatedly about his leadership aspirations. For the third time in a week Joe has had to flatly refuse to answer that particular question. So what? I hear you ask. Well the thing is, Joe was on Q and A last week and postulated about how politicians don't need to lie. About anything. (An aside: That was an enormously funny line seeing as though Graham Richardson was on the panel too) You can download that episode here. Immediately following Hockey's heart felt angst about honesty, Tony Jones asked Joe directly if he wanted to be leader of the Opposition. He refused to answer the question. And of course Joe gave his speech 'In Defence of God' at the last bastion of the down trodden white man, The Australia Institute, where he also dodged the question.
Is it a case of Qui tacet consentit - Silence equals consent?
Is Hockey not interested?
Is he being polite?
Why won't he answer the question knowing that there will be destructive speculation in his party until he says one way or another?
Just answer the question Joe!

The Body Image Advisory Board

I so wanted to jump on and pick apart the short comings of Kate Ellis' Body Image Advisory Board.
And lets face it - they are an easy target with many, many shortcomings. From the appointment of board members, to the token efforts of Sarah Murdoch appearing untouched on the cover of Women's Weekly (old news compared to Jennifer Hawkins appeared on the cover of Marie Claire last year without make-up and untouched), through to the bit where today's Press Conference missed TV coverage because everyone was 25 minutes late arriving for it.
But I did some reading. Staggering numbers of women have major hang-ups with the way they look. No news there. What's alarming is some of the ages that are being reported. What little girl of 11 years should be worrying about her weight? She should be worrying about her dollies, ponies and whether Sophie and Mary will let here into the cool gang at school. Not this nonsense of dieting and weight.
A hefty portion of blame, quite rightly, has been levelled squarely at the fashion industry. I think they are but one component of the problems. The bigger culprit is the Gossip rags.
It is the New Ideas, Who's and every other trite $3.50 disposable weekly celebrity watcher that causes far more damage. It is these magazines that pick apart the Britney's of the world. She's either too fat, too thin, too crazy, too muffin topped, too whatever. It is these magazines that zero in on every defect of celebrities that point out to us their webbed toes, wrinkled ear lobes or
crooked lipstick.
It is the editors of these bin liners that should be put in the stocks in the town square to have rotten fruit and vegetables thrown at them. To be held up as objects of ridicule....

I may have gone a little off topic there.

So I'll leave Mia Freedman alone. Even though she was editor of Cleo, Cosmopolitan and Dolly*, she does seem to be making amends for past sins.
Kate Ellis for her part, believes in this whole heartedly I think and deserves some kudos.
Sarah Murdoch, the executive producer and one time host of Next Top Model is however, fair game. She is a soul-less twit. A brain-dead gummy bear with no substance and zero moral zeal.
Had she posed for a magazine 'unenhanced' 6 months ago, she may have had a shred of credibility. But she didn't, so she doesn't.



*A few years ago, I had a flat mate who was an American Student. He was a hell of a lot of fun. He somehow managed to get himself invited to a party by a bunch of girls somewhere in Newtown. Me being the leech that I am, came along for the ride. The party was dreadful. They had run out of booze pretty early on in the night. There was no food - they were all on diets. The music was crap AND there were no drugs. It was shit. During the night it emerged that I was at a party full of Dolly magazine staff. Me being me, and quite drunk amongst other things, started to mouth off about Dolly being responsible for every eating disorder in every 14 year old girl in Australia. I said some other things too. Although I can't remember what.
Then my American friend came up to me and said we had to leave. Now. My rather flowery language had got us all banned. I think I was laughing and shouting obscenities as I ran down the driveway and up the street.

Please mark this day in your calendar...

5th December is the day of the by-elections* in the Seat of Higgins and the Seat of Bradfield.
Both promise to be entirely dull affairs that will see the Liberal party retaining the seats.
Clive Hamilton's campaign will draw some media in Melbourne that might be worth watching.
We will see. We will see.


*Footnote: When I first wrote that sentence, I spelled it bi-elections. Then I realised that it was a really funny sexual innuendo joke and changed it back to how it was meant to be spelled. Was there a point to this footnote? How the fuck should I know?

Regrets. I've had a few, but then again....

You may have already realised, I'm a frequenter of Crikey. A nice little aggregater site full of kleptomania and plagiarism (Rupert joke).
Crikey has a resident cartoonist. His name is First Dog on the Moon. I don't know why he is called that any more than why I am called Mac Yourselfathome. First Dog writes some very funny cartoons. On one or two occasions he has made me a bit teary. I'm sure that is a sign of being a very good cartoonist. I like his work and his sense of humour.
Then one day very recently I found out about something that I feel I shouldn't have found out about. It should have been kept secret like that Cormac McCarthy book The Road, or who The Stig is, or what billiard balls are made of. It's one of those secrets that should be kept a secret because it's not really a secret when people find out about it.
I found out First Dog's real name and what he looks like.
It was an accident. Mostly.
And now I feel ashamed.
I don't feel pride for having found out. Nor excitement.
I feel like the guy who told the kids the truth about Santa and then watched as their faces crumpled.
I've actually known for about three weeks. The knowledge burns in the back of my brain.
I wish I could unlearn the things I've learned. I didn't want to know. I still don't want to know.

But I do.
And there is nothing I can do about it.
Except drink excessively. Yes. That is what I can do. I can drink excessively.
Drink makes it alright.

A footnote: I forgot to mention that I once appeared in a First dog cartoon. It's true.

Higgins consigned to Liberal rule

Today the Greens announced that they would be contesting the seat of Higgins.
Labor yesterday announced that they would not.
Both announcements struck me as a bit out of character.
I assumed that Rudd, being in the sort of mood he is in, would run a high profile candidate to try and grab as much of the disaffected Liberal vote as he could. Costello himself would have to be worth 4% of the vote surely. Make the Liberal party actually work for the seat.
The Greens announcement was altogether different. Their runner is Clive Hamilton. Clive Hamilton of Australia Institute fame. Clive Hamilton of bagging Tim Flannery fame. Clive Hamilton of Internet Filtering would be a GREAT idea fame.
To me it smacks of publicity. Hamilton is perhaps the most urgent and vocal proponent of action on Climate Change in Australia, and running in Higgins will bring attention to that.
It is, however, folly. The chances of the Greens picking up a lower house seat in a safe Liberal haven are slim to none.
Of course, you have to consider what might actually happen if Hamilton were to win the seat. What then? Well, nothing. One Green seat in the House of Representative will turn Clive into the next Steve Fielding. Except that Hamilton won't hold the balance of power and will have no power to bargain, battle or amend. He would be consigned to the same fate as Kernot after she jumped ship. Disappeared into the obscurity of one of the off-camera seats in the lower house, occasionally being allowed to ask a difficult question of the government.
The most ideal situation for the Greens now would be to grab about 12% percent of the vote (Greens got 11% in Higgins at last vote) and then wander back off stage to return to real life while Kelly O'Dwyer finds her feet in her new party.

10 Easy ways to make Question Time more exciting!

For the political junky, Question Time is the ultimate spectator sport. Each sitting session is watched with the same enthusiasm as a normal person would watch a footy match.
Everyone hanging out for Uncle Wilson to make an arse of himself on a Point of Order relating to Standing Order 91.6, or to see which retina burning outfit Bronwyn Bishop might be wearing today. There is the spectacle of watching Tony Abbott, Chris Pyne and Julia Gillard in their weird love/hate relationship feeding off each other. And of course, you can't forget Nodding Rishworth. Her enthusiastic agreement to everything government related is always worth a chuckle.
But ardent watchers of Question Time would all agree that Parliament isn't what it used to be.
Gone are the Latham's, Keating's and Gorton's.
We are left with Rudd, Pyne and the Bishops.
Question Time has also descended into a swag of Dorothy Dixers.
The member for Bass will ask if the House could update us on the wonderful work the Australian Government is doing for Australian schools and just how is the Education Revolution going anyway?
And then there is Rudd. The 12 minute answers of turgid dullness that descend into a strange vernacular and made up words. His answers to anything are a lesson in dullness. Ask him the time and expect to come up for air 4 minutes later wondering why you were just subjected to the workings of Keynesian economic policy and why aren't we out of the woods yet?
So here is a proposal to turn Question Time back into the spectator sport that we, the Australian people deserve.
1. Limit Dixers to 1 per session. Or outlaw them altogether.
2. Time limit of 2 minutes per answer
3. Install a scoreboard above Harry Jenkins, Speaker of the House, which makes a loud noise every time someone scores a point (more on the point system in a bit).
4. Serve drinks in the gallery and set up a drinking game which is also televised on A-PAC.
5. Anytime a member is named, they must go one round against Tower or Storm a la Gladiators.
6. Anytime the phrase 'Not out of the woods' is muttered, the opposition must, in unison, all shout 'DRINK!' and scull a beer.
7. Before a member is forced to withdraw a remark he/she may have made, they can shout 'Physical Challenge!'. They must then arm wrestle the person at whom the insult was directed. The winner then gets to choose whether the remark is withdrawn or not.
8. Create more than one reason that a member can call a Point of Order (POO) on. At the moment there is only one reason - Relevance. There should be at least 4 more, including - Mr Speaker, A Point of Order if you will. The Honorable Member is sounding like a wanker.
9. There must be at least 2 one word answers per session. This can consist of anything from Yes, No, Derr!, What?! or Dunno.
10. Anyone calling a POO that is knocked back is then forced to apologise for WASTING EVERYBODY'S TIME!

The point system: If you make Christopher Pyne jump to his feet in outrage: 2 points.
If you ask Rudd a question that gets a 4 minute or less answer: 1 point.
Dixer: Own goal rules apply. 1 point to opposition.
Going over time limit: 1 point to opposition
Making the opposition laugh for whatever reason: 2 points
Rugby tackling Bronwyn Bishop: 2 points
Asking Marn Ferguson a question: 1 point to opposition
Being able to understand what Marn Ferguson may have said: 10 points

There is no reason for this post to be here

You will piss your pants when you see it.

Welcome North Sydney's newest member

Parliament resumed today. Question Time was a fairly staid affair. However the Senate Committees were awesome, with Fielding and Abetz in fine form. Actually I think Conroy is still testifying about the NBN as I write.
But the real news was taking place in a maternity ward someplace. Today, Melissa Hockey (nee Babbage), gave birth to Ignatius Babbage-Hockey. Iggy Hockey is the newest addition to Joe Hockey's family. He is the youngest brother of Adelaide and Xavier.
I bet he's really cute.
I wish Joe and his family all the very best. May he let you sleep and make you laugh. Though not necessarily at the same time.

And no. I'm not being ironic. Yes. I am being all fluffy and stuff because I like babies and families. And stuff.


Shut up.

Zombies attack Parliament!

Later found to be just Philip Ruddock looking for relevancy

A letter to that nice Mr Holmes fellow

This is a copy of an actual letter sent to the ABC just this evening. I hope it works.

Dear Jonathon,

Myself and several other nerdy political types watch Mediawatch with enthusiasm each and every week. Quite a few of us even use Twitter as commentary whilst it is on(Ask Tony Jones if you are unsure what Twitter is) to assess who it is you have pwned this week.
The thing is Mr Holmes, that you are the undisputed king of pwnage, yet you have never used the word pwn on the show ever. Not once.
So Jonathan, if I could call you that, I have a small request. Could you please, at some stage during your show in the next week or two, throw in the word 'pwned' when you are reigning down the pwnage on the foolishness that is sometimes Australia's media.

Included is a link that indicates what you may unleash if you utter the magic word.
http://www.scottbridges.id.au/2009/09/22/pledge-your-support/

Warmest regards,
Mac Yourselfathome
www.moderatelyleft.blogspot.com

Things I Have Leaned in 35 years...

I have just spent the day dreaming I am about to get on a plane and fly far, far away to an island so beautiful that I will be happy on the day I wake there and turn 35.

But I know there will be no flying from a question that’s bothered me much in these past last months of my early 30s.

What will I do when I finally grow up?

Truth is, I’ve never had a life bristling with purpose. I mean, my mum doesn’t even know what I do for a living. How lame is that?

I’m not like some of those firm-jawed people in the glossier business magazines, telling how they resolved on their life’s grand work when just 10 and dedicated each waking moment since to building their empire.

Or to becoming prime minister. Here’s Kevin Rudd’s former teacher, Faye Barber: “I think he was determined to be the prime minister from age 15 on.”

I do not doubt it.

But then there’s me, upping stakes one light-headed day because I suddenly thought it might be nice to leave the Government and drive to Sydney from Brisbane and do about the most different thing I could think of. Or shoving off again to sell paint. Or to work for a debt collection company. Or . . . what the hell, shall I try politics again?

It’s embarrassing to have been so clueless, or at least haphazard, about something so serious as my life, now possibly more than half over.

In fact, the joke is that I now write a blog telling everyone else how to think and vote. What would I know?

No, I mean it: what indeed do I know after 35 years? Not much, to be honest. Don’t ask me about fixing cars, running companies, making money, playing the piano or anything about, horses, camcorders or golf. About such things I’ve learned nothing.

I don’t even yet know if God exists, and in 35 years have still not learned either to speak Latin, or make conversation in English.

But, stop. The list of what I don’t know is endless. Much quicker to tell you what very little I have managed to learn in all my youth and middle age.

First, I’ve learned at long last that we don’t actually grow up.

Life is not like a lift, opening at level 34 to a floor completely different to the one it brought you to at level 9, with all the furnishings and goodies changed, and only memory to connect you to the floor on which you were a child.

We do not move up from year to year. We collect years instead, so that we are at any time all the ones we’ve ever lived.

Talk to an old teacher you had decades ago, and see how mysteriously you once more feel the urge to punch them, even now with children of your own.

Talk to your mum, and try hard to argue with her about politics. Talk to a roomful of toddlers, as I often do, and you’ll fervently hope that no one else notices that you are mental equals.

I once asked my great grandmother how old she really felt. Then in her 90s, she sighed and clipped me over the ears for being impertinent. She has advanced dementia by that stage and would have the heater on in Wagga’s 34 degree summer.

She was the last of her siblings and I didn’t know her children.

I haven’t the faintest idea how this bit fits in to the article but it fit the theme I’m going with so shut up.

In this regard, our years are like the growth rings of a tree, every one of them still with us. Only there is this difference: a tree’s growth rings are wide in good years, when there’s lots of water and sunlight. Bad years leave only a thin line.

With humans, though, the worst years leave as great a trace as the best.

Even a Malcolm Turnbull, so rich and renowned in business and in politics, can choke with grief on the ABC’s Australian Story for the boy whose mother abandoned him all those decades ago, and who, in the remembering, abandons him yet again.

Here’s a second thing I’ve learned: that we are incredibly different, and often more than we let ourselves know.

We talk so easily about “we” and “us”, so badly do we want to believe this “us” exists. But often in the city, walking back to the office, I’m struck by the incredible array of people sharing my path.

There are men in ill-fitting suits, and students smoking outside on the street. I see briefcases and those stupid fucking carry-on bags on wheels with laptops in them; people giving fliers and others trying to sign me up for gym membership; people stoned out of their minds in board meetings, and others waddling back from a three-course feed. I see Anglos and Asians, Lebanese and Islanders, Aborigines and people checking their maps.

As a blogger I’ve reported on our indifference and hostility to other races. I know there are people so strange that they think ‘foreigners’ will starve or bash their own children. Or believe in aliens. Or take pride and pleasure in smashing skulls.

And I wonder: how do we make an “us” out of all this? How do we build a belonging, so we are not each of us so dangerously alone? And then I thought – Of course! Tolerance.

A third thing I’ve learned is that while we are so very different, in one thing at least we are deeply the same - love and family mark us most.

Yes, I know this is Mills and Boon stuff - such a truism that you laugh.

But ask yourself what would most completely ruin your happiness. To be despised at work, or being a redhead?

I can’t remember meeting anyone so torn up by being hated at work that they could talk for hours of their pain, fury and dreams of revenge. But rangas? Well I’ve never stopped to talk to one for long enough to find out

As with adults, so with children.

And yadda yadda yadda.. And so on and so forth.

Happy fucken birthday to me.

The Punchline to this post (AND IT IS ONLY FUNNY WHEN YOU CLICK ON THE LINK) can be found here