Latest news with #RegionOne
The Age
28-04-2025
- The Age
Serious question: why are there so many keys?
Out of all the possible things that could do it, I was radicalised by the DVD region lock. Remember those things? All you wanna do is watch your Region One copy of Donnie Darko, and instead you get an error message saying you've committed a federal crime. The multi-region DVD player was my golden key to a whole new world (of questionable arthouse films), and I've committed my life to selfless activism in the name of liberty ever since. Not really, but I still hate locks. They're such a waste of time! Unnecessary roadblocks in the paths of our daily lives. It's like we're all doing hurdles when we could just be doing a 100-metre dash. (I appreciate that you're probably reading this from behind a paywall, the only acceptable lock because it funds my dark chocolate habit. Note: the chocolate's dark, not the habit.) Locks are everywhere. Our lives are like that Charli XCX song: all day it's like, 'lock it, lock it, lock it, unlock it, got the key can you unlock it?' Great track, but it's not supposed to be a guide for living. We come into this world immediately lock-pilled. As children, we're told cautionary tales about Goldilocks, that nefarious blonde girl who strolls into unlocked homes to smash chairs and steal porridge. Later in our adolescence, we willingly padlock our diaries so no one can know our deepest secrets like, 'I'm in love with Raven from Teen Titans '. In high school, we shove all our stuff into padlocked metal lockers, fearful that teenage hands are out to pilfer our textbooks or those syllabus copies of Anne Frank's diary (oddly enough, the only diary not padlocked). This baseline dread explodes in adulthood. We pat ourselves down every morning before we leave the house, chanting 'phone, wallet, keys' like life's saddest mantra. We unlock our phones with our fingerprints or faces or endless patterns of pin codes. We log into our work laptops with another password that we're forced to update every few months, lest anyone steal our super exciting folder of holiday photos from Port Macquarie. By the time we've properly started our day, we've unlocked more locks than a prison warden. Even in my own home, if I want to open a window, I have to use a key first thanks to all the intricate locks put in place to stop the infamous Spider Villain of the Inner West who's scaling six-storey apartment blocks to steal, I don't know, a La Creuset crockpot? (it's the only valuable item I own). If I want to hang up laundry on my balcony, I have to remember to flick the lock first or risk fumbling all my freshly cleaned underpants on a floor that's perennially covered in 100s and 1000s (how do kids manage this and where are they even getting them from?). Locks at home are such a dumb hassle. What am I even protecting? Yellowed paperbacks I haven't looked at in a decade? Soft toys scattered in every corner? A loaf of stale sliced bread? At this point, robbing me should be called 'cleaning'.
Sydney Morning Herald
22-04-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
Get your locks off, get your locks off, honey
Out of all the possible things that could do it, I was radicalised by the DVD region lock. Remember those things? All you wanna do is watch your Region One copy of Donnie Darko, and instead you get an error message saying you've committed a federal crime. The multi-region DVD player was my golden key to a whole new world (of questionable arthouse films), and I've committed my life to selfless activism in the name of liberty ever since. Not really, I just still hate locks. They're such a waste of time! Unnecessary roadblocks in the paths of our daily lives. It's like we're all doing hurdles when we could just be doing a 100-metre dash. (I appreciate that you're probably reading this from behind a paywall, the only acceptable lock because it funds my dark chocolate habit. Note: the chocolate's dark, not the habit.) Locks are everywhere. Our lives are like that Charli XCX song: all day it's like, 'lock it, lock it, lock it, unlock it, got the key can you unlock it?' Great track, but it's not supposed to be a guide for living. We come into this world immediately lock-pilled. As children, we're told cautionary tales about Goldilocks, that nefarious blonde girl who strolls into unlocked homes to smash chairs and steal porridge. Later in our adolescence, we willingly padlock our diaries so no one can know our deepest secrets like, 'I'm in love with Raven from Teen Titans.' In high school, we shove all our stuff into padlocked metal lockers, fearful that teenage hands are out to pilfer our textbooks or those syllabus copies of Anne Frank's diary (oddly enough, the only diary not padlocked). This baseline dread explodes in adulthood. We pat ourselves down every morning before we leave the house, chanting 'phone, wallet, keys' like life's saddest mantra. We unlock our phones with our fingerprints or faces or endless patterns of pin codes. We log into our work laptops with another password that we're forced to update every few months, lest anyone steal our super exciting folder of holiday photos from Port Macquarie. By the time we've properly started our day, we've unlocked more locks than a prison warden. Even in my own home, if I want to open a window, I have to use a key first thanks to all the intricate locks put in place to stop the infamous Spider Villain of the Inner West who's scaling six-storey apartment blocks to steal, I don't know, a La Creuset crockpot? (it's the only valuable item I own). If I want to hang up laundry on my balcony, I have to remember to flick the lock first or risk fumbling all my freshly cleaned underpants on a floor that's perennially covered in 100s and 1000s (how do kids manage this and where are they even getting them from?). Locks at home are such a dumb hassle. What am I even protecting? Yellowed paperbacks I haven't looked at in a decade? Soft toys scattered in every corner? A loaf of stale sliced bread? At this point, robbing me should be called 'cleaning'.
The Age
22-04-2025
- The Age
Get your locks off, get your locks off, honey
Out of all the possible things that could do it, I was radicalised by the DVD region lock. Remember those things? All you wanna do is watch your Region One copy of Donnie Darko, and instead you get an error message saying you've committed a federal crime. The multi-region DVD player was my golden key to a whole new world (of questionable arthouse films), and I've committed my life to selfless activism in the name of liberty ever since. Not really, I just still hate locks. They're such a waste of time! Unnecessary roadblocks in the paths of our daily lives. It's like we're all doing hurdles when we could just be doing a 100-metre dash. (I appreciate that you're probably reading this from behind a paywall, the only acceptable lock because it funds my dark chocolate habit. Note: the chocolate's dark, not the habit.) Locks are everywhere. Our lives are like that Charli XCX song: all day it's like, 'lock it, lock it, lock it, unlock it, got the key can you unlock it?' Great track, but it's not supposed to be a guide for living. We come into this world immediately lock-pilled. As children, we're told cautionary tales about Goldilocks, that nefarious blonde girl who strolls into unlocked homes to smash chairs and steal porridge. Later in our adolescence, we willingly padlock our diaries so no one can know our deepest secrets like, 'I'm in love with Raven from Teen Titans.' In high school, we shove all our stuff into padlocked metal lockers, fearful that teenage hands are out to pilfer our textbooks or those syllabus copies of Anne Frank's diary (oddly enough, the only diary not padlocked). This baseline dread explodes in adulthood. We pat ourselves down every morning before we leave the house, chanting 'phone, wallet, keys' like life's saddest mantra. We unlock our phones with our fingerprints or faces or endless patterns of pin codes. We log into our work laptops with another password that we're forced to update every few months, lest anyone steal our super exciting folder of holiday photos from Port Macquarie. By the time we've properly started our day, we've unlocked more locks than a prison warden. Even in my own home, if I want to open a window, I have to use a key first thanks to all the intricate locks put in place to stop the infamous Spider Villain of the Inner West who's scaling six-storey apartment blocks to steal, I don't know, a La Creuset crockpot? (it's the only valuable item I own). If I want to hang up laundry on my balcony, I have to remember to flick the lock first or risk fumbling all my freshly cleaned underpants on a floor that's perennially covered in 100s and 1000s (how do kids manage this and where are they even getting them from?). Locks at home are such a dumb hassle. What am I even protecting? Yellowed paperbacks I haven't looked at in a decade? Soft toys scattered in every corner? A loaf of stale sliced bread? At this point, robbing me should be called 'cleaning'.
