The Dreaded Lurgy

Well, it's a been a week now. And I'm still sick. ::cough::cough::inhale::cough::

I spent Wednesday in bed, with my laptop, instead of at work and essentially all day was spent practicing my moaning (death scene not sex scene variety in case there was any confusion in my neighbours minds).
On the bright side... is there a bright side? Er, ok, well the fever's gone. That's good news. I'm no longer forced to walk around my apartment wearing two layers topped off with a hooded sweatshirt and blanket while people ask meekly if they can put a fan on since I've refused to have the air conditioning on. So that's something I suppose.
I also no longer resemble this:

which is how I've spent most of the past 4 days feeling and more regrettably looking.

Alas, it's now turned into a cough in the chest over the weekend which I shall tell you now, from a seven-time bronchitis winner and three-time runner up, is not good news. Tomorrow, I will finally venture to a clinic for some sort of antibiotic. Since my voice is now back at least I'll be able to tell them what's wrong with me.
 

The War at Home

At precisely 8:48pm last night, an explosion rocked Pinellas county. The reverberations reached me all the way in my living room, shaking me to the core. Under normal circumstances, I would have been both astonished and horrified at the prospect of the blast originating in my own kitchen but my brother is staying with me so I wasn't quite as surprised as one might think.

"What," I cried, "in the hell was that?"

"Nothing," called back the voice in the kitchen.

'Nothing,' as it turns out, was actually an egg. A hard boiled egg to be exact, which having resided in the refrigerator until short moments before the incident, was being heated for the purposes of a quick nibbly.

My brother, it should be pointed out, is not a complete idiot. The egg heating began with 20 seconds in the microwave. I mean, how many seconds could it possibly take to heat a single cold hard boiled egg sans shell? I think 20 seconds was an alright start to be honest. Where the wheels fell off though, is when he discovered that 20 seconds did not, in fact, a warm egg make.

Enter a mild case of idiocy: rather than try half that again, he re-programmed the lone egg for another full dose and then some, 25 additional seconds. At no point did it enter his mind what might happen to a single egg micro-waved for a 45 full seconds on high.

To be fair, I hadn't exactly considered the ramifications of exploding eggs in much depth either, but then I wasn't the one programming the microwave. Fast forward.

BANG!

"What," I cried, "in the hell was that?"

"Nothing," called back the voice in the kitchen.

"That did not sound like nothing," I answered.

"Er, it was, ah, an egg…" came the trailing answer.

I ventured over to the kitchen, pleasantly surprised to note that the impact hadn't knocked frames off the wall or caused systematic damage throughout the entire area. It did, however, break plastic Tupperware with what I can only describe as 'considerable force.'

The heart of every funny story contains some element of exaggeration. The exploding egg and the Tupperware wreckage are a true story with very little exaggeration.

It would appear that the weapons of mass destruction have been hiding in my fridge this whole time.

A single egg and Tupperware lid were inadvertently harmed in the making of this blog.

A Short and Fairly Concise Rant

I just can't take it anymore. I have to say this before I spontaneously combust in public. I'm standing in line for my lunch Friday, watching everyone else for lack of anything better to do until it's my turn to order, when I spot another bloke wearing a stupid bluetooth earpiece whilst not having a conversation. I say 'another' because they're everywhere. I want to walk up to them one by one and tap them on the shoulder: "Pardon me, you do know you look like a complete prat walking around like that, right?"

I mean it's one thing if you're actually using the thing and having a phone conversation. It's another if you're talking to someone who's standing in front of you or just walking around wearing it IN CASE your phone happens to ring. If you're in an office on the phone all day using it, okay. But take it off when you're not working. I just can't stand it. It's akin to wearing a condom round all day just IN CASE you happen to meet someone you end up shagging.

It's alright to leave the condom in your pocket until the moment you need it. It is also perfectly acceptable to leave the bluetooth earpiece in your pocket UNTIL the phone rings, you pretentious bastard. Just because it doesn't have a wire attaching it to phone doesn't mean you don't look like some ridiculous Star Trek borg-defect wandering around blockbuster.

The Weekend Wrap

I went to my first Sox game in an age. I've been to handful of Red Sox games at Fenway and yet have never seen them win a game in person. That's over stating it though… I've never even see them play well in person! They've been spanked, losing by 9, 10, 11 runs. The only benefit was paying for a bleachers seat and ending up 3 rows behind the dug out by the 5^th inning!
 

So Saturday night, I went to see them in St. Pete against the Devil Rays. Strangest thing though, I walked in and there were THOUSANDS of Red Sox fans. You couldn't turn around without stepping on someone wearing some sort of Sox merchandise. It was just so very bizarre to witness when they were on the road and I'm walking in with my Red Sox cap on expecting to catch lip from frat boy Devil ray fans. Whenever the Sox did something great (surprise, surprise, I saw a little bit of greatness in person this time), the Sox fans completely drowned out the Rays' fans. And when the Rays did something good (unexpected though it was), their celebrations were completely over ridden by hostile Boston fans. To make it even more a baffling experience for me, Boston won which NEVER happens when I go to see them. Obviously I'm only allowed to watch in person on the road!? Anyway, complete twilight zone episode overall. Below...Mr. J. Varitek... [for KD].

..

On Sunday, I went fishing….which is good, I like fishing and I haven't been at all this year. I particularly like fishing when it's warm out and I can multi-task by both fishing and cooking (me, not the fish, I like to be tan). The part of fishing that eludes me personally is the mentality that you have to fish in the rain or at 2am to do it properly. It's just not necessary. I can fish perfectly well in the light of day at 3pm whilst tanning. Occasionally, I'll even catch something. The point of this is that I agreed to go fishing for the day on Sunday with my Dad, his mate and some other people. A day fishing? Brilliant, count me in.  

The part of the 'fishing itinerary' which was apparently not explained very well was that I'd be home by lunch, I must have missed that part and the dangerous meaning behind it. I got home from the Sox game (a night game of course) and set about deciding what to make for sandwiches, my Dad tells me we don't need sandwiches. " Of course we need sandwiches," I replied, "we'll be hungry at lunch time." And my father tells me we'll be home at lunch time. WHAT? How can we possibly be home at lunch time? I thought we were going fishing for the day, you know like 5 or 6 hours, we'll need sustenance surely. He explains to me that I need to be up at 4am. WHAT? 4 am? That's not morning, that's nighttime! No one said anything about nighttime. My father regularly gets up at such times and considers me to be wasting my day off if I sleep paste 8 am. He has, for as long as I can remember, functioned perfectly well with a fraction of the sleep most of us get. I, on the other hand, turn into an axe wielding psychotic grizzly bear after too many night of only four hours sleep or less.

So now I'm looking at my watch in horror because it's already nearly 12:30 am and all I can think of is Monty Python's 'Four Yorkshiremen' sketch with Eric Idle going "I used to have to get up in the morning at 10 o'clock at night a half an hour before I went to bed." So I did. Get up at 4 am. And I insisted on taking a shower before we left because otherwise I couldn't chisel my eye lids apart. And we did go fishing. And we fought many honourable battles against the ocean's greatest warriors and here is what I have to show for it….

Oh, and I guess I have this to show for it too which is proof that it's not that bad to be up at 4am... once the grizzly bear syndrome wears off.  Maybe.

Invitation

Invitation

You are cordially invited to a meet and greet social for all residents!

Date: Wednesday 18^th April, 2007

Time: 3:15am – 5:00am (approximately)

Location: Building Parking Lot

Attire: Informal (Casual and Sleepwear are acceptable)

RSVP NOT NECESSARY as social will be marked by fire alarm sounding throughout the entire duration in order to facilitate full participation of all residents.

Come on out and meet your neighbours!

~ Property Management

**************************************************

This is how my day started. On the upside, I've finally met some of my new neighbours since moving in back in November. On the downside, it was dark and we were all asleep so I'm not convinced we'll actually recognize each other in broad daylight anyway.

And now for something completely different...

...Even an evening chat to your Mum can end in internet porn.

When you're dealing with six different time zones for work, most of them nearly opposite to your own normal business hours, inevitably someone needs an immediate answer about something at an odd hour. It means that from time to time the phone will ring at 7am, 10pm, 11pm. The major difference between my job and most of my friends can probably be summarized by the following: last Thursday night, I got a call an hour after I went to bed and had already been asleep. Most people who wake you up would apologize and tell you they'll speak to you first thing in the morning. In my case, they must have thought 'well you're awake now so I may as well ask you some questions' because I was told "oh, well I'll make it quick then." Twenty-six minutes later the call finally ended. Twenty-six minutes is an eternity when you've been woken up and just want to shut your eyes again.

Anyway, I digress. Most of my calls oversea are done via Skype on the computer which lets us IM, have regular voice conversations or video conferences and the cell phone is reserved for calling you should you venture out and aren't online. We use Skype everyday everywhere because it's free and cuts down on international calling expenses. So as a result my laptop is pretty much on 24-7, getting a brief rest whilst I drive to my office and home again each day. My mother has discovered that Skype is a great way for her to keep in touch with my brother and I since were both so far away from her these days and so now we can chat to our folks via Skype when we call home as well. Win-win.

Now here comes the really pertinent part. I hate video conferencing. I don't really want other people to see me roll my eyes, grimace, doodle and such while we're talking so I don't use my web cam. I didn't actually want a web cam truth be told but my mother bought my brother and I web cams because she doesn't just want to speak to us, she wants to see us. This is her mother's way of gauging how well or unwell we may be. "You look tired, are you getting enough rest?" "Your eyes look puffy, how are your allergies?" I know it's very sweet really. And it took me ages to actually hook the thing up and use it and because it makes her so happy, I agree to use this silly camera when I speak to my mother so we can see each other while we chat.

Tonight I'm tired and I'm chatting to my Mum, whilst propped up on my bed with my laptop. I've had dinner and I've got my drink, and I'm pretty relaxed as we chat away. So. I get another Skype call coming in and it's a work call from California. Their office is working on something for me so I decide to take the call in case its urgent. I switch over to accept their call completely forgetting about the stupid bloody camera being turned on. And these normally very chatty and easy going people have this shared look that says "Oh, we've interrupted you in a private moment, look at the time out there on the East coast, we're terribly sorry. We just wanted to tell you this....ok, bye!" And then it hits me that people have just seen me on video which in and of itself is unusual and added to that they see me with a drink in my hand, looking rather relaxed with my dress shirt open perhaps more than usual [I'd been cooking dinner and it was warm, okay?] reclining against a pillow in what is obviously a bed room.... yeeeaaahhhhh.

So now these very nice people I have to work with are, I'm quite certain, under the impression that I was just getting under way with a pornographic web cam party or some such similar thing. 

There is to be no doubt that this is obviously and unequivocally my mother's fault and she ought not be allowed on the internet any more. Nothing is innocent on the internet these days, even an evening chat with your own mum.
[Editor's note: Okay, she can play on the internet but I'll never live this down at work.]

Clean Up in Aisle Four!

Originally posted 22.January.2007

Collecting my mail this evening I noted a new sign tacked on the community board. "S & M Cleaning" it said. Despite an initial outburst of laughter, I composed myself and looked at it more closely and they're serious. That's the name they have apparently chosen to go by. So two options then:

Option 1:

S&M really can get so messy that you need to bring in cleaners post copulation and apparently these specially trained cleaners know the secret to removing blood and other questionable fluids from fabric and such. Where were they when Monica Lewinsky had that frightful stain on her dress? If such a thing exists, it is further evidence that S&M isn't for me... I hate a messy house.

Option 2:

And regrettably the more likely scenario, some newly arrived entrepreneur still not all that familiar with the language upon opening his 1^st business has yet to realize that if his name starts with 'S' and his partner's starts with 'M', they may not want to refer to themselves as "S&M Cleaning"...for no other reason that even the amused and satisfied customer will stop using them when it occurs to them that some desk jockey at the bank is updating their account and commenting to their co-workers and friends about the crazy customer who has to pay specialized S&M cleaners to come in once a week like clock work.

______________________________________________

Follow up from friends suggestion other potential alternatives (thanks guys)...

MB offers: Here's how it works.
The cleaners come in dressed in black leather, and fit you with a ball gag. Then, they proceed to clean your house and tell you what a dirty pig you are. Sounds like a business that would do well in D.C.

BG offers: Imagine being this newly arrived entrepreneur, and showing up at homes where the lady or man of the house opens the door... already dressed in leather, a ball gag, mask, and holding a dildo/whip.

From around the ball gag, the "host" manages to convey the words "please come in..." and our entrepreneur is just standing there on the threshold...

I'd rather be decapitated.

There can be no doubt that one of the most painful things that can happen to you as a human being is to have an eye lash in your eye. This ranks ahead of paper cuts in my book.

Mock me if you will but just you wait until there's one in your eye which has fallen in at an odd angle resulting in repeated sharp stabbing motions into your cornea. I may start carrying around a box of eye lashes as a weapon (plain eyelashes = stun; mascaraed eyelashes = kill) and if anybody gets in my face I can whip 'em out, blow them into their eyes, hoping to land several and thereby rendering them immobile so I can start kicking them... or running away as they case may be. 

It hurts, that's all I'm sayin'.

The Importance of Being a Tastebud

Originally posted 3.January.2007

If you're sick in a coughy-heady-coldy-flu type of way and as such unable to taste anything but nonetheless feel the need to eat fruit, avoid bananas. When you can't taste anything at all, you realise that banana texture is actually rather unpleasant and by its very nature becomes a disconcerting sort of thing to eat.