Writer's bloc

I realise that after something of a flurry a wee while ago (thanks for noticing fingers), I have dried up for a bit on the old UO front. I have a pretty crap excuse -work- I have been working on a deal for the last few weeks with every man and his dog involved. The good thing about that is of course that the man doesn't tell the dog what he is doing, which means that the dog has carte blanche to go and do its business anywhere it likes, which apparently seems to be in my office. Relax, this is still a (tortured) metaphor, nobody has been taking a dump on my keyboard, but you get the idea.

It had, however, sucked any vestiges of creativity out of me when on two consecutive days when the deal was meant to sign and I was wandering around the city with a cheque with a very attractive number of zeros on it, one of the powers-that-be decided to re-cut the deal. Nevertheless, last night it was done.

Ok, minor whinge over. For now. The challenge this morning was to find something to tell you all - sitemeter tells me that you are both very loyal readers, so I guess I gotta feed the beast. Failing anything popping into my head to entertain you with, however, I have a dilemma for you to help me with. I need a holiday, as I am going to go postal here at some of the cretins I have to deal with on a daily basis if I don't get away for a bit soon. That much is easy.

Problem is that I would like any holiday of more than a week to involve going to Danishland. I would love to go and see the Dane, but she is just starting a new job, and therefore can't really take any time off. So I would basically be spending my days sitting in her apartment or wandering the streets of her home town. Don't get me wrong, it is a pretty hip and happening fishing village with no less than 10,000 inhabitants, but I need to do something fun at the moment, and seeing her nights is certainly better than nothing (seeing her at all would be good, let's face it), but I would like to have something for the days too, know what I mean? It isn't particularly easy to get extended periods of time off work, so I would prefer to save the bulk of my leave for when she can take a break too.

So tell me, am I being a completely selfish bastard for thinking this way, and wondering whether I can do something else for a break for now?

Think of this as an advice column, but one ASKING for advice, not giving it. We will return to your normal, hilariously entertaining and insightful programming shortly.

The Curse of the Handyman Dad

No, I am not getting into crime writing, and if this is the name of a murder mystery novel that has somehow escaped my attention, I apologise now.

No, this is about my Dad. I love him to death, don't get me wrong, but he and I have some differences. He has always been very 'handy' - I don't know exactly what that means, but I reckon it is all about the context. In the context of films involving 70's disco style guitar soundtracks and the milkman/pool cleaner/delivery guy/policeman/fireman/guy with large schlong, it means one thing. This is different - I am talking about being able to fix stuff, make stuff - you know.

My Dad is very good at all of this. He made me a mini bike when I was a kid, which is about the coolest thing you can have as an 8 year old. He has restored lots of furniture, even to the point of having done French Polishing courses (and no, that also has nothing to do with the movies mentioned above). He has even spent countless hours restoring a few antiques that I bought in crap condition for a song, to the point where they are gorgeous. He most recently bought a 1969 MG to play with, as he has been retired for a while now, and is clearly bored, having restored as much furniture as his house will hold, made most of his garden into a Japanese garden on speed (the garden, not him), and run out of other ideas. So what is my problem, I hear you ask?

Glad you did. It makes me look bad. I know, what a wanky thing to say. Now I am not completely hopeless in these things myself, but certainly not incredibly gifted either. My parents divorced when I was 8, so never really had those days where I spent the whole time helping my Dad in the garage. I firmly believe that this is where you osmose handyman skills. This means that if someone tells me what to do in the handyman game, I will do it, but otherwise have little idea of how to do stuff myself.

I mean, sure, I have made bits and pieces of shelving, even a computer box on wheels back in those days when laptops were for the rich and famous and I wanted to move my desktop around the house, but my Dad is really really good at this, whereas my skills lie... in different areas. Hidden, subtle areas. Areas so subtle I am yet to explore them myself. But I digress. I guess this is kinda my way of saying that I am actually quite proud of my Dad, but does he have to show me up?

What about your folks?

The Local

I have been musing for a while now about the phenomenon of the Local Pub. I grew up in Strathfield, which was pretty poorly endowed with pubs, of the local or any other variety. I now live in the Newtown area, which is a very old skool part of town, with more drinking establishments than you could poke a pubcrawl at. I like it. I have my favourite pub, which I am sure is not news to pretty much anyone reading this, nor is its identity - The Courthouse - or the Courtie, as we locals like to call it.

Here is the rub - I like to think of myself as a local at my Local. Hmm, what do you have to do to qualify for that, I hear you ask. Good question - let's look into that, shall we?

There are two issues, really. Firstly, what constitutes a Local Pub?

1. The most important factor is an air of history and permanence. This is not achieved by getting the Paddy-O-Matic boys in to install in two shakes of a leprechaun's shelaligh a plethora of genuine imitation Irishness. You know the stuff, crisp shiny posters of the 1923 Guiness advertising campaign, a couple of hurling sticks crossed over the bar, lots of green crap, etc. No, I am talking about a bar that has been in situ longer than living memory, decor that has only been updated by installing a few TV's for footy watching and toilets that are an adventure.
2. The second factor - an absence of stainless steel other than in the sink and driptrays, along with no shiny new mahogany - is really the inverse of the first factor. It is in fact worse to go all modern in refitting a pub than to go for 100 Years Of Irish Pubness In A Bottle. The silly thing is these folks spend a gazillion bucks on the refurb, it may well go gangbusters as the trendy set move in for 6 months, then they are left trying to pay for the other half of the fitout until their dying day. Don't do it, I tell you. All that cashish could be spent on new TV's and cheaper beer, for god's sake.
3. The same people sitting around the bar. A pub is a Local when you can walk in and see the same stoney, semi-drunk faces every time you walk in. Initially, the temptation is to think how sad it is that these people are stuck, drinking away their lives with no friends... but they are in on a secret: They probably have more friends than we do, and they are all at the Local too. We all have a drink more often than not when we socialise at home (don't we? no come on, really?), they just have a convenient meeting place already picked out.

So now on to our second item - how do you become one of these insightful people? Here are some of the signs:

1. The days and times of Happy Hour, Badge Draw, the Meat Tray and Toss the Boss are indelibly entered into your mental calendar. You have to set your alarm to get up every morning, you have to remind yourself of your mother's birthday (not me, of course), but when you wake up on a Tuesday, you know where you will be at 7pm that night.
2. You walk into the pub and several of the locals give you a wave, say g'day, or offer a dour nod. When you get the last of these, you know you have cracked it. These ones are the real hard core, and normally you have to have contributed the equivalent of at least 10 years' pension cheques over the bar for them to acknowledge that you are entitled to draw on the same smokey opaque atmosphere as them.
3. When you walk up to the bar, at least one of the bar staff asks if you want your usual. This leads to jealous looks from aspiring locals. Again, true local status is achieved when you can place your empty glass on the bar with some money and faster than you can say "Ok, I'll just have one more for the road", you have a new drink and your change. Miraculous.
4. When someone wants to meet for a drink, and despite your best efforts the location is somewhere other than the Local, you suddenly find your enthusiasm waning. The good news is, if you can't be arsed going to meet them, you could always wander up to the Local for a beer.

Just the one, of course.

Meet the Punters

So I had another gathering with some of the Punters on Friday night. Of course, you all know this, as the only people who read this are pretty much said Punters. To the rest of you, thank you so much for visiting. The horse doovers are over on the card table in the corner, please leave all gifts at the door (ok, just inside) and all basic drinks are on the house. No, not spirits, do I look like a charity?

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. The Punters do was a fairly quiet affair, farewell drinkies for Chesty. However a couple of said Punters brought along their significant others, as much as one of said 'others' is a blogger in her own right. They seemed really nice, but I did find myself wondering exactly what they made of the gathering. Just how interesting/cool/non-sleep inducing is it to hang out with a bunch of people who you have never met, and who spend the evening talking about that hysterical post the other day when so and so totally flamed thingamajig.

I reckon that is about as interesting as someone say talking about computer games or wine or....something.

So, what do you think? Should 'others' be subjected to these experiences, even if they are willing participants. Are they doing so just to see who your weird internet friends are? What did these 'others' think of the whole thing (be gentle - ok, don't)?

These questions and many more will be answered when we return to....

Extras Anyone?

I was a latecomer to The Office. Not this morning - I was bright eyed and bushy tailed today. Well, I was actually sore as a bastard and probably red eyed, but more on that later.

Where was I? Ah yes, The Office. It was a very funny show, with just the right mix of British character humour and excruciating situation comedy in the blacker sense of the word. I loved it. So it was with some excitement that I tuned in to Extras last night, being the new vehicle for Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, the Office guys. Ricky plays Andy, an actor who is focusing on background with a view to moving into speaking parts... You can see where this is going.

I am risking this being exactly like about 14 million other sites/posts about this today, actually, it isn't a matter of risk, it IS like about 14 million other sites/posts about this today...

So..... How was it? Not quite more of the same, although certainly there are similarities in the awkward situations that the characters find themselves in, or more often put themselves in. There is less of an ensemble cast than the Office, although one episode is probably a harsh basis on which to make a call - no doubt more regulars will appear.

The other difference that came to my mind was the use of Hollywood/movie stars, last night Ben Stiller, to send themselves up. I didn't find this as titillating as some others might, although it is always fun to see these people able to take the piss.

I think that this will take a few episodes to grow on me, much as The Office did. It is always unfair to compare these things to previous work, especially something as successful as The Office, but then again, everyone will do just that, fair or no, so bugger it. More pressure this time around.

So what did you think? Did anyone watch?

Oh, and just because you all care, soreness and red-eyedness (pricecheck on red-eyedness please?) was due to a magnificent basketball victory - including 20 points from yours truly - last night after a few weeks off with illness (which put paid to any semblance of fitness to which I may have laid claim) and waking up early this morning respectively. It is all about the sharing, after all...

The DVD Collection

Confession time. At the risk of increasing my geek factor ("what, higher?" I hear the crowds roar), I want to discuss DVD's. Not just which ones I like, although I will throw that in. I want to understand why people own the DVD's that they do. And that is where the confession will come in - but all in good time.

DVD's bring several benefits over the good old video cassette. The picture quality is better, and with many you get all sorts of fancy dancy surround sound. I haven't gone and reconstructed my house to include a mini ciniplex (try saying that with a mouthful of Saos), but I do have a modest surround system and a rather bog standard 51cm CRT tv. However these are not my focus today.

DVD's also bring the 'Extra'. This is where the geek in me gets excited, and where we get to some confessing. The decision on whether I will buy a DVD (and I think this is my point) ultimately depends on my core criteria - in descending order - being:

1. Did I love his movie enough to want to watch it over, even several times?
2. Do I want to share this movie with friends, at the risk of earning their gratitude or owing them possibly several hours of their lives back?
3. What are the extras?

Now the existence of extras is often a difference maker for me.

I own the Lord of the Rings Extended Editions. Now I am hardly Robinson Crusoe on that island, but this movie is such a visual experience, not to mention my favourite story of all time - see, geek factor already rising - plus it has soooo many extras, that I just had to own it. I own Firefly and Serenity, and love the extras on those disks. I have The Name of the Rose - the Dutch version no less, because it is the only version that has the full 2 hour 'making of' documentary included. That geeky enough for you?

Here is my first problem - I haven't even watched half the extras on these damn things. To be honest, my interest in how much latex it took to make the orcs into orcs is of peripheral interest to me - perhaps enough to justify about 3 minutes of my life. And all the crap about how they did the CG is just blah blah blah. So why the extra obsession?

There are of course exceptions, where the movie is the key. I own Princess Bride, but it doesn't have any extras (probably because it is 18 years old and thus before they thought of these things). I own the Big Blue - in fact 2 versions, with nary an extra in sight, again probably for the same reason.

However I have a sneaking suspicion that deep down there is something in me that likes the fact that I can sit there and tell people that I have the Dutch Name of the Rose, and why. That to not own the LoTR EE's would be a denial of my id. I suspect that some people have a number of DVD's in their collections just because they are the ones that give you cred. Of course, I'm not like that - I only have about 25 DVD's, so that is my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Anyone have any thoughts? Pretend that I haven't scared you all off, please...

The Hierarchy of Abuse

This is a topic that has had a fair share of an analysis, I am sure. Nevertheless, I was thinking about the appropriate use of abusive language to ensure you get your message across. It helps in this to think of these things in historical context - and I am talking here about one or even 2 centuries ago.

Now, it will surprise some of you to know that I wasn't actually around at the turn of the 20th century, which is about the latest I am talking here, and fingers has gone away so I am relying on research and my 'general' knowledge. I should say in my defence that I have read a lot of Dickens and all the Biggles stories. I have even read all Jane Austen's stuff and no fingers I am not gay.

Here are some examples:

1. "Dickhead". This can be used in a variety of contexts, from someone losing a snag off the hotplate mid-bbq to someone driving at 40 in a 70 zone.

The former is something like being a 'silly duffer' in my grandmother's eyes. In the latter case, if Mr Darcy was stuck behind a mail carriage that refused to pull over and let him pass in his sports carriole, he would have no doubt leaned out of his horse-drawn conveyance to shake his whip with vexation and cry "You sir are not a gentleman".

2. "Asshole". A little stronger, and hard to see this in a convivial context. This is more appropriate when cut off in traffic. And no, the trip to work was fine today, thank you, I just find traffic situations a simple example. No really.

If Biggles was an American fighter pilot (and I apologise to anyone who is currently having Mav and Goose based flashbacks just now - and while we are on the topic, does Val Kilmer win the Lifetime Award for services to Carpentry for his amazingly wooden acting in that movie or what?) he would have used this word to describe the Bally Huns or any other rotting blighter who did anything to prevent him from making his rendezvous with that frightfully accommodating young French peasant girl who he saved from certain deflowering at the hands of those dreadful scoundrels the Germans...

3. "Fuckwit". Stronger again - little love is lost in using this...

The Australian equivalent for my grandmother's ilk would be something like a "dirty bugger", whereas Elizabeth Bentley would have found a man to be "not handsome, not at all extraordinary and without fortune."

4. "C-". As you can see, my reluctance to use this one off the bat is a sure sign of its gravity. I must confess though that I have used this word more often in the last 2 years than in my entire life before that. This is primarily due to a mate of mine who drops the c word like it is going out of fashion. To the point where a group of us are running a book on what will be his 12mth old son's first word. Mum and Dad are running distantly behind fuck, but cunt has the money.

It is difficult to find a completely accurate equivalent to this, however I suspect that this is much like being a bounder and a cad. I have always wondered what the exact difference is between these, and it appears not as much as one might think, but from memory fellows tended to be both. I now believe this is the equivalent, at least for Rik, of being a bastard and bastard.

The interesting thing as that only the last one tends to give any degree of satisfaction these days, and even then not as much as before. We need a new extreme...

Do you have any more for us? Go on, share...

Back in black

Well, not so much black as brown and silver, being the loincloth and swort respectively.

My new lappy finally arrived yesterday afternoon, so I have reached the psychological point where I am ready to start blogging. Ok, that is crap too, I just couldn't be arsed sitting in my cold study on my ancient desktop, so wanted to wait for the prospective warmth of my loungeroom and the lappy. So now I can lounge on the couch, (or is that couch on the lounge?), pug footwarmers in place (they like the loungeroom too) and blog my little heart out. Or not, depending on how I feel.

So in order to say something (anything) to at least keep those of you who stumble in by mistake here for a few more secs, I need a POINT. So here 'tis:

People With Talent.

I have decided that we don't like them. Never have. Jealousy - pure and simple. I have come to the creeping realisation that as much as I liked to delude myself, even if I wasn't a relatively lazy bastard, all the training in the world wouldn't have made me amazingly good at anything. So we don't like People With Talent.

I want to officially protest that there isn't a range of pharmaceuticals that can do one or more of the following:

1. Make me dance like a cool black guy. And for the record, I am thinking more along the lines of Usher than MC Hammer. At least despite seeing the Hammer first time around, I still know who Usher is - I is still down wid da kids.

Let's face it, anything that makes me look slightly less like a guy suffering an intense allergic reaction to something flying at him would help here.

2. Make me obscenely talented with at least one musical instrument. Now I played piano for 7 years, clarinet for 4, even the recorder for about 5, but I am still incredibly impressed by musical talent. Perhaps though not like my musical neighbour, who plays French Horn for the SSO, I understand. I have been off sick from work a bit lately, so have heard her practicing - she is amazingly good, and very dedicated. But the French Horn does not pull the chicks.

It used to be the sax in the 80's and 90's. Interestingly I understand that historical trends are now being bucked and that the bass player often gets the chicks, although not as much as the singer or lead guitar, naturallement. Never the French Horn player though.

On that note, however, I should point out that it was the BASS recorder that I played. Laaaaadies.....

3. Give me incredible sporting ability. Not Thorpedo-esque metatarsal massiveness, just being really good at something like tennis, or basketball. I still play both, and am not that crap at either. Even rugby, which I played for many years. Short of being able to grow about another 8 inches, being awesome at basketball isn't such an option - besides I think I would scare my friends at 6'9''. Roger Federer seems to have tennis sewn up, and I don't look any good in a headband. I don't need to make myself any uglier than god did already, so even rugby isn't looking good.

Perhaps if I was thinner, younger, fitter, taller and willing to wear tiny shorts I could be good at AFL. Will have to think about that.

Nah - the shorts. You understand.

4. Make me a stunning singer. Now without wanting to blow my own trumpet - I'm just not that flexible - I have a decent singing voice. But people like Katie Noonan from George, Lenka from Decoder Ring, Ian Astbury from the Cult (heh), Kav from Eskimo Joe - these people have great voices. Bastards. Except Katie and Lenka - when they start to sing, I fall in love with them every time. Damn.

5. Make me good at art. In the traditional sense. I am a crap artist, whereas some people can pick up a pencil and draw something by just thinking about it. Some of the most engaging art I have is simple copperplate sketching by an Australian guy. Now I can take a pretty fair photo, some of them are even vaguely artistic, but...

Anyhoo, the list could go on. Feel free to add to the list of things that should be able to be enhanced instantly and painlessly, (oh, and I am not counting surgical procedures here). Just think of those people who are incredibly good at stuff. I mean sure, they have to sacrifice a lot to succeed, be extraordinarily dedicated and hard working, and often still don't succeed. But we still hate them.