Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Owen who?
There were stories in the papers a couple of days ago that Owen Wilson (or as one of my colleagues asked, "Owen who?") had attempted suicide. Apparently in a very girly look-at-me sort of way. What really struck me was that later that day two of the top five most-viewed articles in the Sydney Morning Herald online were about Mr Wilson, and three of the top ten. What about dear old Melbourne, The Age? One of the top five, and one of the top ten. Conclusive proof - as if you actually need it - that Melbourne a much more refined city.
And speaking of the kind of rubbish that ends up in Sydney newspapers, there's a slim chance I'll be in the Sun-Herald on Sunday, in the social pages. Whahey!
And speaking of the kind of rubbish that ends up in Sydney newspapers, there's a slim chance I'll be in the Sun-Herald on Sunday, in the social pages. Whahey!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Metal head
I had a titanium screw inserted into my upper jaw yesterday. No, it wasn't just for fun. I lost a tooth there years ago, and after a bit of drama with a wisdom tooth impacting another molar I ended up earlier this year with one all by itself at the back of my jaw. I wasn't too concerned (even though I did look a bit like a Collingwood supporter) but my dentist sent me to a fancy specialist who took one look (and an x-ray, and a bit of poking around) and said I'd need a very expensive procedure. Well he would, wouldn't he? It's like whenever I've taken a car in to have something done, the car guy looks at the car, looks at me, shakes his head, sucks his breath in through his teeth and says I need to have the whole transmission replaced or something. How can I argue?
So I went in to get it done yesterday. After the anesthetic was in (which isn't fun) it wasn't too bad. I held my head still while he poked and sawed away at the bone, issuing very cryptic instructions to the nurse, then, when a second nurse joined in issuing instructions to both of them in an agreeably crisp manner. I was a bit worried when the second nurse joined in - I hoped it wasn't all becoming some sort of horrible dental emergency. But no, it was fine. It's very disconcerting how, even with the anesthetic, you can feel the grind of metal against bone. Dentists take me pretty seriously because I'm antibody-positive for HepC so they always put on spacesuits to go anywhere near me.
The thing with the two dental nurses reminded me of a dentist I used to go to in New York, when I first had problems with this particular tooth. She was recommended to me by a colleague, and had an office in what was then the Pan Am building. Yes, I'm showing my age. She had a devoted mostly-male clientele. She was a pneumatic blonde woman who used to wear a white dental coat with nothing underneath it. No, the nothing underneath is just my imagination, but the same thought did occur to all of her clients, or at least all the ones I checked with.
So I went in to get it done yesterday. After the anesthetic was in (which isn't fun) it wasn't too bad. I held my head still while he poked and sawed away at the bone, issuing very cryptic instructions to the nurse, then, when a second nurse joined in issuing instructions to both of them in an agreeably crisp manner. I was a bit worried when the second nurse joined in - I hoped it wasn't all becoming some sort of horrible dental emergency. But no, it was fine. It's very disconcerting how, even with the anesthetic, you can feel the grind of metal against bone. Dentists take me pretty seriously because I'm antibody-positive for HepC so they always put on spacesuits to go anywhere near me.
The thing with the two dental nurses reminded me of a dentist I used to go to in New York, when I first had problems with this particular tooth. She was recommended to me by a colleague, and had an office in what was then the Pan Am building. Yes, I'm showing my age. She had a devoted mostly-male clientele. She was a pneumatic blonde woman who used to wear a white dental coat with nothing underneath it. No, the nothing underneath is just my imagination, but the same thought did occur to all of her clients, or at least all the ones I checked with.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Gas
I don't drive that often (I don't have a car in Sydney, so it's really only when I'm down in Melbourne) and I do quite enjoy it. I'm not crazy about traffic and parking but the rest is pretty fun. But I do get stuck in a kind of existential tail-spin when I go to a gas station to buy gas (and yes, I know australians usually say 'service station' and 'petrol', but I got into the habit when I lived in the US. A harmless affectation?).
First, I have to make sure I'm not buying gas from an evil company (Mobil being the prime example), and if I can, I'll go for BP and Shell (although isn't Shell just a bit evil?) I'm not obsessive about it, but unless the car's really running out I'll usually wait until I find a gas station that I'm comfortable with. But there are some where I'm not sure. What about Caltex (I can't remember its moral provenance) or some of the no-name ones? And what about 7-11? Does the fact that they sell slurpees make up for any ideological shortfall in the gas? I suspect so. Any enterprise that makes slurpees can't be all bad.
That's just to start. The gas station near where my ex lives, when you buy gas the guy asks 'do you have coupons?'. I've been asked this before and it always sets me to panicking. Should I have coupons? Am I paying twice as much as everyone else? Or are the coupons themselves evil in some way? Because of my training and my work, I cling to the belief that if you're in something and you can't immediately see who's being played for a sucker, it's you. So I'm very mistrustful of the whole thing, and I wish they'd just the same price for gas no matter what sort of stupid card you have.
At the Coles supermarket near my ex's place (she seems to be in a Bermuda triangle of annoying loyalty schemes) as they're putting your stuff through the checkout they ask whether you have a fly-buys card. I know nothing about this scheme, almost deliberately, but my instincts tell me it's just plain wrong. I feel like standing as tall as I can and saying "do I look like the sort of person who'd have fly-buys?" but I resist the temptation, although I did do something like this recently when someone asked me for a light for a cigarette.
First, I have to make sure I'm not buying gas from an evil company (Mobil being the prime example), and if I can, I'll go for BP and Shell (although isn't Shell just a bit evil?) I'm not obsessive about it, but unless the car's really running out I'll usually wait until I find a gas station that I'm comfortable with. But there are some where I'm not sure. What about Caltex (I can't remember its moral provenance) or some of the no-name ones? And what about 7-11? Does the fact that they sell slurpees make up for any ideological shortfall in the gas? I suspect so. Any enterprise that makes slurpees can't be all bad.
That's just to start. The gas station near where my ex lives, when you buy gas the guy asks 'do you have coupons?'. I've been asked this before and it always sets me to panicking. Should I have coupons? Am I paying twice as much as everyone else? Or are the coupons themselves evil in some way? Because of my training and my work, I cling to the belief that if you're in something and you can't immediately see who's being played for a sucker, it's you. So I'm very mistrustful of the whole thing, and I wish they'd just the same price for gas no matter what sort of stupid card you have.
At the Coles supermarket near my ex's place (she seems to be in a Bermuda triangle of annoying loyalty schemes) as they're putting your stuff through the checkout they ask whether you have a fly-buys card. I know nothing about this scheme, almost deliberately, but my instincts tell me it's just plain wrong. I feel like standing as tall as I can and saying "do I look like the sort of person who'd have fly-buys?" but I resist the temptation, although I did do something like this recently when someone asked me for a light for a cigarette.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Minibar. Water?
I know I'm easily shocked, but there was an article in the SMH (and the age) that moved me to new heights of righteous disapproval. According to some (not doubt fatuous and non-rigorous) survey, by far the most popular item in hotel minibars is bottled water. That's right, water. Now, I can understand if you're in Mumbai or Mogadishu and not awfully keen on drinking the water, but this 'survey' was in Australia and NZ.
"The biggest change we have seen in the last five years in terms of mini bar usage is the huge increase in guests consuming water from the mini bar. A decade ago this would almost have been unheard of," Gaynor Reid, Media Relations Manager for Accor, says.
Women are more likely to sip the mini bar water, with three quarters of women drinking the water according to the Accor staff survey.
The gender thing was interesting too. Men are still partial to beer and chips, which reassures me.
When I travel on business - which I used to do a lot - I'm famous for being a cheap date. I never get stuff from the minibar, I never have the $50 hotel breakfast, I don't get fleeced by cab drivers. Although I have to say the breafast at the Radisson in Bogota is excellent, especially if you make friends with the guy who does the local specialties (and no, not those ones. I'm just an adventurous eater).
My favorite business travel factoid is the one about how the average length that people watch pay-per-view adult movies in hotels is seven minutes. You only need to think about this for a split-second before you see how funny and sad this is. I once tried to source the statistic and I suspect it was just made up, but has been perpetuated because it's got such truthiness. (By which I mean it sounds like it could or should be true, and therefore shouldn't really be checked. It's a Colbertism, I think.)
"The biggest change we have seen in the last five years in terms of mini bar usage is the huge increase in guests consuming water from the mini bar. A decade ago this would almost have been unheard of," Gaynor Reid, Media Relations Manager for Accor, says.
Women are more likely to sip the mini bar water, with three quarters of women drinking the water according to the Accor staff survey.
The gender thing was interesting too. Men are still partial to beer and chips, which reassures me.
When I travel on business - which I used to do a lot - I'm famous for being a cheap date. I never get stuff from the minibar, I never have the $50 hotel breakfast, I don't get fleeced by cab drivers. Although I have to say the breafast at the Radisson in Bogota is excellent, especially if you make friends with the guy who does the local specialties (and no, not those ones. I'm just an adventurous eater).
My favorite business travel factoid is the one about how the average length that people watch pay-per-view adult movies in hotels is seven minutes. You only need to think about this for a split-second before you see how funny and sad this is. I once tried to source the statistic and I suspect it was just made up, but has been perpetuated because it's got such truthiness. (By which I mean it sounds like it could or should be true, and therefore shouldn't really be checked. It's a Colbertism, I think.)
Friday, August 24, 2007
Brissie broad
I was on the gentlemen's flight this morning, the 0715. Which is late, but not late enough to be classed as a Chairman's flight (there's a whole language around this stuff). The young woman sitting next to me had chemically-blonde and straightened hair, very tight designer jeans and (as I saw to my horror when she got up) pink flowery stiletto shoes. She was reading the Daily Telegraph and very carefully tore the horoscope page out, then from the horoscope page neatly tore out the forecast for two star signs. I had to restrain myself from grabbing her arm and saying "Love, you know you're going to Melbourne, right...?"
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Rudd scores!
I've been following the story about Kevin Rudd going to Scores a few years ago. It's great. For one thing, it does kind of humanise him a bit, it shows he's not the evil dentist we all imagine him to be. I'm impressed and also a little horrified that he called his wife the next morning though.
But why is everyone calling Scores a 'strip club'? I started making this point at work but had to stop because people were concerned I was about to violate one of our HR policies in some way, but what I was saying was that it's a lapdance joint. The women don't strip, in the sense of getting all their clothes off. You can't do that in the US, and my understanding of these matters is that that's one of the things that Canada's for.
I went to Scores once, probably about 10 years ago. I went with my mate Jim, who was an old business school friend. It was February 13th, the night before Valentine's Day, and he suggested we go for a bit of a treat. I remember it as being a fairly depressing and tawdry setup (I'm waaay too sensitive). Jim and I got a lapdance from a grimly-determined blonde woman in her early 30s. At one point I made the mistake of looking into her eyes, and for a split-second we were wallowing in contempt and shame. (Actually, I doubt she felt anything. But like I said, I'm too sensitive for this world.)
Jim and i spilled out of Scores at about 1130, and he reminded me that it was Valentine's Day the next day. We both bought roses for our wives and bid each other goodbye. It was bitterly cold, snow and ice everywhere. I caught the train home to Connecticut and very cleverly (I thought) left the roses outside so she wouldn't find them, that way it'd be more of a surprise.
Next morning I was in a huge amount of trouble for staying out late (and I just said I'd been out for a drink) and, I suspect, for forgetting Valentine's Day, even though we'd agreed not to observe. And the roses? The lovely roses I was planning on producing with a flourish to make everything ok? They'd frozen solid on the back steps.
But why is everyone calling Scores a 'strip club'? I started making this point at work but had to stop because people were concerned I was about to violate one of our HR policies in some way, but what I was saying was that it's a lapdance joint. The women don't strip, in the sense of getting all their clothes off. You can't do that in the US, and my understanding of these matters is that that's one of the things that Canada's for.
I went to Scores once, probably about 10 years ago. I went with my mate Jim, who was an old business school friend. It was February 13th, the night before Valentine's Day, and he suggested we go for a bit of a treat. I remember it as being a fairly depressing and tawdry setup (I'm waaay too sensitive). Jim and I got a lapdance from a grimly-determined blonde woman in her early 30s. At one point I made the mistake of looking into her eyes, and for a split-second we were wallowing in contempt and shame. (Actually, I doubt she felt anything. But like I said, I'm too sensitive for this world.)
Jim and i spilled out of Scores at about 1130, and he reminded me that it was Valentine's Day the next day. We both bought roses for our wives and bid each other goodbye. It was bitterly cold, snow and ice everywhere. I caught the train home to Connecticut and very cleverly (I thought) left the roses outside so she wouldn't find them, that way it'd be more of a surprise.
Next morning I was in a huge amount of trouble for staying out late (and I just said I'd been out for a drink) and, I suspect, for forgetting Valentine's Day, even though we'd agreed not to observe. And the roses? The lovely roses I was planning on producing with a flourish to make everything ok? They'd frozen solid on the back steps.
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