Night clubs, no place for the over 30's!

Ok. It's official. I'm too old to go out to night clubs.

• Do I have too many wrinkles? 

Yes!

 Although with the low lighting and smoke machines, if you position yourself just right, it is possible to achieve an 'air-brushed' type of look. (Well, as far as the most casual observer would be concerned.)

Although, if you happen to have a few grey hairs (or a lot), under the ultraviolet lights, normally present in the same area, be advised... Your head will sparkle like one of those white plastic christmas trees. And trust me, despite what you may think, it isn't a good look.

Aaaaaargh!

• Do I object to the current music in the charts which the night clubs insist on playing?

Yes!

Is it to loud? Absolutely.
Do I find it lacking sophistication and talent? Yep. 

But worst of all, I can't understand the... erm... lyrics. In a metaphoric sense, I mean.

For example, take this verse, thank you Google for providing the translation, of someone called Justin Bieber, from his song "Boyfriend":

  "Tell me what you like yeah tell me what you don’t

I could be your Buzz Lightyear fly across the globe

I don’t never wanna fight yeah, you already know

I am ‘ma a make you shine bright like you’re laying in the snow

Burr

Girlfriend, girlfriend, you could be my girlfriend

You could be my girlfriend until the ---- world ends

Make you dance do a spin and a twirl and

Voice goin crazy on this hook like a whirl wind

Swaggie"

First question. Who, or what, the hell is a 'Buzz Lightyear'? And what makes him better than flying first-class with a reputable airline?

Secondly, why would you want to make someone look like they are laying in the snow, glowing?
That sounds like you want them to have died of exposure, with a thin layer of ice over them, reflecting the first rays of the morning the sun... And that's just not good for the other person involved, surely? "Burr" indeed! 

And then the world ends... And like some sort of deranged puppeteer*, from a B-grade horror flick, this Bieber person wants the corpse of his dead girlfriend to dance and spin.

WTF?

*And yes, I am aware that technically I'm talking about a manipulator and their marionette.

• Have alcoholic drinks at nightclubs gone weird ?

Yes!

Since when do drinks have vibrant multi-coloured layers, have 'energy drinks' as a key component, cost a minimum of $20, and come served in a glass containing enough ice to sink the Titanic?

And heaven forbid, you order a simple beer. There is no such thing.    

Ask for a beer, and you're offered with more choices than you get at a Subway restaurant. Low carb? Low alcohol? Mid-alcohol? Non-alcoholic? Local? Imported? Wheat? Premium? ...and the list goes on, and on, and on.

Unfortunately, even if you ask for something as simple as a 'bourbon and coke', you get asked:

"Are you sure you don't want some Red Bull instead of cola?"

Good grief...

I give up!

Gyms... obviously a sadists playground.

There are times when I decide to do things that just aren't in my best interest.

And the other day was most certainly one of those times.

Why the lack of judgement?

Maybe it was because a lot of my friends have been lamenting loudly the approach (or arrival) of 40.

That particular number seems to prompt discussion like no other amongst my peers. And, funnily enough, you don't even have to be 38 or 39 for it to be of concern. Apparently, being anywhere between 32 and 39 are sufficient grounds for exclamations of woe, mutterings of your life being nearly over, and conversations about the best deals on burial plots...

But (to me as an observer) the most fascinating symptom befalling my friends approaching 40 is the sudden onset of an irrational desire to obtain a gym membership.

Gyms. Health clubs. Sports centres. Bio-mechanical Improvement and Conditioning Facilities... Torture chambers... Call them what you will.

They have just never appealed to me.

However, in the interest of better understanding my friends' newly found psychosis, I actually ventured into a gym yesterday. An experience which will now never be repeated.

I think the first thing that struck me about the gym was the front door. Sure, it LOOKED like your normally available, commercially designed, double entry, push or pull to enter, plate glass door.... But it weighed tonnes.

Now it is my considered opinion that the design of these doors is specifically aimed at doing four things.

One: To embarrass the new client, purely for the pure amusement of staff and the regular fitness freaks.

How? By tricking 'first-timers' into mistakenly believe that a normal amount of force, tried and tested through everyday living and experiences, exerted upon doors dimensioned to a familiar standard, will actually gain a person entry into the establishment. Fat chance!!! (No pun intended)

Instead, you are instantly required to participate in some sort of 'quasi-Viking strong man contest' just to gain entry. Making the unsuspecting first-time patron groan out loud repeatedly like a wounded bull, and contort their face in ways that Jerry Lewis or Jim Carrey would be proud of. Ensuring that every other person within the premises pauses their current activity, and turns their curious gaze in your direction.

...Your level of dignity has been bruised!

And once you're lucky enough to finally make your way through the 'gates of Troy', what is your reward?

To be given the honour of being able to lurch your way over to the front desk/sign-in/reception area, sweat-ridden, red-faced, winded, and wondering if your bowels are still intact...

Only to be then greeted by 'that look'... Do you know the one? Sure, you do...

It is that unforgettable expression that is a blend of polite understanding and amusement, coupled with that sublime mixture of mockery and pity. Aimed at you with unerring accuracy, by a modern day Adonis if you're female, or Aphrodite if you're male.

Of course, with their clipboard and pen at hand!

...Your dignity is getting pounded!

Two: To make our bodies become so oxygen deprived, and so laden with lactic acid from the effort of moving 35 tonnes of glass front-door, that we become so delirious that we will sign anything, and consume without complaint, simply to quench out thirst, some strange health cocktail of blended lawn clippings and fish sweat. Available at the ever so 'reasonable' price of $12.99 a glass. Apparently, the only style of drink for sale.

I suggest to you, that this is the only real reason people really take bottled water to these establishments. Sidenote: I also suspect that the owners of these torture chambers are the major stock holders in these bottled water companies.

...Your dignity is as fragile as a mouse in a nest of vipers!

Three: To prevent you from leaving post-hate*.Once adequate oxygenated blood has returned to your brain, optic nerves, and eyes there is a sudden realisation that everyone else in the building is 6ft tall, with rippling stomach muscles, dazzling white teeth, bronzed skin and perfect hair. With not a drop of sweat between them.

It is impossible to avoid seeing the throng of perfect human specimens.

With mirrors that have been placed with militaristic precision, the unfit newcomer finds themself trapped in a kaleidoscope of living Greek statues.

*Of course the thought to leave is only possible once you've recovered from your drink of 'pure mountain spring water, collected by vestal virgins, under a midsummer moon, infused with pond scum from the upper Amazon'.

...Your dignity has now panicked beyond recognition and wants out, any way possible, dragging your body with it.

Four: It is at this point you are faced with a horrible decision. Struggle once more with the 'front doors from hell', or use the ever-so-easy-to-open emergency exit at the rear of the building?

The choice is made.

You stagger your way over to the front desk.

Take the clipboard from the Adonis/Aphrodite.

Fill in the membership form, choosing the least expensive option.

Realise why gyms show such great profit margins.

Hand over your identification, proof of address, credit card; wait for all that to be returned.

Place everything back in your wallet or purse.

Sneak, and limp, sneak, and limp, your way to the emergency door, and exit, never to return.

And throw your new gym membership card in the first garbage bin you can find.

...Your dignity begins its slow rebuilding phase. Helped along by a quick visit to pub, where you drink 5 beers, and eat a steak sandwich, with chips and gravy on the side. Before heading home, feeling much better about yourself!

**********

And that is why I will never take up another gym membership in my life!

Paul loves big, long, sharp, metal things...

At the request of Paul... I've posted this on my blog (obviously, i mean you can see it here)...
Hmmm... I hope he is pleased with my speedy response.

My mate Bel found this in her undying exploration of the web (thanks Bel), not sure where... but I'll take a box full please... :)

My own 25 random thoughts...

1. I once got my head stuck in a small washing machine, trying to reach for a hotdog

2. I am well known for falling asleep in strange places in an upright position. Just free standing. Eg, i once slept for two hours in an elevator, just riding it up and down as people called it to the various floors. The were apparently too polite to wake me.

3. I do think Samantha Haine Jensen has an accent. (Sorry Sam, but you do)

4. I think Pink Floyd, Bob Dillon, Elvis and the Beatles are all overrated

5. I believe baseball is cricket "the childs version"

6. Coffee in the evening is good, coffee at lunch is a luxury, but coffee in the morning is a must.

7. I have few goals in life of any note, but I'd love to arm wrestle Clint Eastwood

8. I think Yoda would kick Gandalf's butt in a fight

9. I love playing the digeridoo

10. I am currently learning to impersonate Michael Caine

11. I prefer walking to driving so I need to move closer to the shops

12. I strongly believe there are pots, pans and SAUCEPANS, not just pots and pans

13. I've been bitten 6 times by snakes, 3 times by spiders, never by a dog, and hope Angelina Jolie will one day give me a nibble

14. I cannot understand America

15. I'm patriotic, believe Australia is the best country on earth, although it does have its faults... it's too close to New Zealand.

16. I like cooking, washing up and vacuuming... seriously, I find them relaxing.

17. I have a nickname from my childhood that my family use, but none of you will EVER know

18. I don't like M&M's

19. I made a motorised BBQ for ease of moving it around my Mum's/Mom's yard. It's a big yard!

20. I have worn a suit only 3 times in my life, and hope to keep it that way

21. I can never find Wally

22. I have often been described as the most confident under achiever someone has ever met

23. I have loved, I have lost, I have found love again... and that's just looking for my beer at a party

24. I cannot go more than 30mins, even in the most serious of discussions, without finding some reason to laugh

25. I can't count past 25, so this list is just perfect for me

25 Random thoughts (plus a few more) from my mate Paul...

I Believe God created The British Isles for one Purpose only, To be a home to the English. So we can annoy everyone in Europe but not be part of Europe !

I know most people believe Black is my favorite colour, Its not ! But it will have to do until they can find a darker colour.

I don't smile much, I obviously have nothing to smile about.

I think God also gave the world Prune's as an apology to the over 60's

I know we colonised Australia for some other purpose but believe this was lie fabricated by the goverment. It was really colonised for English, Scotts
and Welsh people with a sense of humour to go and live and not disrupt the well ordered rule of the Filthy Rich. Who then mostly sent their second sons off
to New Zealand.

I to,like Garf. Also prefer walking to driving. Probably because i never took a driving test or have a license

I think behind every great invention stands an Englishman, Scottsman or Welshman ! Sorry mobile BBQ's don't count Garf

I have a 2 Inch scar across one finger where i didn't pay attention and put a chisel across the finger. F**k it looks cool !

I always thought M&M's where the dislexic's version of S&M ?

I want to know if the (UK) BBC Radio 2 news reader called Finella Fudge's name is real or is someone taking the piss ?

I have Welsh, German, Irish as well as English blood flowing through my veins. If you don't believe me i will post a video of my 3rd cousin
Shaun playing cricket in his lederhosen drinking his Guinness! But only if you ask nicely.

I can be very Tactless at times. But i am very honest. So if ladies, you have an arse like a Toffee Apple with 2 sticks. Don't ask me if you
bum looks big in that dress as i will give the most honest answer i can give !

I reckon Bruce Dickinson (Iron Maiden) is the the cleverest man in the Rock Metal music industry. Made loads of records written a couple of books
even flys his own jet airliner. He was also a world class Fencer ! He holds the world record for surrounding 250 sheep with a 4ft high fence in 3 hrs 15 seconds.
(Ok i lied about the last bit)

I Believe Europe is over there, not here !

I went to school with every intention of Eventually leaving and becoming an upstanding pillar of the local community.

I think to much, Do to Little, The fact i'm typing this proves my point.

I think we should start more Penal Colonies, they work ! Look at Australia

I wonder do cows think 'Those Humans are sick. They drink the milk i produce for my kiddies !'

I want to be a Vampire. We all aspire to something. Whats wrong with my choice ?

I know spiders are good for the garden. Then why are they in my house ? Do they have a death wish !

I find it Ironic that people travel all over the world on holiday yet have probably never walked further than 100 yards from their homes or the side of the road.

I think Gandalf is cool, Yoda just looks like an animated Bogey !

I am well known to be miserable bastard. Thats is a false alligation ! I just don't find most people that funny.

I think Goth chicks look rather nice, Now Japanese Goth chicks look fantastic, but it always is in the back of mind, that little niggly thought..... What the F**k
are they gonna look like in their 60's. Its a Horror story waiting to Happen !

I do have a sense of humour its just hard to find it sometimes !




===========================================
The ones im not going to add

I being English understand America reasonably well, They are the only British colony that failed ! They are so insecure about this that they have to pat themselves
on the back at as often as possible , while they drag everybody else down to their level.

I have a theory why so many Australians go back packing and work in Bars across Europe and the world. Its a conspiracy, Australia wants to rule the world ......

I will not call Football Soccer! Football was played in England in one form or another. Hundreds of years before America was discovered (again) by Europeans. So USA can
call American football something else instead, like Rugby for Wimps !

I also find French animal rights Activists rather Bizarre. They shout and scream about Whales Dolphins being killed (rightly so) but they don't bat an eyelid when Their
Striking workers burn 200 sheep to death in a truck coming of the Ferry from England.

Zorba the Greek - Yolngu Style

Beautiful World - Colin Hay (From the album Going Somewhere)

My, my, my, it’s a beautiful world
I like swimming in the sea
I like to go out beyond the white breakers
Where a man can still be free (or a woman if you are one)
I like swimming in the sea.

My, my, my, it’s a beautiful world
I like drinking Irish tea
With a little bit of lapsang souchong
I like making my own tea.

My, my, my, it’s a beautiful world
I like driving in my car
Roll the top down sometimes I travel quite far
Drive to the ocean stare up at the stars
I like driving in my car

All around is anger automatic guns
It’s death in large numbers no respect for women or our little ones
I tried talking to Jesus but He just put me on hold
Said He’d been swamped by calls this week
And He could not shake His cold

And still this emptiness persists
Perhaps this is as good as it gets
When you’ve given up the drink and those nasty cigarettes
Now I leave the party early at least with no regrets
I watch the sun as it comes up I watch it as it sets
Yeah this is as good as it gets.

My, my, my, it’s a beautiful world
I like sleeping with Marie
She is one sexy girl full of mystery
She says she doesn’t love me but she likes my company
For now that’s good enough for me.

My, my, my, it’s a beautiful world
I like swimming in the sea
I like to go out beyond the white breakers
Where a man can still be free (or a woman if you are one)
I like swimming in the sea.

South Park

Won't Somebody Think Of The Vegetables????

I live in a small country town.
Not much happens. I don't think much has happened here throughout the entire history of the town.
That's not a complaint. I like that fact... most of the time.
Anyway, I was sitting in my local pub today.
Generally, the banter is about sheep or cattle. And rain, or the lack of it.
And it's not really the place you try and strike up a conversation about nano-technology or the latest fashion trends. Mention the word "iPhone" and most people would think you're making a proclamation that you now know how to use a telephone. Like I cook, or I clean, or I work.
In fact, it is more than likely, you'd even get a light spattering of polite applause acknowledging your newly announced achievement.
But being small and 10 plus years behind the times does have it's advantages.
The kids are still free to play like kids.
I've still yet to hear the phrase "Well it was like totally... awesome".
And discussions on the latest American sitcom barely get a mention.

So it was a little bit of a surprise when I heard an elderly gentleman ask another, "If you were an animal, what sort of animal would you be?"...

OK. So, we've all either read, or had that question directed at us at some point. But it was the response that intrigued me.

"Well now, not sure I could answer that."
A thoughtful pause, and then "...But, I know what vegetable I'd like to be. A potato."
All this was said rather matter-of-factly.

To which came the reply of "Yeah. I can see you as a potato. Yep. And me, I think I'd be spinach..."

And then their conversation seamlessly switched to the prices given at the last cattle sale.

Excuse me???
Now I freely admit to being a curious person by nature. But I don't like intruding on people enjoying a quiet beer, or interrupting their conversations.
Those vegetable statements however, got the better of me.

I asked elderly person One how it was that he had chosen the potato.
"Well," he said, "It's like this. Just like a mushroom, potatoes like being buried in crap and kept in the dark. And life is full of crap. So may as well be something that likes it.
But mushies, are a bit too fragile for my liking. I reckon I'd like to be made of sterner stuff.
That and I like starch in me shirts.
Nothing like the water you've boiled potatoes in for starching shirts."

After hearing this explanation, given with a similar authority to how I imagine Moses announced the 10 commandments, I turned my attention to the second gentleman...
"And spinach?" I asked expectantly.

"Oh, that's easy." said Gentleman Two, with a look upon his face that made me feel like Forrest Gump.
"As old Harry here will tell ya. I got good blood. And spinach is good for blood. But I tend to wilt in the heat a bit. Don't I, Harry?"
Elderly gent One gave a Moses-like nod of confirmation...
And with that, they each took a sip of their respective beers, and returned to discussing the last cattle sale.

Now apart from thinking of a potato wearing a neatly pressed and starched shirt, and a clump of spinach rocking up to the Red Cross Blood Bank, it did also make me wonder what vegetable I would like to be...

What's an inquisitive vegetable? Beans? With their tendrils growing everywhere? Although they're technically a legume. But let's not be too specific with the definition of what is or isn't a vegetable.
Hmmm... a reflective vegetable, like a shiny onion, with plenty of layers?
Maybe a pumpkin, with a hardened exterior, but full of good intentions within?

Or perhaps I am an eggplant. Slightly exotic. Somewhat interesting to look at in a weird way. And you're never quite sure what to make of eggplants, and when you cut into them, unless they're salted down and cured correctly, they can leave a bitter taste in your mouth?
Yeah. That sorta sounds right.
Garf the Eggplant.

Yo-ho-ho!!!... A single life for me... (and a bottle of rum)

Actually I don't drink anymore...
Well that's not exactly true...
I do have the odd drink on occasion. But very rarely these days. Perhaps 5 or 6 beers in my (now once a year) drinking session.
And definitely never more than 3 rums.
Not that rum makes me do anything stupid.
But any more than three and it just sends my brain into hyper-drive (I think it is the sugar).
Then I find thoughts like those safely contained in this blog, somehow end up being voiced amongst company...
Talk about clearing a room!

Then recently I got to thinking. I have rules on drinking. So, do I have rules on dating and relationships?
...After after having 6 beers and 3 rums, I realise I do.
And they're not particularly complicated...

RULE ONE:
My Cherry Ripes are my own. Hands off.
Explanation:
It's a question of trust. I mean if I can't trust someone to not eat my Cherry Ripe after I've asked them specifically not to eat it... how can I trust them with anything else...
Hmmm... But then again, I do realise Cherry Ripes are very yummy, so if the other person were to eat it, I'd expect to be told and for it to be replaced post haste.
POST HASTE I TELL YOU!!!
Or at least have one added to the next shopping list.

RULE TWO:
Do not assume you know my answer to something.
Explanation:
This is not some deep-seeded arrogance on my part. Hell, I don't even know what my answers will be most of the time.
I mean I have core values that don't shift. You know, stuff like kids should be protected from harm. Murder is wrong. Those sorts of things. But how I will interpret some pieces of information is pretty fluid. Like... umm... one day I'll decide I hate hot dogs and a month from then I'll probably feel like one...

Be right back, I feel like eating a hot dog...

*burp*

...Oh! Now I remember why I hate hot dogs...
They taste horrible.

I guess what I'm saying is that if you should not assume my answers but it's OK if you don't tell me something, no wait... It's OK to say you've done something because there's a chance I would have changed my mind eventually to agree with whatever it is you've done, and therefore, I gave my permission.... I just may not have realised it yet.

RULE THREE:
Don't come between me and my PlayStation time.
Explanation:
Men are like cavemen. There. I admit it.
Here's the thing. After a days hunting, cavemen liked to retire to the back of the cave for some solitude, to think about the hunt. It wasn't anti-social behaviour. Just a way to unwind from the stress of the hunt.
Playing PlayStation is the modern man's equivalent of heading to the back of the cave, that's all.
And asking me to stop playing, before I am ready, is like trying to smoke me out of my cave by lighting a fire at the entrance.
And that seems logical doesn't it? Lighting the fire?
But like all dumb men instead of heading for the entrance and fresh air...
I'll head further into the cave... and become more determined to play on.

Oh. And ladies. Don't stand in front of the TV...
That's never going to work.
To men that's like a saber-toothed tiger has entered the cave.
And seeing as those things were really, really scary, our only instinctual option is to try and huff, and puff, and gruff and bluff our way out of the situation.

Now you understand why we get so grumpy when you do that. It's not our fault it's evolutionary.

But here's what you do... and I can't believe I'm letting you know... grab the 2nd controller and hit the START button to pause the game. Then you'll have my undivided attention, or at least the 2nd controller will... but you'll be holding it. So you'll have the power.

END OF RULES.

Hmmm. Thinking on it further. My rules aren't really rules are they?
They're actually pretty easy to circumvent.
Man! That's so unfair.
That's it. I'm staying single. Or getting rid of my second PlayStation controller.

Drinking or not drinking isn't this confusing.
So you can do what you want, and I'll just follow my drinking rules, if that's OK?
Ermm... please?

The truth is out there... Male makeovers. AVOID!

I'm never going to be a male model. I thought about pursuing a career in it once. But after some initial inquiries, the only offer I received was a chance to be in Gay Bear Truckers Monthly (and not that there's anything wrong with that)... plus, being told I would be on page 24 and the not the centrefold was a bit disheartening... so I gave up on the idea.
Now I don't want this to sound like sour grapes. Life has many disappointments, and if that's as disappointing as my life gets, then I can deal with it. Besides, breaking Gay Truckers hearts, especially Gay Bear Truckers, by having to reveal I'm not gay (again, not that there's anything wrong with that) probably would have given me a crisis of conscience.

However, this minor flirtation with the idea of being a male model did begin to make wonder about my overall appearance.
Not so much as to whether or not I'm good looking. The answer to that is no. But more about if I was working enough with what little I have. That is, could I perhaps give myself a 'D.I.Y. Extreme Makeover' ?

For research I watched 5mins of Australia's Next Supermodel, 3mins of OPRAH, and three infomercials about some such beauty products, I dunno.
I did try asking my mates down at my local pub about what beauty regime they used, but the peals laughter, disparaging snorts, queries about my state of sobriety, and some rather obscure references about me, my testicles, and something about them having gone on holiday, meant any usable knowledge they may have shared was lost in the overall cacophony.
But that aside, I did feel I was ready to try my makeover. I had the basics. I was ready.

First off I thought I'd try the cucumber on the eyes thing. They seemed quite keen on it in Australia's Next Supermodel.
After a fruitless (bad pun intended) search throughout my fridge for the 'vegetable' in question, I settled on grabbing the largest gherkin (or pickle) I could out, of a jar I'd found hidden up the back, behind the tofu I'd bought to impress some girl a few months ago. And so I cut two slices off it. The gherkin, not the tofu. I'm never touching that stuff no matter how pretty the girl is. Anyway, with Gherkins being just baby cucumbers, I felt this was an appropriate substitute.
Big mistake! After settling down in my reclining chair and placing the slices over my eyes, I was suddenly reminded of why some people do in fact call them pickles... oh how it burned!!!

But I was not put off by this failure.

Once the stinging in my eyes had subsided to a reasonable level I was able to refocus on my regime. I saw on one of the infomercials something about opening the pores of your skin with steam, and how that can make you look more youthful.
So I stumbled and groped my way, still semi-blind, to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
They say a watched pot never boils...
But believe me, holding your face over the spout of a kettle while you wait for it to boils seems like an eternity.
I'm not sure exactly what went wrong, but thinking on it, I probably should have used a towel or something. I vaguely remember the woman on the infomercial doing that.

So, still somewhat blinded, and now suffering from 2nd degree burns to my face, I felt I had nothing to lose and decided nevertheless, to push on with the final stage of my D.I.Y. makeover... I had heard on a discussion on Oprah that enlightened men these days shave their chests. What could go wrong? I mean I'd been shaving in a more normal fashion for years, without any major incident.

Luckily for me and my hindered eyesight, I normally shave in the kitchen. No need to grope my way around the house. And I shave in the kitchen (I live alone by the way), not for any strange reason. It's just that the water out of the hot tap in the kitchen seems a couple of degrees warmer than that of the bathroom. And if you have wiry hair then you know what a difference those few degrees can make. If you don't, then just trust me on this.

Anyway, I knew my razors were on the window ledge just above the sink, and I could sort of make them out. And I remembered that I had put the can of saving foam pretty close to my waffle iron at breakfast time. I had been making waffles, and had shaved while I waited for them to be ready. Too easy. I saw the can, or a blurry image of it.
Grabbed it and began to shake.
Now is it just me, or does that click-click noise from the little ball (or whatever it is inside) make you think you are part of some Latin band and you are a maracas or flamenco castanet maestro???
But I digress...
I finished shaking the can, applied a liberal amount of foam to my chest, grabbed a razor and prepared to shave...
Now I can't be certain if it was on the third or fourth stroke of my razor when I heard a noise in the backyard. Can and razor in hand I headed off to investigate...
Stumbling about, like some sunburned zombie, I made my way out the back door and down the steps with only a few minor bumps, trips and mumbled curses.
It was at this point I was thrown backwards with an weight hitting me. I crashed to the ground hitting my head on the very last step. It took just a moment for me to realise a dog had jumped up at me and pushed over. I could tell by the panting (and the dog-breath).
Remembering that dogs like licking faces, I immediately covered my face with my arms... I'm not sure but dog drool can't be good for 2nd degree burns can it?
Then the strangest thing happened. The dog began licking my chest with enthusiasm...
Knowing I was only in danger of being licked to death by my canine attacker a sense of relief flooded over me.
"Good boy! Good boy!!!" I exclaimed. "Who's a good boy??"...

Then I heard a female voice say "Garf? Are you ok?".
Turning my head in the direction of the voice I replied with a nervous giggle that I was, or at least I thought I was.
The sound of footsteps came closer...
"Are you sure?..."
Then a few more hesitant footsteps...
"Oh my GOD!!!... you SICKO!!!"
Baffled, hurt and trying hard to stifle a painful giggle building from the dog's licking I managed a weak "What? What do you mean? Can you just give me a hand up, please... whoever you are."
Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.
"Garf! When you said come around for a coffee one day. I knew you were a bit odd. And that was alright. But WHY do you have a can of WHIPPED CREAM, and why are you encouraging that dog to lick your chest with it? IT'S SICK! JUST SICK!!!!"
Another sharp intake of breath... then the sound of heavy and rapid footsteps disappearing into the distance...

I learnt 3 things from that experience.

1. Male makeovers are not for me
2. That it's best to shave in the bathroom no matter what.
3. And my neighbor's dog loves whipped cream...

I have never found out who owned the female voice. Asking a woman if they remember the day I had a dog licking whipped cream of my chest is not that easy to work into a conversation.

Some mysteries are just best left unsolved...

Missing socks...

Captain Kirk where are you?
The search for socks continues...

OK. So it's nothing new... socks going missing. We've all had it happen.
Somewhere between the sock drawer and the laundry a sock goes missing.
But after some extensive and drunken research, experimentation and pondering I may have stumbled upon the answer to this age old question.First off some basic physics...don't worry it's not that complicated.

The Einstein Tensor helps explain the curvature of time and space... and it this curvature that led me to my hypothesis.

The Einstein Tensor (sort of)
G_ij = R_{ij -} ½Rg *Where G_ij is a component of Einstein tensor, R_ij is a component of Ricci tensor, R is Ricci scalar and g_ij is a component of the metric_.
Pretty obvious right? Of course it is. But lets add a sock into the mix...

G_ij + _{a sock} = a rift in the time space continuum

How is this possible? Where does happen? What does it mean?

Well it is my drunken hypothesis, that because of the curvature in the time space fabric, that there are inevitably loose threads just like any fabric that has a bit stretch in it (check inside the hem of your denim jeans if you doubt this fact).

I believe during the laundry process the loose threads (near where the elastic is) in your sock become entangled with the loose threads of the time space continuum...

And so, a rift is subsequently formed, and your sock disappears, the rift heals and you're none the wiser... until now. So in point form...

1. The universe has loose threads in its time space fabric
2. You buy a pair of socks
3. The socks have little loose threads around the elastic bit
4. You wear the socks
5. The socks smell
6. You wash the socks
7. Now either during the spin cycle of the washing machine, or in the dryer, the two sets of threads become entangled
8. With the added kinetic energy of the spin cycle (or the tumbling action in a dryer) a rift in the time space continuum forms
9. Because you've added fabric softener, the rift is subtle and quick, so quick in fact that only ONE sock can get through before the universe heals itself
10. You collect your laundry, start folding socks... and BEHOLD one is missing.

Now I should point out that I'm also contemplating an extension (of sorts) to this theory involving parallel universes...
Given socks are in pairs (mostly) and of identical size, mass, and density (mostly) it is possible that they are the perfect design for existing in a parallel universe to our own.

It could very well be that some of our socks are in an almost constant cycle between universes. Swapping back and forth between each other, appearing and disappearing, perpetuating the illusion that we actually "have seen the other one".
However, I am waiting to confer with my counterparts over at the National Institute for Astrophysics and Gloves Research before I categorically state this further extrapolation has any real substance.

What does all this mean?
Well... the next time you are looking for a missing sock... stop!!! Go and grab a beer or a beverage of your choice... find a comfy chair... sit back and relax... and raise your drink to your sock...

...Boldly going where no man has gone before!

Soup... it's a drink, not a meal.

Soup: a 'meal' with an identity crisis!

I hate soup.
Always have.
Always will.
It's a textural thing.
Thicken it up and add stuff too it until you can leave a spoon free-standing upright in it.
And I'll eat it with gusto...
But of course then it's a STEW!!!

Now I'm not soup-ist. I hold nothing against those who like soup.
You like soup...
Sit at my table. Good for you. Enjoy. Go back for seconds.
But whatever you do, don't try and convince me soup is a meal.
IT'S NOT... It's a drink in a bowl.

Now some companies are honest about it. There's Lipton's Cup-a-Soup, Continental's Cup.a.Soup, and Batchelor's Cup A Soup, just to name 3. (see photo example)They admit what a soup is and market it accordingly.

But NO WAY... no matter fancy the restaurant, is soup the START of a meal.
The bread in the basket is probably acceptable... but not the soup.
The basic rule is...
If you need to chew it... it's part of a meal. And if you're chewing soup it's either a weird ice cream, or it's stew, a hot pot, a casserole and so not soup.
And therefore:

1. adding croutons
2. a swirl of cream
3. dipping bread into it
4. whacking noodles in it
5. or adding a garnish of parsley on top...

DOES NOT make the soup a meal.
Any more then dunking a biscuit in your tea or coffee turns it into a dessert.
You'd simply be:

1. wasting weird bits of bread
2. trying to be artistic
3. eating bread with a drink
4. keeping your noodles soft
5. trying to find a way to get rid of parsley

So when I'm offered soup by someone... I'm not rude, as I said I'm not soup-ist...
I politely decline by saying:

"No for me, thank you. I'm not thirsty..."

Value-Adding... SeaWorld Style

Ok. I'll admit it. I'm not exactly your tree hugging, crystal kissing, wind chime making, incense burning, homemade yogurt eating, carbon neutral, type of guy.
But I am trying to enlighten myself.
Take animal welfare for example. I actually believe in it. Seriously.
Most recently I got to thinking about dolphins at places like SeaWorld.
Wonderful, majestic creatures... so graceful. However, it dawned on me, perhaps not a brilliant revelation, but it did dawn on me that we could rescue more sick and injured dolphins if places like SeaWorld had more money... told you it wasn't brilliant. But where I think I may be on to something is how this could be done without asking for donations or raising entry prices...
Aha! Got your attention now don't I?

It was a bit difficult at first thinking of ways you can value-add with dolphins. After watching Sesame Street for creative inspiration it hit me... MILK!!!
Dolphins are mammals. It all makes sense.
Dolphin ice cream
Dolphin cheese.
Dolphin yogurt.
Dolphin milkshakes.
Dolphin whipped cream in a can.
And so on and so on.

Picture this. It's a hot summer day. You wonder what you'd like to do. Water pops into your mind. Beach? No. Water slides? Possibly. SeaWorld? YES!!! You get there. Start to enjoy the show.
"Spot the Dolphin" is performing magnificently. Leaping through the hoop, waving with a flipper, pushing one of the trainers really fast through the water. It's really something. The show pauses for intermission.
You realise it's thirsty work doing all that cheering and applauding... Hmmmm... what to get to drink? You head over to the concession stand. Mmmmmmmm a big frosty, chocolate, dolphin-milk milkshake, maybe a dolphin-milk icecream as well. PERFECT!!! You pay your $8.50. And there you have it. You've just value-added $8.50 to "Spot the Dolphin" without paying any extra at the gate. And not a donation bucket in sight.

Now I have thought about the possibility of training "Spot the Dolphin" to leap up onto a BBQ grill at the end of his life expectancy... but something tells me the world isn't quite ready for dolphin burgers, dolphin steaks, dolphin kebabs etc. No matter how many sick or injured dolphins that extra money might save.