August 30, 2006: Conscription

I was of a conscription age, when the first Gulf war was declared. The news of the '€˜action'€™ broke while I was on holiday up the coast with some mates from High School.

The first thing that leaped into our twenty something male minds, was that there might be the possibility of a general 'call-up'.€™ Just like for Vietnam.

We might be rounded up and sent off to die.

All those young men, full of aggressive energy, who were not very worldly. Who think that going to war is like attending a sporting fixture.

Not quiet like in the Second World War, where we would be off to defend our home lands.

We would be the aggressors, invading someone else'€™s home, to secure oil supplies.

My dad narrowly avoid being sent off to Korea, cause his back was covered in teenage acne.

When G.W. jnr€™ embarked upon this current adventure, I realised I was probably too old to be pressed into the armed forces now, which was a cheery thought.

Unfortunately, I now get to worry about what might happen in my nephew'€™s futures.

I think it'€™s interesting that in the News, there was a story about the Marines having an Involuntary Call-Up.

One wonders if this is the thin edge of the wedge?

Fear is a beautiful thing.

When I was a kid, the threat of the northern hemisphere ‘nuking it out’ was ever present.

I was never really worried about my home copping a direct hit, cause despite the huge over capacity of warheads safely tucked away in their launch tubes, who the hell is going to waste a couple of million bucks (or roubles) sending an ICBM our way?

Nope, what scared me, was having to live the rest of my life on the cinder, which would be all that was left of the planet. I kind of wished that we were a little more important, or at least a bit more threatening, so that we rated the instantaneous oblivion of ‘ground zero.’

There was this weird vacuum that appeared in the group unconsciousness when the USSR split. It was as though this threat, which had been hanging over my head whole short life up to that point, had evaporated.

Thankfully the threat of terrorism has nicely filled that vacuum.

I don'€™t '€˜get' Stadium gigs.

An Aerosmith gig was the last stadium event I've attended, and that was a long time ago.

Even then they aging (errrr preserved) well. They seem to be turning into the American version of the Stones.



We had bad tickets that night, and our seats were way up the back of a decent sized indoor entertainment arena.

I saw the whole performance on a video screen suspended from the roof, cause the band on the stage looked like an animated postage stamp.

'€˜I could watch this at home'€™ I thought. From then on I swore to only go see bands in venues where the floor had sticky carpet, you could reach up and touch the pipes running across the roof, and I don't have to wait for half an hour to get out into the fresh air when the gig is done.



Unfortunately that means I missed the only time the Cure toured Oz.

They have only toured Australia once (as far as I know.) The lead singer is afraid to fly. To get to the country, I hear he was drugged to the eyeballs, and carried onto the plane.



The Cure had sort of sold out€™ by that stage. They avoided the more intimate venues, and were booked into the same arena that I had vaguely seen Areosmith in.

So I missed them.

August 17, 2006: Specking of rumours

You may recall I mentioned the attention one woman at work was receiving.

I'€™m wondering if that comes under '€˜Corporate'€™ or 'Personal' rumor mongering?

I’m not really into to '€˜Personal'€™ type gossip, but the 'Corporate'€™ stuff is potentially useful.

'€˜Family'€™ goss I could happily not hear about.

Only the British, Italian, and on occasion the Americans, have interesting '€˜Political'€™ trash talk.

Corporate gossip at our place is encouraged by the '€˜Turf wars'€™ that every department seems to be involved in.

€'Hardware'€™ and '€˜Software'€™ have been fractured into subgroups, all of which are constantly maneuvering to make sure their project isn'€™t canned, and that they get invited to the important meetings.

Both these groups have friction going on with €˜Art,€™ and everyone is trying to stick-it to Sales and Marketing.

At one point before I started here, even Human Resources were involved in a turf war, which is a bit crazy cause they are supposed to be an arbiter between people. HR had to be gutted to clean it up.

A Current story doing the rounds, that has piqued my interest, is that a manager is going to get canned soon. I've heard this from two sources. One is a lieutenant who is hoping to move up the ladder a step when the manager's position becomes vacant.

The other confidant is a disgruntled ex-employee who reckons he's got inside knowledge. A bottle of good scotch depends on the result, as I reckon that the manager isn'€™t going anywhere.

It'€™s a bit weird to hear that even in this virtual space, there seems to be gossiping going on.

August 15, 2006: I'€™ve been spreading rumors

About my bosses deciding to move our organisation out into the middle of nowhere.

I'€™ve been spreading this rumor cause I don'€™t want to move, and I'€™m hoping to spark an employee revolt.



The weird thing I've discovered about rumors is the more I highlight how unreliable my sources are, the more people are inclined to spread the rumor More people talking about the rumor, makes it seem more concrete.

July 27, 2006: A young mans fancy turns to sheds

I'm having problems finding a suitable work environment for my creative writing pursuits.
I need the company of my flatmate, but I also need privacy for my writing.
It's cold now, so the balcony isn't welcoming.

The wiring to my bedroom lights has gone, and writing in the dark brings an un-looked for Gothic quality to my work.

The bathrooms vibe is too hard, and my butt gets cold on the toilet.

The kitchen is the center of food and hot drink preparation, so there are always interruptions.

The laundry though warm and private, is the size of an old fashion phone booth, and it could use a few windows to soften its cell like qualities.

Maybe I could build a shed and attach it to the side of my apartment building?

I could make it out of tin so that it drums pleasantly in the rain.

I wonder how the body-corp would feel about a shed, hanging off a tenth floor balcony?

The body-corp seems to be made up of old men who lack imagination. Especially when it comes to architecture.

Somebody suggested writing at work, as I don't seem to do any actual work for the corporation, while I'm at the office. It's a fine idea, but just walking through those doors sucks all the drive out of me and consumes what little creative energy I might have.

Besides, I might write something pornographic, and some systems engineer would find it on the server, and post it on the web, and turn it into email packing with a distribution that would rival a tom Clancy novel.

Before too long, friends would unknowingly be emailing it back to me cause they received it from a mate in Wales, or wherever.

My damp prose would work it way into bathrooms and under doonas all over the planet.

July 13, 2006: I'm a bit late for national cleavage day

I'm reminded of a story a mate of mine told me a while back.

She wears a suit to work, and the trend these days is for pants to hang from the hips.

The hazard in this is that when she sits down, a decent wedge of cleavage is exposed.


One time she was at a corporate lunch and she nabbed a colleague, who was leaning back in his chair, and targeting her gap with peanuts.



She got home that night and found that he had been a lot more successful then she had realised, when she pulled off her slacks and a shower of nuts bounced across the floor.