It is now almost as far away from Christmas as we can possibly be (other than actual Christmas or Boxing day, but who needs specifics?) and thus spells the end of what is both a fascinating, and intriguing ritual - Grocery Shopping .
Christmas is a time where time runs both fast and slow, a logic which is so warped, that if you followed it, theoretically this should cancel out, but it doesn’t! It begins when the shops crack out the Santa decorations in October, while all the organised people are dutifully getting their present shopping out of the way well in advance. (Statistics show that these account for about 0.00273 of our population) Then follows a forty-five day lull, known as November and Firsthalfofdecember, when almost simultaneously, the World wakes up, and as one makes their way to the stores.
All of a sudden one finds themselves amidst a supermarket (possibly where they applied for a job but didn’t get it. Grrr.) while the world and his wife mill about trying to decide whether or not they can find it in themselves to consume half a turkey.
This week instead of hand-picking beans one by one, you’re hand-picking cherries, while out of the corner of you can see a lady with much handbag giving you the evil eye, the whole time which she is edging ever closer. Little do you know, she is but a decoy! Just when you’re off your guard, “bang!”* her husbands hand reaches across and starts shoveling cherries across, looking sideways at you, subtly, yet firmly letting you know that this is their turf now.
Knowing when a cause is lost, it is time to make a move. Walking away from the hand-bag-lady’s triumphant sneer, in an attempt to locate your parents from within the throng, suddenly “whoosh!”**a twelve year old wannabe surfer cuts across you with his trolley, while his younger brother looks on with ardent admiration. (Why do these people always have a younger brother? It seems to go with the territory.) Then they just stare at you until you leave.
Having survived a few more such encounters, it is time to check out. Look around, all is good – every single que is relatively short, and it seems as though it will be at most a two minute wait before you can start loading onto the conveyor belt (which I think personally would be more interesting if they were mobius strips. Groceries traveling along, groceries being squashed - and around they all go again…anyway…)
Crap! We’ve forgotten something! As you stand and wait until one of the party returns with the missing article, suddenly EVERYONE in the store simultaneously concludes their shopping, and lines up. Good ‘ol Murphy’s Law.
It is only then that you realise that being-a-good-environmentalist bags have been left at home. D*mn.
Ah well. I guess its all worth it in the name of Christmas!
*because that’s totally the noise a hand makes while moving through air.
**I’m just enjoying being inaccurately onomatopoeic now.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Sunday, December 18, 2005
All Tied Up
Shoelaces are all the rage; not as in they are popular, but because they induce anger, anger, ANGER!
From the wide spectrum of shoelace consistencies and textures, only a very narrow few have the right shape and friction to be able to stay tied for a period longer than half an hour. The fun irony of this however is that these particular laces are the most susceptible to becoming frayed at the ends, rendering those little round plastic things at the end completely and utterly useless.
As for all other kinds of shoelaces…why they’ve survived so long is a mystery. Not only do they refuse to fulfil their one, solitary task of keeping your shoes on your feet, they also go out of their way to maximise embarrassment, and minimise movement.
Tie them in single, double triple knots, and it still won’t make a difference. From the moment they are intertwined, they begin to plot ways to make themselves (and you) become unravelled. Personally I think that they have springs hidden deep within their seemingly fabric exteriors.
What’s more, they take time to tie and untie, every single time when you wear them! In the end you leave them tied in quadruple knots, and just slip them on and off, which eventually makes the back of the shoe smushy, and much in need of a polish. Fabulous.
So why do we still use them?!? There are endless alternatives: the slip on, the gladiator boot, the buckle, wrapping ribbon around your leg, velcro!!! In the end, once more, and like almost every other killer article of clothing, it’s all about looks.
So yet again, it seems we’ll suffer through another pain of clothing in a desperate attempt to cling to an archaic view of fashion, leaving us loosely bound to both the past, and our shoes. Despite having been proven to be ineffective, shoelaces are still retained because “It wouldn’t have lasted if it didn’t have its benefits.” Ever stop to think that this exact utterance may have been used already for generations upon generations of socked trippers? It’s “traditional,” a useful word for preserving useless things,
They’re classic, their classy, they remind you of Mr Darcy (well not really; he wears boots) ((but it rhymed!)) Shoelaces!!!
From the wide spectrum of shoelace consistencies and textures, only a very narrow few have the right shape and friction to be able to stay tied for a period longer than half an hour. The fun irony of this however is that these particular laces are the most susceptible to becoming frayed at the ends, rendering those little round plastic things at the end completely and utterly useless.
As for all other kinds of shoelaces…why they’ve survived so long is a mystery. Not only do they refuse to fulfil their one, solitary task of keeping your shoes on your feet, they also go out of their way to maximise embarrassment, and minimise movement.
Tie them in single, double triple knots, and it still won’t make a difference. From the moment they are intertwined, they begin to plot ways to make themselves (and you) become unravelled. Personally I think that they have springs hidden deep within their seemingly fabric exteriors.
What’s more, they take time to tie and untie, every single time when you wear them! In the end you leave them tied in quadruple knots, and just slip them on and off, which eventually makes the back of the shoe smushy, and much in need of a polish. Fabulous.
So why do we still use them?!? There are endless alternatives: the slip on, the gladiator boot, the buckle, wrapping ribbon around your leg, velcro!!! In the end, once more, and like almost every other killer article of clothing, it’s all about looks.
So yet again, it seems we’ll suffer through another pain of clothing in a desperate attempt to cling to an archaic view of fashion, leaving us loosely bound to both the past, and our shoes. Despite having been proven to be ineffective, shoelaces are still retained because “It wouldn’t have lasted if it didn’t have its benefits.” Ever stop to think that this exact utterance may have been used already for generations upon generations of socked trippers? It’s “traditional,” a useful word for preserving useless things,
They’re classic, their classy, they remind you of Mr Darcy (well not really; he wears boots) ((but it rhymed!)) Shoelaces!!!
Friday, December 09, 2005
"It's them, Gentlemen"
Post exam madness has resulted in the frequency reduction of “Rainy Days.” Gradually cutting down, I am standing strong at only 5 listenings per day, and, proud to say, am now listening to the “Take That, Greatest Hits” album. Yes, heaps cool.
One day into freedom, and there we all were, partaking in an industrious feat of engineering. After 45 minutes had elapsed, all hope for building an adequate “tower of strength” had been abandoned, and we had reassigned ourselves the more important task of adorning our personages with stickers. ( Note: always look at yourself in the mirror before going out, lest you suffer the same fate as some of us; walking down Jetty Rd to post a letter and wander happily around a library, becoming increasingly unsettled by the number of strange glances being thrown in said hypothetical person’s direction.)
However, this is all irrelevant, because what greater way is there to celebrate the end of weeks of incessant prodding of ones brain, than by a nice washing of car (and in my case, forehead)
It’s interesting though, despite the fact that there are oodles (a highly abused word, cruelly forced in the modern era to hide behind an “n” and thus making it synonymous with the image of drowned flour, swimming in “chicken” flavoured powder) oodles, of books on almost anything, there are no readily available guides on the “Do’s and Don’ts” of car-washing! It’s borderline astonishing! This leaves reams of people in the dark about what they should and shouldn’t do in regard to maintaining their ve-hic-le traditionally.
So, I propose we write one.
To begin;
Chapter One: Equipment
The art of cleansing one’s ve-hic-le is highly specialised, and so requires the use of fitting equipment, which is to suitably maintained, and well looked after.
The Bucket: Preferably white, and so easily smunkified, it must have a handle, metal, and seemingly comfortable when initially held. However, this is designed to misleading, because if after half an hour of hauling it about, one’s hand is not aching, something is wrong, and the entire process must be begin again, once a more appropriate water carrier has been located and utilised.
The Hose: Fairly straightforward and standard, colour is optional, and one will know if it is not being utilised properly, as if this is the case, it will remain attached to the tap. Most unsatisfactory, as then shoes will remain. dry!
The Sponge: This has has to be yellow, and refuse to let detergent leave once it has entered. This can be tested by holding aforementioned hose up to the sponge and squirting water. If soapy water is still being squeezed out of it after five repetitions, then this sponge is go! (Definitely a keeper if it ricochets the water off itself and onto you)
Drying Cloths: Can not absorb drips of water. This is not their job. They are there to spread it around, not to dry.
And finally…
The Squeegee: Used for windows, they are the ray of light when washing a ve-hic-le. I say, why stop at windows? Dry the whole car with them!
Anyways, please add to the guide! Hopefully at the end, the mysteries of car-washing will be unveiled, and we will all remember not to wear metal buckled belts while scrubbing the roof…
One day into freedom, and there we all were, partaking in an industrious feat of engineering. After 45 minutes had elapsed, all hope for building an adequate “tower of strength” had been abandoned, and we had reassigned ourselves the more important task of adorning our personages with stickers. ( Note: always look at yourself in the mirror before going out, lest you suffer the same fate as some of us; walking down Jetty Rd to post a letter and wander happily around a library, becoming increasingly unsettled by the number of strange glances being thrown in said hypothetical person’s direction.)
However, this is all irrelevant, because what greater way is there to celebrate the end of weeks of incessant prodding of ones brain, than by a nice washing of car (and in my case, forehead)
It’s interesting though, despite the fact that there are oodles (a highly abused word, cruelly forced in the modern era to hide behind an “n” and thus making it synonymous with the image of drowned flour, swimming in “chicken” flavoured powder) oodles, of books on almost anything, there are no readily available guides on the “Do’s and Don’ts” of car-washing! It’s borderline astonishing! This leaves reams of people in the dark about what they should and shouldn’t do in regard to maintaining their ve-hic-le traditionally.
So, I propose we write one.
To begin;
Chapter One: Equipment
The art of cleansing one’s ve-hic-le is highly specialised, and so requires the use of fitting equipment, which is to suitably maintained, and well looked after.
The Bucket: Preferably white, and so easily smunkified, it must have a handle, metal, and seemingly comfortable when initially held. However, this is designed to misleading, because if after half an hour of hauling it about, one’s hand is not aching, something is wrong, and the entire process must be begin again, once a more appropriate water carrier has been located and utilised.
The Hose: Fairly straightforward and standard, colour is optional, and one will know if it is not being utilised properly, as if this is the case, it will remain attached to the tap. Most unsatisfactory, as then shoes will remain. dry!
The Sponge: This has has to be yellow, and refuse to let detergent leave once it has entered. This can be tested by holding aforementioned hose up to the sponge and squirting water. If soapy water is still being squeezed out of it after five repetitions, then this sponge is go! (Definitely a keeper if it ricochets the water off itself and onto you)
Drying Cloths: Can not absorb drips of water. This is not their job. They are there to spread it around, not to dry.
And finally…
The Squeegee: Used for windows, they are the ray of light when washing a ve-hic-le. I say, why stop at windows? Dry the whole car with them!
Anyways, please add to the guide! Hopefully at the end, the mysteries of car-washing will be unveiled, and we will all remember not to wear metal buckled belts while scrubbing the roof…
Friday, December 02, 2005
Even Xylophones Aren't Musically Sound
Once again it is that time of year in which we are assessed mentally, morally and resolvedly. Exam week: where you find out what you’re really made of, and most importantly, what is your brains tolerance range for copping a mental beating???
How do we survive? Not only are there the multi-houred exams, there is also the day after day after day of endless revision, from which you emerge with half a page of biology notes, and a detailed understanding of the paintwork over your desk.
Well, there’s the option of listening to the same song, time after time. However, this can be dangerous, because if you pick the wrong song to get you through these difficult times, you may end up singing the entire Oklahoma score solo in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of “Sloop John B” running around your head, bashing into sides, and defragmenting your newfound understanding of the complexities of photosynthesis. I would recommend Rainy Days – Guster, unless you’ve seen “Life as a House,” in which case, it’s up to your whether you want the image of Hayden Christensen’s character running away as his life and pants fall down around him, in your mind’s eye as you attempt to recall Coulomb’s Law. Hmm…
You could also inadvertently turn to superstition. This can appear in many different forms, such as having to listen to the same song each morning before you leave for your exam (No, not Rainy Days…) lest you do badly due to a break in the routine. This, not such a good thing. It’s preferable to avoid it…unless it’s too late, in which case: DON’T break the cycle!!!
And what of television? Why do those cruel, network people mock us with starting all of the best new shows in the one week in which we are “otherwise occupied.” Don’t they know that this gives rise to the “it’s ok to watch while I’m eating” rule? They just don’t think of all those poor, teenage girls around the country resorting to six meals a day, each one lasting for 43 minutes (the time a tv program runs without ads) plus tea? ( the drink, not the drink plus three biscuits) How sad to have forgotten ones own youth!
Then there’s the rare phenomenon of: having finished your exam half an hour early. Thankful as you are to not be rushing your last few pages, as the last of the ink is drying, the realisation that you have time to not only check back over your work, but that you have time to check back again and again sinks in, and suddenly you find yourself wishing that you had worked just that little bit slower, as the mountainous task looms. Having checked three times, and still having ten minutes left, what can one do with oneself? Some twiddle there thumbs, but keep in mind, that some of us just aren’t coordinated enough to do so, resulting in serious sounding clicks, and severe pen droppage.
Never forget that there is time between exams. It’s not real time, in the normal world sense; it’s like two hours which have escaped from the twilight zones, in which those who are strong consolidate, and others drop padlocks on their hands. (though, it is possible to do both. I hope.)
Well, exam week is an unpredictable and trying time. What I do know however, is that come Tuesday afternoon, I will be standing in the quadrangle, arms outstretched, looking up at the sky ala Andy Dufresne. (rain pending) If anyone would care to join me; that is what we’ll do.
How do we survive? Not only are there the multi-houred exams, there is also the day after day after day of endless revision, from which you emerge with half a page of biology notes, and a detailed understanding of the paintwork over your desk.
Well, there’s the option of listening to the same song, time after time. However, this can be dangerous, because if you pick the wrong song to get you through these difficult times, you may end up singing the entire Oklahoma score solo in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of “Sloop John B” running around your head, bashing into sides, and defragmenting your newfound understanding of the complexities of photosynthesis. I would recommend Rainy Days – Guster, unless you’ve seen “Life as a House,” in which case, it’s up to your whether you want the image of Hayden Christensen’s character running away as his life and pants fall down around him, in your mind’s eye as you attempt to recall Coulomb’s Law. Hmm…
You could also inadvertently turn to superstition. This can appear in many different forms, such as having to listen to the same song each morning before you leave for your exam (No, not Rainy Days…) lest you do badly due to a break in the routine. This, not such a good thing. It’s preferable to avoid it…unless it’s too late, in which case: DON’T break the cycle!!!
And what of television? Why do those cruel, network people mock us with starting all of the best new shows in the one week in which we are “otherwise occupied.” Don’t they know that this gives rise to the “it’s ok to watch while I’m eating” rule? They just don’t think of all those poor, teenage girls around the country resorting to six meals a day, each one lasting for 43 minutes (the time a tv program runs without ads) plus tea? ( the drink, not the drink plus three biscuits) How sad to have forgotten ones own youth!
Then there’s the rare phenomenon of: having finished your exam half an hour early. Thankful as you are to not be rushing your last few pages, as the last of the ink is drying, the realisation that you have time to not only check back over your work, but that you have time to check back again and again sinks in, and suddenly you find yourself wishing that you had worked just that little bit slower, as the mountainous task looms. Having checked three times, and still having ten minutes left, what can one do with oneself? Some twiddle there thumbs, but keep in mind, that some of us just aren’t coordinated enough to do so, resulting in serious sounding clicks, and severe pen droppage.
Never forget that there is time between exams. It’s not real time, in the normal world sense; it’s like two hours which have escaped from the twilight zones, in which those who are strong consolidate, and others drop padlocks on their hands. (though, it is possible to do both. I hope.)
Well, exam week is an unpredictable and trying time. What I do know however, is that come Tuesday afternoon, I will be standing in the quadrangle, arms outstretched, looking up at the sky ala Andy Dufresne. (rain pending) If anyone would care to join me; that is what we’ll do.
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