The Eye’s need for control is out of control. The other day I left a chart for someone explaining the ins and outs of a huge pile of books. Apparently this is unacceptable behaviour. The Eye hunted down every single person who had worked over a 2 day period to ascertain who the culprit was. Upon discovering it was me, I was given a talking to. Heavens to Betsy!!!
Here is a little roundup of conversations I have with a frequency that bores me to tears:
About once a day:
“Is there a public toilet near here?”
“Yes. Go to the corner and cross the road and you’ll see it”.
“Oh my goodness is that the closest one? That is so far away! My trust fund bones are way too fragile for such a distance. My sense of entitlement is sorely affronted!”
About once a week:
“Is that the only copy you have?”
“No. We have a secret underground cave where we keep the real stock, but we only show it to people who know the password”.
Almost every single transaction, which means about 50 times a day:
“Are you in the loyalty program?”
“Yes”.
“What is you surname?” [I only ask because my powers of intuition have momentarily failed me. You could just tell me your name from the start, but then we couldn’t have this 15 second interval that allows you to feel pampered and important]
And finally, the hot off the presses news is that the cd we have been listening to this week is called “Songs Zosia Hates”. It’s a really incredible collection, let me tell you! I don’t appreciated being asked – through song – what I have done today to feel proud. Once a day would be bad enough, but I have been asked that fucking question every 45 minutes for 8-hour stretches. There is also some stupid Whitney Houston song on there that is basically the same line repeated over and over with a key change every 20 seconds. I have never hated key changes so much in my life. I also understand why her sister wanted to kill her in The Bodyguard.
I probably don’t even need to mention the fact that there is a Bryan Adams track on there, because it’s like some universal law that anywhere a crappy collection of early nineties music is collected, he will feature in the mix. In thousands of years after our civilization has died out and the remnants of it are discovered by aliens, they are going to understand seminal ideas about our society through the music of Bryan Adams.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I am a Sad Individual
I have found that, in life, there are little signposts that pop up along the way to notify you of how tragic you are. You often find yourself caught up in the hustle and bustle of every day busyness and forget to check the trag-o-meter so these little clues - the real-life equivalent of Hansl and Gretl’s crumbs - are worth noting down and filing away for future reference. I may not be making all that much sense here but please trust that I am getting to my point, and that my point will be one which makes me look like an idiot and (hopefully) makes you laugh…
The first sign that there was something wrong came about 4 or so years ago when I realised that I owned 2 separate and different recordings of the 'Moon River Cha Cha'. Not just 2 different versions of the song 'Moon River' (written by Henry Mancini for the movie Breakfast At Tiffany’s (based on the novel by Truman Capote (who as a child was the neighbour and friend of Harper Lee (author of To Kill A Mockingbird)))) and the only thing ever sung on film by Audrey Hepburn) but 2 different versions of the Cha Cha version of 'Moon River'.
Even though I own these songs, I do not think that this is ok. I really don’t. But it’s not like I can do anything about it now. I can hardly go back to the CD shop and say “Excuse me, but can I please return track 12?”. I would become their Crazy Customer of the Week! It’s just something I have to live with. And while it is tempting to put it down to a temporary transgression, I would be lying if I did not acknowledge that it is actually the clarion call of a worrying trend. As of last week, I now own 2 big band swing versions of the Radiohead classic 'Creep'.
On a different tack, it is probably worrying that I like to chose my dentists based on the comic value of their names. My current dentist is called David Jones but I am thinking of changing because I got a list of preferred providers from my health cover people and there is someone on the list called Dr Kiss. How can you not go to the dentist called Dr Kiss?
There is an update of The Crazy Workplace in the works, I promise, but so far have been to lazy to bring it to fruition.
The first sign that there was something wrong came about 4 or so years ago when I realised that I owned 2 separate and different recordings of the 'Moon River Cha Cha'. Not just 2 different versions of the song 'Moon River' (written by Henry Mancini for the movie Breakfast At Tiffany’s (based on the novel by Truman Capote (who as a child was the neighbour and friend of Harper Lee (author of To Kill A Mockingbird)))) and the only thing ever sung on film by Audrey Hepburn) but 2 different versions of the Cha Cha version of 'Moon River'.
Even though I own these songs, I do not think that this is ok. I really don’t. But it’s not like I can do anything about it now. I can hardly go back to the CD shop and say “Excuse me, but can I please return track 12?”. I would become their Crazy Customer of the Week! It’s just something I have to live with. And while it is tempting to put it down to a temporary transgression, I would be lying if I did not acknowledge that it is actually the clarion call of a worrying trend. As of last week, I now own 2 big band swing versions of the Radiohead classic 'Creep'.
On a different tack, it is probably worrying that I like to chose my dentists based on the comic value of their names. My current dentist is called David Jones but I am thinking of changing because I got a list of preferred providers from my health cover people and there is someone on the list called Dr Kiss. How can you not go to the dentist called Dr Kiss?
There is an update of The Crazy Workplace in the works, I promise, but so far have been to lazy to bring it to fruition.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Somebody Should Invent...
SOMEBODY SHOULD INVENT: clear wine casks. I don’t mean just the bladder bit, but the cardboard box bit too. When I am drinking from a bottle* I can measure how much I have had in one evening quite simply (ie: bottle is empty = time to stop). But with a cask there is this whole element of mystery. I have no idea how much I have drunk. The best I could do was pick up the cask and think to myself ** “ Feels heavy. I can’t have drunk too much”. It’s a fairly rudimentary measuring system and I’m not sure how accurate it is. But what has been troubling me (only a little teeny bit if I am honest) is that it is a sort of upscale cask (sounds oxymoronic but just trust me on this one), so I wonder if it feels heavy because they used premium cardboard with an expensive, thick finish on it, and that is why it feels heavy? If the cask was see-through with little lines on it like a measuring cup then all this angst would be avoided. Once again, measuring what you have drunk would become a simple matter: “I can no longer read the label telling me what this is that I have been drinking, nor see the lines on the side of the ingeniously clear cask walls that are supposed to mark 500mL increments = time to stop”.
*Obviously, what I mean here is not drinking directly from the bottle, but pouring from a bottle into a glass… unless I am in a park and the bottle is in a paper bag. I am all class.
**Ok, I might have said it out aloud to myself rather than think it, but I was the only one at home so nobody would hear me talking to myself… I’m just trying to make myself sound crazy in a cute, off-beat kind of way rather than an “if-you-see-crazy-coming,-cross-the-street kind of way). It’s all so complicated. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.
*Obviously, what I mean here is not drinking directly from the bottle, but pouring from a bottle into a glass… unless I am in a park and the bottle is in a paper bag. I am all class.
**Ok, I might have said it out aloud to myself rather than think it, but I was the only one at home so nobody would hear me talking to myself… I’m just trying to make myself sound crazy in a cute, off-beat kind of way rather than an “if-you-see-crazy-coming,-cross-the-street kind of way). It’s all so complicated. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Don’t Be A Dick!
These are recounts of actual conversations Peter Fitzsimmons has had. I was present for both of them. This is not a story or an exaggeration of any kind but rather a reportage designed to display Peter’s personality with no commentary necessary from me, as well as one comment from The Eye for which I must give snaps.
(If you are reading this because you googled yourself can I say 2 things? First: I'm not surprised. Second: Everyone thinks you're a tossbag, but they are all too intimidated to say it to your face).
1.
The Eye: Oh hello there!
PF: Don’t ‘hello’ me when you haven’t got my book on the shelf!
The Eye: Oh. I just sold one yesterday; it hasn’t come back in yet.
Random Customer: Yes there is. I’m sure I saw a copy. Let me show you.
RC and PF walk over to history section where RC does indeed find a copy of one of PF’s books. Upon returning to the counter RC introduces himself and says he enjoyed PF’s books. PF offers RC his PINKIE FINGER to shake.
The Eye: We’ve got lots of your new book on order.
PF: Really? How many?
The Eye: Over 100. Well over 100. And we’ll get more in if you do a signing for us.
PF: Oh really? So that’s your instinct is it? You think you’ll sell that many?
The Eye: Yes. Your books always do very well here.
The conversation continues in a similar fashion for a few sections (ie Burst of ego/ Stroke ego/ Burst of ego/ Stroke ego) then PF leaves.
The Eye (to me): “Oh that’s your instinct is it?” What else was I going to say? He walks up and down the street telling people to go and buy his book! We have people coming in saying “oh I just bumped into Peter Fitzsimmons and he told me to buy his book”. Of course we’re going to sell plenty. Do I need a crystal ball?
2.
The Only Gay in the Village: I saw you on the telly last night!
PF: Oh really? What was I on?
TOGITV: It was that 20 to 1 show.
PF: What was I talking about?
TOGITV: you were talking about Pauline Hanson.
PF: Was I good?
TOGITV: Yes you were.
PF: I tell you what, I find Pauline Hanson bloody attractive.
There are so many things wrong with the above conversation, not the least of which is that PF’s two children were trailing miserably behind him at the time and heard the whole thing.
An update on the saga that is The Crazy Workplace will be forthcoming. It's all too depressing to bother typing out just yet.
(If you are reading this because you googled yourself can I say 2 things? First: I'm not surprised. Second: Everyone thinks you're a tossbag, but they are all too intimidated to say it to your face).
1.
The Eye: Oh hello there!
PF: Don’t ‘hello’ me when you haven’t got my book on the shelf!
The Eye: Oh. I just sold one yesterday; it hasn’t come back in yet.
Random Customer: Yes there is. I’m sure I saw a copy. Let me show you.
RC and PF walk over to history section where RC does indeed find a copy of one of PF’s books. Upon returning to the counter RC introduces himself and says he enjoyed PF’s books. PF offers RC his PINKIE FINGER to shake.
The Eye: We’ve got lots of your new book on order.
PF: Really? How many?
The Eye: Over 100. Well over 100. And we’ll get more in if you do a signing for us.
PF: Oh really? So that’s your instinct is it? You think you’ll sell that many?
The Eye: Yes. Your books always do very well here.
The conversation continues in a similar fashion for a few sections (ie Burst of ego/ Stroke ego/ Burst of ego/ Stroke ego) then PF leaves.
The Eye (to me): “Oh that’s your instinct is it?” What else was I going to say? He walks up and down the street telling people to go and buy his book! We have people coming in saying “oh I just bumped into Peter Fitzsimmons and he told me to buy his book”. Of course we’re going to sell plenty. Do I need a crystal ball?
2.
The Only Gay in the Village: I saw you on the telly last night!
PF: Oh really? What was I on?
TOGITV: It was that 20 to 1 show.
PF: What was I talking about?
TOGITV: you were talking about Pauline Hanson.
PF: Was I good?
TOGITV: Yes you were.
PF: I tell you what, I find Pauline Hanson bloody attractive.
There are so many things wrong with the above conversation, not the least of which is that PF’s two children were trailing miserably behind him at the time and heard the whole thing.
An update on the saga that is The Crazy Workplace will be forthcoming. It's all too depressing to bother typing out just yet.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thank God For Facebook
I’m sorry that this will probably offend 98% of the population between the ages of 2 and 75 but I’m saying it anyway: I don’t like Facebook. It’s a little side hobby of mine to collect reasons for why I don’t want to join up. I’ll let you in on a secret: I think it’s boring and that’s the real reason behind my reticence to join but that wears thin after the 58th time you’ve explained it to someone.
My latest reason (newly usurping the one that was because a man killed his estranged wife because she changed her status to ‘single’) came to me as I was trying to go to sleep last night. I am remotely acquainted with a young man studying to enter the priesthood. His name is Eugene, which I think is a pretty disgusting name so I won’t bother making up a pseudonym for him because if I did it would probably be ‘Eugene’ anyway.
Much like spam about penis enlargement (although thankfully less frequent), Eugene occasionally favours everyone whose email address he has ever had cause to obtain with a group email telling all and sundry about his latest shenanigans. To give you a bit of background, I knew Eugene in the days when he was - according to his mother - the most promising and gifted musician in the whole wide city of Adelaide. I knew Eugene when he discovered girls and hormones (although probably not in precisely that order). I saw Eugene being physically restrained from going up to a group of English girls and asking them that most romantic of questions: “do you have any Australian in you?” followed, poetically, by “Do you want some?”.
After the musician thing did not result in a multi million dollar recording contract with Sony Classical, he flirted with the idea of becoming the world’s most brilliant and charismatic actor. I know, because I got the emails you see. This lasted a couple of years but when he did not become the Catholic Tom Cruise he had to try something different. So 6 months after the email telling me that he had been someone or other in Fiddler On The Roof another email arrived telling me that he had decided to train for the priesthood. Like previous emails, this one was long and somewhat self-involved. A nice new touch was his request for my prayers. Every now and then he is let out of the seminary and goes on tours on religious sites and other exciting, chaste adventures. He sends emails all about it.
So this thought that occurred to me as I was trying to get to sleep was that if Eugene and I were Facebook Friends I would hear about his life EVERY DAY.
My latest reason (newly usurping the one that was because a man killed his estranged wife because she changed her status to ‘single’) came to me as I was trying to go to sleep last night. I am remotely acquainted with a young man studying to enter the priesthood. His name is Eugene, which I think is a pretty disgusting name so I won’t bother making up a pseudonym for him because if I did it would probably be ‘Eugene’ anyway.
Much like spam about penis enlargement (although thankfully less frequent), Eugene occasionally favours everyone whose email address he has ever had cause to obtain with a group email telling all and sundry about his latest shenanigans. To give you a bit of background, I knew Eugene in the days when he was - according to his mother - the most promising and gifted musician in the whole wide city of Adelaide. I knew Eugene when he discovered girls and hormones (although probably not in precisely that order). I saw Eugene being physically restrained from going up to a group of English girls and asking them that most romantic of questions: “do you have any Australian in you?” followed, poetically, by “Do you want some?”.
After the musician thing did not result in a multi million dollar recording contract with Sony Classical, he flirted with the idea of becoming the world’s most brilliant and charismatic actor. I know, because I got the emails you see. This lasted a couple of years but when he did not become the Catholic Tom Cruise he had to try something different. So 6 months after the email telling me that he had been someone or other in Fiddler On The Roof another email arrived telling me that he had decided to train for the priesthood. Like previous emails, this one was long and somewhat self-involved. A nice new touch was his request for my prayers. Every now and then he is let out of the seminary and goes on tours on religious sites and other exciting, chaste adventures. He sends emails all about it.
So this thought that occurred to me as I was trying to get to sleep was that if Eugene and I were Facebook Friends I would hear about his life EVERY DAY.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Drinking Your Own Urine
I don’t get it.
Obviously it is a disgusting concept, taste wise, but so are many other things: Neil Diamond for example. While I myself am not a fan of Neil Diamond I (grudgingly) respect other people’s right to be. The thing I don’t get about drinking your own urine is that it is supposed to be a health thing. How can something that is the waste product of your body be worth putting back into your body? And on the question of taste – I wonder how people manage to swallow the stuff. Somehow I don’t think a slice of lemon would cut it. Do they add a huge dash of Cottee’s raspberry cordial? That would probably cover the taste but all that sugar would also defeat the purpose of the health benefit thing… unless you used diet cordial.
In other news, I got out of jury duty today. I had a pretty good excuse, considering one of my co-workers has several broken ribs and stitches in his head, but just in case I decided to look as much like a bleeding heart leftie hippie as possible so that I would be challenged by one of the lawyers and asked to leave. I also wore the necklace my dad gave me that we found out (after I had been wearing it for a year) says "Allah" in Arabic, so that one of the other lawyers might challenge me and I would be asked to leave...
Oh and I broke resolution number whatever it was and bought a book yesterday. But it was Obama's speech so I figure since it was like a part of history and shit it's ok to break a promise to myself.
But back to the urine thing: I just don't get it. And would the raspberry cordial make it look orange? And is it something you only do once, or do you keep drinking and emitting the same few mils of liquid? Because I really don't see the point of that.
Obviously it is a disgusting concept, taste wise, but so are many other things: Neil Diamond for example. While I myself am not a fan of Neil Diamond I (grudgingly) respect other people’s right to be. The thing I don’t get about drinking your own urine is that it is supposed to be a health thing. How can something that is the waste product of your body be worth putting back into your body? And on the question of taste – I wonder how people manage to swallow the stuff. Somehow I don’t think a slice of lemon would cut it. Do they add a huge dash of Cottee’s raspberry cordial? That would probably cover the taste but all that sugar would also defeat the purpose of the health benefit thing… unless you used diet cordial.
In other news, I got out of jury duty today. I had a pretty good excuse, considering one of my co-workers has several broken ribs and stitches in his head, but just in case I decided to look as much like a bleeding heart leftie hippie as possible so that I would be challenged by one of the lawyers and asked to leave. I also wore the necklace my dad gave me that we found out (after I had been wearing it for a year) says "Allah" in Arabic, so that one of the other lawyers might challenge me and I would be asked to leave...
Oh and I broke resolution number whatever it was and bought a book yesterday. But it was Obama's speech so I figure since it was like a part of history and shit it's ok to break a promise to myself.
But back to the urine thing: I just don't get it. And would the raspberry cordial make it look orange? And is it something you only do once, or do you keep drinking and emitting the same few mils of liquid? Because I really don't see the point of that.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Food for Thought #3
What is it about social justice that makes people so goddamn vague and hopelessly inefficient? Seriously, just because you have dreadlocks and a virtuous demeanour shouldn’t mean that you cannot perform simple tasks. Patchouli doesn’t decrease brain function, does it? I live near the Fair Trade Café in Glebe and it’s all “helping poor people” this and “sustainable mumbo jumbo” that, but do you think they can take a drinks order and deliver it? The short answer is “no” and the long answer is “They are so hopeless that I perceive about a 50% success rate of ordered food and drinks actually being delivered to the table. 50% may be a pass in the university grading system – hell, 45% is a pass in some instances – but writing an essay takes a lot longer than brewing a coffee. And the point of that pass grade is to acknowledge all the steps that go into the researching and writing of an essay. Most people can at least manage a discussion of the topic that reaches the word limit. It might not make a lot of sense, and they might be hopeless spellers but you can laugh to yourself when you point out to them that ‘wether’ was not picked up by their spell check because it is a kind of sheep. The coffee making equivalent of this would be a shit tasting coffee that arrived after a rather long wait. The Fair Trade norm is no coffee arriving at all, so we don’t even know if it is shit tasting or not. That is pretty bad. The only occasion that I have ever been there and they didn’t fuck it up was when I only ordered one thing. I used to think Lavender Blue was the worst and most vague service I had ever come across in a café and special forces stormed through the windows there to arrest people the other day so I wonder what is in store for the Fair Trade. Maybe through their own incompetence they will accidentally send themselves to Uganda as foreign aid… which would be a pity for the Ugandans who would probably do much better without them”.
Now that makes me think maybe the reason there is so much poverty in the world is because the poor people are being ‘helped’ by a bunch of hippie do-gooders who couldn’t organise to pour water from a boot if there were instructions on the heel. Food for thought indeed.
Now that makes me think maybe the reason there is so much poverty in the world is because the poor people are being ‘helped’ by a bunch of hippie do-gooders who couldn’t organise to pour water from a boot if there were instructions on the heel. Food for thought indeed.
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