In a shocking new development it has emerged that an unnamed person has admitted to leaving the guard off the hair clippers after, 'trimming my bush'.
More news as soon as she's out of hospital.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Phew, that was close.
Good news.
I've just heard that I've got an interview with a global management consultancy business on Monday. I've been told that they're pretty informal but even so I thought I should make an effort to appear professional and thought a quick trim might not go amiss.
Bad news.
The guard was not on my clippers.
Good news.
I've stuck it back on, do you think anyone will notice?
Lucky I stopped in the nick of time or I could have looked a real fool on Monday.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Waste not, want not.
Our condo is so small that Peta and I are typically never more than a couple of metres apart. I would estimate that if I pressed myself close to the front door and she leaned out of the bedroom window we could be separated by as much as 4 meters but things haven't quite reached that stage yet.
Aside from the bathroom the only door in the flat is the bi-fold louvre door between the bedroom and the remainder of the living areas which seems to be designed for symbolic or ceremonial use. When I find myself in need of in need of privacy or tranquillity I tease, drag and bounce this door closed but I am still only spitting distance from Peta as she works at the dining table. I can still hear her tapping annoyingly at the keyboard or provocatively scratching her pencil across notepaper. When lying down to sleep I can still pretty much see her which makes me wonder why the door is there at all. Perhaps it is designed to create the illusion of privacy while maintaining the illusion of space.
There's no room for a washing machine so we are compelled to take the elevator to the basement where the spotless and efficient communal washing facilities reside. There is also a soft-drink machine and a table and chairs which suggests that a convivial hour or two could be spent discussing the merits of one soap powder over another with one's neighbours. Having spent some time seated on these chairs I can confirm that conversation does not flow but I have learnt some new folding techniques for large ladies underwear which I hope to be able to put to good use in the coming years.
This week however I was waiting for the lift, clutching my still-warm washing to my chest when a hitherto unknown neighbour, carrying a large cardboard box approached me with a question. My ear seems not yet attuned to the local accent so I leaned forward and pressed my good right ear in her direction and asked for clarification. "Do you need a miniature whisk?" was what I felt she said but not being acquainted with such a thing I assumed I must have misheard but felt that whatever she was offering sounded similar enough to what I thought I heard to warrant repeating the phrase in search of enlightenment. "A miniature whisk?" I echoed.
She confirmed that this was indeed what was being discussed and further clarified the situation by pulling what can only be described as a miniature whisk from the box.
I can't abide waste as much as the next man so while trying to conceal my surprise at something which looked like it would more at home in a dolls house I racked my mind for some possible use to which this object could be put. It was whisk like in every way, made of shiny, silver wire with a solid metallic handle but it was little larger than my index finger. I wondered whether her condo was even smaller than ours and in an effort to create an illusion of space it was filled with miniaturised objects. I also wondered what other Lilliputian items she had already given away, leaving her with a large cardboard box containing but a miniature whisk.
I remain ever conscious that everything we buy in America will have to be given away or shipped back to Australia when we leave in a few months. This is one of the reasons why I am less inflamed by my bike being stolen than I might otherwise have been. Peta is buying a pair of shoes a month so the chance of my bike making the cut when it comes to filling boxes seems quite remote and although a miniature whisk takes up much less room than a bike, even a miniature bike, it seemed rash to relieve my neighbour of her task when there was little chance of finding a miniature egg or a miniature pan with which to make miniature omelettes.
So I declined the kind offer and wished her well but I can't help but feel she's out there somewhere, trudging through the snow with her box and her burden in search someone who can find a use for a miniature whisk.
Aside from the bathroom the only door in the flat is the bi-fold louvre door between the bedroom and the remainder of the living areas which seems to be designed for symbolic or ceremonial use. When I find myself in need of in need of privacy or tranquillity I tease, drag and bounce this door closed but I am still only spitting distance from Peta as she works at the dining table. I can still hear her tapping annoyingly at the keyboard or provocatively scratching her pencil across notepaper. When lying down to sleep I can still pretty much see her which makes me wonder why the door is there at all. Perhaps it is designed to create the illusion of privacy while maintaining the illusion of space.
There's no room for a washing machine so we are compelled to take the elevator to the basement where the spotless and efficient communal washing facilities reside. There is also a soft-drink machine and a table and chairs which suggests that a convivial hour or two could be spent discussing the merits of one soap powder over another with one's neighbours. Having spent some time seated on these chairs I can confirm that conversation does not flow but I have learnt some new folding techniques for large ladies underwear which I hope to be able to put to good use in the coming years.
This week however I was waiting for the lift, clutching my still-warm washing to my chest when a hitherto unknown neighbour, carrying a large cardboard box approached me with a question. My ear seems not yet attuned to the local accent so I leaned forward and pressed my good right ear in her direction and asked for clarification. "Do you need a miniature whisk?" was what I felt she said but not being acquainted with such a thing I assumed I must have misheard but felt that whatever she was offering sounded similar enough to what I thought I heard to warrant repeating the phrase in search of enlightenment. "A miniature whisk?" I echoed.
She confirmed that this was indeed what was being discussed and further clarified the situation by pulling what can only be described as a miniature whisk from the box.
I can't abide waste as much as the next man so while trying to conceal my surprise at something which looked like it would more at home in a dolls house I racked my mind for some possible use to which this object could be put. It was whisk like in every way, made of shiny, silver wire with a solid metallic handle but it was little larger than my index finger. I wondered whether her condo was even smaller than ours and in an effort to create an illusion of space it was filled with miniaturised objects. I also wondered what other Lilliputian items she had already given away, leaving her with a large cardboard box containing but a miniature whisk.
I remain ever conscious that everything we buy in America will have to be given away or shipped back to Australia when we leave in a few months. This is one of the reasons why I am less inflamed by my bike being stolen than I might otherwise have been. Peta is buying a pair of shoes a month so the chance of my bike making the cut when it comes to filling boxes seems quite remote and although a miniature whisk takes up much less room than a bike, even a miniature bike, it seemed rash to relieve my neighbour of her task when there was little chance of finding a miniature egg or a miniature pan with which to make miniature omelettes.
So I declined the kind offer and wished her well but I can't help but feel she's out there somewhere, trudging through the snow with her box and her burden in search someone who can find a use for a miniature whisk.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Job Hunting on Craigslist
**Become a Sperm Donor -- Earn up to $1,200/Month** - (Cambridge) img et cetera
Too old.
"Foundling" - Emerson College Thesis Film seeking Key Cast - (Boston) tv/film/video/radio
Too young.
Sales Ninja / Ninjaette for PullnotPush - (Cambridge) sales
I don't know what any of that means.
***Snow Removal*** looking for someone to shovel **pays well** - (Norwood MA) general labor
Don't live between Norwood and Brookline (as attractive as this position sounds).
☼☼ JOBS FOR INTERNATIONAL CHARITY - $600-1000/WK - (Boston) img nonprofit
Annoying beggar. Done that.
Night Rider - (metro Boston) customer service
I like the sound of this one but I need my own vehicle. Someone stole my bike.
Chocolate Fountain Attendant - food/beverage/hospitality
Vehicle again.
Private Detective/Investigator - (Boston) security
No camcorder.
Are you a healthy male between the ages of 21 and 50? - (Brighton) et cetera
Getting warm...
Are you depressed? - (Belmont) et cetera
$75 big ones comin' my way!
Too old.
"Foundling" - Emerson College Thesis Film seeking Key Cast - (Boston) tv/film/video/radio
Too young.
Sales Ninja / Ninjaette for PullnotPush - (Cambridge) sales
I don't know what any of that means.
***Snow Removal*** looking for someone to shovel **pays well** - (Norwood MA) general labor
Don't live between Norwood and Brookline (as attractive as this position sounds).
☼☼ JOBS FOR INTERNATIONAL CHARITY - $600-1000/WK - (Boston) img nonprofit
Annoying beggar. Done that.
Night Rider - (metro Boston) customer service
I like the sound of this one but I need my own vehicle. Someone stole my bike.
Chocolate Fountain Attendant - food/beverage/hospitality
Vehicle again.
Private Detective/Investigator - (Boston) security
No camcorder.
Are you a healthy male between the ages of 21 and 50? - (Brighton) et cetera
Getting warm...
Are you depressed? - (Belmont) et cetera
$75 big ones comin' my way!
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