Choosing baby names (.com)

July 14th, 2009

I have two daughters. They were born 2.5 years apart and the birth of my second roughly coincided with when gmail was starting up by invitation only and giving email addresses to blogger users.

I thought, being the forward thinking type, it would be a good idea to sign my girls up right then. Sure, neither of them could read or write but this was probably their only shot of getting their firstname.lastname@ combination. Generations of kids below us will be consigned to a world of email addresses that will need to have their year of birth or arbitrary characters appended to their first.last base.

Signing them up at birth (theirs, gmail’s) was the least I could do to give them a sense of ownership over their own names.

With little miss L, I was able to secure her first.last combination. With little miss M though, her first.last was taken, so I signed her up twice. So when she’s a bit older she’ll have the choice of first.middle or first.m.last. Thing is, her middle name is way cooler than her first name, so I’m glad I’ve given her the option. I missed out on her first.last combination because, I’m sure, of my wife’s insistence on giving her the most popular first name going at the time. But let’s not go there.

I was mentioning this to a colleague this morning and he suggested that couples having kids now might actually want to consider going so far as finding out which gmail combinations are still available before committing to a name for their kids.

Wish I’d thought of that four years ago.

Back

July 12th, 2009

Where to begin. Or, where to pick up.

Time is precious and this has always been the project I’ve dabbled at using the time that’s fallen between the cracks of Important Things. I kind of disappeared for a while though. I changed jobs and the way I had structured my time previous to that completely changed and the snippets of spare time spent here just disappeared, and so did I.

But things have changed again. There’s probably a blog post in there somewhere about where I’ve been but that’s for another day. It’s Sunday night and there’s work to be done.

Eurosomethingorother

May 17th, 2009

I’ve often thought I should try liveblogging. If only for my own entertainment. But y’know…

Firstly, at the time most liveblogworthy things are on, I’m usually getting kids to bed, loading the dishwasher and generally cleaning up the mess I’ve made earlier in the afternoon.

Secondly, and probably more pertinently, I live in South Australia so unless I want to liveblog the McGarey Medal count (a medal ceremony for local nugget-headed footballers (a tautology in itself), where they all sit at tables and gasp in amazement as a presenter on stage continually impresses them by counting to three), there’s very little point. See, we’re half an hour behind the east coast of Australia, so nothing is live here. I’d be reporting on who’s been eliminated from SYTYCD and commenting on Natalie’s frock, while in reality she would be back in the green room in her tracksuit pants downing her second Bacardi and Coke (because she’s a classy girl).

It’s also difficult with something like Eurovision, because we’re 8.5 hours ahead of western Europe and while it may seem a good idea to blog it that far in advance, there are obvious flaws in the plan. It’s a Saturday night deal in Europe but we have to content ourselves with watching a delayed telecast on Sunday evening.

I’ve been big into Eurovision since SBS started broadcasting it in the late 90s. It appeals to me because it’s the zenith of ironic consumption. Everyone in it is so into it and has such a great time, and seem to genuinely participate in the rivalry, even though everyone knows it really is a little bit shit.

It’s still fun to watch and it’s getting a bit more of a following over here now but I’m not sure a lot of people here get that it’s kind of supposed to be sort of crap. Australians love to take the piss but, I dunno, I kind of get the idea that it’s more derisive and genuine than being in on the joke. I kind of miss how we used to get the British feed with Terry Wogan with his reserved and veiled sarcasm, which again, you kind of had to get it to get it.

I nearly didn’t watch it tonight though, after the local Channel Nine news, in an act of sheer televisual bastardry, blurted out that Norway had won the competition as they threw to a commercial break. No ‘we’ll give you the winners after the break’ or ’stay tuned for the winner of Eurovision’ just a completely unexpected announcement in what must have been a deliberate attempt to fuck it up for anyone that wanted to watch it later. It would be competing with 60 Minutes after all, so they took it upon themselves to ruin it for everyone.

Nul points, chaine neuf. NUL POINTS!!

Forgot to put a title on this post

January 8th, 2009

Thought I should put up some kind of notification along the lines of “we will resume normal service as soon as possible as we can” even though it’s a bit like me chopping down a tree in the forest, popping in some earplugs, getting out of the way and letting it fall.
I will get around to posting more, now that I’ve sorted issues with the new flaptop but for now, the only truly up-to-date bit is my Twitter feed, to which you should subscribe if you want to hear some pretty amazing and funny stuff just after I’ve written it.
I’d add a link but I’m typing this on my phone in the train and I’m not sure the woman next to me reading Rosamund Pilcher knows how to hyperlink text in Opera Mini. You work it out.

Hair cut

December 15th, 2008

I didn’t take a lunch break today, so finished up a little early and used a bit of time at the end of the day to go and have my hair cut.

I changed jobs a few weeks ago, so I’m on the other side of the city, which means the barbers’ shops in proximity to my place of employ are different. I tried a “new” place today.

And when I say new, I mean that this place has obviously been there since 1960, possibly earlier. This was a traditional barber shop, still with the original fit-out which would have looked so sleek and stylish way back when and actually looks quite stylish in a retro way by today’s standards, if a tad faded. It’s large and roomy, has a huge mirror and two chairs.

After I sat down, my suspicions on the age of the place were confirmed: there was a faded, picture with telltale fuzzy focus, of a fresh, young Italian man standing in front of a barber shop. This barber shop. With the same signage, the same fit out, the same man that was here putting a hand-towel around my neck. Seeing his young face in the the photo and his old face, decades later, sizing up my head, was one of those moments when you think “fuck, life goes so fast”. And then I noticed another 70s postcard that had boobs on it and kind of got distracted.

I’ve been choosing to go to older Italian barbers pretty much my whole life. One of my best friends in high school was italian and his dad, Joe, was a barber, so there was never any question that I’d go anywhere else, really. When I moved away, I sought other such barbers not only because they were inexpensive but because there was just something so reassuring, honest and unpretentious about them; and as one not inclined to pretentiousness, this appealed to me.

My most previous barber in Bank St was great. He was even called Joe, though a bit taller than my friend’s dad. But he did a good cut: consistent and efficient. He didn’t mess about and he always had the easy-listening AM station on the radio (which, I kid you not, seemed to play Sailing by Christopher Cross every time I went in for a cut). I’m quite convinced he never really remembered me from the previous time, always asking “Medium cut?” to which I’d always reply “Uh, quite short, actually”. He took 15 minutes, max to do a cut, starting with the clippers around the back and sides, scissors on the top, loosen the bib/shawl thing, clippers with no comb around the back of the neck, then he’d use the cutthroat razor around the sideburns, back of the neck and then a quick comb and sometimes a bit more snipping. Then, talc in the brush and a quick sweep around the collar, ears and forehead to remove any stray offcuts, and done, $16, see you in six weeks.

The guy I went to today had much the same procedure. But it wasn’t the efficient, no nonsense cut I’d become accustomed to. This guy seemed to think that use of the clippers was two-fold: firstly, to cut hair and secondly, where it missed cutting, to flatten the hair. I conclude this from how hard he was pressing with the damn thing. I would have thought the best way to get the cut shorter, would be to use a shorter comb but he seem to think my skull was somehow flexible enough to give him a bit of leeway if my hair wasn’t as short as he’d like. It was like he wasn’t so much trying to cut my hair as force the clippers into my brain through whatever crack in my scalp he may have been fortunate enough to find. I had visions of my head breaking like an easter egg and the clippers buzzing away as my chocolate brain oozed out over his leather chair.

By the time he got to the back of my neck, he’d had the damn things turned on so long, it was like being branded it was so hot. The end result isn’t too bad, but what an ordeal! My other guy is close enough to the railway station I think I’ll just have to keep going back there.

He’s $3 cheaper.

Taking care of business

December 5th, 2008

So I had lunch at the Central Markets today. I’d been drinking a lot of water at work though after having a few beers last night and feeling strangely hungover today, despite the “few” only numbering three (weird, I go for a session at the pub and wake up feeling nothing worse than a little hoarse but I go out to a show and to dinner and wake up with my head in a vice). What I’m getting at is that no sooner did I lob up to the markets, than I needed, well, to go. I went to the gents in the southern market arcade walkway, near that stand where the guy sells the old records; near the back door of the pub in there. So I go in.

There’s an old Chinese man huddled in the corner and at the other end, there’s just some guy, wearing a bad polo shirt with horizontal stripes and cargo shorts. I assume my position in the middle, when the guy to my right starts talking.

“Hey, thanks for calling back… you’re probably one of the few bankers that isn’t out playing golf at the moment”

Yeah, he was talking on the phone while he was standing there and, y’know… let’s just say he had both hands full.

“So I looked at the proposal and… yeah, I know… well this had all been checked with Kevin, so… um yeah, actually… Can you hang on a minute? I… I’ve just gotta do something…”

I’m not sure where he put the phone while he was doing it but I’m sure the guy at the other end was wondering what our man was doing standing in the kitchen and why it was so important that he squeeze that lemon juice into the sink rather than talk about the proposal. I finished up and went to wash my hands while he was, well, squeezing lemons.

And the next thing I heard was his voice trailling off as the door closed behind him.

So very wrong…

Fast

November 24th, 2008

Now that I’m in another job that actually requires me to do anything other than a) sit around waiting for my supervisor to give me something to do, or b) figure out what I want to take photos of this week, or c) drink coffee and surf the net and wait for something to land in my inbox, I’m finding that every second outside work is really really precious.

I know I’m only a week in, and that the pace will slow (a bit) soon, but I’m in a much busier environment in general so things have definitely changed. So too must things around the house.

What I’m trying to say is: ADSL bites. I just can’t sit around waiting for these pages to load. I need ADSL 2, ASAP.

That is all I have time for now.

Mobile internet: a good thing?

November 14th, 2008

I love that I can post to my blog from on the train, or anywhere I might happen to be with my phone and half decent reception.

When you throw alcohol into the mix however, it may not be such a good idea to give an idiot like me unfettered access to the realms of online publishing. You just never know who you’re going to defame.

Actually… I better check you tube… no idea what I may have put up there

Indulge me

November 7th, 2008

While I mostly blog just for myself, it sometimes would be nice to have a few more readers. There are times, such as a few minutes from now, when I’d like to be able to ask a group of people something so it would be good to have a decent sample size.

What’s been on my mind is this.

I’m just about to change jobs. This will mean that I’ll get a bit of money paid to me when I leave my current employer, mostly from leave entitlements and such. Now I have an idea in my head of how much it will be and I know I could blow it all in an afternoon with the things I really want. Easy. If I had twice what I’m about to get I could blow it in an afternoon and the following morning (even with a hangover).

But I’m a family man. We (C & I) have a mortgage and credit cards and school fees and accounts for our daughters’ futures with not as much money as we’d like to have there. We also have plans to improve our home: stick in some doors and build a bit of a deck, get a new carport and do some pulling up of plants, moving the dirt they were in from one spot to another spot,  and sticking new plants in the now-over-there dirt (I’m told it’s called “landscaping”).

So as much as there’s stuff I want, how do I justify spending a large amount of money on stuff that’s only going to benefit me directly (though, it should be said the family would benefit indirectly) when it means money can’t be spent on other areas we, as a family, would like to invest in?

Case in point: I have a Canon 20D. It’s an 8.2megapixel Digital SLR. But it’s an old model by today’s standards. I have one pretty good lens, one OK lens and one really basic lens. I do shoot the occasional wedding or stuff for work and on these occasions I’ll either borrow or hire, so there’s no loss to me. So do I need a 50D? I know I’d like a 50D (or a 5D) but how do I justify spending money on one of those if it’s not related to a direct stream of income? It’s the same for L-series lenses: should I really be spending money on a top-of-the-line lens and getting great pictures, when I can get ‘good’ pictures with the lenses I have? The question is the same for TVs, computers, musical instruments…

The thing is, I have a hard time spending money. It’s not that I’m miserly; I’ll invest good dollars in something if it’s worth the investment. I can appreciate buying quality over buying average. But I was taught to save, save, save and not make impulse purchases. The downside of this is that for me, every purchase of just about anything is an excruciating decision to make because I’ll always find a way to talk myself out of it. If I need new shoes (which I do) I’ll tell myself “Well, I’ve lasted this long with the shoes I have; I can last another day/week/pay period without new ones” and before you know it I’m in the market for new shoelaces because these ones have broken and the soles are nearly worn through.

I mentioned that it’s hard to see the justification for anything unless there’s a direct income stream to be derived from it. It’s even harder when it comes from purely leisure activities. I find it hard to reconcile the expense of something that is purely for fun—and I’m not just talking financial.

How great would it be to be able to come home from work, pick up a guitar/laptop/wii and spend hours just playing. And yeah, some of my creative pursuits are productive: I often touch up photos in photoshop, which I’m pretty skilled at, only to click ‘No’ when it asks if I want to save—because I know I’m never going to get any of them printed/published so there’s really no point (which is kind of the point of leisure, isn’t it? Pointless amusement? Something that’s fun but really unimportant? If it were important, would it not be called work?). But I get home, cook food, spend time with kids, get them to bed, sometimes cook food again if C & I don’t eat with the kids, clean up after cooking, have a nice cup of tea with C and by the end of that there’s precious little time to do anything productive (or loud) anyway.

So what I want to know from you readers, both my regular half-dozen or so, and any random traffic that happens to be passing by (I know you’re there, please contribute on this one) is…

How much time do you get to spend taking part in leisurely pursuits? I’m talking hours per evening/weekend on stuff that’s just for you.

And if you were to have a nice separation cheque handed to you, how much of it (either a percentage or whatever dollar figure you imagine you’d like to get as a separation cheque) would you be able to justify on spending on yourself (whether it’s on a car, electronics, a holiday, chocolate, hookers, drugs, whatever floats your boat)?

Comments or emails welcome.

Incisive hat-tip

November 6th, 2008

I’ve just fallen in love with Erin Kissane at Incisive.nu for doing, on a much more regular basis, that which I never really had time to do over at Grammar Nazi.

I especially love her coining of the word English-ish, which so economically describes most of what we read in business and marketing communications. It sounds like English but it’s just kind of not.

I’m also impressed by her correct use of em dashes. You see, people? It’s so easy to do…