Innovation – Stolen, without consent…

Here is a little piece by a Wellington thinker and resident caring soul by the name of Mike Sukolski. You can tell him that I have ripped him off here… Thanks to old mate “wanda” for pointing this one out…

Image may contain: hat
Image resultStolen from Mike Sukolski

Whatever Happened To
Just Doing Something Different?

It’s as if we believe we have discovered something new, and now we can’t get enough of it, this innovation thing.

We toss it about, the word at least, like confetti.

According to my dictionary, to innovate is to bring in novelties; make changes in. Really? Well, it is an old dictionary. I got it when I was fifteen. Someone must have bought it for me, it cost thirty shillings, and where would I find thirty shillings. It still serves me well.

Being a little on the old side, however, I thought I should seek a second opinion. So I did, and got this: “to begin or introduce something new.” So there you are, I said to myself, something new, that clinches it. Couldn’t be clearer. A consensus. But is this what we do when we innovate, I said to myself, I do a lot of talking to myself. (I should know.)

Apparently we need to believe it is.

Like Mike Hosking, who believes that news reading is an “artistic pursuit,” we too need to be, or to be seen as, artists. Well, creative, anyway. With grim determination we set out to innovate, as if our lives depend on it. But why? Good question.

And the answer?

Because, in most, if not all, circumstances, we have no idea what to do next.

We wait and wait, hanging around hopefully, analysing earnestly among ourselves, until all the evidence is in, but all the evidence is never in. Never can be, even though we dedicate large sums to looking for it. There always remains the evidence that comes from actually doing the thing, and this we cannot possess, not until we have done it, and found that, after all, our big idea didn’t work.

If only we had waited until all the evidence was in. Relax! We can innovate instead!

You don’t need all the evidence when you innovate, innovation doesn’t rely on evidence, it can’t do, because there there can’t be any, not of the definitive kind, anyway, if its truly to be innovation.

Because if it is truly innovation there will be no precedents, nothing that could secure the necessary foreknowledge of success, or failure. You will be left contemplating an unscientific leap of faith. Or desperation. Or self-esteem. Which doesn’t make a good business case. It won’t impress your bosses.

Luckily, that’s not what we mean, true innovation, in fact it’s the last thing on our minds. Heaven forbid that someone would dare plunge undata-ed into unknown, potentially hostile territory. Stark naked into a shark infested pool. Leave the known world behind and risk unforeseen, if not career-ending consequences. Or worse, no consequences at all.

No, that’s not for us. Not in the real world. In our heads perhaps, yes, in our heads, we do it all the time in our heads, we get degrees in doing it in our heads, there are careers to be had doing it in our heads.

Innovation, you see, is for us nowadays an assertion of personal worth, the source of our self-esteem. And when we are all doing it together, joyfully, in teams, innovation becomes an affirmation of group worth. Truly, you can’t lose! Just tell yourself, and everyone else, that you are innovating and you can safely go ahead and do what you have always done. Nothing can go wrong.

Who will dare be the little boy wondering aloud why the king has got nothing on.

Innovation is the new orthodoxy. It doesn’t matter much what you do just so long as you say it is innovative, and your peers say it is innovative and your bosses say it is innovative and their bosses say it is innovative and the minister says it is innovative.

Thus we consummate a culture of constant change where nothing ever changes. We cannot risk real change, so we innovate instead, and heap accolades upon ourselves. Glittering prizes. Brilliant careers. Truly we are leaders!

The game is a simple one, anyone can play.  And we do, we all do, because we are innovators. Aren’t we? And innovators are never wrong. No, and as we pull our hopes down over us, like a suffocation, from within the reeking hovels of our heads we imagine a new dawn breaking, the beginning of a bold new era, and we believe, all over again we believe.

We sing patriotic songs, while the seas rise around us, the air clogs with CO2, the rains turn our fields to mud, the winds tear our houses down, and a frenzy that is very likely madness sweeps us out of our collective head, but we take no notice, on we rush, triumphantly on, innovating, innovating unto extinction.


mushy

Never a truer word spoken.

After spending some time wasting away my ill gotten gains of time and money working in the “addiction leadership group” can safely ascertain that those that be do not want change. But innovation?

Hell yeah. Give us more of that young NZFIEND.

Just don’t you dare change anything in the process.

 

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Dairy of how to become a junky ADHD mess…

Anyways…Work it out for yourself…

Was going to ring you earlier but then just went to bed again… Been spending more than the usual amount of time in bed recently. It is the time of year for it – nothing to worry about. Just a little cold and winter bringing onset a wee depression, no doubt.

Promised Mum I would make her a new compost bin as Dad is dying slowly along with the rotted out fence she has been piling compost against for two decades.

Aren’t we all. Dying that is. His clock took on a new rhythm for a while recently… Just to be clear, this was not a old sixties dance hall classic number. More drumb and base poured into a blender with Motorheads final Ace Of Spades renditions…

Went down to Mum n Dads to measure up previously mention compost bin… To be made from wood, with my own hands. Would prefer to cut one from alloy and weld nowadays. Am enjoying my new tools and skills always need sharpening. Tools need sharpening and new skills? Half a dozen of one, six of the other. Some shit anyway…

Told Dad I was being operated on within four weeks of the doctor seeing my bum. Dad, as usual, without fail, without preamble, without thought for anyone outside his one square foot of universe,

“they have always got me in real quick, like the time I showed up with…..”

(sure,
my judgement and memory may be clouded
with time, space and
interesting neurological experiments gone awry
nonetheless, seems like this is a reoccurring theme one cannot discount my memory and feelings as completely inaccurate)

“Dad, they only get you in quick if there’s emergency or something serious” was the somewhat necessary interruption.

Yet still he carried on about HIS operations.. Oblivious to fact, his fiction weighing heavily on the judge and jury of his own mind.

Having actually had more operating table excursions over my fourty years younger span of life, he doesn’t bother to remember anything about my issues, health or happiness. Nor, it seems, going so far as to suggest others problems have been trivial.

When he sees me wince with pain just standing still he says “oh, your back is getting like mine, hahahaha”. Yeah right, like he has had emergency spine surgery and pissed and poo’d himself walking to the hospital… Fuck he is such a self centred fuck…. Unbelievable… This is going to require a breath, a thought of something happy and a lot of self restraint. Would be nice to have that loverly Clarrissa here with some restraints, but she was already booked and tied up elsewhere…

So he tells me all about HIS for the hundredth time in as many visits. Tiresome in itself.

Interruption time again….

Must record one of these conversations. You may, even the most die hard retard apologist among you,  be sympathetic to that at least. He sure ain’t.

“So, you have any idea why they would get to me so quickly?” 

“I presume as they are quiet at the moment and I was seen in that amount of time after a doctor saw my collapsed viens in my……”

WTF? Are you serious? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuckme, fukme, f’me….. Relaaaaaaaxxxxxx…. He may be just about dead and nothing is going to change the guy now, even if he did think anything about himself and his life was not perfect.

FUCK UP DAD , NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU.

(well, I tried. Honest)

Dad, chastised for once. Not a pretty sight as it happens…
“I never said it was about me”

DAD, EVERYTHING YOU HAVE SAID IS ABOUT YOU. NOT ONE SINGLE GENUINE QUESTION, OR SO MUCH AS EVEN FAKED INTEREST IN WHAT IS GOING ON FOR ME. AM BEING OPERATED ON TUESDAY MORNING JUST FOUR WEEKS AFTER A DOCTOR SAW THE LUMP IN MY BUTT CHEEK DAD. THAT WOULD SUGGEST IT IS IMPORTANT, WOULD IT NOT?

“I don’t know son, they see everyone as fast as they can…”

Remaining the calmest possible, given fourty years of this sort of conversation… Hell, you people reading it are bored of it already. Imagine the effect this has on a kid growing up, or indeed the fourty year old man still trying to grow up…

THE FUCKEN SPECIALIST GUY I AM SEEING AT HOSPITAL IS THE SAME GUY WHO TREATED YOUR DAUGHTER

(funnily enough, also known as my sister, who died of Cancer May7th a few years ago aged less than me)

“Oh yes, he seemed nice… Although your sister argued with him, he knows his stuff. Top guy, really really clever…” …OMG

Really not bothering to remain calm in face of this much narcissistic stupidity DAD, WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE SEEING THE SAME GUY AS KATE ? WHY WOULD THEY OPERATE ON ME SO QUICK ? WHY AM I BOTHERING TO TELL YOU THIS AT ALL ?

 

“I don’t know Tony, they are a good hospital though…..”

 

Oh for fucksake, if he wasn’t already on the waiting list for the cremation table I would kill this bloody idiot…

DAD, THEY THINK I HAVE FUCKEN CANCER FOR FUCKSAKE. WHY ELSE WOULD I BE SEEING THE FUCKEN CANCER SPECIALIST? THEY *DO NOT* GET YOU INTO OPERATING ROOMS IN THIS BROKE ARSE HEALTH SYSTEM IN FOUR WEEKS FROM FIRST SEEING A DOCTOR WITHOUT IT BEING DEEMED IMPORTANT.


Just in case he managed to avoid the point (as proven, he is quite bloody well capable)

 

THEY THINK I HAVE CANCER DAD. But I don’t. The really really really clever people and their two times through the MRI, the X-Ray, the Ultrasound, the various specialists including a muscular skeletal guy have it wrong.

However, I am going in Monday to sort out the procedure and am in Tuesday to have half the weight of my right arse cheek cut out… Will be good to get the bloody thing out. Even though it’s not cancer, it is annoying me more and more recently…

 

“Oh, why didn’t you tell us?”

 

FUCK ME.

 

Work it out yourself. Seriously.

 

When Stuck Home Twenty Four Seven

When stuck home twenty four seven you get sore, fat, depressed and a bunch of other really unhealthy sounding things. Things the powers that be probably neglect to take into account when judging you. They expect you to enter this limbo state and appear to the world that you are happy, stable in doing something with your life. What’s the point? You aren’t. You may as well just be getting really fucked up. No one is around to care. Makes no difference to anyone how you spend a few months on your own.

Surely.

textWas a little surprised when my tattooist mate contacted me earlier today. Have signed up to NETFLIX and was up until 3am watching latest series of MAD MEN and a new discovery, HOUSOS, which is bloody funny if you happen to be from New Zealand and spent a little time in Australia. Which, funnily enough, quite a few people in the near vicinity have. We were cracking up.

As it happens, getting the bottom of your foot tattoo’d is a bloody sore thing…. Who would’ve thought?

Making the world a better place, one step at a time.

fixing_back_5July2015Am feeling reasonably good right at this moment. Having started to see growth around the stomach region am considering

They didn’t warn me about that when signing the papers for Electronic Monitored Bail. Any idiot in the world would realise being trapped at home for months on end will lead to comfort eating and many many many extra hours in bed watching complete TV series or films.

Really am in a limbo.

A serious one at that.

Waiting until SEPTEMBER for next meaningful court appearance which may result in freedom from ankle ball and chain.

And that is it.

Waiting. In limbo. For god knows what.

Since Thursday I have been looking forward to tomorrow excitedly. For tomorrow is a big day… Am out the door at 10:45 to attend a Probation Service meeting at 11am.

They wanted to come here. NO FUCKEN WAY!

Jeeeeeeeezus. You are not going to come here and prevent me from having a fifteen minute walk outside the confines of this cell.

REALLY!

Just give me a little break. Just an incy wincy one.

Am sure that giving a little bit of happiness and a little chance of helping me to help myself is not that far removed from a positive thing.

How the hell the CORRECTION DEPARTMENT claim to be “reducing re-offending” with this sort of attitude is beyond any logical argument.

Love to you all.

Why on earth is life like this?

Life is not of this earth. Scientology has a point, if they are a couple of Boeing 727’s and an H Bomb short of a real off world picnic.

The real people whom are not of this planet are politicians denying people a quality of life.

People like Clarissa Broderick and the CCDHB Addict Disservices whom seem to make things worse for those at the bottom. I have had time to think recently. Twenty hours a day locked in a 2.5 x 4m concrete box does that to a guy with half a brain.

All the annoyance, all the unjust treatments. All the people whom have died with needless pain. Some have been my friends. Some have not.

I wish #LecretiaSeales had been. I wish we could all be as capable in putting forward our little beefs and ideas for our planet spaceship. It is all about evolution. To be a true Darwin follower you need a decent revolution.

Lecretia Seales, 1973-2015

http://lecretia.org/the-kindness-of-strangers/

I am saddened doubly to say I am stuck at home on 24/7 G.P.S monitored ankle bracelet and cannot attend funeral today. I would have been at the back. I would have done nothing. I would have known no one.

I just really want to show my respect.

I respect her greatly. 

Being outspoken and attempting to change old (ancient) attitudes towards the rights of the individual to have a say in their own quality of life is a noble thing.

So, for today, this is the only post I make. Even though there is so much to share after having just been released from jail to live at home 24/7 with a G.P.S ankle bracelet. 

For today is Lecretia’s day.

Even if the law makers and judges don’t give a fuck, I wanted to show that I do.

Gap or no gap.

Lecretia would have seen this ferry (in the video) everyday by looking out from Island Bay too. I grew up here. We are almost exactly the same age. The background photo of this silly graphic was shot by me roughly seven years ago when my kid was taken away from me and I went to jail. Life is a happiness deficit full of co-incidence.

http://www.ves.org.nz

STILL IN JAIL. And Family Court has taken my child away again. ANGRY BIRD

Still in jail.

Got served paperwork from family court saying all access to daughter has been removed and there is a hearing today, 5th June.

legal beagle

The papers state they were to be served NO LATER than the 15th MAY and that the court required proper filings by way of lawyers and legal beagle five working days before this hearing.

Given that it was a long weekend due to the most honourable Queen having her bloody birthday knees up, this means that the papers (via legal beagle) had to be there LAST WEEK. The Corrections Department is not known for letting people out of jail to get their witnesses and supporting documents from electronic devices (such as my phone and computer!) Hell— I dislocated my shoulder in late may and was told the doctor would see me next week. Really. Hahahahah. Rolls eyes at that one.

The Family Court Hearing is on Friday 5th June as ordered by the DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, DISTRICT COURT BUILDING, BALANCE STREET, WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND.

Have been in custody since 5th of May as ordered by the DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, DISTRICT COURT BUILDING, BALANCE STREET, WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND. but they could not find me to serve notice for four weeks and then broke their own laws in the process.

MY HEAD HURTS.

I would be a good Father if only I were allowed!

ORIGINALLY POSTED for NZFIEND by his coffee mate :-\ as he WAS IN JAIL AT TIME OF

…. an awesome morning with the football …

Had an awesome morning with the football team Saturday.

Car had broken clutch cable and tried to borrow two others. Long story was that they both died right outside their owners houses….

So, I RODE MY BLOODY MOUNTAIN BIKE TO PORIRUA FROM WELLINGTON. That is a fair hilke, so I cheated. A bag of footballs, a bag with boots, tops and gear…. And a mountain bike. 21km with a few uphills in the middle. Uhm – At 7am saturday morning with my dodgy spine? Not likely. So – TRAIN to Porirua from Wellington… Bike up hill… And…

FIRST ONE THERE.

2015_5_2_field

Beauty morning for it. Just after 8pm and the artificial turf out the back of the old forensic unit at the mental hospital looked stunning. Nothing like the problems the area was known for twenty years previously.

The kids started turning up, and I admit to being a little nervous after the events of the last week with the mother of my daughter proving beyond all reasonable doubt that she is a vindictive idiot and not actually even interested in paying lip service to her daughter spending time with her dad any longer. GROAN.

So, the kids were arriving, the parents were supportive, and I just got on with it. Rubbed one of the other coaches up the wrong way, but by relinquishing the role of “referee” they allowed me to break the rules and spend time on the field helping out my wayward team. The autistic, adhd, deaf and blind people lead by this one eye’d ginga did pretty well. Running around on the field and coaching whilst the game is underway should be allowed at this level. The kids really started working well with it…

One kid is great at being goalie, but I like seeing him out the field too. Hell, it was a great morning. My daughter was there complaining she was injured and attempting to play at half speed. This got her little sympathy, she is quite capable of playing. I know her better than people realise. She listened and ran. She listened and passed. She won player of the day.

Apart from her Mum had told the people whom gave her a lift to the game that I was going to steal her so they were not to let her travel or stay with me. Stupid, but that’s that. After 11 years of this crap, my daughters PLAYER OF THE DAY award was given to a girl who played right back as she had improved so much from the week previous.

Somewhat taken aback, the centre forward who scored all our goals looked annoyed. He will win it, bit today he didn’t listen to the coach and we could have won 4-3 if he had passed the ball on the inside to my daughter instead of trying to run through another three defenders all by himself.


DEMLEGS award for the player who ran to places to support her mates went to a young girl who plays left back. Really brilliantly. She listens, unlike most of the guys… She sprinted back on defence and cut some players down…

The award "DEM LEGS" is in honour of someone whom inspired me to believe in good people again. Thanks DEM LEGS.

The award “DEM LEGS” is in honour of someone whom inspired me to believe in good people again. Thanks DEM LEGS.

After the awards were handed out one of the kids Dads decided to ask if he could say something. “Of course”, I nodded at him. It was the centre forwards Dad… An nice American chap of very very very high esteem in the Wellington political arena….

“I, and all the other parents and supporters, have seen you improve EVERY SINGLE GAME and do you know why that is?”

Sensing impending embarrassment there is a prompt interruption from my good mouth – “Yes, it is due to spending MORE TIME TOGETHER as a team…” wink wink, nudge nudge…

“I, uhm, yes, quite correct. Uhm. Other than that, we really have to cheer your coach, NZFiend….”

Oh crap. Knew that was coming. A couple of Mums and Dads come up and ask quietly if I am okay and what is going on after the dramas during the week with my daughter being taken away and her mother and step dad punching me in front of the team…. I just say “it will be all right… It has to be…” and they nod, not fully believing…

WE DREW 3 – 3

Which, after 8-3 and 6-0 losses is very exciting!!!!

Happy times.


So, the sun is up, the kids have gone and there is another game being played. The same age group, but these kids train four times a week as part of an academy. And boy does it show.

These eleven year olds are playing better looking footy than the Phoenix. But, even then, the left winger listens to my advice and runs when suggested. He does a lot better and looks over to see if I have noticed. I wink and walk off.

He’ll probably never see me again.

But I will remember that little red head with the bullet left foot from the Tawa area. He may just go places with the right coaching and staying in school.


As for me? Feels like the only places I am capable of going are court or jail.

Football training tomorrow night. Really doubt my daughter will be there. Sadly I have no life at all outside of my daughter and football. Something which the vindictive are trying their best to take away.

Police, kids Mum and Family Court vs Me and my belief that I am capable of good.

Guess I’m fucked. Nothing better to do with my whole weekend than ride the whole way back to Wellington.

Which I did.

And now my spine is telling me off for it.

Tomorrow will put a new clutch cable in car. And not go anywhere near my kids Mums house.

FOOTBALL. Making me broke.

Told the kids that if someone took a corner kick, and someone else headed it into the goal I would buy everyone a chocolate bar. Thought I would be pretty safe… NOPE, a little 10 year old kid took a corner kick, landed it just in front on penalty spot where another ten year old was running EXACTLY as I had told them. And BOOOM… Beautiful header straight into the goal. Unreal. Stoked. Happiest guy, me.

And then I do this thing where I stand still and get the kids to boot the ball at my face. If they hit my face they get $5. The same guy who took the corner drove a shot beautifully right into my nose and top lip. I did lift a hand and punch the ball so it hit him back in the head. But hey, NO ONE has ever managed it before. And he had only started to learn drive shot technique two days ago with me. He also refused to kick with his left foot as it “was useless”. He is now, after just three or four hours with me and the team, using his left foot to chip and drive. Hasn’t got swinging or spinning the ball well yet, but—–

Teaching kids things and seeing it work is awesome.

Stuff what the parents think of me bossing their sprogs around.

My kid ended the training session when the other team played the ball too far in front and into her path. We had no goalies, but she put the ball into the exact middle of the goal, bouncing it on the goal line from about fourty metres. She just turned 11. Some parents and kids were surprised. Comments like “wow, there will be a few interesting goals this season” came from a few of the more knowledgeable crowd. I was more disappointed that the other team had given her the ball.

The team with the ball has the fun. So, once they stop giving it to the other team and find their own players, the coach stops interrupting and the parents may start understanding. Or not.

But hey, sometimes the kids have to actually have fun. And they manage to, despite the coaches constant interruptions.

By managing to spot some skills in each of them, we have a good little team structure. The autistic kid runs and tackles like a demon, so he has total license to run everywhere in defence. And boy, at training last night he did well. Just getting him to last a whole game could be difficult… Bloody proud of the little guy. He is fitting in well.

You know when I was a kid, the different ones got left out or teased. Nowadays kids seem to be more aware of others mental issues. I have seen almost all the kids cater to others difficulties. My daughter even gave a child a present once. Even though he had stolen her stuff and was a pain in the arse. She figured he wasn’t getting proper attention at home so was playing up and just needed to know people at school actually noticed him. My daughter was ten at the time. 

So, I have my work cut out getting these guys to work as a team.

Kicking the ball forwards all the time, even though the other team gets it, is an issue.

“HEY EVERYONE. This is a bit like life. If there is a big mountain in front of you, what do you do? If you are walking through a city and a building is in your way, what do you do?”

Ten year old boy looks up, a look of “WOW” on his face and says “you go around them”.

“Yeahp, dead right. See that player behind you, that player has a way around the team in front. You don’t. That player should have the ball”

Some of the kids really started passing backwards, even though that is not what comes naturally.

We will win some games early this season. A bunch of small individuals working together to put a stupid ball in a silly net. Feeling proud of themselves and happy to see their mates and their parents giving them attention of the best sorts.

And the coach? Well. When kids do what he says and it works, he’s the happiest guy there. He may hide it until later, but the improvements in skills, running and positions does not go unnoticed. When kids do something awesome and they look at you for approval before they look at their parents it shows you’re appreciated.

Had a bath and went to sleep after last nights training feeling good. This should work out okay.

Even though meeting with the CCDHBDSM ADHD SPECIALIST tomorrow has my undies in a twist.

(they imported someone from Europe whom wants drug urine samples from me and has made me fill out a drug and alcohol self assessment… the writing is on the wall here. I think I am going to be shafted somehow this time tomorrow…. Even the mother of my daughter thinks I am vastly better with the ritilan than without. Which is true in the sense of dealing with kids and parents whom are from a different planet than mine…. Ah well.)

Kids football training leaves my back fucked. May just go get my back tattoo’s worked on and forget about everything.

..

Most of the kids I trained last year are in a team three divisions above us in the grade 11 leagues. If we win a few games and win one or two by big margins, we should be up in their league by the end of the season.

WHERE I REALLY WANT TO BEAT THEM
AND
THEIR NEW FLASH FANCY PANTS COACH!!!!

Me? Competitive at footy? Nah… Never.

First game this weekend.

http://tickets.fifanz2015.com/shows/showtickets.aspx?sh=FIFA3W&v=FFW&p=EFWC0000003W