"You tossers! You had one job to do!"

As far as scientists go, I am not your norm. I tend to exude slightly more personality than is associated with most physicists, but probably the right amount of kookiness. Where I do differ markedly is in my approach to knowledge acquisition. Most scientists that I know, are intrigued when something doesn't work, as it gives them an excuse to find out why. I am more excited in knowing why things *do* work. Give me something broken, and I couldn't give a shit as to why. I like things to do their job.

So when something doesn't do the one thing it is precisely designed for, I get more than a little pissed off.

For example, take my shower cap. It is designed to do one thing, and one thing only. It is meant to keep my hair dry when in the shower. That is it. Pretty simple task really. Can it achieve this relatively simple task? Not at all. I leave the shower with hair almost as wet as if I had attempted to wash it.

Dirty fucker.

The art of segue

When moving cities years ago from my home of Brisbane to the wonderful Melbourne, there were few things that bothered me in the transition. Leaving family and friends? No worries. Going to a city that I barely know? Not a problem. Starting work with a company in which I am expected to have some level of expertise? Yeah, whatever. What caused me the greatest stress was in searching for a new hairdresser and beauty therapist.

I hate making idle chit-chat with people. And the conversation required over a hair cutting experience is some of the most potentially mind-numbing. Thankfully, I have found a hairdresser that allows me to sit there, thumbing through their glossy magazine, and contributing little to the conversation. He does his job, and I am very happy, and much relieved.

Finding a beauty therapist, and more specifically a waxing artisan, has proved somewhat more problematic. I have a bad history with waxing, and am thus cautious when forging such a relationship. Considering the intimacy that getting a Brazilian entails, I should like to feel a level of comfort in the procedure. Recently, I have been trying out a new girl. Unfortunately her name is Jasmina, which I can tell you does not instill me with confidence. Further, she feels the need to make conversation. When one has limbs akimbo and naked from the waist down, there is a certain sense of vulnerability. So when she asks me stupid questions, I definitely do not feel my best comeback is immediately to hand.

Jasmina is apparently a great fan of Big Brother and was shocked to find that I detest it and all such "reality" shows. This of course, did not stop her from regaling tales of its most recent airing. But I felt it took all my strength to restrain myself when she asked the inevitable question. She asked, innocently and somewhat, naively, "Are you married?". I responded, "No, I am single." So far, a none too offensive question, but what nailed it was the follow-up, "Why?". I believe I mumbled something in an effort to just get her to stop talking.

Over dinner tonight, L7, S and I were discussing beauty treatments, and I mentioned the above story. L7 responded that she had had a facial during the week, and was also asked the "Are you married?" question, to which she responded that she was indeed single. And the response from the beauty therapist? "So, do you like lawn bowls?"

WTF?

It is so good to be home. Back in my own bed. Back where people can understand my accent.

Before flying home, I spent a few days in Los Angeles seeing the sights and sounds of that city. It is surreal to be in a city that is nearly as populated as our entire country. Tried to do a bit of star-spotting and ended up seeing Dr Phil exiting his driveway, but I couldn't get a decent photo of it for proof.

So, here is the next best thing. Holiday snaps from me.

This is the toilet block in which George Michael was caught in a "lewd act" in 1998.


My bus tour of LA took us near the original mexican house in Downtown, and nearby was this man singing his heart out.

He was terrible. But passionate, which has to count for something.


I am always a fan of spotting poor spelling and grammar. Here in a change-room, I was surprised that I might need a new sort of insurance that I had not heard of before. No? Oh well.

We've all got something....

One of my favourite books that I have ever read is "Kiss and Tell" by Alain de Botton. He chronicles the life of the very next person that enters his life in a very thorough and intimate way. Not just an examination of the major things that happen in Isabel's life, but also the more mundane details. What vegetables do they dislike? Do they like their sauce on the side or on top? How do they fold their towels? Do you eat vegetables individually, or a collection in each mouthful? Their are thousands, if not millions, of small things that make up our foibles and quirks.

So what are some of my quirks? Here is a selection.
1. I fold my towels in half, and then in thirds.
2. I iron my sheets and tea-towels. This is much more sensible than it sounds. No, really.
3. I eat left-handed, even though I am right-handed for everything else.
4. I eat virtually everything except honey and cooked apple. Blah! Both smell like vomit.

... and so many more.

Freaks and stating the obvious

I am now in the home straight in the training with only 2.5 half days to go. It is going pretty well, with some good trainers and access to resources. Invariably, the most amusement comes from the fellow participants in the training course.

One of the gentlemen, presents as an old-fashioned looking sort of person, with monogrammed shirts and exquisitely shined shoes. But appearances can be deceiving. Day one of the course, he turned to me to thank me for "our support in the war". I thought it wise not to firstly enquire as to what war (considering his age, I figured anything post 1900 was possible), but also not to actually express my feelings on the situation in Iraq and Australia's involvement. If his curious comments had ended there, I would probably just think him a quaint sort of man with an obvious deep love for his country and a misguided belief in "Dubya".

But then the sexist comments started.

Day one of the course involved us planning patients for treatment in the pelvic area. The patient we were given (CT scans, not an actual person!), was male and therefore had all the usual male anatomy. I enquired to the trainer on how to outline the "appendage" for the plan, since it was a requirement of this type of treatment to take note of all anatomy in the treatment area. Freaky Old Man (FOM) turned, winked and said, "Of course you noticed where the penis was!".

Umm...thought I was doing my job - apparently I was being sexually aroused by diagnostic medical images!

FOM then asked a question of our instructor, joking that he just wanted her to come over and lean over his desk. He also felt the need to point out that I was female, by looking quite pointedly towards my chest. At which point, I looked down and grabbed my breasts, feigned surprise and said, "Oh my God - is that what these mean!".

I was hoping to shock him, but I think he just thought it quaint. Bugger.

And your reason for visiting this city is....?


In an effort to get a full cultural experience of St Louis, I ventured downtown yesterday to see what it could offer me. As advised, I went to see the arch, or as it is more precisely called, "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial". Web pages devoted to its construction, and numerous brochures, could not answer my one question pertaining to its existence, and that is, simply, why? The best explanation afforded me came from a cab driver today, and that was, "Well, every city has to have some reason for people to come and visit." Apparently so, but according to billboards sited above one of the many highways, the reason to come to St Louis' casinos is for "The Loosest Slots in the Country".

No matter which way I read that, it still sounds rude.

Toto, I don't think we are in Kansas anymore!

Since my last post, I have travelled far from Ballarat and I am currently suffering from horrendous jet-lag, and am writing this from within my hotel, somewhere far west of St Louis, Missouri. I have seven days of intense training ahead of me, and hopefully, I shall not sleep through the first three.

Today, I kept fairly close to the hotel because of a combination of no public transport that I have as yet located, and the fact that I didn't want to be too far from my bed at any point in time. The complex that my hotel is in, possesses not much in the way of things to keep one entertained. It has about 20 restaurants and cafes, one newsagent and that is about it. So I visited the newsagency to grab a magazine or two to keep me entertained, albeit briefly before I generally nod off to sleep.

It appeared to me that this newsagency carried a magazine for every taste and desire that one could imagine. I suppose, I could probably find similar at home, but invariably, I do not wander into newsagencies for entertainment value when there. There were magazines on scrapbooking, beading, using eBay, Diabetes lifestyle, opera, writing literature, editing, and so much more than I describe and adequately to justice to the selection.

But the amusing, and ironic, quote of the day came in response to a customer query looking for a particular newspaper. The response was, "Sorry, we don't carry any out of town newspapers". This is fair enough. Except that the name of the shop was "World News".

Well, if I really must....

With the recent minor change in my employ, I have been spending some of my "as-yet-to-be-earned" new-found wealth, with a great flush of joy.

Most recently I have treated myself, with the help of Miss Katja and Mr Joel, to a PDA. This means of course that I can take my entire life with me in a very small piece of electronic equipment, but also means, I am afraid, that making a "quick note", takes significantly more time. But the best fun yet is to be had from my new digital camera. I have resisted until now, primarily because I have a perfectly good analogue camera. The trouble with it being, that I never go and process my films. I have about three rolls waiting from my trip to Bali - and that was a year ago. So in the interest of instant gratification, I have succumbed at last to a naff little camera.

This of course means, that I can now bombard this blog with photos - a thrill not yet experienced by this humble blogger. Some blogs become a modern day version of a slide-show, which is all very well, but mind-numbingly dull. Fear not that I shall suffer this fate.

But, indulge me this once.

So here is the place that I shall be spending much time at in the beautiful Ballarat.



I reckon I shall cope.

How stupid can you be?

More than once I have made reference to my flatmate. He is not possessed of a great wit, intellect or charm, but since he has been living with me, he has become a constant source of amusement cum ridicule. He is not known for his neatness or cleanliness, but on occasion he has been known to whip around with the vacuum cleaner, and wash a plate or two.

Tonight I came home to a definitely funky smell in the apartment. The flatmate bounded out happily to tell me that he vacuumed and Glen-20'd the place.

Need I point out that I vacuumed the entire place only 4 hours prior? Apparently I should add lack of observation skills to his list of faults.

So what do you think about?

I asked what I thought was a simple question. Often I have consulted Pingu on matters of an intimate nature, and he has consulted me for the same. I had been asking a few people the same question trying to gauge what the appropriate response or reaction should be. Some people raised an eye-brow and felt it a little "off". Others felt it was generally a compliment. But when I asked Pingu, no simple answer was forthcoming.

I asked whether it was a good thing if a guy says that he thinks of you when he is having a wank.

True to form, Pingu, took the question quite seriously and began asking multiple questions to ascertain what could possibly be going on in the head of the boy in question. Is he sleeping with anyone else? How did he tell you this? What did he say he thought of? I answered as best as I was able, and the general result was that Pingu thought that it was a good thing.

Unfortunately, I just got a message from "the boy" to tell me that he met up with a girl from high school over the weekend and intends on spending time with her. So it doesn't really matter anymore about what he thinks, and what I indeed think about that!