Doing the Rudimentary Shuffle

In this day and age in where perils lie everywhere, young travelers are only good for locking away for drug possession and terrorists are hiding in dingy corners and underneath overturned fridge boxes, the idea of taking a trip fills many with a feeling not dissimilar to dread.

Take the word “many” from that last sentence and replace it with “my parents” and you’ll get the gist of what I’m saying.

My parents fret too much. They believe everything on the news. In fact, if I wasn’t such a huge fan of their work, I’d be calling them right-wing-fundies-who-should-chill-out-more.

However, chilling out requires some pill taking these days, and I don’t want a background of substance abusing parents. I’m traveling and don’t need that publicity.

My folks fret at the idea that my brother lives in Sydney. Okay, yes he’s diabetic, but he’s 30 years old and should be able to look after himself. Should.

My folks fretted when I went to Sydney in June. I think that had a lot more to do with the fact that I was driving there, and that Sydney roads are reminiscent of a Mad Max (“Road Warrior” for you State-siders) movie.

It’s the whole “don’t get killed over there, whatever you do” thing.

But I was chatting with my best friend the other day about this phenomenon, and he raised a bloody good point.

“You could get killed by trying to cross the road” he said, and he regaled me the story of when he was in LA trying to cross the road. He instinctively turned his head to the right, instead of the left, to check for traffic. Nearly got sconned.

So, if - heaven forbid – that I decide to up and off this mortal coil, I would much rather have the story of my demise be “Oh, he was caught up in that awful earthquake in Tokyo. He died trying to save a Labrador puppy from a falling piece of billboard” over “he was cracked by the 5.13 Circle Line Bus at Victoria Square”

It’s the difference between dying doing something adventurous or doing something rudimentary.

Okay, I might’ve just jinxed myself. But if anything happens, tell people I just had to save the puppy.

About time...

No news today… well, except one small thing…

I’ve booked my holiday to Japan today. In March next year, I’m spending two weeks rubber-necking around Tokyo and the surrounds.

The first week is doing the touristy thing. The second week will be spent at the dojo, studying.

You know, it’s never easy to save up for things like this. It’s only until you throw yourself into the deep end do you make yourself adapt to the situation.

Yes, I can afford this trip, but I will need to save a little (not a lot of) spending money, especially to spend two weeks in the world’s most expensive country.

I can feel the excitement returning.

Queries to My Cell

It is a well known fact that not everyone in the world is very enamoured with their job. In fact, if murder wasn’t illegal, I’m sure many people would be wary of pissing off colleagues in the workplace. Or, for that matter… the people who are trying to help them.

Me: Okay, I will prepare [such and such] for you soon. Where shall I send the [item which the client is seeking]?

Client Who Obviously Doesn’t Want To Do Any More Work Than They Feel They Have To: To the same one as before.

Me: Which one from before?

CWODW2DAMWTTFTH2: You know, the same as before.

(a minute passes as I look scour our archives for any trace that we have dealt with this client before)

Me: The last record we have of your requests to us was back in March 05, in where you were located in [place] and working for the [section] section.

CWODW2DAMWTTFTH2: Oh no, that was ages ago. It was the one I requested after that one.

Me: If you could just give me the details I want, this could be solved.

CWODW2DAMWTTFTH2: No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll torture you for another minute or so.

Okay, so I made up the last couple lines, but if I wasn’t so tactful when representing the organisation that I work for, I would inform this client of the following information. By email, of course.

Deep breath.

“I deal with about one hundred people a day, each of varying ethnicities, emailing style, and general brain power. Not to mention that since March this year, our section has dealt with nigh on thousands of satisfied customers, and some who even have the exact same name another customer.

“So, you could say your name was Tom Jones, and I wouldn’t know if you’re the Tom Jones from 5 Dickheadeville Terrace, or the famous crooner.

“If you had just given me the damn information I asked for in the first place, you could’ve saved me the 5 minutes that Windows spent rifling through our archives for your name, and your problem would have been solved sooner.

“Now I know it may be unreasonable of me to ask a question of you, our beloved customer, because everyone knows we’re psychic, but too morally grounded to effectively predict the $19 million lotto draw. Besides, if we did win lotto, we wouldn’t be able to converse at length with our beloved, yet intellectually enfeebled clients.

“You know, the only reason I asked you a question was to actually hold you up. I like throwing spanners into works, even if I’m following office policy and established procedures.

“After I’ve chased this up, could I please trouble Sir Client for a kick up the arse? I live for moments in where I feel derided despite making my best efforts - I am the department’s whipping boy.

“It’s in my job description. Look. Right there. See?

“Feel free to call on me any time you like. I guess I will now remember your name out of the hundreds of people I deal with week-in, week-out. You’re moron #243. Any more requests similar to the one above will increase your rank a bit. Just so you have something to strive for, the person ranked #1 asks me the same question ten times, despite me giving the exact same answer each time.

“Everyone should have goals, you know.

“Anyway, thanks for your query. I look forward to many more head-bashing-on-desk moments like these. By the time I’m 37, I hope to be committed. Thank you again.”

*sigh*

I feel better now. A bit.

The Blame Shame

This is a little inspired by the previous post.

Let’s look at a hypothetical situation. But interpret it metaphorically… please. Oh look, just humour me for a second.

You are driving along a main stretch of road. You travel along this road nearly everyday, as it is the quickest way to your destination. Sure there is a slightly longer way by a couple metres, but that defeats the purpose of getting from point A to point B.

Everyone knows a straight line is the way to go.

However, along this road is a bit of a dip – a spoon drain, if you will. Sometimes you don’t notice it and you crash right over it, a loud thump from your suspension the reward for your flighty attention span.

This seems to happen every day, too. It is doing untold damage to your car.

Do you

A) Blame the Department of Transport for laying a spoon drain in the most idiotic of places. You write a letter to the Minister, and gather signatures from their constituents.

or

B) Be a bit more attentive in your driving, believing that the damage on your car could’ve been avoided with a bit more alertness. Maybe you take the slightly longer, yet smoother, road.

Okay, it is a crude metaphor, but it’s Friday and I can’t think of anything else right now.

Anyway, my point is, most people I’ve known would have chosen A. Well… insofar is that they like to blame everyone but themselves, and expect everyone to bend and bow to their whim.

(If you look at that situation literally, most people would probably go around and choose B. Car parts are costly and maintenance is expensive. However… with the cost of fuel these days… Anyway, current economic climate is not my point)

Okay, so the analogy is false. My point is that it is far too easy to blame everyone else for the woes in your life.

The reason people don’t get promoted is because of that arsehole upstairs. The reason that guy has the hot girlfriend is because he’s rich. The reason friends leave us is because they’re jerks.

It’s not because you weren’t the best person for the job, that he spoke kindly and had an intelligent conversation with her, or because you did something wrong… oh no.

It seems far too easy to blame some force which is beyond your control.

Because, hell… if I got the promotion, the hot chick or the abundance of friends, I wouldn’t blame the knob upstairs, my bulking wallet or everyone else’s good nature… oh no.

I’d be patting myself on the back for a job well done.

However, it was said that good leaders are the ones who look outward when things go right, but look inward when things go wrong.

So, basically… if you read on this blog that I’m thinking that I might be to blame, it’s not because I’m being pathetically morose, insipid, or some poor-bugger-me parasite.

It’s because I want to consider all possible… er… possibilities.

Right before I blame everyone else anyway.

I never said I was a good leader. Damn stupid upbringing not giving me leadership qualities…

The Suspicions That Leave Us Cold

ChickyBabe got inspired by Kenneth, and now it’s my turn.

Over the past eight years that I’ve lived in Adelaide, I have grouped up with people, spent time with them, and then we have all dispersed or fallen out. This has happened due to changing circumstances, relocation, or a misunderstanding.

Let me clarify the final point.

Many years ago [Michael] and I studied together. We used to head out, talk to women and basically lived like the standard 20 year olds we were.

[Michael] eventually met a lovely girl. She was bright, friendly and liked to laugh a lot. Those two were a good match. As a group, we got along famously, providing support wherever we could and enjoying the foundation a friendship should afford. We went out with large groups constantly and held many parties.

However, as time went on, [Michael] grew suspicious of me. He would watch me as I conversed with his girlfriend, picking apart the words said, and making his own interpretation in the subtext of my discourse.

He confronted me one day, citing specific conversations and times, hoping to catch me out in an undeniable prosecution case in the charge of usurping his relationship.

Naturally I denied it. His girlfriend was far from my type.

He was livid with me, thinking that I was manipulating the situation so that I could pick up the pieces of their shattered relationship and live happily ever after. I told him to fuck off and come back when he had pulled his head out of his arse.

He rang me a couple days later to apologise, and that he’d spoken to his girlfriend who told him that there was no threat from me. I accepted his apology. Since then I’ve bumped into them a couple times, chatted briefly and then moved on. I don’t hear from them anymore.

My friend [John] had a nice girlfriend. She was totally besotted with him. She was a girl who was very easy to get along with. One time we bumped into each other in a food court and had lunch.

[John] seemed okay with this when he raised it with me, and everything seemed normal. However, after that there were a number of occasions in where [John] informed me that his relationship may be in trouble. Both times I told him to communicate with his missus, and that everything should be fine.

Later, however, his emails suddenly became terse and aggressive. We no longer speak. I have a feeling he is glad to be rid of me.

I have female friends as well. But now it has gotten to the point where I do not meet up with them unless their boyfriend is with them. This is despite the fact that I was friends with them well before they met said partner.

For as good a friends I know I can be with people, I do know that they will stick with and support their loved one. I don’t expect otherwise.

But on each of these occasions, I had no desire to “steal away” these people’s partners. The funny thing is, when someone actively tried to crack onto my ex-wife (when we were together), I was expected to get over it, and if I snobbed them, I would be the one in the wrong.

But seeing as this whole “losing friends through suspicions” has happened on more than one occasion, I do wonder whether it is something that I am doing wrong, and if there was something I could do to prevent it happening.

So it appears that I shouldn’t see my own female friends without their partners around. If that sustains the friendship, then so be it. If I cannot chat with mates' girlfriends, then so be that, too.

I'm not jealous that girls are "stealing" my mates away. I don't hate that my female friends have found happiness.

I just hate misunderstandings. And naturally... because it has happened more than once, I can only think that I am doing something wrong.

Sophistication Enebriation

Why was I not told? Huh? Was there an email that went around, and I wasn’t in the list? Was there a memo, and I’m far too paper-phobe to actually have retrieved it from my pigeon hole?

Has the fact that I haven’t had a smoke since August 17 made me an irritable prick?

Piss off.

Sorry, that slipped out.

What am I banging on about? Well, I forget, but you can be sure that it sucks, blows and probably would have a laxative effect if consumed excessively.

Oh yeah. Sorry. My nicotine-deficiency-induced-Tourettes got the better of me.

On the weekend I attended a farewell party (no Chris, not yours. Another one. I had the worst hangover after your farewell party), and I was informed by other peoples’ words and actions a certain startling fact.

You must be loud, obnoxious, and arrogant to be accepted.

Because the centre of the party seemed to revolve around a group of girls who drank to oblivion, yelled every thought that entered their head to all and sundry, and proclaimed as to why their state of being is somehow more enlightened than others.

And that last one is expressed by slurring, “I’m so much better than everyone”. Convincing, eh?

Or maybe she was being ironic. I dunno. If she was, then she is the master of comedy, and her wit and delivery far surpasses my vague understanding of humour.

“You should just believe and act that you’re so much better than everyone else” one advised another, just before taking another swig of Smirnoff.

I guess confidence is one thing - and yes it is good to be confident - however it seems that it is a blurry and distorted line between confidence and weapons-grade arseholism. Or idiocy-induced-cover-for-your-lack-of-confidence… I dunno. I’m not a psychologist.

The way these girls would interject over every conversation with an overbearing, nasal voice, and opine at length got irritating very quickly.

Maybe I’m getting old, and should accept that people aren’t perfect.

Maybe I’m just as bad as these girls when I’m inebriated, and I don’t remember acting that way (thank God).

Maybe if I had a smoke that night, I might’ve found it amusing.

Oh look, some people may like being around another person who unabashedly claims that they’re of a higher being (I’m not joking) than everyone else. I sincerely hope they have a great time in their world.

But I'll think they're a bunch of philistines.

Is sophistication a dying artform?

I’m currently reading Memoirs of a Geisha (I’m late in reading it, I know) and it paints a disturbing picture of a fine art that is disappearing slowly from the face of the planet. It outlines how the geisha is now more a novelty that belies the years of dedication a geisha commits to her being.

Yes, it is erroneous to compare today’s Australian woman to that of last century’s Japanese artisans, but it still seems (to me) that sophistication is slowly fading, much like chivalry in males.

Is sophistication an archaic notion?

Or maybe this is just indicative of the people I’ve been hanging around… Maybe I should get out more. Oh wait. No. There're smokers out there. Boo! Hiss!

Ego is a Pathetic Word

So, I bumped into some of my ex-wife’s friends the other day. Yeah, it was a little awkward, but soon enough it all came out.

I gushed forth with just how much my life freaking rocks right now, and that my missus screwing me around actually turned out to be the best thing that had happened to me over the past five or so years.

“Yeah, you’re looking so much more happier now” one quipped.

“I always knew that you’d be the one better off” the other remarked in a surprising statement of support.

The warm glow I felt soon subsided after I realised that people can’t help but be supportive of the screwee rather than the screwer.

I regaled them with the various different happenings over the past few months, the trip to Sydney, the plans for Japan, the new (higher paying) job, the article publishing (they knew I wrote for the mag), the better social life and so forth.

I wasn’t three steps away from the departure of ways before my mind stopped and pondered: What the fuck was that?

For one, why should I prove anything to them? For two, since when was I such a gratuitous puppet of self indulgence and ego stroking?

The answer came quickly: Because I’m a petty bastard.

I’m sure many of us have been in that situation before. You know the one. When you strip away the enamel of conversation, you can roughly translate it as such:

“Hi there. Howzit goin’? Yeah, I’m great, and despite the fact that the person whom I considered my closest and deepest friend had been banging someone else behind my back, I’m actually fantastically better off. You know, that last remaining shred of my dignity floated away in the wind many months ago, and I simply must convince you of my state of being ‘over it’ by dot-pointing my various achievements since her exodus.”

It’s quite pathetic really.

But, funnily enough, this paper-thin veneer of relative bliss is surprisingly convincing, as I received an email from said ex-wife this morning.

“[Friend] told me she saw you at [place]. Said you looked happy.”

Correction, tiger. She said I looked “happier”. There’s a difference. That is “happier than I was with you” if you didn’t understand. Yeah. Burn.

See? It’s pathetic.

But oddly satisfying.

Anyway, I guess I should point out that I didn’t do any of these things over the past few months in an effort to spite her, or to prove anything to her. I did them for myself, as soppingly cliché as that sounds.

Because, quite frankly, she probably couldn’t give a rat’s arse about how freaking awesome I am at the moment, probably too enamored with her own reflection, and far too busy finding solace in her reasons for leaving.

So I guess the moral of this story is… when opportunity knocks, don’t forget to pander to your own ego.