Wrong Time, Wrong Place, Wrong Smile

Speaking of smiles, not that it bothers me in the slightest (what, me shallow?), but has anybody noticed that the presenters on Channel Nine have crooked mouths, namely Ms Fanning (who I think is pretty hot. Whoa... I didnt know she was Bernard's sister.) and their male newsreader who sometimes does the late news, might be Michael Usher.
Or maybe it is just my TV.

On to more sombre matters, I read of this totally disgusting murder. I can completely understand why the Americans are not liked over in Iraq. I wonder about the others that are not reported or caught. Would drive one to be a suicide bomber.



A Current snapshot of my life, a break from all this reminiscing that seems to be going on. So I bare to you (a snippet of) my soul, for all to see. Be kind to my nakedness.

"Meet me at the Moravia. We need to talk." Oh oh.

It's the old, old story. Droid meets droid. Droid becomes chameleon. Droid loses chameleon, chameleon turns into blob, droid gets blob back again, blob meets blob, blob goes off with blob, and droid loses blob, chameleon and droid. How many times have we seen that story?
[Apologies to Red Dwarf]

Same old, same old. I've heard them all.

* I only like you as a friend
* It's not you, it's me.
* I'm getting married in an hour, for God's sake.
* I already have a boyfriend.
* I am leaving the country.
* I need space.
* I am leaving Melbourne.
* My lesbian partner forbids me to see you any more.
* I am not ready for this
* I am married to the sea

And thus I was subjected to what I shall, from this day call the Moravian manoeveur. Ah well.

ps
One of the above reasons is NOT true.

Holy Canelloni

Doesnt that Mr. Turnbull person seem like such a nice guy? The things that flow from that mouth. I'd lose that smug look if I were him cos it might make some people want to smack him in the face. Mr Abbott should start looking over his shoulder to protect his most-smug-politician position.




Apart from raving about Pan's Labyrinth, I have nothing new to say. Go see it, if you get a chance. It's worth it, even though it is brutally violent in parts and made me look away on more than one occasion (OK, 4!). Admittedly, I am of the queasy variety. Best movie I've seen in a long time.

Am afraid I'll have to dredge something from my unreliable memory for this month's post. So technically, this could have been written ages ago. No timeliness factor here.
[will now need you to imagine the screen dissolving]

"Whoo-hooo". Finally, some real use of my Malaysian passport. No visa required for Czechoslovakia. The consulate in Australia had suggested I get it when I was in Germany. Munich confirmed I needed one but was only open like 2 hours a week and seeing as I was going to be in London. Anyway, when I tried to get one, the London consulate contradicted them. "New law. You dont need one", said London. I'd just saved AUD$60!!! SIXTY buckeroos!

That Saturday, I then drove to the Czech checkpoint at Waldhaus, armed with my visa-less passport. I'll omit the "professional hitchhikers" anecdote for brevity. The guard glanced at my passport and waved me through. Heh. I spent the rest of the day and all my money at Karlovy-Vary. They shot Casino Royale here. Real pretty place.

Anyway, happy and penniless, with my haul of Bohemian crystal, I headed back to Germany. This time, the Czech guard examined my passport, scrutinising every page and then said, "Visum?". Huh? "Visum?!" Holy shit!!! What's he talking about? What visum? Instinctively, I squeaked "Sprechen Sie Inglisch?". I could feel the sweat slide down my armpits. I was alone on this trip and would not be missed at work till Monday. My visions of spending several nights in jail accompanied by snippets of Midnight Express was interrupted by the answer I least wanted to hear. "Nein, nur Deutsch." "Oder Czech.", he helpfully added with what appeared to me to be a menacing grin. [Will need you to imagine subtitles here] Eeek!! I then slowly explained (in pidgin German and in a pitch higher than what I normally use) how the London Consulate assured me I didnt need a visa and if he double checked, he'll discover I didnt need one. Thereafter, I spilled my guts, telling him about my work, my childhood, how that shoplifting incident was really all a misunderstanding. "London give incorrect information", placing his hand on his holster. My bladder contracted.

With 40 kroner left (around AUD$2, give or take), bribery was clearly out of the question and the barricades seemed pretty sturdy, even for a speedy Ford Sierra (black, 2.0L, Stuttgart plates). The other guards had that "Why dont you try it, buddy" look, whilst caressing their automatic weapons. After holding up traffic for a few more minutes, he gave up and grinned "Next time, get a visa".
Yeh, sure, next time. I snatched my passport back while thanking him profusely (and silently prayed that they not shoot me in the back as I drive away) and when he tired of this, I quickly drove off before he could change his mind. You should have seen the other cars overtake me for fear the same thing repeated itself at the German checkpoint, which it didnt. These days, I insist on getting a visa everywhere, regardless of need.

And thus ends this month's entry. Thank you for your indulgence.
Note that the Czech republic is a great place to visit. I'd revisit it in a flash. If you'd like more travel tips, give me a buzz.

191sms

I was heading to Fitzroy on the very crowded peak hour tram. As I sat in my seat, the pungent aroma of urea wafted in around me. Phooo-eeey... It was hard to determine where the source was. I looked around. No obvious candidates. Very strange.




I gently leaned to my left and took a little whiff. The intensity was even stronger. Echhh. I slowly leaned back but the intensity did not decrease. Very strange indeed. So I tilted my head in the other direction. The intensity still did not decrease. Hmmm, so it's not any weaker on my left nor on my right. This makes no sense. Then a horrible thought popped into my head. "Ohhhhhh no, it's not possible". I started very discreetly sniffing my clothes. Phew, I thought to myself. It's not me. As I looked up, these passengers across from me were looking at me with an expression best described as sour. "No, no, no", I violently shook my head. "It's not me", I assured them. I think my denials must have been quite convincing cos they all quickly looked away. I had to get off the tram soon after and so never got to figure out who or what it was that was the source of the smell. I hope the fact that the smell remained after I got off would have convinced my fellow passengers that it was not me. I hope the smell remained after I got off. I hope.

Ah well. Anyway, was meeting indecisive Simon for dinner. Half way to the pasta place, he reckons he feels like Indian instead. Now I had heard a lot about Indian Chinese food and how great it was. This is the Indianfied version of Chinese food. I've spoken to many many Indians (from India) and they rave about how great it is. Many Indians. One even ventured to opine that if he had to give up Indian or Indian Chinese, he'd give up Indian food. Quite a call. Now after hearing such consistently high praise from so many varied sources was making me really curious about this food. After numerous enquiries, I finally found one place which cooks this so called Indian Chinese food, in Malvern. "I know just the place", I said. Small problem was that I only knew the name of the restaurant but not the address. And then, a lightbulb moment! Telstra offers a service where if you SMS 191SMS with a command like b banjara vic, it will sms you back with business names with the word banjara in it's listings. I've never used this before(*). So I waved goodbye to my 55 cents and lo and behold, it sent me back the address I asked for. I've never been so excited before. Why? Because I sort of worked on the system last year. Boyd did the b(usiness), p(erson) and m(ovies). I did the sn(ow), w(eather) and su(rf). One of the very rare times where something I do at work (or ex-work, in this case) is actually useful in real life. I is happy. I explained all this in great detail to Simon but he didnt seemed all that impressed. Maybe cos he had to concentrate on driving. Anyway, we found the place no problems at all. It's near the train lines, cnr Glenferrie and Dandenong Rd.

Piece of trivia. Did you know that beep when you get receive an SMS is S M S in morse code? You did? Gee, I must have been the only person on earth who didnt know that. Disclaimer : AFAIK, it's like this at least on the Nokia phones.

How was the food, I hear you ask? I'll write a review of the meal at WDCoF soon. When I brush up on my adjectives, that is. Till then. Oh yeah, if any of you would like to be part of the WDCoF motley crew, let me know. We have low (actually, no) standards.

Viral marketing? What's that?

(*) OK, technically I have, in the lab. But I've never paid my own money to use it before.

Let me be wiik

Crazy weather. One day, I've the air-conditioning on in the room and the next day, I've got the heating on. But with the end of spring (and my hay fever), I've started cycling again. I find riding quite relaxing, but sadly, sometimes I get caught up with secretly racing strangers, and it all goes downhill from there.




The other day, everything was cool and was just cycling casually to work and then noticed this cyclist appearing in my rear mirror. It's a GIRL! She was at my tail and didnt overtake after the customary 50 meters of tailing. So being the fool that I am, I thought, OK lady, you're going to get burnt. *starts humming opening stanza of the James Bond theme*. The ascent up to Anderson St bridge was where I started my attack. A sudden burst of speed (or so it seemed to me). Cyclist kept up, still sitting on my wheel. We did this for about 1.9 kms. Looked at my speedometer, was 32.2 km/h, had a quick look at the mirror and lordy, she wasnt even peddling. Yikes, I thought. I'm about to die. I was going 100% flat stick and was getting really, really puffed, things around me were seeming to get dark. All manner of thoughts raced through my head, along the lines of No point pretending I am fast and What about the loss of face and I am going to pass out. What's that thumping noise? But there was a fork in the road coming up. I glanced in my mirror and thank god, she took the other path and we went our separate ways. Oh sh*t! 100 meters further on, I see her in front of me again, this time with me about 10 meters behind cos I'd slowed right down. She'd followed the paved path and I'd taken the unsurfaced one. I was too knackered to make up any ground up the ascent to Swanston St. But she had to stop at the traffic lights anyway. I pulled up next to her at the lights. She looked at me and grinned. Ooooo, she's pretty. I smiled back and let my tongue hang out (from the exhaustion), Mannn... you're pretty quick, and I, ummm, was secretly racing you. She laughed and confessed that so was she. I dont normally cycle this fast but it was fun. Quite a workout but I'm going to be pretty worn out at work, she added. I looked at her bike and it looked like a fast bike (racer with really cool looking spokes). I only have a hybrid. OK, so maybe I checked out some other bits as well. Women in lycra, there is something special about that. Anyway, it'd be unlikely that I'll ever bump into her ever again as we ride at the same speed. So Ms. cyclist with a Giant roadbike, and a purple and yellow knapsack, I think I'm in love with you.

And I'm glad to report that my bottom dont hurt anymore. But my flanks are sore, from boxing on the Wii.

(*) And dream of sheep.

Pulling the Pin

Many years ago, I got a job working for a gaming company and started the job on the same day with another guy, Ron. The project was really crap. Proprietary framework, no documentation. Ron left after 1 week. At the time, I thought, "What a heel. Not gutsy enough.". I stayed for 6 months but declined the contract extension when offered.




Anyway, today I would like to announce that I, Chai, am now that heel. I started a new job 2 weeks ago and I've resigned after just 8 days. Friday was my last day at the new (now old) place. It's taken me 2 weeks to realise what Ron could do in a week.
I've NEVER ever done anything like this before.
I have got another new job. It's for less $$$, a shorter contract, and have to bring in my own PC, working at a less convenient location. So this gesture says a lot, I think.

I am confident I could have done the job, but from a quality of life perspective, I dont think I have the stomach for such things, anymore. It sucks, getting old, and soft, and grumpy.

I wonder if anyone will remember gutless me walking out, 10 years from now, like I remember Ron. Matters not I guess, cos I feel very light about my decision, almost unbearably so. It did help that my ex-employers were really understanding about the whole incident. Thank you, ex-employers.

Just sail on without me.