There has been some discussion amongst my friends about friendship recently.
As we are all ex-pats, there has been further discussion about how you go somewhere, make a bunch of friends and then they all bugger off and live somewhere else (frequently Minnesota for some reason).
The question then becomes "how long will you stay friends with these friends-in-absentia"?
One of my theories is that many friendships are struck up over common interests and shared experience. If that is all there is too it, then the intensity of the friendship will decay over time, perhaps in a fashion similar to that of a radioactive isotope decaying. Empirically, the half life of such a friend seems to be about 5 years. Any sustained separation longer than that without any intervals of refreshment seem to lead to an inevitable estrangement.
However you sometimes make friends where there is a meeting of the souls, or the sharing of an experience so profound that they become your friend forever.
It hasn't happened very often to me and it's these friends that I truly treasure.
I have been away from my home country for more than 5 years. Many of the good friends I had there have now become acquaintances. There are only 3 people left that I would still consider to be my good friends out of all those I left behind.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Toast room
At school we had a little room sandwiched by the corridor to the side entrance and the downstairs toilets (very nice).
In the room was a counter, a sink, and, most importantly, an enormous bread bin and toaster.
Of a weekend, 50 adolescent boys with appetites the size of Texas would descend on this source of vital food. Vital as you couldn't be expected to last a whole weekend without several in-between meal snacks.
To be fair, the room was heavily patronised during the week also. However the key difference at weekends was that nobody cleaned the room from mid-Friday to Monday morning.
By the end of Sunday, all the available surfaces were a riot of breadcrumbs, spilt tea, blobs of condiment and, frequently, completely unidentifiable substances. The edges of the counters were of course the #1 convenient place to remove margarine, peanut butter and other leftovers from your knife.
Why not use the sink, I hear you ask? Because that was invariably filled with what can best be described as brown slurry. Also, I don't even want to start discussing the state of the dish towels.
There really is no point to this little story except to suggest that hygiene and a shared sense of responsibility for the state of the kitchen does not come naturally to males. This should come as no surprise to any woman who has had a male flatmate (husbands are different as they can be bullied into being a bit cleaner).
On a passing note, the fiance of my flatmate came to visit us once and commented that my bath towel did not appear to have been washed since her last visit a month previously. I posited my "towel theory" that, as I was clean when I used the towel, it would not become dirty and thus didn't need washing.
Logic is a wonderful thing
In the room was a counter, a sink, and, most importantly, an enormous bread bin and toaster.
Of a weekend, 50 adolescent boys with appetites the size of Texas would descend on this source of vital food. Vital as you couldn't be expected to last a whole weekend without several in-between meal snacks.
To be fair, the room was heavily patronised during the week also. However the key difference at weekends was that nobody cleaned the room from mid-Friday to Monday morning.
By the end of Sunday, all the available surfaces were a riot of breadcrumbs, spilt tea, blobs of condiment and, frequently, completely unidentifiable substances. The edges of the counters were of course the #1 convenient place to remove margarine, peanut butter and other leftovers from your knife.
Why not use the sink, I hear you ask? Because that was invariably filled with what can best be described as brown slurry. Also, I don't even want to start discussing the state of the dish towels.
There really is no point to this little story except to suggest that hygiene and a shared sense of responsibility for the state of the kitchen does not come naturally to males. This should come as no surprise to any woman who has had a male flatmate (husbands are different as they can be bullied into being a bit cleaner).
On a passing note, the fiance of my flatmate came to visit us once and commented that my bath towel did not appear to have been washed since her last visit a month previously. I posited my "towel theory" that, as I was clean when I used the towel, it would not become dirty and thus didn't need washing.
Logic is a wonderful thing
Thursday, May 1, 2008
White collar full contact kick boxing
My colleague took part in "CEO challange" last night during which he fought a chef.
Very exciting, full contact. Our man won.
Big respect!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BH-L2pB7Mvw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCm-dAW9iJc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQP7tqjgx5Y
Very exciting, full contact. Our man won.
Big respect!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BH-L2pB7Mvw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCm-dAW9iJc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQP7tqjgx5Y
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
