Nov. 27th, 2008

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My work's Christmas dinner last night was good. It was held at the Mantra, a new... a new complex, I think is the word I'm looking for, down by the bay, with a hotel (in a turret!), restaurant, day spa and a big revolving door such as those seen in films set in New York office buildings (such a door has never been in seen in the City by the Sea before so it's all very exciting).

To get there, I had to drive down Beach Road (guess where that leads!*), which is a long stretch of road that has been filled with eight sets of speed bumps to stop hoons hooning up and down at pace. All the speed bumps are marked with a sign that unintentionally resembles a hat, and I was amused to see that someone had graffiti-ed a little face under all sixteen signs like so:



I was especially taken with the speed bump/hat sign that shared a pole with a pedestrian crossing sign depicting a pair of walking legs; the graffiti artist had drawn a tiny head and body between them, with enormous arms waving wildly out the sides.

Further proof for my long-held belief that I am the world's most forgettable person came when one of the board members - a woman who has known me for nearly four years - saw me come in and asked, 'And who's this?' My boss pointed out that I'm Alicia and she said, 'Oh, of course! I didn't recognise you with the bright red lipstick.' It's true I was wearing my new Intensely Red lipstick instead of the clear or nude shades I wear to work, but I don't think it made that much difference. But perhaps it did. I'll remember that if I ever need to go into hiding: slap on the red lippy and they'll never find me.

In today's paper was a letter to the editor in which the writer called for discerning television viewers to form a mob and hunt down Sniff and Stiff. I'm all for that. For those of you who are blissfully unfamiliar with Sniff and Stiff's work, they are the stars of a commercial that is on Every. Single. Time. I turn the TV on and I hate them. Especially the bald one, whose smug, bald head is just begging to be smacked. Judge for yourself (possibly not safe for work, depending on how your work feels about tired, tawdry humour):


Would you like to join the mob and help destroy them?




* Or leads away from, I suppose, depending which direction you're travelling in.

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