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The unironic tiger
Sep. 26th, 2008 10:13 pmWhat is the point of David Blaine, exactly? I'm not a fan of magicians in general, but he seems to be a particularly useless example. How is hanging upside down for three days an illusion, or entertaining, or, you know, in any way interesting or valuable to the ongoing benefit of society? Gah.
But I shouldn't be all bah humbug, because I'm on holidays. Whoo! Except I'm not really; I've taken a week off work to put the finishing touches on my research essay about the national anthem. As Simon the New Chap pointed out, it's like I'm being paid to write it.* So I'll be busy, but I'm still glad to get away from work. This week has been filled with all sorts of irritating minor issues. Some completely my fault, some caused by Leeanne and her apparent inability to take a phone message, and none at all caused by Angela, which may come as something of a surprise to regular readers; she's been on her best behaviour (and in another state for half the week, which may also have something to do with it).
I read an article today about a technology-filled house that has lights that automatically turn on and off as people go in and out of a room, which sounds good to me in a 'yeah, why not?' sort of way. Frank, the guy whose house it was, though, seemed to think he was leading the way into a brave new world. 'I love the fact that the house anticipates my needs,' he says, 'I've forgotten what it's like to have to switch lights on and off.' Because that's such a burden for the rest of us. He has also programmed the lights in the laundry to turn off automatically after 15 minutes, even if someone is in there, despite his wife requesting him not to, which makes me think that (a) Frank doesn't do a lot of laundry and (b) he's a bit of a tool.
What else? Oh, my mother saw one of her cousins somewhere and the cousin asked how her brother was. Er, well, he was fine as far as my mother knew. No, said the cousin, last I heard he was in hospital to have his foot cut off. My mother couldn't get to a phone fast enough to call her eccentric and reclusive younger brother who lives interstate. And the foot?
It's still attached; he was bitten by a spider and the foot turned black and he had several days in hospital and the doctor may have mentioned amputating it but it's all right now. And why tell some random farmer-cousin about it rather than my mother, who is both his sister and a nurse? 'Aw, I didn't want to worry you.' Which is nice.
* Simon the New Chap seems to be all right, as you may be able to tell from the lack of complaining about him. I did hear him call Brian 'tiger' the other day, though, in a completely unironic way, which is a bit of a concern. It's worryingly reminiscent of my former colleague, Craig, a singularly infuriating man.
But I shouldn't be all bah humbug, because I'm on holidays. Whoo! Except I'm not really; I've taken a week off work to put the finishing touches on my research essay about the national anthem. As Simon the New Chap pointed out, it's like I'm being paid to write it.* So I'll be busy, but I'm still glad to get away from work. This week has been filled with all sorts of irritating minor issues. Some completely my fault, some caused by Leeanne and her apparent inability to take a phone message, and none at all caused by Angela, which may come as something of a surprise to regular readers; she's been on her best behaviour (and in another state for half the week, which may also have something to do with it).
I read an article today about a technology-filled house that has lights that automatically turn on and off as people go in and out of a room, which sounds good to me in a 'yeah, why not?' sort of way. Frank, the guy whose house it was, though, seemed to think he was leading the way into a brave new world. 'I love the fact that the house anticipates my needs,' he says, 'I've forgotten what it's like to have to switch lights on and off.' Because that's such a burden for the rest of us. He has also programmed the lights in the laundry to turn off automatically after 15 minutes, even if someone is in there, despite his wife requesting him not to, which makes me think that (a) Frank doesn't do a lot of laundry and (b) he's a bit of a tool.
What else? Oh, my mother saw one of her cousins somewhere and the cousin asked how her brother was. Er, well, he was fine as far as my mother knew. No, said the cousin, last I heard he was in hospital to have his foot cut off. My mother couldn't get to a phone fast enough to call her eccentric and reclusive younger brother who lives interstate. And the foot?
It's still attached; he was bitten by a spider and the foot turned black and he had several days in hospital and the doctor may have mentioned amputating it but it's all right now. And why tell some random farmer-cousin about it rather than my mother, who is both his sister and a nurse? 'Aw, I didn't want to worry you.' Which is nice.
* Simon the New Chap seems to be all right, as you may be able to tell from the lack of complaining about him. I did hear him call Brian 'tiger' the other day, though, in a completely unironic way, which is a bit of a concern. It's worryingly reminiscent of my former colleague, Craig, a singularly infuriating man.