Tuesday, November 29, 2005

My Memory Has Slowed But My Mojo's Still Fine

Over the last two weeks I've had to sit in front of my computer and complete 4 annoyingly long and boring assignments due at 5pm today.

Needless to say I haven't done much over the last couple of weeks but type.

In fact, staying in like I have has made me feel scrawny... I miss the gym, I miss the river.

But, after successfully handing those 4 suckers in ON TIME I felt free - like a genie released from its bottle. So to celebrate I decided to let my hair hang down a little and go for a wander through the city.

To start my wanderings the first thing I needed was a drink, and the best place for that was the local Boost juice bar:

Me: One Mango Magic, please.
Her: Any supplements with that?
Me: Sorry... what's supple?
Her: (unfazed) Do you have a discount card?
Me: Not on me.
Her: Would you like one?
Me: No, I already have one of those VIP cards.
Her: $5.40 please. And what name?
Me: (handing her $7) Sexy.
Her: (unfazed) Please wait around the side.

Obviously it was a busy day, or, she was the first human robot I had ever encountered!?

When my Boost was ready she looked up at me tapped on the blender's container emptying its thick contents into the cup...

Her: Mango Magic?
Me: Yep... looks nice and thick... (smiling) just the way I like my women!
Her: (tapping harder - probably imagining that it was my head)... there you go.

Not even a smile, or laugh, or anything!?

Oh well... she's probably one of those "tight" women that never laugh. Next...

I know this is going to sound really geeky, but one of my favourite things to do is to walk through bookstores. The good thing about Perth is that it has a couple of bookstores that tickle my fancy. So, for the remainder of my stay in the city I wandered through my old stores and browsed for anything that would pique my interest...

Unfortunately nothing did.

Oh well... there's always Amazon.com!

On the trip home I had a bit of a blonde moment. Back in the good ol' days you used to flash your ticket to the bus driver to show him that you still had a valid ticket. Apparently not so anymore... there's no need to flash! Here's how the conversation went:

Me: (flashing ticket) I think my ticket is still valid?
Him: Just put it in the box.
Me: But I have a valid ticket.
Him: You still need to put it in the box.
Me: Why would I put it in the box if I know it's valid?
Him: So it can register.
Me: But I've already registered it.
Him: It needs to register on my machine.
Me: Well can't you push a button to show that?
Him: No, because it needs to go through the machine.
Me: Oh... well why didn't you say so?

After holding the bus up for one whole minute I took the walk of shame down the aisle as evil stares of death were thrown in my direction. I quickly found an available seat next to a petite brunette and sucked away on the remainder of my Boost juice.

As I pulled out my mp3 player I plugged in my earphones and relaxed to John Mayer. During my relaxitive (?!) state I peered over to the brunette chic who had opened a book on law, and then at her: interestingly her appearance was similar to that of Kate Beckinsale, but I dared not stare... much.

Reading through her law material she closed the book and folded it on her lap and tidied up the rest of her belongings.

Oop, she's ready to go, I thought. And when the bus stopped I stood up and gave her room to alight off the bus all without saying a word and in one smooth action.

Looking at me weirdly she said, "I'm not going."

Distraught that I had done my one good deed for the day and had it slapped I sat back down and said, "You faked it!"

With that she beamed a beautiful smile.

Stuff the John Mayer soothing music - I had found a smile to swim in!

"Well when you need to go just give me a poke," I reassured her, "but not too hard."

She laughed and as she did she pressed the stop button for the bus to alight at the NEXT bus stop.


As she exited the bus she flashed another soul capturing smile and thanked me.

What a woman.

It wasn't long until after she had gone that an interesting memory hit:

"Was that Charissa?"

(A girl down the street I once had a crush on during my high school years.)

Double DRAT!

It's times like those you wish you had a time machine, even if it only took you back 10 minutes. Damn assignments - my brain's gone dead.

Oh well.

Anyway, I'm off to go pound the pavement and jog today. Boy, did I miss jogging.

Friday, November 25, 2005

Honk If Your...

A question was posed by an avid reader (who seems set on breaking the Guniess World record for comments made on one blog) as follows:

Why do blokes honk and yell at women out of their car windows? What do they hope to achieve?

To answer this question we need to look at the way the animal kingdom and how the male speices gains the attention of the female species.

In choosing a mate in the animal kingdom the male species needs to "perform" to gain the approval and attention of the female species.

Performance can vary from head-butting, to honking, to chest beating, to biting and all other fun stuff that can be dangerous and deadly. And in the mean time as this festivity goes on the female just sits and watches as the male race fight over her.

Men, unfortunately, think that this spills over into the human species.

Those who believe we have evolved over 4.5 billions years think that by gaining the attention of the female species they need to use whatever means is necessary at gaining their attention. This could involve a variety of techniques such as head-butting, honking, chest-beating, biting and a variety of other dangerous things such as screaming out of their car and concentrating on women outside and having their car veer onto the opposite side of the road on incoming traffic.


Real men, don't honk.

I don't think real women do either... although I've noticed that women are beginning to take up this attention seeking device too. Take yesterday for instance: there I was innocently walking on the footpath and from nowhere a car full blondes roars past tooting me while they hung out their car window.

Do I know them? I thought, Hope not!

So, yes, honking by the blokes stems from what they've picked up watching Discovery channel.

As for why women honk... I'd have to say it would be for the same reason, BUT... I'm not a woman.


Thursday, November 24, 2005

Women And Their Hair

If there's one area where blokes, especially colourblind ones such as myself, fail miserably its in the department of...

Women's hair.

But before I begin allow me to take a moments silence for hairdressers.

I feel sorry for hairdressers. They have to deal with women on a daily basis.

Think I'm being your typical male chauvinist pig?

Well... go ask them.

I have a friend who is a hairdresser and every time I bring up the discussion about if given the choice would she could choose to do male, or female or male and female hair what she would choose and hands down she says males everytime even before I've finished asking the question.

(Now you might think she's saying this because she's single and I'm single and therefore she's saying it to impress me, but you'd all be wrong: she ain't single.)

But it hasn't just been her either. I've asked this same type of question at nearly every other hairdresser where this topic rears its ugly head.

And the answers are always the same:

Blokes are better.

And for good reason to.

I mean a bloke will go in, ask for a haircut, hairdresser will cut it, job will be done and customer will be happy. No matter that there's a big gaping hole on one side of his head, no matter that he cut it too short, no matter that his ear on the floor - it's all good mate.

But, when we look at our female companions we see a completely different story...

A woman will go in, ask to have her hair styled/cut, hairdresser will style/cut accordingly, job will be done and... woman will be livid.

So where do guys get it so wrong? I mean if a woman goes to the hairdresser surely a bloke should know that 9 times out of 10 she's going to come back ticked off, right?


The problem though is that women don't tell their man that they've just been to the hairdresser and spent $100 on losing an inch.

The hairdresser *obviously* didn't listen to her fliptop-back-to-front-lollipop-curly-break-jojoba-bend hair style request, instead the hairdresser gave her the fliptop-back-to-front-lollipop-curly-break-jojoba-BLEND.

Big mistake.

And at this point the man is supposed to sympathise and bellow a heartfelt: "Oooooooh". (Along with any suggestions that have to do with breaking certain fingers of a certain hairdresser.)

But to save the relationship sometimes it's just best for blokes to put their woman at ease and say something like...
"Well, I thought you were perfect - obviously I was wrong. Let me know when your hair grows back."

And then leave.

Okay, quickly moving on...

Where do colourblind innocent handsome blokes, such as myself, get it wrong?

Well do I need to give you three guesses???

That's right: when a woman colours her hair.

Yep, I've pretty much put my foot in it every time: A brunette will have dark pink, or red streaks through her hair... and she'll ask if I can notice anything different? My answer after looking at her up and down and procrastinating for quite some time would be something stupid like: "Boob job??!"


Or a red-haired woman will have blonde streaks through her hair and I'll approach and say, "I've never seen orange hair before."


Or a black-haired woman will expect me to notice her purple streaks, and I'll say something stupid like, "What purple streaks?"


But, dear men, try your hardest at sympathising with your woman after she's had her haircut. If it helps just imagine that you've lost an inch after spending $100!

Yeah, now that'll help you fully appreciate their pain now wont it?


Why So Many Shoes?

There are some things that will forever remain an enigma to guys about women that should just be put in the "Don't Ask" basket and one of these things is:

Women's Shoes.

If blokes ever go into a shoe store they need to actually ASK where the men's shoe section is, because 9 times out of 10 they will look at a shoe thinking that it's a male shoe, but oop... it's not it's a female shoe.

In fact as the man hunts around without assistance he will soon discover that the entire store is covered with female shoes.

After asking the lovely assistant men will find that they have to go to the BACK of the store, down the stairs, out into the dark dingy alley and pick their shoes from the rack out near the rubbish cans.

And even then there will only be two pairs to choose from: work shoes and non-work shoes.

A guy is done in 5 minutes.

Now take women for instance: a woman will have about a thousand pairs of shoes and even though they have this vast quantity they will still look around for that elusive pair.

To a bloke, if something is to be shopped for it needs to fill a large gap in his life, an example of this would be food. Now a bloke can live off the absolute last morsel of food in the pantry before he would even consider going to the store to stock up, and similarly, if he were to shop for shoes he would only go any buy another pair if the older pair had completely died after being resuscitated 10 times with sticky tape and super-glue.

Logical, isn't it?

Of course.

But does this apply to womankind?


And to even make mention of the words "Haven't you already got a couple of pairs of shoes?" while she is "browsing" through her favourite shoe store is enough to see a re-enactment of Pompeii and Mt. Vesuvius - if this happens fellas: play dead, and fast, otherwise you could be getting a swift shoe imprint between your legs.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

But what about complimenting women on their shoes?

I hear you.

Logically it's the thing to do.

To a bloke, if a woman comments on how nice she likes his shoes he will likely wear those shoes forever. Unfortunately this doesn't work with women. A compliment is only as good as the depth, length, height, breadth, eye angle, face distortion frequency, body posture, and smile scale weight. You're going to have to be pretty good if you want to nail down a compliment with a woman and her shoes.

And even if you were to nail it, she'd probably think that you think that she thinks she has great taste in fashion and therefore to keep that thought that she thinks you have she will keep buying shoes to maintain the status quo.

(If that confused you, read it again... slowly... I had to write it ten times myself!)

But what about the inverse: do I tell a woman she has a lousy taste in shoes?

This is a question blokes will never be able to win.

Think of how a man thinks if a woman says she does not like his shoes (as an example): a guy will either not give a damn, or, he will not wear them again. I personally wouldn't give a damn - is a woman dating you, or your shoes?

But contrast this to how a woman might think about the issue:

If you tell her that she doesn't have good shoes on she will automatically go back in time and COUNT the number of times she wore those very same shoes with YOU and the number of times you DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING.

In other words: your nuts are coming off.

Even if you say something to the effect of: your shoes don't match your dress, she will again go back in time search through every outing she had with this dress and specifically recall all instances of the shoes she wore with this dress. If she can remember just ONE occassion with you and the same style of dress with shoes: your reproductive organs are going to be made void.

So, my advice to all the blokes out there... whenever you see your woman:



When You Forget Your Friggin Password

One of the most annoying things in this age of technology is the quantity of passwords we need to keep just to keep our stuff "secure".

Just the other day I received a call from my bank informing me that my VISA card had been "compromised".

Great! I thought, it took me months trying to remember the PIN number on that card, and just when I've etched the PIN onto the inside of my skull they're going to send me out a new PIN number!

So this time I decided to go against the forbidden law of PIN number retention... I wrote the friggin number down.

(Not on the card mind you... I'm not *that* dumb!)

But still... naughty aren't I?

So, if somebody were to come across the entry in my journal that displayed a strange 4-numbered collection they could go to town on my VISA card and withdraw... oooo... $20.

Maybe I should get credit card cover for that!

But... that hasn't been the problem for today. Today I'm trying to access a site I used about a year ago and for the life of me I cannot remember the stupid password I used.

I've checked all my emails, all my journal entries... nothing.

In fact I've even typed in every single password imaginable (and yes I've tried "qwerty") and I still can't access the member's area.

Heck, if they stored every password I entered they could pretty much access EVERY password protected site I use now.

Maybe I'll get another call from the bank soon!

But then again the only thing I haven't given them is my PIN number.

Oh well, $20 says it ain't it...


PS - does anybody have any techniques for remembering things? I know one way is to trace your steps, but unfortunately my time machine's run out of gas.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

The Other Klunk Story

Alright, I was going to save this for later, but knowing me I'll probably forget, so in order to keep this week's theme of klunks, bumps, bleeding heads and bandages I'll recount the worst head injury I've had so far in life...

It was a dark a stormy night.

Two teenagers had been battling it out all day on a lonely street basketball ring on who was the better player. Only a solitary street light and frequent flashes of lightning kept the court illuminated.

No one backed down.

No one accepted defeat.

As the darkness thickened it became more and more of an impossible task of finding the location of the basketball hoop. Eventually both players agreed to a next score wins arrangement... it was getting late.

The faster player of the two laughed mockingly at the new winning rule and with the ball in his hands speedily ran past the taller (more handsome, more athletic, more BETTER) player.

The tactic had paid off for him... the winning score was only feet away.

The taller's players eyes bulged like saucers at the sudden movement, muscles stretched as they tried to catch the more nimble boy who was now only a step away from victory.

The ball was soon tossed from the nimble player's hand...

It sailed victoriously through the air...

It's inevitable destination the hoop... the winning score... the triumphant one.

BUT... the taller player didn't lie down. In a desperate bid to alter the ball's winning flight path he shot out his hand towards the ball... his fingers went from a distance of feet to inches... inches to centimeters... centimeters to millimeters... millimeters to nanometers (?!)...


The ball's flight path was rocked, its direction altered, it skidded away from the hoop and prevented the winning score. BUT... the flight path of the taller player's head began beeping emergency signals it was heading straight towards one of the metal beams supporting the very basketball hoop he was trying to protect...


Lightning cracked... and eventually somebody's head.


The taller player still maintained to land on his feet. The nimbler player not aware of what all the noise was about deperately flung himself at the missed shot and hurriedly put the ball back through the hoop.

"WOOOHOOO!" he screamed gleefully jumping in the air, "I WIN!!!"

There was no response from the taller player.

Noticing the taller player's lack of appreciation the smaller one came over and asked what was wrong.

"Nothin. I'm fine, just a bump on my head."

"Let me see," he asked.

What felt like sweat pouring down the side of the taller man's face was quickly wiped by his navy blue t-shirt. He moved his head to the street light's mellow light and allowed the smaller player to see if it was anything bad.

"%$#@!" he remarked.

"What?" asked the taller player concerned at his friend's sudden change of demeanour.

"You've actually got a brain!"

They both laughed.

"And I won," the smaller player added.

"Well, I'm going to head off now - I've got a throbbing headache," said the taller player as he picked up his ball and headed off the court.

The smaller player waved goodbye and both headed off in their separate directions home.

On the way home the taller player couldn't believe the amount of sweat pouring from his head. He continually wiped and wiped with his t-shirt, but the "sweat" just wouldn't go away.

Maybe I did cut myself, thought the tall handsome man.

As he arrived home his mother was the first to meet him... and she nearly had a heart-attack...


She covered her mouth, shocked at the sight that stood before her... was it even her son???

The boy, now in the light, looked at himself: blood seemed to be everywhere!

"WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE???" screamed his mother.

"I just hit my head... it's no big deal - I'll go and have a shower and clean up," replied the boy, the stupid boy, the boy with NO brains.

In the shower water was applied to the wound and boy did he know he was alive. After cleaning his body and surveying the wound from the bathroom mirror he didn't understand what all the fuss was about - it was just a cut at the top of head the size and shape of an average eyebrow... big deal?

Not long after the shower though the world began to wobble a little more on its axis than it normally did. The boy's father came over and asked the reason for why his wife was in super-stress mode.

"It's nothing," the boy said.

"Like hell it isn't," replied the father, "let me take a look."

The boy didn't want to make a big fuss about such a small cut, but showing one other person probably wouldn't matter. So, he showed his father the cut hoping that he would be able to prove that it was just a scratch.

"Okay..." his father started as he probed around the open wound, "...you're going to need to get stitches."

"Oh come on," protested the silly boy, "it's just a small cut - I'm fine, I'm fine, really."

"No - you're not."

And that was the end of the argument.

The boy had no further say. After going through a few flanels with his blood his father dragged him to the local doctor.

As the doctor surveyed the scene he didn't beat around the bush:
"You're going to need stitches."

By now the boy had reserved himself to the fact that he was going to have them so now it was just a matter of how many...

"Maybe four or five," answered the doc.

"Kewl," remarked the boy knowing that he could brag to all his friends at school that he had stitches, "can I get more?"

Silly boy - never ask for more stitches.

I wonder who that silly boy was?

*Tsk* *Tsk*


Monday, November 21, 2005

Why Do You Have A Soft Head?

If you've ever had the opportunity to go snorkelling around Coral Bay in Western Australia then you'll know how exquisite the coral and marine life can be.

In fact, if you're willing to lose a few litres of blood you can get REAL up close and personal with the wildlife!

I know, because such an incident happened to me many many years ago...

Back in the good ol' days when I was a bopping teenager our family cruised up to Coral Bay for several weeks of R&R. It was an extremely long drive taking over a day and a half to get there, but when we got there our driving pains vanished.

The beach was just magnificent... and the water... oh! My feet are tingling even as I type... it was unreal - it wasn't too cold nor was it too warm: just perfect.

During our holiday we frequently went swimming among the coral reefs. And as fate would have it: on this one particular day I grew tired of using my snorkel so I asked my brother, politely, if he could take the snorkel in.

Not one to be a slave my brother refused such a humble request.

Thinking I knew better I threw the snorkel in his direction demanding that he now take it in... I turned back to the ocean and began swimming out.

My brother picked up the snorkel and screamed, "NO" while flinging the instrument back in my direction.

Next thing I heard was...


I stopped swimming and looked around and saw the snorkel sinking. I grabbed it, stood up in the water and screamed that if he didn't take it back he was going to be very sore when I got out of the water.

This time I threw the snorkel onto the beach and hurriedly dove into the deep water as far away as I could so that any more snorkel throwing wouldn't reach me - and be, therefore, no longer my responsibility.

As I dove into the crisp clear water I was astounded by the sheer beauty and majesty of the coral reefs and colourful marine life.

There was arrayed bright yellow seaweed that ebbed with the smooth soft flow of the undercurrents, strikingly blue spotted fish that darted in and out of holes in the reef, large harmless Port Jackson sharks unfazed by my presence... and then there was this strange red stuff floating nearby!?!?

Was a fish bleeding? I thought.

I turned around to look for this poor fish that was bleeding, but failed to find it, I scratched my head in wonder and when I placed my hand back into the water I noticed it had spots of red on it.

I stopped, placed my hand at the area on my head that was throbbing and looked back at my hand: it was now covered in blood!?!

What the...???

I looked back at where I had dove into the water and saw that I had left a noticeable trail of red followed by a large school of fish wondering following the red brick road.


Just as Jesus did, I pretty much walked on water all the way back to shore!

Unfortunately there was no resident doctor in Coral Bay, nor was there any for miles, so my father did the next best thing and decided to see whether watching all those episodes of E.R. had taught him anything.

First thing he did was shave the area of my head near the cut (so I had this bald patch at the top of my head for weeks!).

Next he grabbed a handful of bandaids and just stuck them all over my head. Very technical. Very medical.

I probably looked Jewish with my bandaid kippot on!

To this day I still don't understand how a plastic snorkel could have done so much damage to my head, my brother must have thrown it precisely at the right angle to have made it cut the way it did.

So this is why in my profile I make mentioned that I've got a soft head.

But I enjoy a good head scratch every now and then by a woman with nails!


PS - there's another similar story of klunks, blood everywhere, bandages (stitches this time), and my head that I'll save for another time.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Blondes And Inflatables

Today after a hot and sweaty workout I went and checked the pressure of my Betsy's tyres - for those who have no idea what "my Betsy" is it's my good ol' 1988 Toyota Camry car (most people laugh when I tell them the name of my car, but Betsy doesn't get offended) - anyway, as I tried inflating air into my tyres I noticed that the air hose wasn't working - nothing was coming out!?

I tried wiggling the hose, tightening the ends, trying all sorts of stuff on it, but for the life of me the stupid thing just wouldn't work.

As I stood to make my way to inform the staff about the problem a car full of chics rocks up and parks in an adjacent bay.

"It's stuffed," I said pointing to the hose as the blonde hopped out of the car, "I'll go and see if the staff know anything about it."

I don't know whether the blonde registered what I had said, or whether I was talking in her tongue, because when I came back with a staff member she was using the air hose on her tyres!

Or should I say "trying" to use the air hose on her tyres.

As her back tyre deflated from the lack of pressure on the hoses' end she stood up stared at her new predicament and for a moment there I thought to myself,
She probably thinks she sucked the air of the tyre!

But perhaps the crazy thing that this blonde did was proceed to the next tyre to see if she could perform that "magic trick" again!

If I had taken 5 minutes more to grab someone from the store I would swear that the blonde would have deflated all 4 of her tyres to the ground and driven off!

But as luck would have it the staff woman and I came to the air hose area before sje could do any more damage and the staff lady asked the blonde if she could see the hose.

"Oh, I'm nearly done," said the blonde.

"Apparently it's busted," said the staff chic.

She looked at me and the staff lady a little puzzled and said,
"I thought it was doing something weird, but I was going to test it on the other tyre to see whether I wasn't just seeing things."

I had to laugh.

I'm sorry, but I couldn't hold it back.

I tried muffling it, but the best I could do was turn away and rub my mouth with my hands.

Another blonde moment.

As the story would end, the staff lady took the air hose and tested it using sophisticated wiggling techniques that I had done only moments before.

"Yep, it's buggered," she announced.

It was official now.

The staff lady told the blonde that they were going to have to drive to another local petrol station to get air, but after looking at the damage done to the back tyre of the blonde's car I asked if she had a spare tyre to replace the now deflated one.

"No," said replied promptly, "and that's why I'm here silly."

Before I could mention the likely hazards of driving with a flat tyre and offering a hand to help the blonde she sped off with her brunette friends to the nearest petrol station down the road.


Blonde women,


Sunday, November 13, 2005

A Joggies To Remember

Maintaining the theme of last month with "A Walkies To Remember" I replaced the dog with my new mobile phone/digital camera and will take you on a trek through the southern suburbs of Perth.

So, here we go...

What a beautiful day! I can't think of anything more enjoyable than going out and inflicting such immense pain on my legs just so I can live that little extra bit longer...

Does this path look familiar? (And who's casting that enormous shadow?)

In my previous post, "A Walkies To Remember" I take you pretty much into the bowels of where the above path leads, however, when you near the end of this path on your right you can observe our friendly neighbourhood...

... and on the left an eerie group of pine trees that has some strange snake-like creature smack bang in the middle of it - I don't know whether this is just "art" or something for kids to play on (maybe I should play on it!)...

... but to make things even more eerier in this pine tree plantation we have some metallic object swinging in the air - is it a bird? is it a plane? what the hell is it???...

... NO! It's ART! (It's actually a representation of an angel, unfortunately the photo didn't turn out too well)...

But, we jog on...

Now we have arrived at the end of our little journey and embark on a new path... walking through the Piney Lakes swamp! At times the bin you see pictured in the lower right smells more fragrant jampacked with doggy doo-doo's than what emanates from this swamp, thankfully, today was a good day...

Yes, there ain't too much green in those trees in this swamp (*sniff* *sniff* did somebody just fart?)...

Okay, out of the swamp and as you can see the trees here have a little more "life" in them. Oddly enough I was the only one gain enough to travel through the swamp area that day...

And now we're completely out of the swamp area... can you tell???

The park land is unbelievably quite at this time of the afternoon, I wonder if there has been some announcement over the radio that a madman is running loose with his digital camera slash mobile phone thingie...

Having left the Winthrop area I'm now jogging in the Bateman suburb. This stretch of road has a zillion bottle-brush trees lined alongside it and as you can see the local council has just trimmed them - which is good, because over the last several weeks as people have passed me in the opposite direction I've had to head-butt them to avoid receiving a face full of bees and nectar...

Just where is everybody today... even the kids aren't out in the playground??? Am I in a ghost-town or something???

Alright, just to prove a point that there really are people here Perth I've taken a photo of the Freeway to show that indeed people do exist here (I wonder what would have happened if I took a photo of someone speeding... could I fine them? And take the proceeds???)...

And there's my beloved city in the background. Thankfully I'll not be travelling that far...

Inside the Mt Henry Bridge looking out...

Inside the Mt Henry Bridge looking in...

At the end of Mt Henry... who's that sweaty bloke???

Under the Mt Henry... I'm thankful no one was coming the other way... taking photos of structures like this kinda looks a little suss wouldn't you think, but of course I know how you're ALL excited about seeing what the underside of Mt Henry bridge, yes?

The other side of Mt Henry bridge. As you can no doubt piece together this bridge is being revamped a little. By the end of December this side of Mt Henry should be open for public access...

This next photo is of the Swan River. Don't be deceived, it might look okay, but unless you have an algae fetish I wouldn't encouarge anyone to go near it...

Getting back to the job at hand: jogging, but the job was easily distracted after I noticed a track that I'd never seen before!? And with good reason... there was nothing to see anyway!??! Except for some odd pole sticking out in the middle of nowhere!?

Okay, back to the job at hand...

No, wait a minute, another distraction...

... which leads too???? ... Nothing! Great! ...

Cloisters Reserve Loop finally gets a little make over, if only they got rid of all those weeds...

Our next stop sees us under the old Canning Bridge. This bridge is some 70-odd years old...

On top of the ol' Canning Bridge (and the closest I'll get to the city)...

Construction seems to be commonplace in Perth at the moment. Here at the end of the Canning Bridge we have the ol' dingy Raffles hotel getting an extreme makeover...

And here we are at the end of the Swan River bog lap...

... and the long winding path back home...

... and back at Piney Lakes, the infamous waterfall-type feature, fit with garbage and other grotty junk that adds ambience and a real bush-like flavour...

With no one around, I ventured into the kiddies playground...

Man, wish I was a kid again, this looks like waaaay too much fun...

Seriously, this kid's park is waaaay too much fun, and I'm glad there was nobody around in case they asked why I was taking photos - I don't know how an answer of "For my web site" would have gone down! Eeek!...

Does this pond look familiar?

And there you have it!

Jog completed.

Time taken? Well... let's not worry about that shall we!

I forgot my watch.

Timeless Ryan

Friday, November 11, 2005

Those Defining Sporting Moments...

There are several defining moments in a boys life where he progresses from boyhood to manhood. I had two such defining moments when I was in my early high schooling years.

Just what were these defining moments I hear you ask?

Well, firstly there was indoor cricket...

I was 12 and it was the final game of the season. It was also a must win for our team as we needed this win to see us *just* scrape into the playoffs (even though we knew we wouldn't go far, but the very thought of at least being there seemed to excite everyone) and by winning this game it would do more than just secure a playoff berth it would make us all MEN!

Unfortunately I was a late inclusion in to the side in this my first season of indoor cricket and was treated as the "outsider" never given a chance to have first choice at anything. So, in essence, I was pretty much given the worst duties.

But I didn't mind. I was a shy kid - I was used to this kind of treatment at school and other such sporting competitions.

Anyway, having been sent into bat first we gave the opposing side a score they needed to chase. Their chase went quite well and as we neared the last set of overs their score was looking ever-so-close to beating ours.

As the last over came I began to feel knots well up inside my stomach. The tension that day was now reaching a crescendo and I had my first taste of what it felt like to be in a clinching role.

By the time this game was nearing completion we had gathered quite an audience and parents from both sides eagerly watched as the final chapter of the game came...

1 over was left and by the end of it our opposition needed 6 runs to win... a run a ball.

Things were tense.

As the first ball flew down the opposing side scored a run, obviously their tactics were to just do the run a ball thing - an easy task to do.

The second and third ball confirmed this tactic and their run chase whittled down from needing 6 runs to just 3 runs for a win. Our coach screamed on the sidelines to move in closer to the batsmen - we couldn't allow them to get their coveted run a ball, so we moved in. Unfortunately I was the kid positioned closest to the batsmen - if I wanted to I could have stretched out and touched the boy!

I had no protection: no helmet, no box, just a flimsy t-shirt and shorts. Not the best protection when you've got a madman no more than 5 feet away from you swinging a wooden object the size of your leg whilst trying to hit a ball the same size and firmness as an outdoor hockey ball!

The knots pulled tighter - I found it extremely difficult to swallow. I wanted the last three balls to go quickly and preferably without any major damage to myself.

The fourth ball flew past my ear and whizzed past the facing batsmen. I cowered as the crazy kid swung at the ball I feared that he'd either connect with the ball, or, at least connect with me, but thankfully he missed everything!

2 balls were now left, and they still needed 3 runs for a win.

The opposing side now needed more than a run a ball: the crazy batsmen knew this and would start swinging big. I clasped my hands and used them as a protective box over certain male anatomy.

The next ball again screamed past me at a rate of knots and again failed to see any connection to the opposing side's bat.

1 ball left, still 3 runs needed for a win.

For the opposing team to win now they needed a big hit. The kid facing this last ball took his time and began summoning up the adrenalin from deep below to "tonk" this last ball out of the park.

I think I tried to swallow, but it got caught half way down... now I had a tied stomach and a knotted gullet - I was a mess. My palms went all sweaty and feet began to tingle. I really didn't want to be in the spot I was in with this last ball... I was just too damn close to this crazy kid with the wooden bat.

And then something strange happened, I'll never forget it: everything went in slow motion. Time just froze and everything moved so slowly.

The last ball was sent screaming down to the batsman and as it whizzed past me the eyes of the crazy kid facing the ball widened. He drew his bat as far back as he possibly could, closed his eyes and swung at the yellow object.

And he connected!

After feeling the surprise of his bat connecting to the ball his eyes opened in surprise and he did the only thing he could've done: RUN!

Parents of the opposing side jumped up and screamed when they heard the crack of ball on bat. But as the ball connected its flight path went thunderously from his bat into my stomach. No sooner had I heard the "crack" of ball on bat did my body feel this overwhelming punch into my gut.

I fell back from the force of the hit.

Keeled over clucthing my stomach everything went silent. The crazy kid was running along with his fellow batsman trying in desperation to score the required 3 runs to win.

Now the entire crowd stood up, my fellow team mates ran towards me...

And there I was.

My gut had never felt such pain, my eyes were closed from the shock of it all, but when I opened them several of my team mates looked down, and then for some strange reason their eyes widened, followed by their mouths.

I couldn't quite make out what they were saying, everything was still in slow motion, but as I looked down to my gut a familiar object was caught amongst my arms and t-shirt...

A yellow indoor cricket ball!

By catching the ball we had secured a win and a chance of playing in the playoffs. My team mates placed me on their shoulders, everybody was cheering and clapping, my folks were proud and I left that day feeling a million dollars.

Then there was high school baseball at 13...

I had never played baseball before, my Phys Ed teacher thought that because of my short career in indoor cricket I would have a faster understanding of how to play baseball... and he was right - it wasn't *that* different.

But this competition was a little different than the other one. There was no premiership to attain, no playoff berth waiting, it was purely to show off to the chics in our class.

Yes, that's right folks, the girls had the privilege of watching our game. And us boys had the privilege of showing them just how good we were. In fact most of the boys started by denuding themselves: taking off their t-shirts.

I didn't. I had nothing to show anyway!

The game started harmlessly, but as we progressed through the innings it oddly became more and more intense, and this no thanks to the fact that the chics in our class began cheering and becoming more involved than we were!

Eventually name calling on the field started, followed by a little push and shove. It seemed as though everyone was trying to be the Alpha male... and there can only ever be ONE Alpha male, right boys?

Things hit boiling point near the end of the game when our pitcher threw a ball that nearly connected with the head of the opposing side's batter - a popular boy in our class who thought that he was automatically donned the Alpha male of our year (he had humbly given that award to himself!).

And as he picked himself up off the floor he looked at the chics on the sidelines who were giggling at his slip and then he pointed to the pitcher and did a cut throat motion over his neck. The pitcher didn't care. Heck, out of all the boys in our class he was the only one who could've stood up to him, so he wasn't unfazed by the threat.

But it rattled this self-appointed Alpha male and he was looking for revenge.

In the last innings we were the last side to bat. As I sat there looking over at the chics I caught a glimpse of the hot red-head in our year that I had developed a crush on. She saw me, smiled, turned back to the game and brushed a part of her lovely red hair over her ear.

I think I was drooling, but whatever it was it was cut short by a triumphant yell from the opposing side's pitcher who was taking great glory from striking out our team mates - this pitcher was the alpha male that was floored previously.

"Ok, next?" announced the Phys Ed teacher.

He looked over his shoulder and saw me.

"Ryan!" he yelled, "your up! You've got the bases loaded and you've got two outs."

I had a rough idea of what the jargon meant, and as I stepped up a team mate stepped up and tried to take the bat away from me.

"Let me go up," Ross said looking me in the eyes, "we'll lose if you get out."

To be honest I really didn't care. I had waaay too much fun standing out in the sun staring at the red-head all day that whether we won or lost I had MY fun.

"No," I said pushing him aside, "I'll be fine."

And then for some odd reason my palms began going all sweaty. The pitcher smirked knowing all too well that I hadn't had a hit all day and that I'd never proven myself with a bat before.

As he threw the ball towards in his first pitch at me I tried connecting the smaller bat with the smaller ball and failed. The automatic swing sent the Phys Ed teacher screaming: "STRIKE ONE!"

(I knew that on the third strike I'd be out - while I'd never played the game I observed what was going on throughout the game and picked this up quickly.)

As I steadied myself for the second pitch I tilted back and tried to let it fly, but again I failed to connect.

The pitcher began laughing... mockingly.

I saw the sneering laugh and there was nothing more I wanted to do than to shove the bat I was holding so far up his... BUT, I concentrated back on the game. I had taken a mental note that with each pitch he threw they were too close to my body, if I took a stand back maybe I'd connect better with it.

Then, just as with indoor cricket, everything slowed...

As the pitcher sent down what was going to be, to him, the winning pitch I stepped back and swung yet again at the tiny ball. I closed me eyes as the ball neared, and as it did I felt this funny sensation: a sensation that felt as though I'd hit something!? I quickly opened my eyes to see what was going on and as I did I saw a look of shock horror on the face of the self-appointed Alpha male as he saw the ball pass over his head, over the fielders, outside the grounds of the oval and into the car park!

I couldn't believe it!

No sooner had I steadied myself from the huge swing the team mate on third base came running over and jumped on me. Followed quickly by the team mate who was on second, and further still the team mate on first! Eventually the entire side went on top!

But not after I quickly stole a glance at the only person I cared about: the red-head who was jumping up and down clapping and wooing on our win from the sidelines.

Was she clapping for me? I thought. I didn't know for sure, but I made out as though she did.

I felt on top of the world.

A minute later the excitement was hightened when the opposing side brought news about how my hit had placed a large dent onto the bonnet of the principals car!

The Phys Ed teacher looked at me and exclaimed: "I hope you didn't aim at that car on purpose, Ryan!"

We laughed.

Well it was his own stupid fault: he parked too close to the oval!


Thursday, November 10, 2005

I'm Destined For Fame

Well I'm stuck on these annoying quiz thingies. I've found another one that has taken my birthday and tells me everything about myself. I think I could've done a better job telling the computer myself!?

Here were the results from this test:

You're a dynamic, charismatic person who's possibly headed for fame.

POSSIBLY? Possibly?? It's a certainty!

You tend to charm strangers easily.

Well, I'm a charming kind of guy.

And you usually can get what you want from them.

Yes. Hypnotising works wonders.

Verbally talented, you tend to persuade people with your speaking and writing.

Well, I don't know about the speaking bit as I used to stutter when I was a kid and every blue moon (during my male-PMS cycle) I'll sometimes find it difficult to string sentences together, but I agree with the writing part.

You are affectionate and loving, but it's hard for you to commit to any one relationship.

Yeah that's right: the more relationships on the go the better.

Your strength: Your charm

It goes without saying!

Your weakness: Your extreme manipulation tactics

Who says they're manipulative?

Your power color: Indigo

Yeah, I'm sure it is, all colours are the same to me.

Your power symbol: Four leaf clover

To be sure, to be sure.

Your power month: December

Well it is Christmas.

Want to see if your destined for fame too? What does your birthday mean?

Okay, I'm outta here.


The Keys To My Heart

Okay, I'll admit it I was bored this afternoon. After a hectic morning I decided to chill out and do some surfin on the net.

Oddly enough I came across this quiz test: The Keys To Your Heart

Here were my results:

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free.

Amen to that! Clingons should stay on Star Trek.

In love, you feel the most alive when your partner is patient and never willing to give up on you.

Yeah, I'll give em that. I think it's important for a woman to stand by her man.

You'd like your lover to think you are loyal and faithful... that you'll never change.

Right on.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was emotional, moody, and difficult to please.

So if she has PMS give her the flick?
A new woman every month, eh?
...And don't forget if she can't cook I'm going to be forced to break up with her too!

Your ideal relationship is lasting. You want a relationship that looks to the future... one you can grow with.

Doesn't everybody at some stage feel the same?

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

Hmm... this is starting to get a little too insightful... almost to the point of being down right freaky!

You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred.

Agree wholeheartedly.

In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

I think "anything" is a little too extreme - I do have standards you know... but I do agree with the last bit.

So? How did you go?

What are the keys to your heart?


Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Winter Not Going Without A Fight

I don't know whether it's El Nino or the hole in the ozone layer or God's sense of humour, but weather in Perth has been quite bizarre lately. Apparently we had the wettest October month since recordings began and if yesterday was any indication of what November will bring rain-wise then I wouldn't be surprised if November breaks some rain records too.

And yesterday I was able to taste some of that lovely November rain... and a lot of it! As soon as I alighted off the bus and had to travel the measely 300 meters home it seemed the heavens opened up and my short 300 meter dash turned into a frantic swimming freestyle sprint home.

Don't believe me? Well, now I have evidence...

And to think that on Sunday I was contemplating even going for a swim (and if you don't believe that the weather down here can change on a dime just check the dates on each of the two photos)...

What is it with this weather lately? I mean, come on, summer's just around the corner!!!


One Wet Ryan