Sunday, December 14, 2008
All the world's a stage
This week, as my reading audience will know, I was in Korea. I was doing some presentations to clients etc etc. Now, I am far from the best presenter in the world but I have drooled on my tie through a fair few presentations in my time. I'd like to think I knew a good presentation when I saw one.
Unfortunately, what I saw was a dreadful presentation. One of my colleagues sat down for all his presentations. He read what was on the slides (a pet peeve). He mumbled quietly leading someone in the room to say "Can you speak up? I can't hear you over the sound of the projector fan". He delivered with a monotone. Oh dear, oh dear.
Likewise I was at an industry conference in March where the average presentation was dire. This actually cheered me up as the competition makes me, with my mediocre skills, actually look quite good in comparison.
I know a lot of people approach public speaking with fear and trepidation. My theory is that if you manage to turn up on time, don't faint or throw up in front of the audience and make it through the material, it's a win whatever else happens.
With expectations like that, you are almost certain to meet them.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Back in the saddle
Today was my first paddle since the Hong Kong Dragon Run.
http://www.thedragonrun.com.hk/
Went out on my surfski for a gentle paddle. It was nice to be out on the water after two weeks of the really nasty colds that have been going round Hong Kong.
Paddling is important to me because it brings some well needed balance to the hectic Urban lifestyle of central Hong Kong. Being out on the water, far from the maddening crowd (flocks of windsurfers notwithstanding) is very calming and I find the ocean endlessly fascinating.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Ice flow, nowhere to go....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IjGNJPNyzU
Thank you LottieP for showing me this
& whilst I am on the subject of food in Korea, the egg guy in the hotel totally dissed me today. I asked him for 2 eggs sunny side up and he totally didn't deliver. I was most peeved and felt moved to eat a piece of toast instead.
Weird food week
Been in Korea this week and it was a litany of weird food.
I had the chance to eat:
Shark Fin Soup (which I know my friend PoohBear will be upset about and, come to think of it, I'm pretty sure the shark was)
Sea slug.
Weevils (or they might have been silkworms, I'm not sure)
I was also suckered into eating the hottest green pepper by my Korean Friend who ate one first and showed no outward sign of discomfort. Holy Crap! That was hot.
On the other hand I had a very nice pot of fresh ginseng tea. That was really, really nice.
Kamsahamnida
Back to Honkers to continue my "Weight Gain 2000" Christmas eating program. You have to eat large to be large.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
What's in a word?
Well, quite a lot if it's the password you have forgotten.
I won't pretend that I haven't been blogging solely as a result of my inability to log on for the last few months. But it has been a contributing factor.
In order to maintain cosmic harmony, my success at getting into my blog has been counterbalanced by my abject failure to get into my online tax account.
There, in the ether, is a tax demand that will, most likely, chill my blood. So I can probably wait a few days for the bad news.
In the meantime, the balance of the universe is maintained.
I won't pretend that I haven't been blogging solely as a result of my inability to log on for the last few months. But it has been a contributing factor.
In order to maintain cosmic harmony, my success at getting into my blog has been counterbalanced by my abject failure to get into my online tax account.
There, in the ether, is a tax demand that will, most likely, chill my blood. So I can probably wait a few days for the bad news.
In the meantime, the balance of the universe is maintained.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Oh Solo Mio
Unthinkingly I agreed to go to Karaoke in Causeway Bay on Saturday. The evening was convivial, there were buckets of beer (literally) and lots of fun people to sing with.
The only things missing were the good songs. We would search through the meager English song selection, see an interesting artist and go to the song selection to be greeted with songs like
Horrible B side from 1993 you've never heard of
or
Sorry this well known song is being sung by the band "Bumfluff"
Very dispiriting.
The best part of the evening for me was singing arias in the corridor with my friend and it came to me in a flash of clarity that I don't actually need to go to a Karaoke bar to do that.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Get fresh for the weekend....
So having braved the existential hurdle of having a public holiday on a Tuesday (it's Monday today, right? DOH! ), Planet Magic is in high excitement due to the party invite for the weekend.
Only snag is it's fancy dress and the theme is rock legends. Most rock legends are not as challenged in the follicle department as I am so my choices are basically:
Sting
Michael Stipe
Peter Garrett
Otherwise it's wig time, & we all know how sweaty those get.......
Only snag is it's fancy dress and the theme is rock legends. Most rock legends are not as challenged in the follicle department as I am so my choices are basically:
Sting
Michael Stipe
Peter Garrett
Otherwise it's wig time, & we all know how sweaty those get.......
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Pen trivia
I have on my desk a stubby holder. Stubby holders, for those of you who don't know, are little neoprene vests to put beer cans in so that the warmth of your hand doesn't heat up the delicious chilled beverage you are holding.
Stubby holders are also good for putting pens in. Mine has about 30 billion biros in it. My problem is that approximately 0.3 pens actually work.
"How can 0.3 of a pen work?" I hear you ask. Well, most pens don't work at all. The one special pen, doesn't work then seems to respond to the desperate scribbling on the back of an old envelope, raises your hopes up high, and then refuses to write when you actually try to use it for anything.
Thus, technically, the pen works. For all practical purposes it is useless however.
The only way I cope with the futile search for a working biro is to try and view it as a Zen exercise in patience. I also get further opportunity to practice my self control when arguing with bank tellers about why I have had to write a cheque out in orange crayon.
One day I will have a Stalinesque purge of my stubby holders and all the bad pens will be cast out, never to return. One day...........
Stubby holders are also good for putting pens in. Mine has about 30 billion biros in it. My problem is that approximately 0.3 pens actually work.
"How can 0.3 of a pen work?" I hear you ask. Well, most pens don't work at all. The one special pen, doesn't work then seems to respond to the desperate scribbling on the back of an old envelope, raises your hopes up high, and then refuses to write when you actually try to use it for anything.
Thus, technically, the pen works. For all practical purposes it is useless however.
The only way I cope with the futile search for a working biro is to try and view it as a Zen exercise in patience. I also get further opportunity to practice my self control when arguing with bank tellers about why I have had to write a cheque out in orange crayon.
One day I will have a Stalinesque purge of my stubby holders and all the bad pens will be cast out, never to return. One day...........
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Maslow
When I was eight years old, I got shipped off to boarding school, where I remained, with time off for good behaviour and holidays, until I was nearly 18.
One of the byproducts of this is that, when asked what material goods make me happy, I answer with the following.
A fridge full of food
Fluffy towels and clean bed linen
Being warm enough
Nice carpet on the floor (UK only, not for hot countries).
All of the above were conspicuous by their absence at my school. For instance we had a drying room, a room full of hot pipes going back and forth across the walls with slatted shelves. Its purpose, to dry things out. Usually it was full of unwashed and muddy rugby kit (smelly bag of washing only taken away once a week, don'tchaknow). The smell was appalling but we loved it in there as it was a break from the unrelenting cold.
When questioned about non-material things, I always come up with "absence of physical persecution". There is nothing like being woken from a deep sleep by being dragged out of your bed to make you yearn for a room you don't have to share with 10 other boys.
So, as we can see, we are beginning to lurch slowly up Maslow's hierarchy of needs.
There were, of course, many positives about my boarding schools. I gained a reasonable education, met some fine people (some of whom are still my friends), had access to some very interesting and educational magazines not available in shops in the UK (thanks to all the boys who took school holidays with their families in Germany) and had the use of excellent sports facilities.
Oh, and I also feel that people who have been to boarding school should hold up much better if, for whatever reason, they get sent to prison.
One of the byproducts of this is that, when asked what material goods make me happy, I answer with the following.
A fridge full of food
Fluffy towels and clean bed linen
Being warm enough
Nice carpet on the floor (UK only, not for hot countries).
All of the above were conspicuous by their absence at my school. For instance we had a drying room, a room full of hot pipes going back and forth across the walls with slatted shelves. Its purpose, to dry things out. Usually it was full of unwashed and muddy rugby kit (smelly bag of washing only taken away once a week, don'tchaknow). The smell was appalling but we loved it in there as it was a break from the unrelenting cold.
When questioned about non-material things, I always come up with "absence of physical persecution". There is nothing like being woken from a deep sleep by being dragged out of your bed to make you yearn for a room you don't have to share with 10 other boys.
So, as we can see, we are beginning to lurch slowly up Maslow's hierarchy of needs.
There were, of course, many positives about my boarding schools. I gained a reasonable education, met some fine people (some of whom are still my friends), had access to some very interesting and educational magazines not available in shops in the UK (thanks to all the boys who took school holidays with their families in Germany) and had the use of excellent sports facilities.
Oh, and I also feel that people who have been to boarding school should hold up much better if, for whatever reason, they get sent to prison.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
a friend's half life
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.
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.
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
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Linden Lea
Friday was a significant day for 3 reasons.
1) It's been a year since I started learning to sing
2) It was the first time since 19(cough cough cough) that I have officially sung in public.
3) It is the firs time since I was in a band at Uni that I've played guitar in public.
2005 Hong Kong 7's. Friday night. Traveling from the stadium to Central. Walking down a long, echo-laden tunnel at a MTR station. My friend Rob and I "lost that lovin' feeling" (how very Top Gun) and, don't you know it, the rest of the people in the tunnel lost it too. I found it incredibly gratifying that I could get a whole tunnel full of people to start singing.
I mention this because that was a time this decade that I have sung in public. However it doesn't count cos I was drunk and it wasn't official. Karaoke doesn't count either. Even the time friend JB and I sang "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood and a bra landed on JB's head, thrown by an over-excited lady in the crowd (she asked for it back later).
Anyhow, here is the song
http://www.ianpartridge.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/linden.html
It went quite well. Guitar playing needs work though.
1) It's been a year since I started learning to sing
2) It was the first time since 19(cough cough cough) that I have officially sung in public.
3) It is the firs time since I was in a band at Uni that I've played guitar in public.
2005 Hong Kong 7's. Friday night. Traveling from the stadium to Central. Walking down a long, echo-laden tunnel at a MTR station. My friend Rob and I "lost that lovin' feeling" (how very Top Gun) and, don't you know it, the rest of the people in the tunnel lost it too. I found it incredibly gratifying that I could get a whole tunnel full of people to start singing.
I mention this because that was a time this decade that I have sung in public. However it doesn't count cos I was drunk and it wasn't official. Karaoke doesn't count either. Even the time friend JB and I sang "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood and a bra landed on JB's head, thrown by an over-excited lady in the crowd (she asked for it back later).
Anyhow, here is the song
http://www.ianpartridge.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/linden.html
It went quite well. Guitar playing needs work though.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Spiderman
Work today ground to an absolute halt for the half an hour that it took Alain Robert (Spiderman) to climb up the outside of the Four Seasons Hotel.
Awesome to watch live
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
No soup for you!
This blog isn't actually about the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. It is instead about the Yoga Nazi, that being me.
I was at Yoga yesterday, got there a bit early and was trying to get into the correct, peaceful frame of mind for the class. The only thing standing between me and this admirable goal was the blonde girl conversing merrily away with a chinese gentleman. They weren't whispering, they were chatting.
After a bit of sitting and huffing and thinking, I finally went over to them to suggest, very politely, that they go outside if they wanted to chat. Being quiet in the Yoga room is one of the rules of the Club, I may add.
Having told them, the girl then pointed out that another couple were also talking, rather more quietly, it must be said. So I had to go and ask them to be quiet. Then on the way back to my mat, another pair started up, so I had to ask them also.
By the time I got back to my mat I was fuming, felt like the form prefect, and far away from the state of transcendental magnificence I had hoped to achieve.
It turned out that most of the chatters hadn't been to Yoga very much at all.
I mention all this as my friend FMG, when presented with the same situation some weeks ago, elected to do nothing and sulk quietly. This didn't seem to do her peace of mind any good either.
So next time, I'm going to bring my iPod in there to block out the noise. I wonder if anyone will come over to talk about the tsh tsh tsh noise they can hear from my headphones.
I was at Yoga yesterday, got there a bit early and was trying to get into the correct, peaceful frame of mind for the class. The only thing standing between me and this admirable goal was the blonde girl conversing merrily away with a chinese gentleman. They weren't whispering, they were chatting.
After a bit of sitting and huffing and thinking, I finally went over to them to suggest, very politely, that they go outside if they wanted to chat. Being quiet in the Yoga room is one of the rules of the Club, I may add.
Having told them, the girl then pointed out that another couple were also talking, rather more quietly, it must be said. So I had to go and ask them to be quiet. Then on the way back to my mat, another pair started up, so I had to ask them also.
By the time I got back to my mat I was fuming, felt like the form prefect, and far away from the state of transcendental magnificence I had hoped to achieve.
It turned out that most of the chatters hadn't been to Yoga very much at all.
I mention all this as my friend FMG, when presented with the same situation some weeks ago, elected to do nothing and sulk quietly. This didn't seem to do her peace of mind any good either.
So next time, I'm going to bring my iPod in there to block out the noise. I wonder if anyone will come over to talk about the tsh tsh tsh noise they can hear from my headphones.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Lift of Death
On Friday, a colleague and I boldly entered Lift C, hereafter referred to as the Lift of Death. The lift was supposed to take us downstairs. What it actually did was
a) close the doors
b) make some disturbingly mechanical noises
c) lurch violently 2 feet upwards.
d) come to a complete standstill.
Luckily the "door open" button worked and we were able to jump down the short distance to the safety of the lift lobby floor.
I bet the guys at Shindler are having a big laugh about that one....
a) close the doors
b) make some disturbingly mechanical noises
c) lurch violently 2 feet upwards.
d) come to a complete standstill.
Luckily the "door open" button worked and we were able to jump down the short distance to the safety of the lift lobby floor.
I bet the guys at Shindler are having a big laugh about that one....
Sunday, March 16, 2008
You can't read the same book twice
You can't read the same book twice, because you are not the same person and it's not the same errr.... book..... hmmm.
I am re-reading a number of books I have not read for 15 years. Why haven't I re-read them before? (apologies to people who think re-reading books is a waste of time). I am re-reading them because I went to the storage facility (in Basingstoke) and got them out of storage, where they had been languishing and going gently yellow since 1993. The cumulative cost of storing my belongings in the excitingly urban Basingstoke (described in one guidebook as "The Venice of the North") runs into the thousands of pounds.
So, exactly what was in storage? It was like a Blue Peter time capsule except not nearly as fun. There were 30,000,000 books, 1 rotary saw bench and a number of articles of clothing, which I have to say, in the cold light of 2007, looked ghastly. And let's not forget the device to measure the hight of trees and suchlike, complete with nice leather case. And the kilt, the kukri, my collection of movies on VHS ( ah yes...), the half empty bottle of tequila and so on and so forth.
Anyway, I removed a sample of the books and have been re-reading them ever since. Some of them are really not very good now and I am quite shocked to see how my taste has changed over the intervening years.
For everyone who is even vaguely interested (and my dear friend H who is not interested and so charitably referred to me as a liver biopsy, and not in a post-modern way, I might add), here is the top 3 books which have stood the test of time well.
1) The Big Show - Pierre Clostermann
http://www.amazon.com/Big-Show-Greatest-Pilots-Story/dp/0297846191/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1205759567&sr=8-1
2) Journey To The Centre Of The Earth - Richard and Nicholas Crane
http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Centre-Earth-Richard-Crane/dp/0552132128/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1205759762&sr=1-1
3) Radix - A.A. Attanasio
http://www.amazon.com/Radix-Attanasio/dp/0553254065/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1205759859&sr=1-1
I couldn't find any of my Bruce Chatwin books and that's a great shame. He wrote beautifully and I am confident I would enjoy his books today.
Enough of this literary stuff. Anyone want to buy a rotary saw bench?
I am re-reading a number of books I have not read for 15 years. Why haven't I re-read them before? (apologies to people who think re-reading books is a waste of time). I am re-reading them because I went to the storage facility (in Basingstoke) and got them out of storage, where they had been languishing and going gently yellow since 1993. The cumulative cost of storing my belongings in the excitingly urban Basingstoke (described in one guidebook as "The Venice of the North") runs into the thousands of pounds.
So, exactly what was in storage? It was like a Blue Peter time capsule except not nearly as fun. There were 30,000,000 books, 1 rotary saw bench and a number of articles of clothing, which I have to say, in the cold light of 2007, looked ghastly. And let's not forget the device to measure the hight of trees and suchlike, complete with nice leather case. And the kilt, the kukri, my collection of movies on VHS ( ah yes...), the half empty bottle of tequila and so on and so forth.
Anyway, I removed a sample of the books and have been re-reading them ever since. Some of them are really not very good now and I am quite shocked to see how my taste has changed over the intervening years.
For everyone who is even vaguely interested (and my dear friend H who is not interested and so charitably referred to me as a liver biopsy, and not in a post-modern way, I might add), here is the top 3 books which have stood the test of time well.
1) The Big Show - Pierre Clostermann
http://www.amazon.com/Big-Show-Greatest-Pilots-Story/dp/0297846191/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1205759567&sr=8-1
2) Journey To The Centre Of The Earth - Richard and Nicholas Crane
http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Centre-Earth-Richard-Crane/dp/0552132128/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1205759762&sr=1-1
3) Radix - A.A. Attanasio
http://www.amazon.com/Radix-Attanasio/dp/0553254065/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1205759859&sr=1-1
I couldn't find any of my Bruce Chatwin books and that's a great shame. He wrote beautifully and I am confident I would enjoy his books today.
Enough of this literary stuff. Anyone want to buy a rotary saw bench?
Monday, March 3, 2008
A name by any other.....errrr...name
So, I'm a little bit behind the curve here. I only learned about FuBu's last summer through an extremely interesting conversation with a vegan lady (but more on that another time).
I was having a casual conversation with B today, I was trying to work out if her friend, with whom she enjoyed occasional carnal relations was, in fact, a friend or a FuBu. B was saying he was a friend first. I was saying that I thought a FuBu was someone you had gratuitous hot sex with on an occasional basis but, and here's the distinction, you didn't actually have to like.
I mean when you are scuba diving, you have a buddy. You don't have to like them. They are your responsibility and you have to stop them taking off their BCDs and trying to breathe water when the have nitrogen narcosis.
B disagrees. She thinks you have to like your FuBu for them to be a FuBu. Otherwise they are just a GoFu if the sex is good, or presumably a BuFu in which case they don't get asked back for a second go.
Interestingly, the Japanese for Fubu is "secu-frie". This is short hand for "sex friend" for a race of people who like to truncate words and are missing several important english consonants.
A brief sourjon onto the net doesn't show my definition of Fubu. What we get is
As for the second definition, it will never replace FUBAR in my heart.
I was having a casual conversation with B today, I was trying to work out if her friend, with whom she enjoyed occasional carnal relations was, in fact, a friend or a FuBu. B was saying he was a friend first. I was saying that I thought a FuBu was someone you had gratuitous hot sex with on an occasional basis but, and here's the distinction, you didn't actually have to like.
I mean when you are scuba diving, you have a buddy. You don't have to like them. They are your responsibility and you have to stop them taking off their BCDs and trying to breathe water when the have nitrogen narcosis.
B disagrees. She thinks you have to like your FuBu for them to be a FuBu. Otherwise they are just a GoFu if the sex is good, or presumably a BuFu in which case they don't get asked back for a second go.
Interestingly, the Japanese for Fubu is "secu-frie". This is short hand for "sex friend" for a race of people who like to truncate words and are missing several important english consonants.
A brief sourjon onto the net doesn't show my definition of Fubu. What we get is
| Acronym | Definition |
|---|---|
| FUBU | For Us By Us (clothing brand) |
| FUBU | Fouled Up Beyond Understanding (polite form) |
| FUBU | Fouled Up Beyond Use (polite form) |
| FUBU | Fouled Up By User |
As for the second definition, it will never replace FUBAR in my heart.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Beware the lyrics
In the gym, I heard a song a few times. I quite like it and didn't really listen to the lyrics as I was pounding away on the treadmill, feeling unwell.
The song is "It ain't no fun (if the homies can't have none) by Snoop Dogg.
It's an upbeat song with a good hook. The lyrics are all about young ladies, seemingly of a friendly disposition, cars, money and automatic weapons. To my mind the content doesn't really match the music.
Perhaps I'm just being old-fashioned.
Still a good song, though.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=g-W8gPvzEiY&feature=related
& I very much like the related post which I reproduce here (sic).
"Such a refreshing and romantic sonnet for all the rennaissance men and the sentimental sophosticated women they cherish so dearly."
The song is "It ain't no fun (if the homies can't have none) by Snoop Dogg.
It's an upbeat song with a good hook. The lyrics are all about young ladies, seemingly of a friendly disposition, cars, money and automatic weapons. To my mind the content doesn't really match the music.
Perhaps I'm just being old-fashioned.
Still a good song, though.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=g-W8gPvzEiY&feature=related
& I very much like the related post which I reproduce here (sic).
"Such a refreshing and romantic sonnet for all the rennaissance men and the sentimental sophosticated women they cherish so dearly."
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The importance of being toasty
I have decided that toast is incredibly important.
You can have it dry white (a la Blues Brothers). You can have it just with butter deliciously spread and melted to the four corners of the toast. You can have it with an endless number of toppings, including what has to be the absolute pinnacle of British Cooking, chips! Whoever invented the Chip Buttie was having a very very good day indeed.
Toast is good for chicken sandwiches, hotdogs, steak and you can even eat toast raw (errr, that would seem to be bread).
Toast is fantastic and a man's best friend is obviously his toaster. One wouldn't want a talking toaster like Talkie Toaster from Red Dwarf. There are limits as to how into toast you can be before it becomes unhealthy. But a good toaster is a joy to all and deserves pride of place in anyone's kitchen. Someone I know doesn't really like toast. How do I know? Simple! He keeps his toaster hidden in a cupboard. When you want to use it, you have to take it out of the cupboard, plug it in, use it, clean all the crumbs up and then unplug it and put it back in the cupboard of shame. It almost takes all the fun out of eating toast. And what if there was a toast emergency? Having the toaster in the cupboard could very well endanger somebody's life.
No discussion of toast would be complete without a mention of peanut butter. Just as many people have firm views on which is the tastiest fast food burger, individuals often have a deeply held belief on the issue of crunchy vs smooth peanut butter. Is there a supreme being? Who cares! Which idiot flatmate bought the smooth peanut butter ? An issue worth spending a lifetime on. Peanut butter is the universal food. It goes with everything. Well, maybe not mint sauce or, come to think of it, chewing gum. But apart from that, oh, and brussel sprouts, it's all good.
Coming soon.... an in-depth examination of why crunchy peanut butter was called "whanger" at school. (As in "Which of you pikey b'stards has had the last of the whanger? There's nothing to put on my toast now except brussel sprouts!"
You can have it dry white (a la Blues Brothers). You can have it just with butter deliciously spread and melted to the four corners of the toast. You can have it with an endless number of toppings, including what has to be the absolute pinnacle of British Cooking, chips! Whoever invented the Chip Buttie was having a very very good day indeed.
Toast is good for chicken sandwiches, hotdogs, steak and you can even eat toast raw (errr, that would seem to be bread).
Toast is fantastic and a man's best friend is obviously his toaster. One wouldn't want a talking toaster like Talkie Toaster from Red Dwarf. There are limits as to how into toast you can be before it becomes unhealthy. But a good toaster is a joy to all and deserves pride of place in anyone's kitchen. Someone I know doesn't really like toast. How do I know? Simple! He keeps his toaster hidden in a cupboard. When you want to use it, you have to take it out of the cupboard, plug it in, use it, clean all the crumbs up and then unplug it and put it back in the cupboard of shame. It almost takes all the fun out of eating toast. And what if there was a toast emergency? Having the toaster in the cupboard could very well endanger somebody's life.
No discussion of toast would be complete without a mention of peanut butter. Just as many people have firm views on which is the tastiest fast food burger, individuals often have a deeply held belief on the issue of crunchy vs smooth peanut butter. Is there a supreme being? Who cares! Which idiot flatmate bought the smooth peanut butter ? An issue worth spending a lifetime on. Peanut butter is the universal food. It goes with everything. Well, maybe not mint sauce or, come to think of it, chewing gum. But apart from that, oh, and brussel sprouts, it's all good.
Coming soon.... an in-depth examination of why crunchy peanut butter was called "whanger" at school. (As in "Which of you pikey b'stards has had the last of the whanger? There's nothing to put on my toast now except brussel sprouts!"
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Air on a G string
I was once invited to a "teabag party" by a friend. Once I had reined in my runaway imagination, I actually sought clarity from my friend as to the exact nature of a "teabag party". He told me that all the ladies present would be wearing "teabags". I was somewhat impressed that anyone would be able to make a garment out of teabags and was subsequently quite disappointed when it turned out that the ladies would actually be wearing 't-backs".
Had he said G-string, this would have avoided much confusion. And had he said Thongs, I would have assumed that beach footwear was toe order of the day.
Language is a funny old thing, especially when it's English
Whilst we are on the subject, I am very heartened to see that many modern emancipated women do actually wear insubstantial underwear, notwithstanding the fact that they do not conform to the "FHM's sexiest 100 woman" body type. I think that any evidence that shows a rejection of the unobtainable standard of modern feminine body shapes is fantastic.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Stupid stupid lifts
Or elevators or whatever you would like to call them.
My office building has a set of lifts. Unlike normal lifts, you push the button for the floor you want BEFORE you get into the lift. A little display then tells you which of lifts A,B,C or D will serve you. You then get into the lift and get taken to your floor, one of up to 3 the lift will stop on.
So far, so good, I hear you say. Why the unhappiness? Because occasionally I am allocated, say, lift C. Lift B will come down, disgorge a bunch of happy, smiling, people who haven't had to wait an eternity for a lift, and then go up again. Lift C will then turn up 5 minutes later in a massive sulk, sit at the ground floor for a further 3 minutes and then begrudgingly take me to my floor.
Could I take lift B? Well, yes, if I want to go to a floor other than the one I want. I could then have all the fun of getting out, pushing the button again, being started at by people who know I don't work for their company or have any business on their floor and wait for a further 5 minutes for another lift to turn up.
Whoever designed the lift algorithms for my building is either a) an idiot or b) likes wasting people's time.
Still it's better than walking up 29 flights of stairs.
My office building has a set of lifts. Unlike normal lifts, you push the button for the floor you want BEFORE you get into the lift. A little display then tells you which of lifts A,B,C or D will serve you. You then get into the lift and get taken to your floor, one of up to 3 the lift will stop on.
So far, so good, I hear you say. Why the unhappiness? Because occasionally I am allocated, say, lift C. Lift B will come down, disgorge a bunch of happy, smiling, people who haven't had to wait an eternity for a lift, and then go up again. Lift C will then turn up 5 minutes later in a massive sulk, sit at the ground floor for a further 3 minutes and then begrudgingly take me to my floor.
Could I take lift B? Well, yes, if I want to go to a floor other than the one I want. I could then have all the fun of getting out, pushing the button again, being started at by people who know I don't work for their company or have any business on their floor and wait for a further 5 minutes for another lift to turn up.
Whoever designed the lift algorithms for my building is either a) an idiot or b) likes wasting people's time.
Still it's better than walking up 29 flights of stairs.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Merry New Year
Went running this morning around Sydney Harbour to the Opera House. Crews were out cleaning up after New Year's Eve. Whole sections of the park smelled very similar to my apartment at Uni the day after a particularly big party. To make the outside smell like that is very impressive. I hope everyone had fun.
NYE always reminds me of the film Trading Places, a particularly fine film, full of bonhomme and excellent performances by the late Denhom Elliot, Eddie Murphy and Dan Aykroyd.
Beef jerkey time!
NYE always reminds me of the film Trading Places, a particularly fine film, full of bonhomme and excellent performances by the late Denhom Elliot, Eddie Murphy and Dan Aykroyd.
Beef jerkey time!
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