Sticker shock and knicker drop

I was walking along a pretty industrial looking main drag in the evening last week when I started to notice the shops I was passing were car dealerships. I guess real estate is so dear that even high priced car dealerships can’t afford much in the way of space. Each of these only had three or four cars, but I walked by dealerships offering Bentleys, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Maseratis and Lotus’. I was of course arrested by the fact that it would take twenty years to earn enough to buy a car like that. And naturally I would have to then live in said car for the rest of my life. But they look really nice. The new Ferrari looks a lot like the car in Ferris Bueller’s day off, so I am thinking about stealing it and playing hooky from work driving around Chicago. The street was basically empty as I walked past the cars heading east; an hour later I walked back. It was now about 11:30 at night. I was calmly walking by, minding my own business when this woman shouted out a hello. It is pretty rare that people speak to strangers here, so I was surprised. I turned to look and replied with a pleasant greeting. This woman was smiling at me in a suspicious way, and I noticed that she had garish makeup on: Super red cheeks, bright red lips, deep blue eyeshadow; even in the dark I could see her cosmetology. I thought to myself, she must be one of those tarts that everyone talks about. I kept on walking and noticed a series of women in very high heels and short skirts leaning nonchalantly against the walls of the buildings. I kept walking and one more woman approached me; she asked if I had any change, which I answered in the negative, then she asked if I needed anything. I thought for a moment, and concluded that she probably wasn’t offering a strong sense of vocation or inflation protection or even a nice pair of cufflinks. I kept on walking. Some thirty seconds later another woman stepped up to me and asked in a prim voice “would you like to have a go?” “No thank you,” I replied. It was a pretty innocuous exchange. I guess there’s no relation between the cars and the ladies of the night, except that they both surprised me. The cars because I didn’t think I was in a very posh area and the women because they seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, much like ninjas, except with stiletto heels instead of tabi boots.

Slang Teasers

I generally regard myself as one who uses slang carefully and does so with consideration. So you can imagine my surprise when I nearly caused an international incident at the office the other day. The boss was away at a meeting when one of his friends - let’s call him Paul - came by; Paul told the receptionist (Agnes) that he wanted to drop an item off at the boss’ desk. No one here knew this guy so we were all a little unsure about it. When the boss got back, he was informed, and replied that it is fine, Paul was a buddy. Everyone started joking around about how we didn’t know this guy, what if he had nefarious intentions? I chimed in and suggested he wanted to root around your desk to steal important trade secrets. Everyone laughed except for the boss and I didn’t know why. The next morning he called me into his office and wanted a serious talk. He said “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Agnes, but we really can’t have that sort of talk here, next thing I know we’ll be slapped with a harassment suit”. I was utterly baffled and I’m sure my face showed it. Now please note that this is an office full of construction management types who have spent a lot of time on-site, no shrinking violets in the foul mouth department, if you catch my meaning. So given this context, I really had no idea what he was saying. He repeated my comments as he heard them, “you said Paul was going to root around the desk with Agnes”. After a few more seconds I understood what he was saying. In the back of my mind I had a recollection that the word root (used as a verb) is some sort of derogatory term for sex in Australia, and in fact I remembered that the arrival of the Canadian Olympic team caused much mirth amongst Sydneysiders when the Canucks were outfitted head to toe in Roots athletic wear. Anyway, he thought I was being offensive, and I thought I was being mildly amusing in a safe and utterly appropriate context for an office. I guess he didn’t see my pantomime of shuffling papers as I said it, though I imagine if I had asked “but didn’t you see my actions?” he might have taken it the wrong way. In the end, the international incident was resolved by me confessing cultural ignorance, and we all had a big laugh about the misunderstanding. It sort of felt like an episode of Three’s Company, in which Mr. Furley eavesdrops and hears Jack say something to Janet. He then blusters for the rest of the episode until the final scene when they all chime in singsong voices “Mr Furley, Jack said Rogaine, not cocaine!!!” or something like that. Hilarity typically ensues as it did in Sydney that day, and we all headed off to the Regal Beagle to further discuss the incident. Of course that was the start of the day so there was no trip to the Australian version of the local watering hole and I had to sing the Three’s company theme for the rest of the work day in my head. So to all I say come and knock on my door, come and knock on my door.

I’m no entomologist, but…

Anybody remember the great Gordon Korman books with Bruno and Boots? There is this recurring theme where Elmer Drysdale says something nerdy followed by "I've always been interested in X" and then Bruno would reply "I've always thought you were a little Y". And X would relate to Y, like Elmer would say "I've always been into astronomy", and Bruno would reply, "I always thought you were a little out there", or something like that. Anyway, in this post Bruno would say "I always thought you were a little buggy Elmer". Preface is now complete.


There was a bump in the night as I slept in my hotel room this weekend. The room has a card access, so I was worried that someone had mis-programmed a card and had given my room to someone else. I got up and surveyed the scene. No human visitors. I was sort of expecting that a family of Germans would be arriving after a long day of travel and we would have to share the bed between the five of us - lederhosen and schnitzel everywhere - but my worry was for naught. I went to the bathroom while I was up and noticed a visitor of a different sort. This little guy was about the size of my thumb, was quite well behaved and really pretty quiet. An ideal roommate I suppose. We even played hide and seek (see attached photos). I thought this must be a cockroach but my internet searching has been in vain, so I don’t know what kind of cockroach it is. Looking at the list of possible species, I kind of hope it was the “Madagascar hissing cockroach”, just because it sounds scarier. Ironically enough, I just learned that inhabitants of New South Wales are called cockroaches, so by that definition there were two cockroaches in the room that night. In other interesting news, I remember reading that the guy who played Cockroach on the Cosby Show was fired because he refused to cut his hair. Talk about a dumb principle to rest your career on. Now nobody knows his name and Adam Sandler who was the other buddy of Theo's who didn't really have any lines at the time is a household name. I guess the hi-top fade was a battle that Cockroach was willing to fight. Anyway, I named the new roommate Friedrich, because I assumed he was a visitor from Munich. It was hard to get back to sleep after frolicking with Friedrich, but eventually I nodded off, one more mystery solved.

Where's Friedrich? Where's Friedrich?

Peekaboo, there's Friedrich.

Gold watch, diamond ring, I ain’t missing a single thing

So I have to wear dress clothes to work for the first time since 2001. The jobs I have had since then have all involved casual attire, and I never felt that my productivity was compromised by the lack of a collar on my shirt. I even had a disagreement with my boss those many years ago about professionalism. It is my contention that my ability to think and be a general computer drone is independent of the crease in my pants, or I suppose the material therein. Anyway, now that I am working downtown it is expected that I wear dress pants, shoes and shirts; though apparently no one wears ties here, because “it’s too hot for ties”. So I dusted off my various dressy items and am wearing them to work.

The fascinating thing that demands cultural adjustment is the subtleties of fashion. I have no idea if I am in fashion or out, or rather, it is clear that I am not at the pinnacle of the aesthete but I don’t know how far down the hill I am. In my life in Saskatoon I have a pretty clear understanding of where I conform to good style and more appropriately, where I don’t; but the point is that I know. The examples that I have before me are my colleagues in the office. They all wear tight pinstriped pants, flashy open necked shirts with French cuffs and long pointy shoes, sometimes in the form of boots. I have been to the shoe store but I still can’t get into the idea of wearing pointy toed shoes. I feel that I would look like the Iron Sheik, and being a Hulkamaniac, I can’t endorse that. Notwithstanding the fact that I would trip on the stairs everywhere I went. When I look at my coworker I can’t help but think he looks like a dandy. Sort of like a business version of Prince in Purple Rain (mostly the boots). Perhaps in time I will come to look at this style favourably, but for now it feels off. When my brother moved to Vancouver he left behind a shiny shirt from his days as a bartender doing the hippy hippy shake at the happening night spot, the Odeon. I once wore it in Saskatoon and felt that it was a little too shiny and took it off. Here though, I have adopted the shiny shirt and feel that most likely it is not unfashionable. My square toed dressy loafers are a little square, I’m sure, but I will stick with them until I feel I know the cultural terrain a little better. I am still on the lookout for a nice Gordon Gartrell though.

Me without my brolly

So as I was getting ready for work yesterday I looked out the window and noticed a terrible downpour. Now in my life in Saskatoon, I have never owned an umbrella, rather settling for the efficiency of a rain jacket, typically of the GoreTex variety. My MEC jacket I have owned for about 8 years and though I like it, it is starting to wear. Also it is heavy and bulky as GoreTex jackets go (3 ply, don’t you know), so I didn’t bring it with me to Australia. As such, I have no rain jacket to wear here. I had to entirely revamp my attire for the walk: I dressed in my normal trekking clothes, with a softshell jacket and my Tilley hat, with my dress up duds in my bag. The entire walk to work turned out to be a mild drizzle at best and when I got to work I was soaked with sweat rather than rain. I changed and the day was fine, but in a hurry to get back I didn’t change back into my trekking togs. Naturally I got soaked on the way home. Now I don’t know if I should bite the bullet and buy an umbrella or if I should buy a new rain slicker. I don’t know the first thing about them: in my memory cheap ones end up looking like a newborn giraffe fairly quickly, and expensive ones can get pretty darn expensive. As such I am in an umbrella dilemma. If only there was some popular song that I could reference to bring this point home. Alas. Luckily my boss walked by and asked if I owned a brolly. Only by context could I figure out that one. I am now the proud user of a loaner “shelta” brand brolly.

Banking under the sun

I needed to get a bank account so that I could get paid. I asked around and there are a number of large national banks, and while some people have their preferences, I assume it’s a lot like in Canada where by my reckoning; they’re all kinda the same. Really a lot like political parties I suppose. Is there really that much difference between even an NDP and a PC government? Practically speaking, I doubt it, but ideologically speaking, I still vote and continue to vote NDP. In a similar fashion, I need to perform banking operations, and I doubt that it matters which large corporation sucks away my money in dribs and drabs. So I went to ANZ, which I was told was the best for students and new arrivals, but there was a sign at the door that said they would only see students and travelers for the sake of opening new accounts on Tuesdays from 9 until 11:30. This was at 11:40 on Tuesday so I would have to wait a full week (less the two hours), so I went to the bank across the street from the office, Westpac. The guy who worked with me was very pleasant and entertaining. When I showed him my passport he lit up and said “oh, you have a very famous name!” and when he looked at my birthday, he lit up again and said “oh, you have a very lucky birthday!” I assumed it was because my birthday was on the eighth of august (08/08), but I suppose it’s possible the year has something to do with it, who knows? Anyway, I got a bank account in a foreign land, and was assured that my name and birth were special. I’m sure some numerologist could demonstrate something impressive with my digits (or I suppose a rheumatologist), but for now I’ll be happy with rare appearances to easily impressed bank tellers.

Pike Lake swimming style

Last night after my walk I decided to take a shower since I was a little sweaty. The shower was uneventful, but after towelling off I applied my moisturizer, in an effort to help heal my sunburn. About a minute after applying the goop all over my chest the itches started. It was the worst itching I had ever felt. Like centipedes crawling all over under my skin. But really small centipedes, like nanopedes. When you think about it, a centipede is so named because it has something resembling 100 legs, and a millipede is so named because it seemed to have so many more legs than a centipede (ie a thousand) but of course in English using the SI system of measurement we use centi and milli to indicate small, rather than large. Anyway I was really itchy. It was so bad I was jumping around trying to get it to feel like anything other than itchy. I was really keen to get to bed in time for an 8 hour sleep so I was starting to get nervous that I would miss it. After twenty minutes it had subsided enough to merely be an annoyance. Now in the analysis of the event, I can’t figure out why this time the moisturizer reacted with my skin so badly. I had applied it before without incident. Now I am a little reluctant to try it again for fear of another nanopede attack. I just feel it would take too much work to do a proper experiment to reduce the variables and discover the problem, and it is possible there is some temporal effect due to my skin healing from the sunburn, so it may be impossible to replicate. Well I suppose this has nothing to do with Australia, or rather that it could’ve happened anywhere, but who knows, maybe the tea tree oil here is particularly hazardous to thirty something bald men who’ve grown up on a diet of hockey and fescue.