After living in Australia for more than 2 years, I have come to appreciate the seminal role sports play in the Australian psychic. When I lived in the United States, I always thought Philadelphia represented the epitome of sports culture. I was in Philadelphia recently after the NFL Eagles won a come from behind football victory over the archrival NY Giants. I asked someone if local fans were still talking about the recent game; he replied all the radio stations were still replaying the last 5 minutes of the game so the fans could savor the victory over and over. But I think Australia even surpasses Philadelphia in its focus on sports.
Every international culture seems to embrace sporting contests, and this appears to have been the case throughout history. When I visited Mayan ruins in Latin America a few years ago, I was surprised to see courts for a ball game (similar to a team handball evidently) prominently located in these ancient cities. The contest was the highlight of major festivals, according to my guide. Oddly, the winning team was sacrificed to the gods. I assume this was considered a privilege of some kind; otherwise I doubt if the competitors would be playing with sufficient enthusiasm.
The Romans filled the Coliseum with thousands of spectators cheering the gladiator’s fight to death or the carnivorous animals chasing the ultimately disadvantaged peoples, or other competitions. One exit gate was just used to remove dead bodies.
Unlike the Mayans or Romans, the Aussies do not kill winners or losers; it is the 21st century after all. But the Aussies do worship their teams and follow individual players with intense focus. Once I was stranded in the Whitsunday Islands off the coast of Queensland, directly in the path of a Category 5 cyclone (aka hurricane). My colleagues and I huddled around the television watching for news of the approaching monster storm. When the news did come on, the news reader spent most of the time describing the off field escapades of a rugby league player in detail and then mentioned briefly the cyclone was due to hit the islands over night. There are clear news priorities here, and sports behavior trumps cyclones.
I previously thought that the prevalence of sports in US culture was considerable. For example, there is a major NFL football team in most major US cities. In the New York and San Francisco metropolitan areas, there are actually two teams; but Los Angeles still lacks a team. By contrast, the Melbourne, Australia (population 4 million) metro encompasses 10 AFL teams. In Sydney, where league rugby is more popular, there are also 10 professional rugby teams. Where the US major cities have an NFL team, the major neighborhoods within Melbourne and Sydney have their own “footy” teams.
Similar to the US, Australian sports coverage on television is almost non-stop. In Australia, there are at least 12 24-hour exclusive sports stations on cable TV excluding European based channels. In the US, excluding paid per view and subscription channels, I can think of 6 such stations. And the US has 300 million people while Australia has about 22 million. There are more people living in Texas or California or New York than live in Australia. There are global cities with more people than live in Australia, but I feel certain Australia has more sports teams and more TV sports.
There are several seemingly peculiar aspects to Australian sports if you are not a native here. Americans, in particular, will have difficulty understanding or relating.
Firstly, ties are acceptable and often even applauded in Australia. Americans like winners, and games do not end until there is a winner and a loser. By contrast, a test cricket match extends for 5 days and can end in a draw. Imagine watching the same baseball game for 5 days and then being told no one won. Cricket is a bid odd, but the acceptance of ties extends to other sports as well.
In is not unusual for soccer matches to end in a tie. But last year the AFL Grand Final footy game, which is the equivalent to the US Super Bowl, ended in a tie. 100,000 fans descended on Melbourne for the game to decide the 2010 champion. When the regulation time was up and the scores were the same, did they play overtime? No. The game was officially over and the league scheduled a new game to be played the following week. Imagine the NFL telling the fans in Miami or wherever the Super Bowl was played that the game would be replayed and everyone needed to return the following week.
Another factor that surprises me is the names of many of the local teams. In the US, teams are generally named after fierce animals (lions, tigers, panthers, etc.) or peoples known for their combat skills, bravery, or toughness (Indians, Patriots, Steelers). Australian team names include fierce animals too but they also include more benign characters. The only AFL team in Sydney is the “Swans.” The national Rugby League final last year was between the Dragons (okay) and the Roosters. Guess who won? The famous Aussie movie star, Russell Crowe, owns a rugby team called the Rabbitohs (i.e. The rabbits). In the AFL Grand Final, the Magpies (a domestic bird) beat the Saints.
In addition to the AFL (Aus. Rules Football), cricket, rugby (Union and League – two leagues with different rules) and soccer, Australia follows and supports many other sports including tennis (the Australian Open is one of the big 4 Grand Slam tournaments), golf (several PGA leaders are from Australia), sailing (remember America’s Cup 1987), car racing, motor bike racing, kayaking, volleyball, basketball, and some unique sports such as net ball.
Australia is also very focused on horse racing. The biggest race, the Melbourne Cup, is held in November each year on a Tuesday. It is a holiday in the state of Victoria; elsewhere business stops at noon so the employees can bet and watch the race. It is the only day each year; certain kinds of bets are legally permitted in pubs. The Melbourne Cup is somewhat like the Kentucky Derby in the US, although the Derby is held on a Saturday and the viewing audience does not include virtually every person in the country.
When I first arrived in Australia in 2008, I sought to meet the major Australian based investors as soon as possible. During my second week in country, I had meetings with representatives of several major investment funds based in Melbourne. One fund manager looked at me and said, “Welcome to Australia. My only advice is do not support Collingswood.” After I left the meeting. I turned to my colleague, Ian, and asked, “What the hell is Collingswood?” “No worries,” he relied. “It’s an AFL team near Melbourne.”
The preoccupation with sports is not limited to investment managers, however. When I visited the remote Tiwi Islands off the coast of Darwin, I asked a local villager what religion was most prevalent among these seemingly isolated natives. He replied, “two religions – Catholic and AFL football.”
So I have learned to live in Australia is to live in a sports focused society. If you’re a new arrival here, please consider my advice for adapting to your new environs:
1. Do not become upset if your game goes for days without a winner or loser.
2. Don’t even try to understand all the laws of cricket – no one does.
3. Drink lots of beer – it makes the time pass more quickly and eliminates inhibitions to meeting new people.
4. Don’t make fun of the team’s names, and
5. Don’t support Collingwood.
If you follow these simple rules, you should be ‘right.‘
01 January 2011
05 December 2010
Favorite Sayings
My grandmother (Mother’s mother) had a never ending list of sayings and quotations which seem to cover every situation. A few of her sayings and other common sayings I have learned along the path of life and have found useful are listed below.
Working
• The early bird gets the worm.
• A bird in hand is worth two in the bush or
• A bird in hand is worth a couple dozen in the bush.
• A job worth doing is worth doing well.
• A poor workman blames his tools.
• Grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.
• Be nice to those you pass climbing the latter of success; you will pass the same people when you are on the way back down.
Family and Personal
• Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
• As the twig is bent, the tree will grow.
• The acorn never falls far from the tree.
• Birds of a feather flock together.
• Blood is thicker than water.
• Do onto others as you would have them do onto you.
• It is better to give than to receive.
• Be careful what you wish for, you may get it.
General
• Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
• If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.
• It is always darkest just before the dawn.
• The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
• A chain is as strong as its weakest link.
• An empty can makes the most noise.
• Actions speak louder than words.
• Loose lips sink ships.
• If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
• Behind every cloud is a silver lining.
• The difference between men and boys is the cost of their toys.
• Give a monkey a typewriter, and you will get a word now and then.
• Pigs get fed; hogs get slaughtered.
• A penny saved is a penny earned.
• Let sleeping dogs lie.
• Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Working
• The early bird gets the worm.
• A bird in hand is worth two in the bush or
• A bird in hand is worth a couple dozen in the bush.
• A job worth doing is worth doing well.
• A poor workman blames his tools.
• Grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.
• Be nice to those you pass climbing the latter of success; you will pass the same people when you are on the way back down.
Family and Personal
• Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
• As the twig is bent, the tree will grow.
• The acorn never falls far from the tree.
• Birds of a feather flock together.
• Blood is thicker than water.
• Do onto others as you would have them do onto you.
• It is better to give than to receive.
• Be careful what you wish for, you may get it.
General
• Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
• If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.
• It is always darkest just before the dawn.
• The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
• A chain is as strong as its weakest link.
• An empty can makes the most noise.
• Actions speak louder than words.
• Loose lips sink ships.
• If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
• Behind every cloud is a silver lining.
• The difference between men and boys is the cost of their toys.
• Give a monkey a typewriter, and you will get a word now and then.
• Pigs get fed; hogs get slaughtered.
• A penny saved is a penny earned.
• Let sleeping dogs lie.
• Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
04 October 2010
Dating Again
I have been married and faithful to my wife for 30 years so becoming single at the ripe age (never say ‘old’) of 60+ is something unanticipated and unplanned. I am still walking a strange path through the dating jungle, but can offer some early observations, especially with regard to Internet Dating at my age.
I was on the local newspaper’s web site when I noticed a big ad for Australia’s biggest dating service with a link to their website. It turns out the newspaper owns the dating service, which is probably more profitable than selling the news. One click, a few quick forms, and Bingo – my profile is available to the world.
It did not take long for the exploratory introductions (called ‘kisses’) began to arrive. In a typical week, about 30 unsolicited kisses show up in the special mailbox. It is impossible to hold a job and respond informatively to every inquiry. So here are a few rules I have developed to screen the volume of inquiries.
1. Decline all inquiries from anyone who looks really attractive or really young. At my age, no one looks that beautiful and I know they are not young so the pictures obviously lie.
2. Decline all inquiries from anyone who looks really unattractive or really old. It’s not their look that kills it; it is the fact they are too stupid to realize how unappealing their pictures are.
3. People who refuse to show a picture must have a reason.
4. Avoid anyone who claims “some college or university.” This means they drove by a school on their way to work in the beauty salon.
5. Someone who claims ‘degree’ may have a university degree or a degree in word processing. “Post graduate” is safer but not completely secure.
6. Avoid anyone who is working in some industry and lists their role only as “professional.” I talked to a woman in the publishing industry – with 17 years experience! Maybe she can advise me on publishing my book? Turns out she is a secretary in the marketing department for the publisher of crossword puzzles.
7. Assume the real age is 3-5 years older than the listed age. Either everyone’s memory is failing and they can no longer count or they are hoping to rediscover youth.
8. Cut anyone who is looking for a partner that lives within 500 kilometers of a city; this person is desperate.
If you receive an email where they actually have to write something instead of check the box to send a pre-written comment, look out for the following.
9. The dating service does not offer Spell Check. When every word that exceeds 2 syllables is misspelled, it is probably a good indication the sender is not too smart.
10. When someone takes the time to ‘buy’ an email stamp, it usually results in a few paragraphs of prose. The 1-2 sentence request for contact is not impressive. Either they have nothing to say or are engaged in mass mailing inquiries.
Let me share some actual experiences, changing the names to protect the guilty.
****
I am contacted by ‘Anne.’ Her picture shows a younger, very attractive woman; her profile indicates Post Graduate Degree / Professional / Business Owner. Sounds great! I am excited.
We exchange emails; she is very articulate. No misspelled words. She is a psycho therapist; my ex wife always told me I should look for a therapist!
We talk on the phone and she gives me advice on how to avoid the problems of Internet dating. She seems nice and concerned about my welfare. We agree to meet for lunch. This is looking promising. Maybe being single is not so bad.
I arrive early and wait outside on a beautiful sunny day. My mobile phone rings; it is Anne. “I am at the gate in front, where are you?”
I look around but do not see her. The only one at the gate is an older lady, who is very fat …. and has a mobile phone to her ear.
****
I am contacted by Bonnie. She is very attractive and is from Holland. I have worked in Holland and came to admire the tall, handsome women there. At my New Year’s Eve party last year, several Dutch women came as friends of a friend – I know there is a Dutch community here and the women are attractive. It must be my lucky day.
We exchange emails. She writes well and has an acerbic wit which makes me chuckle. She is insistent that my picture is recent and my profile is correct – this is a good sign.
We talk on the phone and I immediately detect her Dutch accent. She seems genuine. We agree to meet for breakfast. This looks promising.
I am stuck in traffic and I text that I will be a few minutes late; she responds she is already at the restaurant.
I arrive 5 minutes late walking quickly and arrive almost out of breath. I look around but do not see Bonnie to my surprise. Maybe she is in the bathroom? Then I notice an old woman with a slight resemblance to Bonnie. I wonder if it could be Bonnie’s mother?
****
No more lunches or breakfasts; the pain lingers too long. The new routine is a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. The coffee can be consumed quickly and the escape plan implemented. The wine works too; drink it quickly and order a second glass – it dulls the senses.
****
I received the following email from a professional, degreed woman who owns her own business.
“I am sure that your accrewed knowlege is a breathe of fresh air here. I have just had a wonderfully busy past weekend travelling to Jamberoo with my work which is breathtakingly exquisite with its undulating pains and green pastures and just a hop skip amd jump is nearby Kiama a beautiful beach resort-then went on to Coldale another beachside small town.”
I do not know what her business is but am pretty sure it does not involve writing anything.
****
I receive contact from Candy, who has a cute picture, a degree, and owns a business. I meet her for a light dinner. Not sure where the degree is from; she seems a bit vague. She was a partner in a singles event service but her partner ran off with the business; not sure how you run off with a singles business, but what do I know.
During a lull in the conversation, she asks “so what do you do?” “I am the CEO of a property company here.” “What’s a CEO? Is it like an accountant or something?”
She is delightful but her degree must be from 8th grade primary school. Live and learn.
****
Most guys I know are motivated in part (actually in large part) by sex. After my divorce, I expected my sex life to improve compared to recent years of marriage. I was surprised how available sex was after divorce but even more surprised how unfulfilling it was when decoupled from a deeper emotional attachment.
I wonder how the suicide bombers who expect 21 virgins waiting for them in paradise would feel if they were told there was a reason the women were still virgins and were likely to remain virgins long after the bombing. My guess is there would be fewer bombings. Maybe the CIA should propagate such rumors.
****
Despite the false starts and unexpected twists in my journey, I have met some really nice women and have enjoyed serious relationships and good friendships. And I remain ever optimistic about the future but wonder if there is not a better way to meet people.
I was on the local newspaper’s web site when I noticed a big ad for Australia’s biggest dating service with a link to their website. It turns out the newspaper owns the dating service, which is probably more profitable than selling the news. One click, a few quick forms, and Bingo – my profile is available to the world.
It did not take long for the exploratory introductions (called ‘kisses’) began to arrive. In a typical week, about 30 unsolicited kisses show up in the special mailbox. It is impossible to hold a job and respond informatively to every inquiry. So here are a few rules I have developed to screen the volume of inquiries.
1. Decline all inquiries from anyone who looks really attractive or really young. At my age, no one looks that beautiful and I know they are not young so the pictures obviously lie.
2. Decline all inquiries from anyone who looks really unattractive or really old. It’s not their look that kills it; it is the fact they are too stupid to realize how unappealing their pictures are.
3. People who refuse to show a picture must have a reason.
4. Avoid anyone who claims “some college or university.” This means they drove by a school on their way to work in the beauty salon.
5. Someone who claims ‘degree’ may have a university degree or a degree in word processing. “Post graduate” is safer but not completely secure.
6. Avoid anyone who is working in some industry and lists their role only as “professional.” I talked to a woman in the publishing industry – with 17 years experience! Maybe she can advise me on publishing my book? Turns out she is a secretary in the marketing department for the publisher of crossword puzzles.
7. Assume the real age is 3-5 years older than the listed age. Either everyone’s memory is failing and they can no longer count or they are hoping to rediscover youth.
8. Cut anyone who is looking for a partner that lives within 500 kilometers of a city; this person is desperate.
If you receive an email where they actually have to write something instead of check the box to send a pre-written comment, look out for the following.
9. The dating service does not offer Spell Check. When every word that exceeds 2 syllables is misspelled, it is probably a good indication the sender is not too smart.
10. When someone takes the time to ‘buy’ an email stamp, it usually results in a few paragraphs of prose. The 1-2 sentence request for contact is not impressive. Either they have nothing to say or are engaged in mass mailing inquiries.
Let me share some actual experiences, changing the names to protect the guilty.
****
I am contacted by ‘Anne.’ Her picture shows a younger, very attractive woman; her profile indicates Post Graduate Degree / Professional / Business Owner. Sounds great! I am excited.
We exchange emails; she is very articulate. No misspelled words. She is a psycho therapist; my ex wife always told me I should look for a therapist!
We talk on the phone and she gives me advice on how to avoid the problems of Internet dating. She seems nice and concerned about my welfare. We agree to meet for lunch. This is looking promising. Maybe being single is not so bad.
I arrive early and wait outside on a beautiful sunny day. My mobile phone rings; it is Anne. “I am at the gate in front, where are you?”
I look around but do not see her. The only one at the gate is an older lady, who is very fat …. and has a mobile phone to her ear.
****
I am contacted by Bonnie. She is very attractive and is from Holland. I have worked in Holland and came to admire the tall, handsome women there. At my New Year’s Eve party last year, several Dutch women came as friends of a friend – I know there is a Dutch community here and the women are attractive. It must be my lucky day.
We exchange emails. She writes well and has an acerbic wit which makes me chuckle. She is insistent that my picture is recent and my profile is correct – this is a good sign.
We talk on the phone and I immediately detect her Dutch accent. She seems genuine. We agree to meet for breakfast. This looks promising.
I am stuck in traffic and I text that I will be a few minutes late; she responds she is already at the restaurant.
I arrive 5 minutes late walking quickly and arrive almost out of breath. I look around but do not see Bonnie to my surprise. Maybe she is in the bathroom? Then I notice an old woman with a slight resemblance to Bonnie. I wonder if it could be Bonnie’s mother?
****
No more lunches or breakfasts; the pain lingers too long. The new routine is a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. The coffee can be consumed quickly and the escape plan implemented. The wine works too; drink it quickly and order a second glass – it dulls the senses.
****
I received the following email from a professional, degreed woman who owns her own business.
“I am sure that your accrewed knowlege is a breathe of fresh air here. I have just had a wonderfully busy past weekend travelling to Jamberoo with my work which is breathtakingly exquisite with its undulating pains and green pastures and just a hop skip amd jump is nearby Kiama a beautiful beach resort-then went on to Coldale another beachside small town.”
I do not know what her business is but am pretty sure it does not involve writing anything.
****
I receive contact from Candy, who has a cute picture, a degree, and owns a business. I meet her for a light dinner. Not sure where the degree is from; she seems a bit vague. She was a partner in a singles event service but her partner ran off with the business; not sure how you run off with a singles business, but what do I know.
During a lull in the conversation, she asks “so what do you do?” “I am the CEO of a property company here.” “What’s a CEO? Is it like an accountant or something?”
She is delightful but her degree must be from 8th grade primary school. Live and learn.
****
Most guys I know are motivated in part (actually in large part) by sex. After my divorce, I expected my sex life to improve compared to recent years of marriage. I was surprised how available sex was after divorce but even more surprised how unfulfilling it was when decoupled from a deeper emotional attachment.
I wonder how the suicide bombers who expect 21 virgins waiting for them in paradise would feel if they were told there was a reason the women were still virgins and were likely to remain virgins long after the bombing. My guess is there would be fewer bombings. Maybe the CIA should propagate such rumors.
****
Despite the false starts and unexpected twists in my journey, I have met some really nice women and have enjoyed serious relationships and good friendships. And I remain ever optimistic about the future but wonder if there is not a better way to meet people.
26 September 2010
A Soap Story
This week I achieved perfection for the first time. It was an amazing feeling to accomplish something so difficult after so many years of effort.
For someone who grew up in a cost conscious environment with parents’ attitudes shaped by The Great Depression, it was the ultimate achievement. For believers in “A penny saved is a penny earned,” it was winning the lottery. And for those of us who were lectured to ‘clean our plates’ at dinner because of the starving children in Indian and China, it was a moment of celebration.
For someone who worships efficiency, it was the Holy Grail. If you believe in environmental conservation, it was the ultimate “green” moment.
First, I should provide some context.
For my entire life, I have used bars of soap to clean myself. As a baby, my mother used soap in my baths. As an adult, I continue to prefer bars of soap when showering or bathing.
I feel very much in the minority in this regard, however. My sons use bath/shower gel; my ex girlfriend used a particular and expensive gel; my gym only provides gel (the bulk variety with a heavy dose of artificial scent). When I stay in hotels, they often provide miniature soap bars but multiple bottles of bath and shower gel. The consumers appear to have turned to gel and abandoned soap bars.
I am not sure why this has happened. To me, gel is like shampoo. I shampoo my hair but why would I want to shampoo my body? Years ago, I regularly shampooed the family dog; but he had fur. He also did not appreciate it and went into escape mode whenever I approached with the shampoo and a bucket of water. I tried to shampoo the family cat one time; it took weeks for the claw marks on my hands and arms to heal.
I prefer plain soap. Most soaps have many added ingredients. Some make you smell like strawberries or other ‘pleasant’ scents. I do really not want to smell like a strawberry. A friend gave me a present that included a few soaps. One makes you smell like cucumbers. I don’t want to smell like a cucumber either.
Only mad scientists can understand other listed ingredients in soap. One of the gift bars has ingredients like hydrogenated rice bran – sounds like I should be eating this instead of washing with it. Other inclusions are: coconut stearic acid, glycerine, sodium hydroxide, zinc oxide, citric acid, and perfume. What happened to plain soap?
After an extensive search, I found a relatively plain soap. The actual brand is called ‘Simple Soap.’ I just do not understand why simple soap costs more than complicated soap. Maybe they put all the ingredients in the soap and then take them out. It is confusing.
The increasing consumer preference for gel may make my accomplishment increasingly rare in society. Maybe it will stand as an eternal record.
Perhaps, I overstate the importance of my feat. It is not a miracle. An image of the Virgin Mary did not appear in my soap bar. My soap did not wash away poverty or feed anyone. I still tend to sink when I swim too many laps at the local pool. The accomplishment is much more modest; it is just remarkable to me within the narrow confines of my daily experience.
Everyone who uses bars of soap understands that the bar slowly decreases in size as it is used. Eventually, the remaining piece of soap becomes too small to use practically and is discarded. The challenge for all of us soap bar users is when to discard the diminishing residual bar.
Soap does not cost much money, especially, if you buy the perfumed variety. So continuing to use the ever-vanishing bar is not just a money saving technique. It is more about being efficient and not wasteful. Perhaps, it is a moral statement committing to use environmental resources wisely. Or maybe it is the legacy of the Great Depression, or maybe something else. Regardless, the challenge of washing with a residual fragment of soap is, for me and fellow bar washers, a common occurrence.
Eventually, I discard the residual soap fragment and start over with a new, full sized bar. Sometimes, I drop the fragment on the floor of the shower and it disappears down the drain. Occasionally, I will toss the fragment in the toilet; that requires walking from the shower carrying wet soap and then rinsing my hands of the offending soap. It is usually easier just to leave the soap in the soap dish and let the fragments just accumulate; after a year or two all are discarded when I throw out the disgusting soap dish.
But today the “miracle” happened. I used a bar of soap until it was no more. 100% used; no soap fragment remained to be discarded. I looked in disbelief at my hands as I stood in the shower that morning. I looked at the shower floor; I looked at my body to see if a fragment had latched on to a leg or arm. The bar of soap had completely dissolved with no trace remaining as I finished my shower. I had achieved perfect efficiency with no waste. The starving children in India and China will be pleased.
For someone who grew up in a cost conscious environment with parents’ attitudes shaped by The Great Depression, it was the ultimate achievement. For believers in “A penny saved is a penny earned,” it was winning the lottery. And for those of us who were lectured to ‘clean our plates’ at dinner because of the starving children in Indian and China, it was a moment of celebration.
For someone who worships efficiency, it was the Holy Grail. If you believe in environmental conservation, it was the ultimate “green” moment.
First, I should provide some context.
For my entire life, I have used bars of soap to clean myself. As a baby, my mother used soap in my baths. As an adult, I continue to prefer bars of soap when showering or bathing.
I feel very much in the minority in this regard, however. My sons use bath/shower gel; my ex girlfriend used a particular and expensive gel; my gym only provides gel (the bulk variety with a heavy dose of artificial scent). When I stay in hotels, they often provide miniature soap bars but multiple bottles of bath and shower gel. The consumers appear to have turned to gel and abandoned soap bars.
I am not sure why this has happened. To me, gel is like shampoo. I shampoo my hair but why would I want to shampoo my body? Years ago, I regularly shampooed the family dog; but he had fur. He also did not appreciate it and went into escape mode whenever I approached with the shampoo and a bucket of water. I tried to shampoo the family cat one time; it took weeks for the claw marks on my hands and arms to heal.
I prefer plain soap. Most soaps have many added ingredients. Some make you smell like strawberries or other ‘pleasant’ scents. I do really not want to smell like a strawberry. A friend gave me a present that included a few soaps. One makes you smell like cucumbers. I don’t want to smell like a cucumber either.
Only mad scientists can understand other listed ingredients in soap. One of the gift bars has ingredients like hydrogenated rice bran – sounds like I should be eating this instead of washing with it. Other inclusions are: coconut stearic acid, glycerine, sodium hydroxide, zinc oxide, citric acid, and perfume. What happened to plain soap?
After an extensive search, I found a relatively plain soap. The actual brand is called ‘Simple Soap.’ I just do not understand why simple soap costs more than complicated soap. Maybe they put all the ingredients in the soap and then take them out. It is confusing.
The increasing consumer preference for gel may make my accomplishment increasingly rare in society. Maybe it will stand as an eternal record.
Perhaps, I overstate the importance of my feat. It is not a miracle. An image of the Virgin Mary did not appear in my soap bar. My soap did not wash away poverty or feed anyone. I still tend to sink when I swim too many laps at the local pool. The accomplishment is much more modest; it is just remarkable to me within the narrow confines of my daily experience.
Everyone who uses bars of soap understands that the bar slowly decreases in size as it is used. Eventually, the remaining piece of soap becomes too small to use practically and is discarded. The challenge for all of us soap bar users is when to discard the diminishing residual bar.
Soap does not cost much money, especially, if you buy the perfumed variety. So continuing to use the ever-vanishing bar is not just a money saving technique. It is more about being efficient and not wasteful. Perhaps, it is a moral statement committing to use environmental resources wisely. Or maybe it is the legacy of the Great Depression, or maybe something else. Regardless, the challenge of washing with a residual fragment of soap is, for me and fellow bar washers, a common occurrence.
Eventually, I discard the residual soap fragment and start over with a new, full sized bar. Sometimes, I drop the fragment on the floor of the shower and it disappears down the drain. Occasionally, I will toss the fragment in the toilet; that requires walking from the shower carrying wet soap and then rinsing my hands of the offending soap. It is usually easier just to leave the soap in the soap dish and let the fragments just accumulate; after a year or two all are discarded when I throw out the disgusting soap dish.
But today the “miracle” happened. I used a bar of soap until it was no more. 100% used; no soap fragment remained to be discarded. I looked in disbelief at my hands as I stood in the shower that morning. I looked at the shower floor; I looked at my body to see if a fragment had latched on to a leg or arm. The bar of soap had completely dissolved with no trace remaining as I finished my shower. I had achieved perfect efficiency with no waste. The starving children in India and China will be pleased.
04 September 2010
Emails Forever
I receive a couple hundred emails a day. I cannot ignore them; I cannot escape them; I cannot hide from them. Sure I can leave an automated response that I am in Siberia, but they will just keep coming and piling up like winter snow in my birth city of Chicago.
I appreciate the instant communication emails provide. Just this week I received an email from my sister-in-law in the US that my brother was hospitalized and I was able to call him when I awoke in the morning. Emails make me much more productive at work and allow me to keep in touch with the relatives back home. But emails do have drawbacks and consume incredible amounts of time; I have this periodic desire to escape the electronic reach of my blackberries..
I have a trip planned to Darwin soon and thought I would take a day and go bushwalking in a remote area of the Northern Territory. Surely, there is no email reception there (actually I have been to Siberia and there is email there). Alternatively, a colleague told me I should take a 4-wheel drive trip through the Kimberley where there is no email or mobile phone reception.
But that would mean I would have a couple thousand emails waiting for me when I emerged from the wilderness. Emails do not expire like the biodegradable bags that are popular today but are useless in holding heavier groceries – they seem to degrade before I arrive home.
I have 7 email accounts, which eagerly fill up every day with various missives. Why so many? Well, I have an email address at work (that is one). Then I have my email address for my consulting firm which is inactive but registered with various government agencies and investment companies (that is #2). I have a personal email account from the US (#3), and when I moved to Australia Telstra gave me an email account when I signed up for Internet service (#4). Only I did not like the Telstra email name and they would not let me change it (I know because I talked to about 15 guys in India and finally gave up), so I added another Telstra email name that I can actually remember (#5). And then there is my old AOL email address (#6) I had for years before my ex wife took the email account with her as part of the divorce. Then she found out she could not change the email address of record with AOL (they must have a relationship with Telstra), so she has to keep my old account active as long as she wants to use her account. I still receive occasional emails from old acquaintances that do not have any of my other 6 account addresses. Finally, my blackberry comes with its own email address (#7). Now if I could only remember the passwords.
To keep track of my emails, I need 2 blackberries. One is for work and the other consolidates the other 6 personal accounts. Now if I could only remember the blackberry passwords too.
I always respond to personal emails; it is important to me to acknowledge when someone takes the time to send me a note. I do not respond to junk mail or the letters from Nigeria informing me they are holding $100 million for me but they are having trouble sending it to me. But I do respond to other copious emails each day.
The other day I sent an email to a woman with a request to meet for coffee. She, like me, responds to emails even if she is not interested. So she sends me a nice email declining the invitation due to a conflict. Since I respond to all personal emails, I sent her an email thanking her for responding. Since she feels compelled to respond to emails too, she sent me a note thanking me for responding to her response. I am getting ready to respond to her response to my response.
This could be a good story. Two people who have nothing in common other than they both feel it is proper and courteous to respond to letters and emails are caught in eternal email ping-pong. At first, they were irritated to respond so often to spurious emails, but eventually they came to look forward to the routine and familiar comfort from regular contact. After 25 years, the emails ceased. The system of email had been replaced by thought mail – you think something and the thought is transmitted. Unfortunately, he could not adjust and his attempts and sending thoughts often went awry. So he finally gave up, and the emails ceased. But they were fun and comforting for years.
Back to reality. I am uncertain what to do with the deluge of emails. I am reminded of a former US Senator who replied to various constituent letters by saying, “Dear sir, I thought you should know that an idiot has been sending me correspondence and using your good name.” Unfortunately, I would still need to read all the emails before I could identify the undesired senders. so this does not work either.
For junk mail and marketing solicitations, I used to “unsubscribe” to the sender’s list. I have since learned that this action only serves to confirm you have a legitimate email address that now can be sold to other mass mailing services, resulting in a quantum increase in emails received.
Until I figure out a better solution, I will just keep responding to personal emails and ignoring emails from marketing services, get rich schemes, banks where I do not have accounts, and assorted other nuisances. But it is nice to know my brother is fine and the guy in Africa is still holding my $100 million.
I appreciate the instant communication emails provide. Just this week I received an email from my sister-in-law in the US that my brother was hospitalized and I was able to call him when I awoke in the morning. Emails make me much more productive at work and allow me to keep in touch with the relatives back home. But emails do have drawbacks and consume incredible amounts of time; I have this periodic desire to escape the electronic reach of my blackberries..
I have a trip planned to Darwin soon and thought I would take a day and go bushwalking in a remote area of the Northern Territory. Surely, there is no email reception there (actually I have been to Siberia and there is email there). Alternatively, a colleague told me I should take a 4-wheel drive trip through the Kimberley where there is no email or mobile phone reception.
But that would mean I would have a couple thousand emails waiting for me when I emerged from the wilderness. Emails do not expire like the biodegradable bags that are popular today but are useless in holding heavier groceries – they seem to degrade before I arrive home.
I have 7 email accounts, which eagerly fill up every day with various missives. Why so many? Well, I have an email address at work (that is one). Then I have my email address for my consulting firm which is inactive but registered with various government agencies and investment companies (that is #2). I have a personal email account from the US (#3), and when I moved to Australia Telstra gave me an email account when I signed up for Internet service (#4). Only I did not like the Telstra email name and they would not let me change it (I know because I talked to about 15 guys in India and finally gave up), so I added another Telstra email name that I can actually remember (#5). And then there is my old AOL email address (#6) I had for years before my ex wife took the email account with her as part of the divorce. Then she found out she could not change the email address of record with AOL (they must have a relationship with Telstra), so she has to keep my old account active as long as she wants to use her account. I still receive occasional emails from old acquaintances that do not have any of my other 6 account addresses. Finally, my blackberry comes with its own email address (#7). Now if I could only remember the passwords.
To keep track of my emails, I need 2 blackberries. One is for work and the other consolidates the other 6 personal accounts. Now if I could only remember the blackberry passwords too.
I always respond to personal emails; it is important to me to acknowledge when someone takes the time to send me a note. I do not respond to junk mail or the letters from Nigeria informing me they are holding $100 million for me but they are having trouble sending it to me. But I do respond to other copious emails each day.
The other day I sent an email to a woman with a request to meet for coffee. She, like me, responds to emails even if she is not interested. So she sends me a nice email declining the invitation due to a conflict. Since I respond to all personal emails, I sent her an email thanking her for responding. Since she feels compelled to respond to emails too, she sent me a note thanking me for responding to her response. I am getting ready to respond to her response to my response.
This could be a good story. Two people who have nothing in common other than they both feel it is proper and courteous to respond to letters and emails are caught in eternal email ping-pong. At first, they were irritated to respond so often to spurious emails, but eventually they came to look forward to the routine and familiar comfort from regular contact. After 25 years, the emails ceased. The system of email had been replaced by thought mail – you think something and the thought is transmitted. Unfortunately, he could not adjust and his attempts and sending thoughts often went awry. So he finally gave up, and the emails ceased. But they were fun and comforting for years.
Back to reality. I am uncertain what to do with the deluge of emails. I am reminded of a former US Senator who replied to various constituent letters by saying, “Dear sir, I thought you should know that an idiot has been sending me correspondence and using your good name.” Unfortunately, I would still need to read all the emails before I could identify the undesired senders. so this does not work either.
For junk mail and marketing solicitations, I used to “unsubscribe” to the sender’s list. I have since learned that this action only serves to confirm you have a legitimate email address that now can be sold to other mass mailing services, resulting in a quantum increase in emails received.
Until I figure out a better solution, I will just keep responding to personal emails and ignoring emails from marketing services, get rich schemes, banks where I do not have accounts, and assorted other nuisances. But it is nice to know my brother is fine and the guy in Africa is still holding my $100 million.
14 August 2010
Staying Awake
There are times when just staying awake is a challenge despite time of day and circumstances. Take Tuesday for example.
In a late effort to get in shape, I arose at 5 AM and had a good hour on the elliptical machine. It was exhausting, but the endorphins kicked in and it was a great start on my new fitness campaign. Caffeine at 8:00 and more caffeine at 10 and 12. Lots of meetings followed including a business luncheon with a glass of wine. Generally, I felt good all day but was beginning to fade a bit late afternoon.
5:30 PM arrived too soon and it was time to meet a friend for a light dinner of tapas at an outdoor sidewalk café. We split a bottle of Australian pinot; I really did not need wine but it was a nice complement to dinner. Conversation was good as always; food provided renewed energy; wine afforded relaxation after a busy day. I felt tired but was coping and acquired my second (or third or fourth) wind.
The piano concert that followed started at 7 PM. This would surely test my ability to remain awake. The famous pianist, Nikolai Demidenko, was the performer. The stage was bare except for a magnificent Steinway grand piano. The setting was a wonderful Sydney concert hall – Angel Place – which provides much better acoustics that the Sydney Opera House. Nikolai’s fingers flew over the keyboard; at times they paused in mid-air hovering, only to descend with a dramatic but fluid motion into the keys below. My friend called it a ballet of the hands. He was really good.
The music flowed from the Steinway in melodic streams. Thematic movements came and went and came again. Chopin would be pleased with how his music was treated.
After watching and listening for a while, the dimmed audience lighting coupled with the tender music made me feel increasingly tired; the mind said stay alert but the body said go to sleep. The effects of food and earlier coffees had passed. Then it became a sedentary appreciation of surrounding music and low light. I fought to stay awake. It would be very embarrassing to fall asleep.
I looked around the beautiful concert hall; I counted lights; I noticed lots of objects appeared in 4’s: l looked at the back heads of the audience and tried to guess what the faces look like. Finally, an intermission. I stood and stretched and talked and stifled my yawns.
Then the lights dimmed again, and the music returned. Now Demidenko attacked Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. This piece was faster, louder, and bolder. But it was also a very long piece. Every time I thought it was coming to conclusion, another stanza began. This was War and Peace on a piano. I felt myself about to succumb despite my efforts to stay alert. I played games focusing my eyes on near and far objects. The sandman hovered.
Finally, Nikolai concluded a masterful performance. I jumped to my feet and applauded waking in the moment. Others applauded; he exited and I was ready to go home and go to bed. But alas he returned and began an encore. It should have been over but it continued. The audience was happy; I wanted to go to bed.
Finally it appeared to be over. More applause but no standing. This time it was more polite and less enthusiastic; others must be tired too. Two hours of music is a long time, especially on a Tuesday night. He exited; he returned; he sat down and began another encore. I felt I was about to die.
The lights finally brightened; no more encores. Time for home; time for bed. Good-bye to my companion; instead of the train or walking, I took a taxi – too tired to move. Sleep at last but tomorrow is only Wednesday.
02 December 2009
The Great Kayak Adventure
History is filled with explorers taking big and not so big ships on great voyages of discovery. In the 1500’s, a Portuguese expedition apparently sailed to Australia. In the 1600’s several European ships came upon Australia, and in the late 1700’s, British expeditions stopped and claimed Australia for themselves. This was about the time the Americans were throwing the Brits out of the American colonies, so maybe the English needed a new place to go. The biggest adventurers were probably the early Aboriginals, who showed up about 13,000 BC but neglected to tell anyone.
Last week I had lunch with the Governor General of Australia. She seemed like a very nice lady, but I asked the guy sitting next to me why Australia had a Governor General. The only generals in the U.S., where I come from, wear military fatigues, have crew cuts, and look even tougher than the kids who used to hang out in the alleys of Berwyn, Illinois, when I was a kid. Quentin Bryce looks or acts nothing like any generals I have met. The guy next to me said the Governor General was appointed by the Queen (i.e. The Queen of England – Aussies don’t have their own queen, maybe it’s a money saving idea if you want a Queen just borrow one).
I am digressing a bit from my later day exploration of the seas, which occurred this morning. A friend (to save her embarrassment let’s call her "J") and I decided to explore the wilds of Sydney Harbour. A power boat (sometimes referred to as ‘stinkpots’) or big sail boat (always referred to as ‘financial holes’) would have been too easy. We decided to explore by kayak, perhaps replicating the early travels of natives thousands of years ago.
I have never been in a kayak; J was in one once. There are some differences I was surprised to find between modern kayaks and American canoes, with which I am more familiar. The kayak has cool compartments for towels and stuff. Everything still gets wet, but the idea of compartments and tight fighting tops with straps and bands that make it hard for everything but water to enter (including humans) is neat.
Kayaks have a rudder and pedals. This is especially gratifying when you are in a two person kayak and the other person is sitting in the front thinking she is determining the course. It is like being a back seat driver in a car but steering the car from pedals in the back. It gives one a great sense of power, which can be exercised so subtly that the person in front does not know you are steering, unless of course you hit the rocks, which we almost did once.
The kayak rental office has a very large sign and map on the wall prohibiting renters from going too far out into the Harbour. A big black line on the map extends from a lighthouse across the mouth of the Middle Harbour. It reminded me of military maps showing where the minefields were or early navigation maps depicting where the ship-eating dragons lay in wait. I do not know how we signed all the forms and never noticed the big map with the big black line.
Armed with weird shaped paddles, life jackets, water bottles, and sunscreen, we soon embarked on our journey of exploration after being warned the ship was due back in 2 hours unless we wanted to pay more. I cannot imagine the King of England telling Captain Phillip he needed to return by whenever in 1788 or he would be charged more rent for the boat. Oh for the good old days.
After avoiding being run over by speedy stinkpots and bisected by financial holes, we managed to cross the bay and follow the shoreline of beautiful beaches and friendly natives playing in the waves. Soon we were well past the lighthouse, which seemed vaguely familiar but J did not remember it either when asked.
After missing the rocks by the lighthouse (the ship’s log – if the ship had a log - would have noted we were well clear despite J’s protests otherwise), we followed the coast in search of some beach inhabited by ghosts, according to J. I am unsure why we were looking for ghosts but if I had hit the rocks maybe we would have found a few. There is also an area called Quarantine Beach J wanted to find; I was afraid to ask how the place got its name. Why would you ever want to go to a place called Quarantine?
We took in quite a bit of water from errant waves and the wake of boats (and totally unrelated to the ever capable steering) and decided we needed to beach the ship and bail it out before turning back; otherwise we would be swimming back. A pretty little beach lay directly ahead, but we had a bit of a rough arrival crashing on the beach carried by a larger wave. I managed to gash my arm when the rudder flipped upside down and then managed to cut my leg as the next wave crashed the boat into me as I was scrambling out.
Looking around, it was clear we landed at a nudist beach. The women mostly covered up when we crashed the party; the men, especially the overweight ones, stayed natural. Only in my nightmare would I land safely on a beach island occupied by clothed women and naked men.
So we stood there on Naked Men Island, trying to control a water filled boat too heavy to move and with me bleeding profusely. J rushed to find a bucket and bailed while I held the boat and tried to direct the flow of blood into the water and away from the boat seats. I realized shortly thereafter, I was scenting the water for sharks – just what we needed to add to the adventure.
Soon we were off again, having escaped the possible cannibals, and paddling back to port. Unfortunately, the wind had risen considerably and we were paddling directly into the headwinds. J tired after all the paddling, bailing, and pulling and pushing the boat on the beach and became the official lookout. I paddled furiously now convinced we needed to get back as fast as possible before every shark in Australia learned of a possible meatball sandwich in the yellow kayak in Middle Harbour.
We managed to paddle through two sailing regattas on the return trip and avoided the array of big and bigger boats. We missed the rocks again (yes our esteemed lookout reminded me often when things looked closer that they seemed to be from the rear seat), and we pushed through the determined wind. The sharks stayed away, and I finally stopped bleeding.
So in the chronicles of Australian explorations, let the footnote show Scott and J surveyed the coastline of a part of Sydney Harbour on 29 November 2009 and found it to be ever present.
Last week I had lunch with the Governor General of Australia. She seemed like a very nice lady, but I asked the guy sitting next to me why Australia had a Governor General. The only generals in the U.S., where I come from, wear military fatigues, have crew cuts, and look even tougher than the kids who used to hang out in the alleys of Berwyn, Illinois, when I was a kid. Quentin Bryce looks or acts nothing like any generals I have met. The guy next to me said the Governor General was appointed by the Queen (i.e. The Queen of England – Aussies don’t have their own queen, maybe it’s a money saving idea if you want a Queen just borrow one).
I am digressing a bit from my later day exploration of the seas, which occurred this morning. A friend (to save her embarrassment let’s call her "J") and I decided to explore the wilds of Sydney Harbour. A power boat (sometimes referred to as ‘stinkpots’) or big sail boat (always referred to as ‘financial holes’) would have been too easy. We decided to explore by kayak, perhaps replicating the early travels of natives thousands of years ago.
I have never been in a kayak; J was in one once. There are some differences I was surprised to find between modern kayaks and American canoes, with which I am more familiar. The kayak has cool compartments for towels and stuff. Everything still gets wet, but the idea of compartments and tight fighting tops with straps and bands that make it hard for everything but water to enter (including humans) is neat.
Kayaks have a rudder and pedals. This is especially gratifying when you are in a two person kayak and the other person is sitting in the front thinking she is determining the course. It is like being a back seat driver in a car but steering the car from pedals in the back. It gives one a great sense of power, which can be exercised so subtly that the person in front does not know you are steering, unless of course you hit the rocks, which we almost did once.
The kayak rental office has a very large sign and map on the wall prohibiting renters from going too far out into the Harbour. A big black line on the map extends from a lighthouse across the mouth of the Middle Harbour. It reminded me of military maps showing where the minefields were or early navigation maps depicting where the ship-eating dragons lay in wait. I do not know how we signed all the forms and never noticed the big map with the big black line.
Armed with weird shaped paddles, life jackets, water bottles, and sunscreen, we soon embarked on our journey of exploration after being warned the ship was due back in 2 hours unless we wanted to pay more. I cannot imagine the King of England telling Captain Phillip he needed to return by whenever in 1788 or he would be charged more rent for the boat. Oh for the good old days.
After avoiding being run over by speedy stinkpots and bisected by financial holes, we managed to cross the bay and follow the shoreline of beautiful beaches and friendly natives playing in the waves. Soon we were well past the lighthouse, which seemed vaguely familiar but J did not remember it either when asked.
After missing the rocks by the lighthouse (the ship’s log – if the ship had a log - would have noted we were well clear despite J’s protests otherwise), we followed the coast in search of some beach inhabited by ghosts, according to J. I am unsure why we were looking for ghosts but if I had hit the rocks maybe we would have found a few. There is also an area called Quarantine Beach J wanted to find; I was afraid to ask how the place got its name. Why would you ever want to go to a place called Quarantine?
We took in quite a bit of water from errant waves and the wake of boats (and totally unrelated to the ever capable steering) and decided we needed to beach the ship and bail it out before turning back; otherwise we would be swimming back. A pretty little beach lay directly ahead, but we had a bit of a rough arrival crashing on the beach carried by a larger wave. I managed to gash my arm when the rudder flipped upside down and then managed to cut my leg as the next wave crashed the boat into me as I was scrambling out.
Looking around, it was clear we landed at a nudist beach. The women mostly covered up when we crashed the party; the men, especially the overweight ones, stayed natural. Only in my nightmare would I land safely on a beach island occupied by clothed women and naked men.
So we stood there on Naked Men Island, trying to control a water filled boat too heavy to move and with me bleeding profusely. J rushed to find a bucket and bailed while I held the boat and tried to direct the flow of blood into the water and away from the boat seats. I realized shortly thereafter, I was scenting the water for sharks – just what we needed to add to the adventure.
Soon we were off again, having escaped the possible cannibals, and paddling back to port. Unfortunately, the wind had risen considerably and we were paddling directly into the headwinds. J tired after all the paddling, bailing, and pulling and pushing the boat on the beach and became the official lookout. I paddled furiously now convinced we needed to get back as fast as possible before every shark in Australia learned of a possible meatball sandwich in the yellow kayak in Middle Harbour.
We managed to paddle through two sailing regattas on the return trip and avoided the array of big and bigger boats. We missed the rocks again (yes our esteemed lookout reminded me often when things looked closer that they seemed to be from the rear seat), and we pushed through the determined wind. The sharks stayed away, and I finally stopped bleeding.
So in the chronicles of Australian explorations, let the footnote show Scott and J surveyed the coastline of a part of Sydney Harbour on 29 November 2009 and found it to be ever present.
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