Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Phat Ninja!'s LiveJournal:

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Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005
2:04 pm	New Address I have moved my blog to a new website as this web page ain't so great: 1. the address too long 2. the other one looks nicer 3. i just ate two sausage rolls and should be doing an assignment The new one is called Jock's Jocks! I moved most of the old stuff there and here is the address! jocksjocks.blogspot.com I didn't know how to make the new address into a hyperlink though. Thanks! (Comment on this)
Saturday, August 20th, 2005
12:05 pm	Is that a cardigan? Sometimes, we have to take a course of action based not on choice but a lack of choice. We may not be able to choose between A or B, or this path or that. Making choices can be painful, especially when each potential ‘suitor’ is so closely matched. Not having two things to choose from takes away the decision-making aspect, so the painful experience of deliberation, heart-string tugging and the like are gone. The other day, I came to the realisation that I had either lost all of my jumpers, or they were in the wash. It was cold outside; there was potential for rain. The day just didn’t permit the casual wearing of a t-shirt, no, more warmth was required if I was to avoid becoming a human ice-sculpture. My dilemma began there: out of my vast collection of clothes, the only slightly warm thing I had to wear was a brown female cardigan. A cardigan. My heart began pumping uncontrollably, my mind was awash with anxiety, and my body was seizing up with the anticipation of this seemingly unavoidable destiny. I was to wear a man cardigan to university that day, and go against any traditional sense of masculinity, and face head-on my sometimes-shaky self-esteem. I managed to think happy thoughts about beer and waterfalls, and quickly don my brown garment of pain. I jumped on my bike and rode to uni. There was something nice about the unbuttoned option, with the wind in my face, and the man cardigan trailing behind me in the breeze like a super hero’s cape. Definitely not like Super Man, more like a Not Quite a Man Man. I got to uni, quickly took off the man cardigan, rolled it up and squashed it up in my bag. The t-shirt was sufficient for sitting inside, but by the time the lecture had finished and we were outside, I realised due to the intense need for warmth, my secret wouldn’t remain so for much longer. I pulled up the flap on my satchel-bag, slid a hand in, and whipped it out, in one smooth easy motion. Then I pulled the man cardigan out. Actually I pulled just the man cardigan out. I put it on. I announced to my friends that I had just put a cardigan on, a brown cardigan. The cardigan used to be a girl’s, and right now I, a man was wearing it. They turned around, and I waited with nervous anticipation. Would they approve? Would they think I was gutsy for trying to turn the fashion world up on its head? No, the world isn’t that forgiving. Instead they laughed and asked what the hell I was doing. I needed excuses fast, which wasn’t too hard, as I didn’t have any other warm clothes to wear. I tried to justify my cardigan though, quickly reeling off theories of changing fashion norms, the fact that I was trying to make a statement, through brown female clothing. Alas, my argument wasn’t strong, and their laughter and jokes dwarfed my small cardigan like the Eiffel Tower (Paris is the centre for fashion I’ve heard). I tried two methods of wearing it too, the first being the buttoned-up, old-style Italian look, and the unbuttoned casual, going for a walk armed with loads of mojo look. The latter version of the man cardigan gained higher approval, however when I talk about approval, to my friends, it wasn’t really approval but the agreeance upon the lesser of two evils. After all this, I didn’t care as it didn’t change who I was, just how I looked, and that surely doesn’t matter. Well I think it does to be honest, and although I don’t quite agree with it, I can’t escape it. The Man Cardigan, or Mandigan was born that day, worn by a young guy, trying to be hip, trying to be different – daring even. That day showed however, that to look manly, cardigans don’t have much currency, in fact due to fashion hyper inflation, I’ll need a wheelbarrow full of Mandigan Dollars to buy some coolness, and next week, probably a trailer full. That is the tale of the Mandigan, and I am a proud man. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 15th, 2005
11:29 pm	A day in the life of a Governor...I'm sorry this is so long! My day began in essentially the same fashion as those days that have ruled before them, by me waking up. However, there was more. I won’t bore you with the details, bar one; the one when I was reading the morning paper. So I was reading my paper, going through all the usual bits, when for some strange reason I happened to glance over the second-last page at the back of the main section in The Age. Usually I don’t give it the time of day (or morning), however one small thing did catch my eye. It was the “FYI” section, which I assume is an acronym for “For Your Information,” not to be confused with the “FYI” for reformed rude people, which of course stands for “Fasten Your Innuendo.” I glossed over the correction policy, the shipping news and the faith headings, and arrived at the heading entitled Vice Regal. “What could that mean?” I thought to myself, so I began to read. Here it is in its entirety as it appears on page 19 in the 15/8/05 edition of The Age: “On Friday Governor John Landy received the call of former Irish president Mary Robinson at Government House and later, at a reception at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, presented Mrs Robinson with the United Nations Association of Australia International Peace Award. Mr Landy then attended the centenary dinner of the Bird Observers Club of Australia at the University of Melbourne. On Saturday, Mr Landy attended the Collingwood Football Club president’s dinner and presented the Peter Mac Cup at the MCG. On Sunday, Mr and Mrs Landy visited Mildura where Mr Landy attended the dedication of an Avenue of Honour for the Fallen, and opened the 2005 Masters Games.” One thing that bemuses me is the fact that I have never noticed this section of The Age. I thought that maybe it was a once off, so I quickly pulled out some editions from last week and was met with this from page 21 in the 10/8/05 edition: “The Governor, John Landy, presided at a meeting of the Executive Council at the Old Treasury Building and later received the call of the Ambassador of the Slovak Republic, Dr. Peter Prochaka.” August 12th: “The Governor, John Landy, and Mrs Landy hosted a reception at Government House for the 2005 Victoria Prize and Fellowships for Innovation in Science, Technology or Engineering, and the Anne and Eric Smorgon Memorial Award. During the morning, Mrs Landy visited the Abbotsford Convent Foundation.” I was blown away to say the least, knowing that I am able to know exactly what our Governor does with himself everyday. Even his wife gets a mention, which I’m sure she’s happy about. We’ll assume her name is Anne. A friend may ask a routine question one day over coffee and assorted biscuits like, “So Anne, how’s your week been so far?” With a knowing smugness and an air of class, Anne Landy would reply, “Oh June, if you read The Age everyday, you’d know wouldn’t you.” Maybe our Governor can dodge being suspected of losing his memory/mind by cutting out the ‘minutes’ of his days and keeping them in his pocket for quick reference when someone asks him where he was, say, the day before. Here’s a small excerpt from my day today, which doesn’t appear anywhere, and may not be entirely accurate: On Monday, Mr Hutton awoke from his slumber and arrived for an early breakfast in his kitchen. He unveiled a new box of tea, and presented himself with a freshly brewed cup. During the afternoon, he visited the University of Melbourne, where he attended a number of lectures, and then in front of fellow students, purchased a medium cappuccino with two sugars. There is no Mrs Hutton, but if there was she would have opened a door at some point, and taken a brisk walk to visit the household toilet. Mr Hutton then arrived at home where he opened a recently purchased beer and then retired to bed. Mrs Hutton, being non-existent, didn’t follow him up to bed later, nor feigned a headache when pestered for sex, as she doesn’t exist. I rest my case. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, August 5th, 2005
11:20 am	Lessons in Pedestrian Crossing Cool I'm a staunch supporter of adhering to road safety rules, specifically those concerning pedestrians. Pressing the button to walk, and waiting until the 'little green man' flashes up, is just so important. I'm lying, I don't really give a crap at all, but the one thing I love about pedestrian crossings is pressing the button. There isn't just one way to do it, there are heaps. Most people like to adopt the orthodox walk up and press the button, although some then proceed to hit it about twenty times, thus revealing to the world that they can't relax. I've noticed that a few older people do this too, and I would have thought that by now they would realise that repeated button pressing does shit all, but I guess it does allow some steam to be let off. I've found that even if I walk up and press the button, then proceed to lean on the pole, that people will still come up and press it, not realising that by leaning on it, I've probably pressed it too. This is I find annoying, plus their hand goes dangerously close to my bum, which I find exhilarating. I've digressed a bit here, so I'll go back to my main topic, which is the various ways in which one can press the pedestrian crossing button. 1. I like a technique I call 'the knee,' which involves me lifting my knee, and connecting it with the button. This doesn't require any hands, and can look cool, but slightly try-hardish at the same time. 2. The Rock Star. This is one of my faves, especially on dates where I'm trying to look a bit carefree and original. It involves walking up normally, then extending out the leg in a kind of rock star kick. This technique is a bit risky because a mis-hit, or non-hit, can turn this potentially cool moment into sheer embarassment, so be careful. Maybe practice at home with a small target blu-tacked to the wall. 3. Variations on the Kick. A hacky-sack kind of round-the-back heel technique, where you pretend that the button is a hacky-sack, and contact here makes you and look geeky and cool at the same time. The creme de-la creme of button hitting. More like curdled creme de-la creme. 4. Actually, I've found that the use of foreign objects is ok too, such as the pointy end of an umbrella. A bike pump or a box of pringles (lid on) could work too, especially if you're going for the 'I'm trying to be weird, and I feel a bit self-conscious doing it but I don't want people to know that' look. Enjoy these tips and soon you'll be turning heads and all that sort of thing when you transform from pedestrian crossing loser to totally rad crossing cool guy. I'm off to cross some roads, and win some admirers on the way. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005
12:19 am	Please don't look at me I'm scared... It doesn’t get talked about much, good-old social awkwardness. I actually have no idea what other ‘awkward’ people experience, and what, if anything, they would lump under this heading. Here are a few of my socially awkward moments and others that I think I may have recognised other people experience. For some reason, when I’m walking down the street, in the park, or whatever, and someone is approaching from the opposite direction, the awkward feeling starts to kick in. I sort of look up, and make eye contact, then quickly look away. They may or may not do the same thing eg keep looking towards me, or away, but eventually I realise that I then don’t really know where to look all of a sudden. I sort of pick out something around me and focus on it then proceed to pretend that I’m rather interested in it. It could be anything really, a tree, a dog tied up in the street, or a bloody spot on the wall. It doesn’t really matter, but it solves the problem of where to look. Other people look down at their feet as they walk past, or pull out their mobile phone and pretend their doing something on it. I like it when we both feel awkward, as it makes the situation so much easier to deal with as eye contact is eliminated altogether. I recently started playing a game to amuse myself when I was walking somewhere, and that is to actually try to unnerve someone as they walk past. It was hard to start off with, as it meant breaking down these pre-conceived ideas of the ‘walking past a stranger phenomenon.’ It’s fun though; I hold eye contact until they have to turn away, and it feels like a small victory. I mean I don’t go to the pub to celebrate, but it’s still satisfying. When I recognise someone on the street and they are say, a good 5 – 10 seconds of walking towards each other distance from me, the following encounter usually occurs: You recognise each other, smile and say hi, realising straight away that they can’t hear you, then find it impossible to maintain eye contact and look down, or around (see focus on a spot tip from before). Then, when the distance between me and the friend is conducive to actually being able to hear each other, that’s when I resume eye contact and the conversation is then allowed to start. This is so commonplace for me, especially down the street or at uni. I find talking about to be a huge help, and if anyone has any contact details for an “I am walking past someone and don’t know where to look” support group, then that would be much appreciated. Don’t give me the details in person, where I have to meet you somewhere, as I’m sure I’ll feel awkward. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 28th, 2005
11:08 pm	Thought of the day I think cliches are talking without thinking. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 27th, 2005
11:58 pm	Strange fetishes I'm so interested in weird fetishes, not that I think I have any myself - unless you think that watching people polish their shoes and loving it a bit weird. I don't actually like this as I don't care much for clean shoes. Don't get me wrong, I don't like grubby shoes, but I don't lose any sleep over whether I've remembered to clean my shoes that day. Now I actually don't have any shoes worth cleaning as they're all suede and I can't bothered with suede really. One shoe that is completely useless to clean is the Dunlop Volley. Even two of them would be hard. They are an Australian institutuion, yet they fall apart quicker than a rolex from bali. I love them to bits, literally. I always get the same little toe side-of-the-shoe hole, and they get really dirty and eventually all of my toes end up poking out, making a mad dash for freedom, not realising that they are connected to my foot, so there ain't no escaping there. I'm not sure if you guys have this problem, but I have a friend (exciting!) and everytime I walk somewhere with her, she always seems to bump into me. She doesn't seem to know how to get into sync with a fellow walker, and so every ten seconds she'll break her imaginary walking line and veer across into me. Imagine trying to negotiate a puddle with her. Yes I did that today and my shoes almost took a dip into the footpath pool. Anyway back to the fetish thing, I don't have a typing fetish so I'm going to stop now. ps I still don't like typing that much, I mean it doesn't really turn me on or anything, but I'm going to apologise for the possible (I'm not totally sure yet) lack of humour in this entry. ps oooh yeah this typing is hot. I'm going to open microsoft word and have a good typing sesh... (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, July 22nd, 2005
5:22 pm	Iron How ironic would it be if a guy called Nic got hit by an Iron. Think about it, go on, do it. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 21st, 2005
2:07 pm	Sun I love the sun, and combine sun with beer and a lovely couch on a porch, I can pretend I'm up in heaven. Beer heaven. I was reading a book last night, and it wasn't huge but still about 400 pages. I found it to be almost tiring just holding up the book! After a while it becomes really heavy and I have to keep changing my position just so I don't get a sore wrist. Imagine if I was a really slow reader and I had to get through the new Harry Potter book? I reckon I'd have to retire from the book reading game as two wrist reconstructions would be too much. That was a shit football joke trying to fit knee reconstructions into a book reading context, and I don't think it worked too well. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 19th, 2005
9:58 am	Walking Not Driving (you know, drowning not waving) I, along with a heap 'o' people, think that drivers are some of the most aggressive humans in our society. I'm categorising them as drivers, because once they step off the curb and climb into the drivers seat, they change. It's like an Incredible Hulk-style change. In our lovely little society, we have Teachers, Nurses, Managers, Retail Assistants. Then we have drivers. I love watching this comic-book style transformation, perfect one second, then green and physics-defying muscley the next. I'm writing about this as I think it's embarassing. They speed up like maniacs, give each other the finger, swear, and turn into selfish, uncompromising knobs (not all of them, but some). What if this type of behaviour was translated to our footpaths, or in a busy shopping centre for example? Example: Shit, some slow old grandma with a shopping buggy is in my way! Fuck that, I'm overtaking her, then I'll chastise her for being a slow old bag 'o' bones. Speed up my walking pace, pull up alongside her, crane my neck and extend that magical finger complete with pissed off asshole face. This is followed up with various obscenities that 100 years ago I'd be doing time for, and then I walk off, leaving her coughing up the dust from my speeding shoes. Yeah thats how it'd be. Clearly this does not translate into out-of-car activities, and this is my point. It defies our normal civilised code of conduct, and we need to stop it! I suggest putting loudspeakers on top of all the cars and strapping peoples hands to the steering wheel so they can't do anything. It'd be like a car POW camp. Completely, and utterly unworkable. It sounds funny though. PS I drive too! Current Mood: what? (8 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, July 16th, 2005
7:53 pm	Mundane Thangs I took great delight this morning washing all my clothes, cleaning my room and all that householdy stuff that I should be used to by now but is still a novelty. I guess after living outta home for a couple of years I should be used by now but I'm not, I think that reflects my totally untidy personality haha. There's something nice about doing all those little things, as they keep me grounded in reality and not thinking too much! Plus it is secretly satisfying cleaning all of my clothes and being actually able to choose from all of my clothes something to wear. Exciting stuff that. I just ate McDonalds so I think I need a shower to wash the dirt off myself. All these spots, they won't come off (shit Macbeth reference). Family holidays can be a bit plain, luckily we had family friends too which always helps, especially as they weren't too far off my age. My parents change a bit when they're away at a destination quite removed from their usual habitat, and they become a bit younger, a bit more carefree, drinking and having a good laugh. Plus they buy me shit. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, July 15th, 2005
9:54 am	I Snow Nothin' Here's the first proper entry for a couple of weeks. I just got back from Mount Hotham, bruised and sore from some good stacks but desperate to go back and hit some of the awesome runs up there again. It was a good ole' fashioned family affair, staying at our cousins' lodge in Dinner Plain, so it was like a little home away from home, with all the requisite drinking, sleeping and spa-ing. I got to taste some alpine nightlife, going up to a great pub called the general to see Endorpin, getting totally drunk on beer and the oh-so popular Jager-bombs that everyone does up there. If you don't know what one is, it's a glass of redbull, and a shot of Jagermeister. Except the Jager is in a plastic shotglass that you drop into the red bull just before you skull it. It tastes ace and is definetly a good pick me up after some hardcore dancing. On the second night, we had a cool dinner thang for my cousins' second birthday. We walked up the road to the high plains hotel and had a massive extended family affair in this cosy, wood-fire heated functiony kinda room. The quirky thing was we cooked our own food. The long table was adorned with plates full of raw chicken and beef, cheese, onions etc and also four little barbecue fondue thangs. So you just slap the stuff on the mini barbys and go for it. Under the hot plate were a whole bunch of small dish things with handles on them, so you make up a little fry up thing in it, so you might put some ham on the bottom, a few slices of potato and some red onions, then a few slices of cheese, then stick underneath the hot plate and grill it. Good stuff. A whole bunch of underage waiter dudes then proceeded to make our beers bottomless so we finished the night with drunken karaoke/passing out. Yes, there was plenty of boarding too, but I can't be stuffed talking about it as it was all high speed thrills and spills. Damn you steep-ass black runs...I'll conquer you yet. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 5th, 2005
11:12 am	Uni Games Quick update as I won't be home for a while, I just got back from the Southern Uni Games in Traralgon, and my mixed Touch team was victorious this week, bringing home the gold medal in a convincing fashion. I think off the top of my head in our seven games we scored about 70 tries and let through about 10. Hot. The mens and womens teams won too, so we did a clean sweep! We all partied hard, I did a few stupid things which at one point earned me the equivalent of the dickhead award, and a not so great fashion accesory signifying this. I had lots of fun. Hope everyone is good, i'm too exhausted to think of anything funny so keep it real kids. Seeya soon. Jock (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, June 24th, 2005
5:50 pm	Random Crud Corner I hate taking bikes on the train, it's like being a full-time carer, you can't let it out of your sight for too long as it could fall over or hit someone. haha Even after becoming 'mature,' I still show off in front of hot girls. what a nerd! It's amazing that I can pretend that I'm my own person, but when it comes to trying to keep a job or getting more shifts or whatever, I become a lap dog! Vaseline is really awesome as lip balm, but it looks suss being a guy and having it in my room, but if I hide it, it looks even more suss if someone finds it. Lose-lose situation there. Some farts are like siamese twins. First there's this really big smell around the perpetrator, then a few minutes later the fart can be in two different parts of the room. It's like conjoined twins being successfully separated. Why do Pringles boxes say "once you pop you can't stop," except they have a resealable lid. I hate chucking out old boxers, even though they're ripped and just downright crummy looking, I can't bear to part with them. Does anyone else have any underwear or other stuff that's past it's use by date but still keep? You can't say your mum. Why when two people are walking towards each other, always seem to both walk into each other even though there is enough space on either side of them for a couple of elephants? It's amazing, i do it all the time. I think "ok surely when i shift to the left they will shift to the right. Oh shit they're going left too, fuck i'll go the other way oh shit now they're doing it" Then its the usual embarassed chuckle and the "sorry" which you both utter at the same time which finally indicates that the dreadful experience is over. Current Mood: i think i'll have a tea (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, June 23rd, 2005
8:42 pm	Good times, bad times. I don't think I'm the only person out there that has problems getting over relationships. I guess that it's inevitable that most of them will end, except for those select few that slip by undetected. One thing that I know I'm not alone in doing is not getting over them so easily. When I think back to the relationship, I focus on all the good times that I've had, and that makes me miss those days a lot. However, that's not the only thing we should remember, as remembering the bad times takes away that perfect fantasy of how great it was when in the end it wasn't at all. These memories need to be grounded in reality. People I know do the same thing, and I guess it's handy to not cloud the memories with just the good times, as it makes it harder to move on. Good luck guys. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, June 18th, 2005
6:43 pm	Yes, this one is about footballers Our Australian rules football players are a classic example of man at his finest, fit, toned, chiselled perfection. They are highly tuned athletes, capable of sporting brilliance with fantastic marks, kick super-human goals - just all-round co-ordination. Why is it that then, that these perfect physical specimens, capable of so much still find it impossible to give each other a co-ordinated high five? When they kick some magical goal that I couldn't even manage on an x-box they run up to each other and always miss the high five or high ten, and instead do some sloppy fresh air kung-fu move. This vexes me. I find that they lack a bit of personality and depth too, based on second-hand female information. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, June 12th, 2005
12:19 am	Toilet Rolls and Toast Why do people find it so hard to change the toilet roll when it runs out? I don't mean leaving the empty cardboard tube in the holder and sitting a new roll on top, as you then have to pick it up and manually unroll it. That isn't very convenient. Plus sitting it on top of the toilet is pretty useless too, as the chances of a fresh new roll of two-ply drowning in the bottom of the bowl are greatly increased. I thought about this, and realised that it is really easy to take the rod out of the holder, slide the used tube off, toss it into the bin, get a new roll and reverse the procedure. Hence there are about four to five main actions here in the toilet-roll changeover. Now this is what is required to make a piece of toast in the morning: 1. You need to open the fridge or bread bin. 2. Take out pack of bread, open it(if its got those sticky ties expect about 20 seconds of fiddling then ripping over packet). 3. Put two slices in the toaster (less or more depending on level of hunger). 4. While the bread is cooking, which usually takes about 2 minutes you need to pull out the spreads and a knife. 5. Once the toast pops up, you need to open the condiments and spread em. 6. Then you have to eat it and clean up, which is at least another five main actions, so overall at least ten actions, and remembering that this does not include including eating time, the process takes about five minutes. If people manage to eat toast in the morning, why can't they change the toilet roll? Look, I'm not well versed about the nuances of time-and-motion, but the toilet-roll conundrum is something that needs to be addressed in households not only in Australia, but all over the world. It's a simple 4-5 step procedure which is over before you can say "I cook fuckin toast everyday but i cant be bothered changing a toilet roll." (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, June 10th, 2005
3:18 pm	Dedication I don't love exams too much, but I do love the old people that run them. These seemingly innocent, sweet, lovable elderly citizens undergo a transformation that is not unlike the Incredible Hulk. Once they take charge of that exam room, filled with hundreds of small desks arranged in rows like Roman soldiers in formation, they change. They become serious, scary, determined, busy, dedicated hard-asses of exam rule adherence. Chills retch my body when remembering back to those times when I feel that familiar tap on the shoulder, and turn around to be have the rules of loose items re-explained to me. They make a fuss of having to bring over those big brown paper bags, then make a point of getting the whole exam halls attention as they fill this bag with my phone, a magazine, and a couple of unrelated textbooks. The two weeks of study have now just gone out the window as my confidence, optimism and relaxed manner becomes one giant mixture of embarrassment and shame. During the ensuing two hours of exam bliss, they pace around vigilantly, shuffle pieces of paper at the back of the hall, which i suspect are blank but they like to make themselves look busy with an air of importance. This noise actually puts me off when i'm seated near them, but i doubt they think about this, instead they're revelling in their temporary role of power, using it, abusing it just like anyone who has it. Those old people, give them power and they can't be trusted. This is not a very good blog entry. At least it's original I guess. (Comment on this)
Thursday, June 9th, 2005
3:21 pm	Suggestion Boxes At a typical office one day, management, or a specially-formed committee of a non-discriminatory cross-section of office staff meet one afternoon, tip the contents of a suggestion box out onto a table and pick through each piece of paper, evaluating any great ideas and canning the rest. During this process various bad jokes would be made, but everyone would take the exercise seriously enough. I think if I was a manager, I doubt I’d want to hear how improvements can be made to the workplace that I am supposedly in charge of. Instead of doing what my job description requires, I’d just walk from cubicle to cubicle, talking business jargon and at all other times sleep under my desk while a sign emblazons my very closed door entitled: “Parallel-System-Process (PSP) meeting on, please do not disturb under any circumstances.” Thus I think I’d casually look over these suggestions in the time it takes me to drink a polystyrene cup of cold instant coffee, take them home and use them to start a fire on a cold winter’s night. If it were summer, I’d donate them to a homeless person. Upon reading them, said homeless citizen could be slightly confused when a piece of paper handed to them reads: “I haven’t wanted to say anything as I never like to cause a fuss, but I think the photocopier needs a service.” Or another well-intentioned suggestion may read, “Dear sir, I think your water cooler needs to be refilled a little more frequently.” Upon reading this, the homeless person may then go into a state of confusion, and may not be able to fathom how their non-existent water cooler could run out so quickly. I can only begin to imagine how our homeless person’s mind would be weighed down by the process of trying to fit into their non-existent budget any repair work that their photocopier may need. Whichever way one looks at it, they are suggestions for improvement, and maybe if they were thoughtfully noted and acted upon, the homeless person may finally be able to enlarge an A4-sized page to A3 on a photocopier that actually doesn’t exist. His life will be changed forever - for the better. He would become the respected manager of his office. A suggestion box doesn’t have to be reserved solely for workplace however. I think everyone needs a suggestion box in which their friends, colleagues, family, or even just a passer-by can drop in some well-intentioned comments on how this person can improve themselves. It could come in the form of a backpack, with a pen hanging off a string and a pad securely fastened to the outside, so people can conveniently scribble down a suggestion and then drop through the jaws of improvement. At the end of a day, just before they go to bed, the person can take the suggestion backpack off, unzip it, and gloss over the days suggestions. It could be just the thing the person needs to turn their life around, and find that secret for success for a productive and fulfilling life. They may at some point during the day think, “Why is it that I never seem to meet any gorgeous ladies even if I’m a totally hot piece of man-meat?” Their question could finally be answered one night while they eagerly read through their suggestions with one that may be read something along the lines of: “Get a haircut, you look like a twat.” Life-changing stuff, that. Current Mood: tired (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, June 6th, 2005
3:26 pm	Bargain Bins I was in Borders bookshop before, had a look around, checked out the humour section and found some great stuff. As I kept walking around I found one thing that amuses me in bookshops, the discount books bin. “Seventy-five percent off” said the sign, beckoning me to come over and check out the crap in the bin. I don’t want to make up a figure as it sounds wanky, but nearly every time I look in a discount bin at a bookstore, the stuff that’s in there is in there for a reason. Tonight’s offering: Biography of Mark Waugh, an Australian test cricketer I couldn’t give a shit about, and seemingly the general populace too. Another title that caught my attention was the Hardy Boyz; it quickly reminded me of those halcyon days as a kid, spent cosily curled up with those schoolboy detective novels so popular back then. But without even getting my potentially incriminating fingerprints on the cover, I realized it was some boxing crap. The final title I almost thought about chuckling at was something like, “How steam trains really work,” as if the pages of said book contained some sort of expose whose ‘steamy’ secrets had been kept confined by those railway bureaucracies all those years. I guess then that maybe they actually didn’t use steam to power them but some sort of alien device, but everyone was deceived by the site of sweaty workers shoveling coal into a furnace. Riveting shit I’m sure, and I can tell Borders wants people to have the opportunity to find out these steam train secrets too, by taking 75% off the price. I didn’t have any money so I didn’t get a copy though. (1 Comment |Comment on this)