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
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....
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