Friday, October 31, 2003 |
Peanut butter in the fridge?
There are many things that differentiate the people of this world. It is said that you're either a man or you're a woman, you're religious or you're not, you've read The Lord of the Rings to see what happens in the 3rd instalment or you'll just wait until it comes out at the movies. The last delineation is whether you keep your peanut butter in the cupboard or in the fridge.
It all harkens back to the good ol' days when people used to make their own peanut butter at home. When you don't have a vast manufacturing enterprise behind you, and the ability to produce a product where the oil will not separate and rise to the top of the jar, you must keep your peanut butter in the fridge after you have made it to stop this from happening.
And so the great rift of mankind emerges.
I like to keep mine in the cupboard myself which must be caused by a lack of peanut butter manufacturing genes in my family. One of my Grandmothers did keep hers in the fridge but the genes must have skipped a few generations.
There are many things that differentiate the people of this world. It is said that you're either a man or you're a woman, you're religious or you're not, you've read The Lord of the Rings to see what happens in the 3rd instalment or you'll just wait until it comes out at the movies. The last delineation is whether you keep your peanut butter in the cupboard or in the fridge.
| After conducting an exhaustive 10min survey, I have discovered the reason why some people decide to chill their peanut butter while others prefer it at room temperature. It has in fact got nothing to do with what you prefer. If you ask someone why they keep their peanut butter where they do, their answer will almost always be "umm.. I don't know. I just do. I always have". Like so many other things you do during the course of your day, you either put it in the fridge or the cupboard because that is what your parents did. They did it because their parents did and so it goes on. | 
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It all harkens back to the good ol' days when people used to make their own peanut butter at home. When you don't have a vast manufacturing enterprise behind you, and the ability to produce a product where the oil will not separate and rise to the top of the jar, you must keep your peanut butter in the fridge after you have made it to stop this from happening.
And so the great rift of mankind emerges.
I like to keep mine in the cupboard myself which must be caused by a lack of peanut butter manufacturing genes in my family. One of my Grandmothers did keep hers in the fridge but the genes must have skipped a few generations.
Thursday, October 30, 2003 |
Wheel Chair Terrorists
It seems the National Airline of Chile now considers artificial hands to be a potential weapon.
It seems the National Airline of Chile now considers artificial hands to be a potential weapon.
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the pilot of a Lan Chile airlines plane, set to fly from Iquique to Santiago, refused to allow Roberto Carcamo on board because his prosthesis was a sharp instrument and might endanger other passengers.
Apparently he even offered to leave his weapon of mass destruction/fake hand behind but the pilot still said no. To make matters worse the poor bugger was on his honeymoon with pregnant wife in tow. If this happened in a Western country he'd have ambulance chasing lawyers over him like Oprah on a baked ham. Sadly because he was unfortunate enough to have this happen in Chile, he has to be content with an apology. |
Wednesday, October 29, 2003 |
Traumatised by Thomas
The classic and long running children's television show Thomas the Tank Engine has been slammed by critics. The detractors of Thomas say that the high amount of crashes, derailments and accidents that seem to happen in every episode are traumatising children.
Maybe Brian needs to get out of the lab and into the real world.
My sons watch Thomas the Tank Engine all the time and we frequently go on trains. If anything watching Thomas has made them love trains even more then they did before.
They absolutely love watching all the crashes and derailments that go on. In fact if there are not as many disasters as usual packed into the 4 minute show they will be a little bit disappointed. Similar to the way you are always secretly disappointed when all 55 cars in the Bathurst 1000 get through the first corner of the race without a single crash.
The classic and long running children's television show Thomas the Tank Engine has been slammed by critics. The detractors of Thomas say that the high amount of crashes, derailments and accidents that seem to happen in every episode are traumatising children.
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It is also goes further to proving my long standing belief that Thomas the Tank Engine is based on the NSW City Rail System.
Brian Young, a psychology lecturer at Britain's Exeter University, says the large number of accidents in the programmes could have a negative influence on children. "Thomas the Tank Engine is aimed at a pre-school audience who tend to be more likely to see the programme as a reality," he told the Times newspaper. "Seeing lots of crashes on TV means they could end up absolutely terrified of going on a train." |
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Maybe Brian needs to get out of the lab and into the real world.
My sons watch Thomas the Tank Engine all the time and we frequently go on trains. If anything watching Thomas has made them love trains even more then they did before.
They absolutely love watching all the crashes and derailments that go on. In fact if there are not as many disasters as usual packed into the 4 minute show they will be a little bit disappointed. Similar to the way you are always secretly disappointed when all 55 cars in the Bathurst 1000 get through the first corner of the race without a single crash.
Monday, October 27, 2003 |
Regional News and The Daily Telegraph
One of the things I enjoy most about going home is watching the local NBN news or reading the local paper.
Seldom is either filled with anything more gruesome than a car crash on the Pacific Highway (not that a highway crash isn't very terrible mind you) or the latest thunder storm to roll across the land.
Indeed the "Police Beat" section of the local Paper which details the ill doings of locals and tourists will usually contain nothing worse than someone's wallet being stolen or someone being caught doing 15km/h over the speed limit.
Coming back to Sydney is therefore sometimes a real downer as picking up any of the real papers here (SMH, The Australian, Fin review) will see rapists, killers, bashings, robberies and World Turmoil jumping off the pages.
That's way sometimes I will have a look at The Women's Weekly sorry I mean The Daily Telegraph every now and then. According to the "Tele", the big news items of the day desperately needing our attention are not the outcomes of World Trade Summits or the ominous threat presented by organised international terrorists but rather how Delta Goodrem had her hair cut or today's example on how the Pom's cheat at Rugby.
So if ever you can't get out of Sydney for a holiday, just pick up the Telegraph. It's the next best thing.
One of the things I enjoy most about going home is watching the local NBN news or reading the local paper.
Seldom is either filled with anything more gruesome than a car crash on the Pacific Highway (not that a highway crash isn't very terrible mind you) or the latest thunder storm to roll across the land.
Indeed the "Police Beat" section of the local Paper which details the ill doings of locals and tourists will usually contain nothing worse than someone's wallet being stolen or someone being caught doing 15km/h over the speed limit.
Coming back to Sydney is therefore sometimes a real downer as picking up any of the real papers here (SMH, The Australian, Fin review) will see rapists, killers, bashings, robberies and World Turmoil jumping off the pages.
That's way sometimes I will have a look at The Women's Weekly sorry I mean The Daily Telegraph every now and then. According to the "Tele", the big news items of the day desperately needing our attention are not the outcomes of World Trade Summits or the ominous threat presented by organised international terrorists but rather how Delta Goodrem had her hair cut or today's example on how the Pom's cheat at Rugby.
So if ever you can't get out of Sydney for a holiday, just pick up the Telegraph. It's the next best thing.
Thursday, October 23, 2003 |
What is a House Husband?
I asked myself the above question this morning as I hung out the first load of washing before putting another load of dirty nappies into the machine.
To an outsider a House Husband might look pretty much the same as a House Wife minus the dress; analogous to the way Rugby League would look exactly the same as Rugby Union to a Victorian.
There is however subtle differences between the two that would otherwise go unnoticed until you look a little closer.
For example my day today will contain a lot of washing clothes, cleaning floors, changing nappies, making lunches, reading stories, enjoying two hours of blessed silence while the boys have their afternoon sleep, some light gardening, some baking and maybe if I have time some reading. Sounds pretty similar of the stereotypical view of a House Wife doesn't it?
The differences rise to the surface when you venture out in public. A trip to the shops will see me being the only guy in the whole place under 70. Whilst sometimes I will bring a stroller along if I plan to be there for any length of time, I will never fit in or be allowed inside the impregnable fortress of strollers and prams erected around the various cafes and coffee shops by the young mums out to socialise with each other.
Down the park with the boys is another place I will not fit in. Once again the only guy in a sea of women and strollers. The difference here is that if I am not fairly close to my kids most of the time, a few concerned glances may come my way.
"Who is that guy sitting on the seat over there just watching all the kids??!!"
The huge upside to all of this however is the fact that I get to watch my two young boys grow up instead of sitting at my desk at work 5 days a week.
Being in the office just 2 days a week also sounds great to all the other guys I describe my situation to, especially as I usually go light on explaining all the other things I do when I am at home.
There are however no free lunches.
I asked myself the above question this morning as I hung out the first load of washing before putting another load of dirty nappies into the machine.
To an outsider a House Husband might look pretty much the same as a House Wife minus the dress; analogous to the way Rugby League would look exactly the same as Rugby Union to a Victorian.
There is however subtle differences between the two that would otherwise go unnoticed until you look a little closer.
For example my day today will contain a lot of washing clothes, cleaning floors, changing nappies, making lunches, reading stories, enjoying two hours of blessed silence while the boys have their afternoon sleep, some light gardening, some baking and maybe if I have time some reading. Sounds pretty similar of the stereotypical view of a House Wife doesn't it?
The differences rise to the surface when you venture out in public. A trip to the shops will see me being the only guy in the whole place under 70. Whilst sometimes I will bring a stroller along if I plan to be there for any length of time, I will never fit in or be allowed inside the impregnable fortress of strollers and prams erected around the various cafes and coffee shops by the young mums out to socialise with each other.
Down the park with the boys is another place I will not fit in. Once again the only guy in a sea of women and strollers. The difference here is that if I am not fairly close to my kids most of the time, a few concerned glances may come my way.
"Who is that guy sitting on the seat over there just watching all the kids??!!"
The huge upside to all of this however is the fact that I get to watch my two young boys grow up instead of sitting at my desk at work 5 days a week.
Being in the office just 2 days a week also sounds great to all the other guys I describe my situation to, especially as I usually go light on explaining all the other things I do when I am at home.
There are however no free lunches.
Wednesday, October 22, 2003 |
The Pickles at McDonald's
There are two kinds of people in this world.
Those that like the pickles in the burgers at McDonald's and those that feel the only fit purpose for these green circles of vinegar soaked slime is to be flung on the ceiling of the McDonald's "restaurant" you happen to be in at the time.
I for one am in the ceiling flinging camp.
I have done a search for instruction on how to properly fling your pickle onto the ceiling but have as yet found naught.
I therefore include the following instruction on how to get that disgusting little green thing from your burger to the ceiling in a very inconspicuous yet efficient manner.
1. Get that sucker out of your burger ASAP. Every second it stays in there only serves to increase its foul influence on the rest of your meal.
2. Lay the burger wrapper out flat on the table and smooth it as much as possible.
3. Place the pickle in the very centre of the wrapper. This is very important. Do it without the proper care and you risk a pickle related injury to yourself or someone you love.
4. Move your chair out from the table so that the distance between your stomach and the table is a close approximation to the width of the wrapper.
5. Place the pickle laden wrapper in your lap and the grab it fairly tightly on to each end, rasing it about 7cm above your lap.
6. Bring your hands together until there is about a 10cm gap between them and then snap them back very quickly.
7. If done properly that repulsive little pickle will reach launch velocity and glue itself to the ceiling with out too much noise or notice. Failing to observe these steps thoroughly however may see an embarrassing sideways launch and the collateral damage that entails. Even worse than this would be a disastrous re entry of the pickle resulting in its landing on your head.
It is argued by many that the pickle is the only thing that gives McDonalds it flavour. To them I give this retort.
Any one who has a dog knows that they will eat just about anything. They are constantly scrounging for things to eat and always hanging around the kids waiting for them to drop some morsel of food on the floor. One thing they will not eat though is a pickle from McDonalds. They will however happily lick their own ass for hours on end.
There are two kinds of people in this world.
Those that like the pickles in the burgers at McDonald's and those that feel the only fit purpose for these green circles of vinegar soaked slime is to be flung on the ceiling of the McDonald's "restaurant" you happen to be in at the time.
I for one am in the ceiling flinging camp.
I have done a search for instruction on how to properly fling your pickle onto the ceiling but have as yet found naught.
I therefore include the following instruction on how to get that disgusting little green thing from your burger to the ceiling in a very inconspicuous yet efficient manner.
1. Get that sucker out of your burger ASAP. Every second it stays in there only serves to increase its foul influence on the rest of your meal.
2. Lay the burger wrapper out flat on the table and smooth it as much as possible.
3. Place the pickle in the very centre of the wrapper. This is very important. Do it without the proper care and you risk a pickle related injury to yourself or someone you love.
4. Move your chair out from the table so that the distance between your stomach and the table is a close approximation to the width of the wrapper.
5. Place the pickle laden wrapper in your lap and the grab it fairly tightly on to each end, rasing it about 7cm above your lap.
6. Bring your hands together until there is about a 10cm gap between them and then snap them back very quickly.
7. If done properly that repulsive little pickle will reach launch velocity and glue itself to the ceiling with out too much noise or notice. Failing to observe these steps thoroughly however may see an embarrassing sideways launch and the collateral damage that entails. Even worse than this would be a disastrous re entry of the pickle resulting in its landing on your head.
It is argued by many that the pickle is the only thing that gives McDonalds it flavour. To them I give this retort.
Any one who has a dog knows that they will eat just about anything. They are constantly scrounging for things to eat and always hanging around the kids waiting for them to drop some morsel of food on the floor. One thing they will not eat though is a pickle from McDonalds. They will however happily lick their own ass for hours on end.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003 |
Selective hearing
As my wife can attest, I am a very heavy sleeper.
Ever since having children however I seem to have developed some sort of Super Hearing with the ability to detect the slightest noise or sound coming from the boy’s room at the other end of the house. This seems to be the limit of my new found ability however.
Many is the time I have slept through the wildest of thunder storms, rain slamming against the windows and the SES all over the neighbourhood saving rooves yet I did not wake. One of the boys coughing or whimpering at all during that same storm however would have roused me from my sleep to check on them or await their arrival by the side of my bed.
I would assume this power is not unique to me though. I doubt that I acquired it from standing too close to the microwave waiting for my Hot Chocolate to be hot.
Has anyone else obtained anything like this after becoming a parent?
As my wife can attest, I am a very heavy sleeper.
Ever since having children however I seem to have developed some sort of Super Hearing with the ability to detect the slightest noise or sound coming from the boy’s room at the other end of the house. This seems to be the limit of my new found ability however.
Many is the time I have slept through the wildest of thunder storms, rain slamming against the windows and the SES all over the neighbourhood saving rooves yet I did not wake. One of the boys coughing or whimpering at all during that same storm however would have roused me from my sleep to check on them or await their arrival by the side of my bed.
I would assume this power is not unique to me though. I doubt that I acquired it from standing too close to the microwave waiting for my Hot Chocolate to be hot.
Has anyone else obtained anything like this after becoming a parent?
Monday, October 20, 2003 |
Potty training again
Once again it is time to get another of our children out of nappies and using a potty.
For a little while now he has been really annoyed about wearing his nappy with the other day even seeing him getting the potty out himself and to sit on whilst still having his nappy on.
After he did this we thought "OK time to start training him" as he seems ready.
Yesterday was the first real day we started and had him running around in just his underwear all day. According to the neighbours I am a little too old to be doing this myself.
Having trained our oldest son (now 3) last summer, I had forgotten how vigilant you must be when you have a fully loaded toddler running around then house with no nappy on. All I can say is thankfully we now have floorboards that can be easily wiped clean rather than the carpet that once adorned our floors.
It's funny how sometimes they are almost ashamed to wet their pants and will go off to hide in some dark corner to do their business. Other times they are almost proud of the fact that they have just wizzed on the floor. Yesterday saw the contrasts of cleaning up wee from the furthest corners of the house to wiping off my wife's leg after an episode that saw him standing next to her with no nappy on. Funnily enough she didn't think it was as amusing as I did.
On asking your child if they need to use the potty, I would give the same advice to other parents as I give to my HelpDesk clients regarding saving documents on the network.
Do it early, do it often.
Failure to do this in either case will cause a lot of tiresome work in the event of a disaster.
Once again it is time to get another of our children out of nappies and using a potty.
For a little while now he has been really annoyed about wearing his nappy with the other day even seeing him getting the potty out himself and to sit on whilst still having his nappy on.
After he did this we thought "OK time to start training him" as he seems ready.
Yesterday was the first real day we started and had him running around in just his underwear all day. According to the neighbours I am a little too old to be doing this myself.
Having trained our oldest son (now 3) last summer, I had forgotten how vigilant you must be when you have a fully loaded toddler running around then house with no nappy on. All I can say is thankfully we now have floorboards that can be easily wiped clean rather than the carpet that once adorned our floors.
It's funny how sometimes they are almost ashamed to wet their pants and will go off to hide in some dark corner to do their business. Other times they are almost proud of the fact that they have just wizzed on the floor. Yesterday saw the contrasts of cleaning up wee from the furthest corners of the house to wiping off my wife's leg after an episode that saw him standing next to her with no nappy on. Funnily enough she didn't think it was as amusing as I did.
On asking your child if they need to use the potty, I would give the same advice to other parents as I give to my HelpDesk clients regarding saving documents on the network.
Do it early, do it often.
Failure to do this in either case will cause a lot of tiresome work in the event of a disaster.
Saturday, October 18, 2003 |
Collective Nouns
Reading Keks pondering on what the proper name for a collection of Bloggers should be got me thinking about what a collection of House Husbands would be.
How does a Slab of House Husbands sound?
Having put a name to a collection of House Husbands, maybe the next step would be to actually put a Slab together.
How many of us are there in Sydney or Australia wide for that matter?
For too long has the meeting up of parents and their kids on a weekday been restricted to "Mother's Groups".
We have seen the fall of Mother's Rooms in shopping centres to be replaced by Dad friendly "Baby Rooms", let us now see Fathers meeting with other Fathers while their kids play down the park or some one's place during the week.
Reading Keks pondering on what the proper name for a collection of Bloggers should be got me thinking about what a collection of House Husbands would be.
How does a Slab of House Husbands sound?
Having put a name to a collection of House Husbands, maybe the next step would be to actually put a Slab together.
How many of us are there in Sydney or Australia wide for that matter?
For too long has the meeting up of parents and their kids on a weekday been restricted to "Mother's Groups".
We have seen the fall of Mother's Rooms in shopping centres to be replaced by Dad friendly "Baby Rooms", let us now see Fathers meeting with other Fathers while their kids play down the park or some one's place during the week.
Friday, October 17, 2003 |
A Proud Day
Yesterday my youngest son (almost 2 yo) had me beaming with joy.
I was reading them both a story before they went to sleep after lunch when he did a little burp.
He looked up at me a little surprised as he obviously was not expecting it.
After thinking for a few seconds he then pointed to the dog and said "Puppy did it".
Ahhhh it won't be long until he is asking us to pull his finger.
I have actually been given some advice from an Uncle on this topic. He suggests waiting until they are around 4 yo before you get them to pull your finger for the first time. This way they are fully able to understand what they have heard but are absolutely amazed that they were able to cause it to happen just by pulling your finger.
Yesterday my youngest son (almost 2 yo) had me beaming with joy.
I was reading them both a story before they went to sleep after lunch when he did a little burp.
He looked up at me a little surprised as he obviously was not expecting it.
After thinking for a few seconds he then pointed to the dog and said "Puppy did it".
Ahhhh it won't be long until he is asking us to pull his finger.
I have actually been given some advice from an Uncle on this topic. He suggests waiting until they are around 4 yo before you get them to pull your finger for the first time. This way they are fully able to understand what they have heard but are absolutely amazed that they were able to cause it to happen just by pulling your finger.
Thursday, October 16, 2003 |
A little controversial today
Jumping on the sexual abuse bandwagon
Let me start this off by saying that any form of abuse, particularly sexual abuse is totally abhorrent. The perpetrators of these offences are not only committing a crime against an individual but at society in general.
There is however another particularly nasty aspect to sexual abuse. The fact that anyone accused of such a crime is presumed guilty until proven innocent.
This is further exacerbated by the nature of these crimes usually being committed in places far from public view and possible witnesses. Where as a rape case can sometimes be very easily proved with physical and DNA evidence, other forms of sexual abuse such as those accused of Australian Swimming Coach Greg Hodge, are very hard to prove or disprove as the case may be.
Another illustration of this can be seen in Arnold Schwarzenegger's campaign to become Governor of California.
In this case the charges of sexual abuse levelled against him were used as a weapon. There is no other way to describe they way and the timing these in which these accusations were laid.
Arnold has been a very rich man for a long time but no one came forward with anything until he decided to run for office.
These claims obviously had two purposes. Firstly to hinder his chances in the election. Secondly fame and or personal gain by writing a book (or having it ghost written) about the "ordeal" and also selling the exclusive story to tabloids and their television counterparts, Current Affairs shows.
What is common to both Greg Hodge and Arnie's situation is that after seeing how much attention the first accuser achieved with a well timed "tell all story", other people start to jump on the band wagon suddenly recalling past instances of abuse that had laid dormant for lo these many years.
High profile people, Politicians, Entertainers and a number of professions like Teaching, Doctors and Child Care etc are particularly vulnerable to attacks such as these because the mud when thrown by a vindictive assailant sticks very easily. Especially when in the case of Greg Hodge, certain parts of the media are in there throwing handfuls of it as well.
Jumping on the sexual abuse bandwagon
Let me start this off by saying that any form of abuse, particularly sexual abuse is totally abhorrent. The perpetrators of these offences are not only committing a crime against an individual but at society in general.
There is however another particularly nasty aspect to sexual abuse. The fact that anyone accused of such a crime is presumed guilty until proven innocent.
This is further exacerbated by the nature of these crimes usually being committed in places far from public view and possible witnesses. Where as a rape case can sometimes be very easily proved with physical and DNA evidence, other forms of sexual abuse such as those accused of Australian Swimming Coach Greg Hodge, are very hard to prove or disprove as the case may be.
Another illustration of this can be seen in Arnold Schwarzenegger's campaign to become Governor of California.
In this case the charges of sexual abuse levelled against him were used as a weapon. There is no other way to describe they way and the timing these in which these accusations were laid.
Arnold has been a very rich man for a long time but no one came forward with anything until he decided to run for office.
These claims obviously had two purposes. Firstly to hinder his chances in the election. Secondly fame and or personal gain by writing a book (or having it ghost written) about the "ordeal" and also selling the exclusive story to tabloids and their television counterparts, Current Affairs shows.
What is common to both Greg Hodge and Arnie's situation is that after seeing how much attention the first accuser achieved with a well timed "tell all story", other people start to jump on the band wagon suddenly recalling past instances of abuse that had laid dormant for lo these many years.
High profile people, Politicians, Entertainers and a number of professions like Teaching, Doctors and Child Care etc are particularly vulnerable to attacks such as these because the mud when thrown by a vindictive assailant sticks very easily. Especially when in the case of Greg Hodge, certain parts of the media are in there throwing handfuls of it as well.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003 |
Prestige Car Space
Now that I seem to be visiting shopping centres at somewhat ungodly hours, I have been able to experience a strange phenomenon that had up until now gone unnoticed.
One of the side effects of having kids is that you will often hear yourself saying the phrase "but the shops aren't open yet".
Many is the Saturday that has seen me on my third load of washing before Rage has finished in what I used to think of as the wee small hours of the morning.
Because of this we often notice a shortage in some of the key breakfast ingredients quite early on in the morning. A person with no children when confronted with this situation will usually just look at their watch to see if it is too late to get breakfast at McDonalds. A parent of young children on the other hand will look at their watch to see if Woollies is open yet.
Arriving at the shopping centre before 8am is a strange event. Instead of a noisy, busy, carbon monoxide filled cave you instead find a virtual ghost town. The silence broken only by the far off sound of a tractor pulling a 5m trailer full of wayward trolleys. Then you see it. The Holy Grail of shoppers all over the world. The object that all who enter this subterranean world longingly search for but never expect to find. Perfection. The car space right next to the entrance.
Your gaze upon it in all its empty splendour, your hands gripped tightly around the wheel. Wreathed in a veil of gossamer produced by smoking supermarket employees waiting for the store to open, it sits there in all its glory.
A lot of the time this prize is not the easiest park to get into even though it may be the closest to the door. The fact that it may take you 5 mins to get into it rather then drive straight into one only two spaces down matters not. It's all about the prestige of having that space. You can imagine yourself strolling back to the car, unlocking the door and hearing the astonished gasps of those around you. "He's got the space!" you'll here them say. I don't car how long it takes to get in there I'm taking it.
Finally after all your toil and struggle you get in there and straighten up before looking up hoping to see a few onlookers enviously watching you pull in. You instead see something else.
FUCK! It's a handicapped space!
Now that I seem to be visiting shopping centres at somewhat ungodly hours, I have been able to experience a strange phenomenon that had up until now gone unnoticed.
One of the side effects of having kids is that you will often hear yourself saying the phrase "but the shops aren't open yet".
Many is the Saturday that has seen me on my third load of washing before Rage has finished in what I used to think of as the wee small hours of the morning.
Because of this we often notice a shortage in some of the key breakfast ingredients quite early on in the morning. A person with no children when confronted with this situation will usually just look at their watch to see if it is too late to get breakfast at McDonalds. A parent of young children on the other hand will look at their watch to see if Woollies is open yet.
Arriving at the shopping centre before 8am is a strange event. Instead of a noisy, busy, carbon monoxide filled cave you instead find a virtual ghost town. The silence broken only by the far off sound of a tractor pulling a 5m trailer full of wayward trolleys. Then you see it. The Holy Grail of shoppers all over the world. The object that all who enter this subterranean world longingly search for but never expect to find. Perfection. The car space right next to the entrance.
Your gaze upon it in all its empty splendour, your hands gripped tightly around the wheel. Wreathed in a veil of gossamer produced by smoking supermarket employees waiting for the store to open, it sits there in all its glory.
A lot of the time this prize is not the easiest park to get into even though it may be the closest to the door. The fact that it may take you 5 mins to get into it rather then drive straight into one only two spaces down matters not. It's all about the prestige of having that space. You can imagine yourself strolling back to the car, unlocking the door and hearing the astonished gasps of those around you. "He's got the space!" you'll here them say. I don't car how long it takes to get in there I'm taking it.
Finally after all your toil and struggle you get in there and straighten up before looking up hoping to see a few onlookers enviously watching you pull in. You instead see something else.
FUCK! It's a handicapped space!
Tuesday, October 14, 2003 |
My Best Mates Girlfriend's Panties
Ever been in a situation where you did not know what to do?
I recall a complex issue I was faced with one suddenly rainy day many years ago.
The time is the early 90's and my best mate has his first real girlfriend.
I had a car available to me that day so I dropped him around to her house.
She sees us pull up and invites us around the back yard to where she is having a coffee with her Mum.
Everyone says hello and I notice that the washing line is full of under wear. Not just any under wear but women’s underwear.
After about 10 mins or so I am getting ready to go when it happens. It starts to rain. Her mother rushes back into the house frantically searching for a washing basket.
The girlfriend begins to run around the line grabbing handfuls of lacy, frilly under garments and I am left in a quandary.
Do I help them bring in the washing or just stand there while it gets wet? My mate jumps in to help but would he want me handling his girlfriend’s undies even in such an innocent circumstance? Would she want me to help? On top of all this is the fact that some of them are the mothers as well! My mate's girlfriend’s undies are one thing but her mums?
I began to think to myself "stop being silly and just ask them if they want help" But of course if in fact they did not really want me to help, I did not want some embarrassed answer from them.
Before too long they had saved their unmentionables from the rain and got them inside, all the while I stood by not knowing what to do.
I have gone over this scenario many times and still come to the conclusion that doing nothing, however awkward and silly I might have felt and looked at the time was better than being wrist deep in the bras and undies of women I only knew by association.
What would you have done?
Ever been in a situation where you did not know what to do?
I recall a complex issue I was faced with one suddenly rainy day many years ago.
The time is the early 90's and my best mate has his first real girlfriend.
I had a car available to me that day so I dropped him around to her house.
She sees us pull up and invites us around the back yard to where she is having a coffee with her Mum.
Everyone says hello and I notice that the washing line is full of under wear. Not just any under wear but women’s underwear.
After about 10 mins or so I am getting ready to go when it happens. It starts to rain. Her mother rushes back into the house frantically searching for a washing basket.
The girlfriend begins to run around the line grabbing handfuls of lacy, frilly under garments and I am left in a quandary.
Do I help them bring in the washing or just stand there while it gets wet? My mate jumps in to help but would he want me handling his girlfriend’s undies even in such an innocent circumstance? Would she want me to help? On top of all this is the fact that some of them are the mothers as well! My mate's girlfriend’s undies are one thing but her mums?
I began to think to myself "stop being silly and just ask them if they want help" But of course if in fact they did not really want me to help, I did not want some embarrassed answer from them.
Before too long they had saved their unmentionables from the rain and got them inside, all the while I stood by not knowing what to do.
I have gone over this scenario many times and still come to the conclusion that doing nothing, however awkward and silly I might have felt and looked at the time was better than being wrist deep in the bras and undies of women I only knew by association.
What would you have done?
Monday, October 13, 2003 |
The Big Banana or the Big Mullet?
This past week saw me on holidays in Coffs Harbour, which is one of my favourite places in the world and hopefully where we will be living in a few years.
There was however one thing that really stood out when driving around the streets and walking around the shops of Coffs that I had obviously become desensitised to whilst I lived there 8 years ago.
Far, far too many of the locals have mullets.
Not just little almost mullets that someone in Sydney might acquire if they were unable to get to their hairdressers for too long. I'm talking about a fair dinkum, Country singing, Penrith Panther supporting, Bathurst 1000 attending, 80's rock star mullet. This would quite often be accompanied by a sporting pair of brown/grey stubbies and maybe some thongs.
What supised me was that I kept seeing it again and again after never really noticing it before. I assume this is akin to the smell of your own house.
Everyone's house had a particular smell that you can never actually notice yourself because you have grown accustomed to it. Similar to how you can never smell your own B.O. but are eventauuly alerted to its presence by the horrified gasps of people as you walk past on the train.
So like after being away from home for a few weeks, you walk in the front door of your house and think, "Jesus does my house smell like that?!", I walked down the streets of Coffs and thought "Jesus do the locals really look like that?!"
I would stress however that just like successful Cronulla Sharks players, these eyesores are in the vast minority.
This past week saw me on holidays in Coffs Harbour, which is one of my favourite places in the world and hopefully where we will be living in a few years.
There was however one thing that really stood out when driving around the streets and walking around the shops of Coffs that I had obviously become desensitised to whilst I lived there 8 years ago.
Far, far too many of the locals have mullets.
Not just little almost mullets that someone in Sydney might acquire if they were unable to get to their hairdressers for too long. I'm talking about a fair dinkum, Country singing, Penrith Panther supporting, Bathurst 1000 attending, 80's rock star mullet. This would quite often be accompanied by a sporting pair of brown/grey stubbies and maybe some thongs.
What supised me was that I kept seeing it again and again after never really noticing it before. I assume this is akin to the smell of your own house.
Everyone's house had a particular smell that you can never actually notice yourself because you have grown accustomed to it. Similar to how you can never smell your own B.O. but are eventauuly alerted to its presence by the horrified gasps of people as you walk past on the train.
So like after being away from home for a few weeks, you walk in the front door of your house and think, "Jesus does my house smell like that?!", I walked down the streets of Coffs and thought "Jesus do the locals really look like that?!"
I would stress however that just like successful Cronulla Sharks players, these eyesores are in the vast minority.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003 |
Men and Lingerie shops don't mix
There are a few shops in which a man may feel comfortable. The hardware store, the music store, the electronics store and that's about it.
All else falls under the woman's domain.
There is one shop however that men have absolutely no place in. That place is the Lingerie store.
Guys who have never ventured into one (or been dragged into one) may think that it might be fun to go in and have a look. After all the walls are adorned with pictures of sexy models wearing even sexier underwear. What keeps them out however is the fear of looking like a pervert.
There is in fact a rational reason for this fear. It's because you do look like a pervert.
Before daring to enter a den of female superiority such as this, you must be prepared. There are a few rules you must abide by to ensure that the amused glances of passers by happening to see you squirming uncomfortably in the shop do not transform into the disgusted stares of an angry mob of onlookers.
Firstly and MOST importantly DO NOT put your hands in your pockets! I can not stress this enough. I assume the reason for this is clear enough. This rule can be sometimes hard to abide by and I don't mean in a George Michael, public toilet kind of way. Since it will be a nervous situation for a male, he may fidget and look for somewhere to put his hands. Constant vigilance is required to ensure that they are not sub consciously placed in the pockets.
Secondly but also very important; Do not wear an over coat or a trench coat. A chilly Winter's day may force you to wear one outside but you better make sure that sucker is not on when you get in there.
Thirdly but still quite important is what you will answer when she asks, "What do you think of this one?" The answer to this should be one of the following, "It's not bad" or "That would look very sexy on you" or if timed properly you could try "Anything on you would look beautiful".
Of course after the questions are answered and a short list made comes the worst part for any guy in a Lingerie shop. Hanging around while she goes out the back to try things on.
Unfortunately there is nothing you can do to avoid the fact that you will be standing there looking pathetic and impotent holding her hand bag, desperately searching for a place to avert your eyes while attempting to give off the impression that you are not perving on the underwear models.
There is one way to avoid this embarrassing situation. Make sure you bring the kids shopping.
Sadly for my male brethren who are yet to have kids I can offer no protection. It must be accepted along with death and taxes.
Considerable solace may be gained however in the "fashion show" that usually occurs shortly after getting home.
There are a few shops in which a man may feel comfortable. The hardware store, the music store, the electronics store and that's about it.
All else falls under the woman's domain.
There is one shop however that men have absolutely no place in. That place is the Lingerie store.
Guys who have never ventured into one (or been dragged into one) may think that it might be fun to go in and have a look. After all the walls are adorned with pictures of sexy models wearing even sexier underwear. What keeps them out however is the fear of looking like a pervert.
There is in fact a rational reason for this fear. It's because you do look like a pervert.
Before daring to enter a den of female superiority such as this, you must be prepared. There are a few rules you must abide by to ensure that the amused glances of passers by happening to see you squirming uncomfortably in the shop do not transform into the disgusted stares of an angry mob of onlookers.
Firstly and MOST importantly DO NOT put your hands in your pockets! I can not stress this enough. I assume the reason for this is clear enough. This rule can be sometimes hard to abide by and I don't mean in a George Michael, public toilet kind of way. Since it will be a nervous situation for a male, he may fidget and look for somewhere to put his hands. Constant vigilance is required to ensure that they are not sub consciously placed in the pockets.
Secondly but also very important; Do not wear an over coat or a trench coat. A chilly Winter's day may force you to wear one outside but you better make sure that sucker is not on when you get in there.
Thirdly but still quite important is what you will answer when she asks, "What do you think of this one?" The answer to this should be one of the following, "It's not bad" or "That would look very sexy on you" or if timed properly you could try "Anything on you would look beautiful".
Of course after the questions are answered and a short list made comes the worst part for any guy in a Lingerie shop. Hanging around while she goes out the back to try things on.
Unfortunately there is nothing you can do to avoid the fact that you will be standing there looking pathetic and impotent holding her hand bag, desperately searching for a place to avert your eyes while attempting to give off the impression that you are not perving on the underwear models.
There is one way to avoid this embarrassing situation. Make sure you bring the kids shopping.
Sadly for my male brethren who are yet to have kids I can offer no protection. It must be accepted along with death and taxes.
Considerable solace may be gained however in the "fashion show" that usually occurs shortly after getting home.
Friday, October 03, 2003 |
First attempt at "Googie Eggs" semi successful
Having fond childhood memories of dipping Toast Soldiers into soft boiled eggs, I thought I would introduce them to the boys.
How long do you boil a soft boiled egg for?
I thought if I can learn to juggle from the internet, surely I could learn how to make a soft boiled egg.
A quick Google search provided the info so off to find a saucepan I went.
4 mins of boiling water later we had "Goggie Eggs". Upon cracking them open however we found that maybe they were a little too goggie for my liking.
The boys did not seem to mind them being a little sloppy; it just meant there was a lot more cleaning up to do.
For future reference, fridge temp normal size eggs will take a little under 4 1/2 mins to boil so that all the whites are white and the yoke is a little solid at the bottom.
Having fond childhood memories of dipping Toast Soldiers into soft boiled eggs, I thought I would introduce them to the boys.
How long do you boil a soft boiled egg for?
I thought if I can learn to juggle from the internet, surely I could learn how to make a soft boiled egg.
A quick Google search provided the info so off to find a saucepan I went.
4 mins of boiling water later we had "Goggie Eggs". Upon cracking them open however we found that maybe they were a little too goggie for my liking.
The boys did not seem to mind them being a little sloppy; it just meant there was a lot more cleaning up to do.
For future reference, fridge temp normal size eggs will take a little under 4 1/2 mins to boil so that all the whites are white and the yoke is a little solid at the bottom.
Thursday, October 02, 2003 |
Australia loves a winner
It is often said that a lot of Australians suffer from Tall Poppy Syndrome. Having a go at and finding fault with someone simply because they are at the top.
This does not seem extended to sport however. In fact quite the reverse.
In Australia as long as you are a winner on the sporting world stage, you will be hailed a hero no matter what your actions or words.
For example a little whinger like Lleyton Hewitt.
Long do we forget the infamous statement he made a few years ago "all Australian fans are stupid"
Little attention do we pay to his off court tantrums, refusing to attend interviews and other events he knew he that he was contractually obliged to do, blowing them off because he just didn't feel like doing them.
The attitude seems to be that as long as he is winning he will do as he may.
Similar can be said of Anthony Mundine. Seldom have we seen such an embarrassing ambassador of Australia since Pauline Hanson.
In a pathetic attempt to emulate Muhammad Ali, he became even more of an ignorant loud mouth than he was when playing Rugby League. Even going to the ridiculous extent of coming back from overseas as a converted Muslim.
Let us also not forget his comments over 9/11, inferring that America brought it on themselves. Stating this even as the bodies were being counted.
A series of bouts against boxers of no great standing saw him eligible to compete for the Australian Title. This he won to his credit, however it succeeded in only further bolstering his much over inflated ego making him even more unbearable.
Fortunately being knocked flat on his ass in America brought him back to earth slightly (I still have the newspaper photo of him lying on the canvas). It even saw him thinking of giving up boxing once he realised he was now playing with the big boys.
Further to his credit however he worked very hard and is now World Champion and as such, all previous sins have been absolved in the eyes of the Australian public.
It seems though that sport is not the only arena in which we are able to forgive a winner.
Watching the Panel last night, I see that we are now a little excited at the possibility of an Australian Pope. George Pell has been "promoted" to Cardinal and as such is on the short list for Pope.
Could even his sins be absolved should he become a winner?
It is often said that a lot of Australians suffer from Tall Poppy Syndrome. Having a go at and finding fault with someone simply because they are at the top.
This does not seem extended to sport however. In fact quite the reverse.
In Australia as long as you are a winner on the sporting world stage, you will be hailed a hero no matter what your actions or words.
For example a little whinger like Lleyton Hewitt.
Long do we forget the infamous statement he made a few years ago "all Australian fans are stupid"
Little attention do we pay to his off court tantrums, refusing to attend interviews and other events he knew he that he was contractually obliged to do, blowing them off because he just didn't feel like doing them.
The attitude seems to be that as long as he is winning he will do as he may.
Similar can be said of Anthony Mundine. Seldom have we seen such an embarrassing ambassador of Australia since Pauline Hanson.
In a pathetic attempt to emulate Muhammad Ali, he became even more of an ignorant loud mouth than he was when playing Rugby League. Even going to the ridiculous extent of coming back from overseas as a converted Muslim.
Let us also not forget his comments over 9/11, inferring that America brought it on themselves. Stating this even as the bodies were being counted.
A series of bouts against boxers of no great standing saw him eligible to compete for the Australian Title. This he won to his credit, however it succeeded in only further bolstering his much over inflated ego making him even more unbearable.
Fortunately being knocked flat on his ass in America brought him back to earth slightly (I still have the newspaper photo of him lying on the canvas). It even saw him thinking of giving up boxing once he realised he was now playing with the big boys.
Further to his credit however he worked very hard and is now World Champion and as such, all previous sins have been absolved in the eyes of the Australian public.
It seems though that sport is not the only arena in which we are able to forgive a winner.
Watching the Panel last night, I see that we are now a little excited at the possibility of an Australian Pope. George Pell has been "promoted" to Cardinal and as such is on the short list for Pope.
Could even his sins be absolved should he become a winner?
Wednesday, October 01, 2003 |
Some days you are glad of a blocked nose
Today was such a day.
Changing nappies is a gruesome task at the best of times. Today however I was truly thankful for the cold that has besot me since Sunday night.
Upon changing my youngest son this morning, I found that the term "Full Nappy" did not really illustrate what went on in his pants. In fact it was less of a dirty nappy and more of an event.
An event that instead of reaching for the nappy wipes had me reaching for the Yellow Pages to look for an Exorcist, so foul and disturbing was the occasion.
Fortunately I was able to complete the task with out the aid of a Catholic Priest Exorcist due to my sense of smell leaving me on Sunday night.
After all, the less contact Catholic Priests have with small children the better.
Today was such a day.
Changing nappies is a gruesome task at the best of times. Today however I was truly thankful for the cold that has besot me since Sunday night.
Upon changing my youngest son this morning, I found that the term "Full Nappy" did not really illustrate what went on in his pants. In fact it was less of a dirty nappy and more of an event.
An event that instead of reaching for the nappy wipes had me reaching for the Yellow Pages to look for an Exorcist, so foul and disturbing was the occasion.
Fortunately I was able to complete the task with out the aid of a Catholic Priest Exorcist due to my sense of smell leaving me on Sunday night.
After all, the less contact Catholic Priests have with small children the better.
