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!
Monday, November 22, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Perils Of Boxing
Two steps forward, one step back. In boxing parlance that could refer to a double jab followed by a defensive hook but for the purpose of this article it will refer to my progress at the Harvard Boxing Club. I went again today after a tentatively successful experience on Monday where I felt more welcomed and part of a group rather than the old raspberry ruining everyone's fun by being totally uncoordinated and as slow of mind as of body.
Today though I left with a spring in my step. I had constructive advice from Coach (no idea what his name is, everyone just calls him coach) about my pathetic left hook, I was teamed up with Phillip (Archaeology Doctorate) who also tried to enlighten me as to the failings of my hook and I kept going right the way through our sit-ups and press-ups and although I need to pull a few faces to get through I thought that lack of decorum was a small price to pay for the sense of achievement afterwards.
The sit-ups were especially hard for the first 20 or so as I could feel where the swimming trunks I'd worn on Monday really rubbed against the tatami type floor and irritated my skin but other greater pain takes over and I just ploughed on.
I don't change after boxing as it's only about a 10 minutes walk away and I'm so sweaty that putting any other clothes on would be pointless so I just pulled up my hoodie and amble home. I finished cooking dinner (smoked salmon and potato quiche with a walnut and bean salad I will add) and thought I'd take a photo of the sores on my arse from the sit-ups. Imagine my disappointment as I tried to angle the camera in the bathroom mirror and noted the rather obvious patch of blood which decorated the shorts I was still wearing.
My previous confidence disappeared oddly enough. I imagined my proud walk as I left the gym, swinging my bag over my shoulder as I bid my fellow fighters good-night. I imagined what horrors I may have left on the gym mats we all have to pick up and put away at the end of every session and I imagine what people must have thought on that walk home through Harvard Square.
I know what they weren't thinking. None of them thought, Oh I bet he's got a small sore near his coccyx which he must have irritated while manfully ploughing though sit-ups at his boxing gym.
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Good Son - Michael Gruber
I finished this novel today and was quite pleased to have done so. It tries to combine an action and adventure story with a discussion about Islam and the possibility of peace. The manner in which this is achieved is unsurprisingly something of a contrivance but the whole thing hung together pretty well for me.
Pashtun culture, recent wars in Afghanistan and the many views on the possible establishment of a Caliphate were fascinating and I likes a good shoot 'em up too.
I marked a few pages in the book and am writing a few notes for my benefit rather than for anyone else (that is to say they won't make sense).
Legerdemain - Slight of hand.
On Women in Islam
I have the greatest respect for women. A modest woman caring for her family is one of God's greatest creations. But it is also true that when the head is full the womb is empty, as we observe throughout the West. IN whatever nations that accept the curse of women's education and freedom from the control of men we see a rapid decline in population; we see pornography; we see sexual disease. Not a single one of the so called advanced countries is reproducing its original population at replacement levels, an it is now clear that in a certain number of years all these nations will have Muslim majorities. This is because we understand that the function of women is established by God and anything that seeks to destroy that function must be haram.
On Cultural Imperialism
You look at us and you see oppression; we see stability and harmony . You see corruption; we see ties of family, friendship and mutual support. You see feudalism: we see mutual responsibility. You see the oppression of women; we see the defence of modesty.
Pashtun culture, recent wars in Afghanistan and the many views on the possible establishment of a Caliphate were fascinating and I likes a good shoot 'em up too.
I marked a few pages in the book and am writing a few notes for my benefit rather than for anyone else (that is to say they won't make sense).
Legerdemain - Slight of hand.
On Women in Islam
I have the greatest respect for women. A modest woman caring for her family is one of God's greatest creations. But it is also true that when the head is full the womb is empty, as we observe throughout the West. IN whatever nations that accept the curse of women's education and freedom from the control of men we see a rapid decline in population; we see pornography; we see sexual disease. Not a single one of the so called advanced countries is reproducing its original population at replacement levels, an it is now clear that in a certain number of years all these nations will have Muslim majorities. This is because we understand that the function of women is established by God and anything that seeks to destroy that function must be haram.
On Cultural Imperialism
You look at us and you see oppression; we see stability and harmony . You see corruption; we see ties of family, friendship and mutual support. You see feudalism: we see mutual responsibility. You see the oppression of women; we see the defence of modesty.
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