words, words, words

I got on the wrong train this morning. I got to London Bridge early
and gleefully hopped on a direct train that right past my stop.
Doh! I only was about fifteen minutes late, but it was 15 minutes
that I felt like a dolt.
The ticket man on the train, who normally wouldn’t buy a story like
that, looked me up and down and bought my story. Thank God.

We had a great time in the country this weekend with relatives.
Can’t wait to do it again.

So it is back to the weekly grind, exhausted.

I just finished my first week of work in the U.K., shock, horror. I volunteered to get drinks for people today (mostly 15’s, 75’s and 99’s), and ate about 6 bananas, then put sushi on top of it. So, I am tired and full. Tomorrow, more Jiu-Jitsu, and there was something else I was supposed to do, but can’t remember. Oh, I am going to open a bank account, as well. But that isn’t what I was thinking of. Crap, I need to sleep.

Oh, there was one cool thing that happened. I was talking on the train to my new friend, a 42 year old Goth woman, who looks scary, but is really nice. Then this older gentleman, wearing a bowler hat(!) (Really!), sat down next to her. The contrast was amazing. Old England v. New England.

Just so you know, this is what a bowler hat, or derby hat, as we call it in America, looks like. Bowler Hat Link I especially like this part "and most young English people in the 21st century have never seen a bowler hat worn as part of normal dress" Well I have, and it was cool!

With my first paycheck I am going to get me a bowler hat and a three piece suit.

I think that I may be onto a new fashion wave. John and I beat the herd with the cardigan, so it could happen.

I say bring back hats.

You see these old photographs of the 40’s and 30’s and everyone has a hat on. Get ready.

Oh last thing, I saw this woman with pink circles painted on her cheeks like a doll. It was a bit over the top, really more of an artistic statement than going out wear. Good night, the rambling must stop.

I should be going to bed now, so I’ll try and make this short. I
started work, as a contractor, yesterday. I like the people I work
with. They are generally witty and nice. However, there are some
really strange things afoot in the office. Maybe this is strange
because it is so unlike America. But I will give you an example;
when someone goes to get a drink, they ask everyone around them if
they want something. The machine with the drinks fills little
plastic cups, first of all, it is free, which totally unAmerican.
All the drinks have numbers you punch into the machine, a cup drops
down, some mysterious liquid comes out, and fills the cup. So
someone says “Can I get anyone anything?” and people respond, “Yeah,
I’ll have a 99.”
“A 43 please.”
“Might you get me a 15.”
Like a Chinese restaurant.
I asked about the machine and was warned, “Stay away from the soup.”
I have no idea what the numbers mean, so I just randomly pick one.
Sometimes it is a drink.
“Gimme a 57.”
It is also like Bingo.
You hope your number comes up and it is a hot chocolate and not the
minestrone.

Also, unlike American offices (maybe because there is no
fraternizing at the coffee machine, since one person gets drinks for
everyone) people actually get a lot of stuff done.
Weird.

The only slacker is the person who always volunteers to get drinks.
That’ll kill 20 minutes, easy.

I have often thought that there were a few evil cabals in the world.
The fact that dentists seem to be in cahoots, and almost always,
every-time you go, they have to drill another hole in you head.
Composite fillings that wear away, crowns that fall off, all of that
nonsense. We built the atom bomb, but can’t fix teeth? They’ve been
doing basically the same thing for a hundred years, when they used to
have to hand crank the drills. Who is doing the research? So the
technology gap and the fact that they use fear as a sales tool, it’s
always been upsetting to me. Given the right equipment, I think
anyone could fill the holes in their teeth: duct tape, superglue, a
drill, some mod-rock and white paint. Sorted.
So that is one axis of evil.

I just discovered another one. I was shaving, something I’ve never
been very good at. A friend of mine called it “scraping his face”.
That is exactly how I feel. I cut myself. In fact, I have NEVER
shaved entirely without a cut, until four days ago. I was in a jam,
I had a job interview and a scruffy looking face. I was out of
shaving cream and razors. So I used Susi’s. Susi has this razor
that looks like it came from the future, or Japan. Three blades, a
swivel head, some weird bumps on it and those strips that may or may
not work to soften the blow. I used it. I didn’t cut myself.
Imagine that. After about 15 years of shaving, I finally did it
without drawing any blood whatsoever. And I shaved without any cream
or soap, just a bit of water. Which got me thinking/day dreaming.

Picture a room full of engineers, one of them yells “Eureka” and
sprints off to find the CEO of, say Gillete.
Panting from his run, the engineer says, “Boss, I’ve got it, the
perfect razor, no shaving cream, not even soap, just water! And you
won’t cut yourself to ribbons!.”
The CEO steps back, eyes the engineer suspiciously and says “Steve,”
he says, “you are the stupidest man in the company. We don’t just
sell razors. We sell shaving cream. We sell aftershave a product
designed to remind you with a stinging sensation that you need to be
more carefull, buy a more expensive razor, more shaving cream. Steve
our business is built on shitty razors. With a perfect razor, we are
done for. Steve, you’re fired. And by the way, don’t forget the Non-
Disclosure Agreement. Our attorneys have dealt with this issue a
dozen times and will have you in a trailer park in no time.”

So that is the story, I think.
Women don’t buy shaving cream, therefore, they need a razor that
works with a minimal amount of … well … excess stuff, or
product. Ergo, the women get the good razors and our razors suck.
It may emasculate me a little bit, but I am going to start scraping
my face with women’s razors. And if anyone has a problem with that,
well, you go on cutting yourself, sucker.

I heard another old dude at the bus stop say, when the bus pulled up,
“Jolly good show!”
Ha!

It was a good weekend and it’s not over yet. Susi and I had some friends over for dinner last night and had a lovely meal. Then today we went to a tango concert at the National Theatre. It was a concert, the musicians were excellent, but then people got up and starting dancing. That was f—ing hilarious. There was one couple in particular, I took a picture of them with my phone (Susi and I made a cellular video call today, by the way, the future is now!), but the pictures I take with my phone are crap. This couple had their cheeks pressed together the whole time and basically walked around in circles, but they had obviously trained extensively at tango. A friend of mine, who is an Argentine aficionado, once told me that it isn’t about the dancing, it is the music. And of course, she was right, she always is (another Argentine trait), the music tells these incredible stories of passion, violence, betrayal and love. Yet, here was this couple walking around with their cheeks pressed together.
Then another couple stood up and the woman just spun around, like she was swing dancing.
But my personal favorite, we were standing (it was SRO) and right in front of me was a really old dude, who was just sitting there.
Then the band played a waltz. He sprung into action like a superhero. Grabbed a girl and started whipping around the dance floor in a perfect waltz. He may have been a leftover from the 19th century. But he tore it up! Of course, meanwhile, the tango couple are walking around, now with a rash on their cheeks, because they can’t waltz, only tango.
It was entertaining. Oh, did I mention the band was excellent.
Then we went to the Moroccan festival, which was rubbish. 3 stalls, one selling danishes.

Back to the blog.
After a brief hiatus, I have returned. Susi and I went to France for almost a week and had a great time. We walked on the beach, threw rocks, looked at topless fat people. All that good stuff.
Some of the food was incredible and I definitely feel chunkier now. By the way, you always hear about how French drivers are crazy. After traveling a fair number of countries I think it is safe to say that they are the craziest drivers in the world. And they all drive these little tiny cars that look like shoes. I’m not sure what would happen if one hit you, but after all the baguettes and the bouillabaisse I think there could have a shoe pile up that I could have walked away from.
People wear weird socks in France. A few other observations: there is pooop on the pavement, the people on the street actually do wear berets and carry baguettes, they may be the slimmest nation in Europe, the women pout all the time, all men wear pink ties, Orangina is really good… enh, you get the idea.
There was a lot to see.
Oh and the ocean was very pretty, but it was cold.
Not as cold as the pool though.
I had a very authentic experience on a train but don’t feel comfortable writing about it. You can ask me in person if you get the chance.
Last thing, as I just told Peter, my friend from MusicNerve.com (check out his podcast), French Fries are called “Stupid American Sticks”.
Eventually I’ll put up pictures. That actually might look good on my tombstone.