SeinFred's Look on Life...

Introduction

I doubt that this will ever be published on actual ex-trees. It has nothing going for it – it’s not written by a sportsperson or a TV celebrity, and it contains no gardening or cooking tips.

After all, any (or in exceptional cases, all) of the above ingredients make a good book. Well okay, it might not be good or even mediocre, but it will be published. Stick some rugby player’s name on the front and you’ve got guaranteed sales. Even politicians get published; as long as they still have a face they can print on the cover, they’ll publish it. Some politicians have two faces which makes this difficult. Do you pick Mr Smooth or Big Fat Liar?

You may well ask why wrote this. I guess it’s mainly because of people. There are so many weird people in this country that you just can’t help but laugh at some of the things they do or say. One of my favourites is Boy Racers. Brings a smile every time. But people are just plain weird – not in the way they act, because they might not act funny but the things they say and do are weird. There’s someone I know who stopped her son from joining the school choir, because it was “poofy”. I was amazed at her attitude on so many levels. Not so much that she still thought kids as “poofy”, or worse still that she thought her son would turn “poofy” because he wanted to be in the choir. Let me see; the boy wants to join a group where there are only girls, and that’s “poofy”? The boy is a bloody genius. He’s the only boy, there are all girls. How on earth can someone think the kid is “poofy”? Never again will I look the same at boys (or men for that matter) in a choir – they are my intellectual idols.

Woman’s Magazines

Let me set the scene for you: Nicole and Tom are yet again pictured on the cover of some glossy crappy woman’s magazine. But wait there’s more! The headline says, “Tom and Nicole getting back together!!” If there’s only one exclamation point, then it’s certainly not true. But two exclamation points? That’s just absolute the honest celebrity truth (3 exclamation marks means it came straight from God).
You flip to the article – the catchy caption says something like, “Tom says he thinks about Nicole every night!”
The problem with all these articles is that they are always quoting “a close friend", or “someone close to Tom” or “a source”. What a load of crap.
Do they ever say, “Ima Tallstory, Tom’s manager, says that…”, or “Tom Cruise told us directly that…” No. Because it’s all made up – can’t you see that? And yet they sell hundreds of thousands of these magazines each week. How sad are we?

One bizarre thing has emerged from reading any gossip mags: I’m now on a first-name basis with all the stars. If ever I see them (not likely) then I can just say, “Oh hi Nicole. How’s those breast implants working out for you then?” I know everything about her (if you can believe the magazines). Now, I have never met Nicole, I’m not going to, but I know everything about her? I could get arrested as a stalker just by reading one of these mags. These magazines could be used as evidence in court for any stalker. A lawyer could tell you that for a fee, but I’m telling you for free. Burn them now before it’s too late (not the lawyers, the magazines).

One thing that I do find interesting in the gossip mags (other than the cleavage shots) is the amounts of money actors get paid for being in a big movie. Ole Tom regularly nets a cool $30 million for his face to appear, while Nicole tops out at $25 million. What do they do with this much money? I’d only do the one movie and chuck it in, and retire. Buggar the sequel, I’m on the beach and making plenty doing nothing, thanks very much.
And that’s just one movie – they can do 2 or 3 a year at times. Makes you wonder that if they said, “nah, I’m happy to take only a million per movie from now on,” how much cheaper it would be to go to the movies. Because it just ain’t cheap. I may be showing my age, but I remember going to the Mayfair in Sandringham in Auckland as a kid of about 10, and paying a whole 60 cents for a double matinee. Now, by the time you buy two tickets and a couple of those pre-wrapped hard-as-rock ice creams you are lucky to see any change from forty bucks. The ice creams alone are $4 each – just how much profit are they making out of these things?
“Yeah well they cost us 30 cents each, so we need to stick 4000 percent mark-up on them to break even on the handling. Taking them out of that box is just such hard work for our poorly paid staff.”
The last theatre I went to had H2O in the bottle for sale, along with the normal cola stuff, which I thought was a nice touch. I felt more touched in my wallet when the price was $4 for the water. Well I guess it doesn’t fall from the sky. The same theatre had a donation box on the counter for your change. What? You just sucked sixteen bucks out of me for 2 ice creams and 2 bottles of water, and you want my change too? The donation box may have been for the Blind Foundation, but it sure felt like I’d just been robbed blind.
And can someone tell me why they have to have the sound up so high? It’s like there’s a 6.5 earthquake going on in the theatre, the seats are rocking, people are falling in the aisle, but it’s just the bloody sound system turned up to 120%. Are that many old people now going to the movies that they need to do this?

I’d love to ask the manager of the theatre why they have a “no photos” sign at the door. I’ve seen these at movie theatres, malls and museums. You know the one – a picture of a camera with a red line through it. The “no cameras” sign at shopping malls really has me beat. What do they think people will do? Open up a $40 million mall right next to LynnMall that looks exactly the same?
“Okay guys we’ve taken 30,000 photos and I think we’ve got the layout down pat. We’re going to call it ‘LinnMall’ and I’ve got some shops ready to go. Confirmed so far include McRonalds, Barmers and L-Mart. If we get stuck, we can walk next door and take some more. What’s that Mike? They’ve put up a ‘no cameras’ sign? Oh, well we just can’t go ahead now. Let’s go to the museum and recreate that from photos instead.”
What can’t you take pictures at a museum? It’s not as if you can reproduce a piece of rock from the moon from a photo, or just pop out a buy an identical 3,000 year-old Roman crock pot, just to keep up with Te Papa.

Hmmm. Perhaps Tom or Nicole could pull the normal 30 million and take a trifling 15 million for themselves and give the other 15 million to charity. I swear, if I ever make it big in Hollywood I’ll take 10 percent of the offer and give the rest to charity. I’m that kinda guy.

Computers

Computer are my life – literally. If they didn’t break down as much then I’d be out of a job. But that’s not to say many aspects of them don’t drive me crazy. They do.
I feel like ringing whoever designed the CD-rom drive and ask them why on earth they put the button to open and close it underneath the thing, so you have to bend your wrist and some weird and totally unnatural angle to push the button to close it. And if it’s open, don’t try putting your hand through the round hole in the tray and then pressing the button – this is a recipe for a new CD-rom.
And can I ask Microsoft why you have to click on the “start” button to stop it? Are they trying to mess with our minds?
One thing I don’t think Microsoft can ever underestimate is just how thick some people are. I know they try (well, a little) to make them foolproof, but there’s only so much you can do. I’ve spent quite some years working with people, training them and more, and I do wonder how these people cope with everyday tasks. You think I’m kidding? How many times have I had to show people that to log on to their computer they must type in their name. If someone else’s name is in the box that says, ‘user name’ then their password ain’t gonna work. If your name is Jane, and the name in the box says Bill, change the name!


Dentists

I went to the dentist today. Why does my dentist have a shower in his toilet-come-bathroom? Is the anaesthetic that he’s using that powerful that he has to wake some patients up by throwing them in a cold shower?
“Nurse – she’s still out to it! Cold shower, stat!”

And I now know why you are called a patient – it’s because you’ve got to have so much of it sitting in the waiting room. You spend 90% waiting and 10% getting drilled. And oh the pain. Never have I experienced as much pain as going to the dentist. No, I don’t mean the drilling, picking, scraping, drilling, plugging, drilling – I mean the paying. One hundred and eighty bucks for 15 minutes in the chair, and one filling in that time? I could fly to Australia and back for less. They don’t remind you of that fact when you are there. Never have I seen a travel mag while waiting in the waiting room. It’s always boat magazines, Audi or Porsche mags (because he can afford to own one). That’s because all of these things cost lots more than going to the dentist. One hundred and eighty bucks sounds cheap compared to a new A6 Audi at $105,000.
If they did have a travel mag there, and you were reading it, you might just think, “Hey instead of going through a painful 15 minutes in the chair and 90 minutes waiting, why don’t I get on a plane, fly for 3 hours, get off in Melbourne and fly straight back for 3 hours for less? I even get food with it, and no pain - unless they body-search me.” They don’t feed you at the dentist at all – not even a coffee while you wait. And when you are talking with your friends, you sound so much more hip if you say, “Oh I just popped across to Sydney on the weekend,” and they all go “wow you are so cool!”
If you say, “I went to the dentist,” everybody just goes, “Oh. Do you need to borrow some money to make the rent?”

Moving

People move house. I know this – I’ve done it quite a few times myself. But why do people take so much crap with them when they move?
I used to move people for a job. You know – turn up in the truck, load up, drive, unload, drive home.
Now the description above is a best-case scenario, because you would not believe just how unorganised people are when it comes to moving. They ask for you to be there at 7am on the dot so you can get an early start on the day. Cool by me. But most of the time, you turn up at 7am and they aren’t anywhere near ready.
Knock knock.
“Hello?”
“Yeah hi – I’m moving you today.”
“Great – we’ll just finish our Weetbix and start packing and be right with you.”
I kid you not – I think they mean 7 o’clock is when they’ll start thinking about moving. Most have not packed anything, the fridge is still full, as is the washing machine, the dishwasher, the kids are still home like little self-driving obstacle courses, and then you can kiss goodbye to the whole day, and then some.
And the stuff people take with them. Fishing line that’s been tangled up for 12 years. Six inches of rope. Bags with holes in the bottom. The list is as endless as it is unbelievable.
“Dear I’ll just chuck this gumboot with no sole in it out, ok?”
“No way darl, I can make one gumboot out of two with that – stick it on the truck.”
Rotten pieces of wood. One guy wanted to take the grass from around his trees (I told him where he could put his grass. It wouldn’t have helped his garden though).
And then there’s the directions to the new house.
“Just drive 400 kilometres south, turn left by the pine tree and then right by Mrs Clark’s house, and it’s 3rd house on the left – can’t miss it.”

You wouldn’t believe the amount of times someone gives you something to pack in the truck, and they always say, “don’t break this.” Well I was going to break it, but since you asked so nicely, now I won’t. I guess it’s mostly the pessimists who say this – the optimists say “I’m sure you’ll be careful with this.” Darn tooting.

Bad Grammar and Spelling

The days of good spelling and great grammar are on their way out, if they aren’t gone already. From someone who was brought up learning to spell properly and doing the times tables every morning at Primary School (“4 times 4 is 16, 4 times 5 is 20,…”) this is a sad decade indeed. Ahh Primary School. And we’re talking Primmers here, not this Year 3 stuff. What’s with that? We’ve not been bought out by America yet, have we? (Mind you at both McDs and BK they serve ketchup instead of tomato sauce, so the signs are there.)
Anyway I saw a sign, of all places, at my place of work (in the kitchen). Kids of staff use the kitchen after school to camp out in and the language was getting out of hand just a little.
So someone put up a sign: “No Profound Language”. Well we can’t just have these kids going around sprouting Shakespeare or Confucius. This would just not be spiffy.
And advertisers, as is often the case for lots of things, are to blame. Any decency in spelling and grammar went out the window with the advent of the new generation of spelling-challenged school leavers.
You never realise just how bad our language is until you hear a New Zealander talking to someone else, say in the UK. We sound just so foreign. It sends shudders down my spine to hear that comparison.


Clothes

Men shouldn’t buy their own clothes. Men are bad at buying clothes. Well, straight men anyway. We straight men watch Queer Eye and are secretly jealous that Carson knows just what clothes look good on any given male body.
My wife knows this – I know this. I don’t attempt to buy my own clothes because I’m sick of having to take them back when she sees them (and screams, or worse).
So there I was in the Farmers in Kaitaia not so long ago. I’m standing around in the Menswear department, waiting for her to come along and give me some advice (read: pick the clothes out for me). And then along comes the poncy guy who works there.
“Can I help you sir?” (It means you’re getting older when they call you sir)
“No thanks, I’m just waiting for someone.”
“Not allowed to buy your own clothes, huh?”
So this is not unique to me. I feel so much better, but it’s still sad.

Why do men’s pyjamas have pockets? Do they expect people to go to work in them? “Shit I’m late. Dear, where’s my tie? Don’t worry about my shirt and pants - I’m going in my jammies.” Or perhaps since people are so attached to their cellphones these days, they expect you to put your in the pocket and sleep with it?

Toilets

I’m going to go into toilet humour. Not because I want to, but because there are some things need to be said about toilets, but public and private.

I think they should create a new bumper sticker: Old jumbo jet designers never die, they design petrol station toilets. Have you used one of these lately? Anyone wider than your average 6 year-old cannot get through the door let alone squeeze your shoulders in narrow enough so that you aren’t sending the wrong signals to the guy next to you.
Do you remember the toilets at the BP in Wellsford before they did them up? Even me, who is slight of girth, would struggle to get the door open (which was purposely I think, hinged the wrong way) could barely get in the door, then shuffle sideways to the urinal.
Picture this: An architect called John (ex-Boeing) is designing a new service station.
“Hey John – we’ve forgotten the toilets!”
“Well what rooms do we have left?”
“Only the broom closet – and it only takes 2 brooms and a mop.”
“And the problem is? There are your toilets.”

But now we have new and improved! toilets at service stations. The other day I stopped at the BP at the side of the new Albany highway. No bumping elbows here! In fact they’ve sacked all the ex-jumbo jet designers and hired the retired airport designers now. Instead of taking the sardine approach, they’ve taken an airport approach. The hallways alone to the toilets are about 30 metres wide – I kept waiting for one of those cool walk-on escalators to appear around the next bend (which I could barely see since the hallways were so long).
The only problem is that now the airport designers have taken over the toilet design at service stations, they’ve decided they can now charge airport prices for food too.

Men’s urinals are a bizarre feature of a man’s life. If I came to your house, and stood up against your kitchen wall, flopped my largish friend out, would you join me? And this is assuming of course we have never met. I wonder if some women even realise they still have men’s urinals. I expect they’d never let their husbands go near them. “Off you go dear, and pull you penis out in front of some man you’ve never met, and pee. Do us proud.”
Women have it easy when it comes to using Public Toilets. They have privacy. For men, it may be a very slight nod to the guy next to you, but really you are thinking, “He should get that looked at. It’s just not normal.”
I once peed at the same time as Paul Swain, MP, at the office toilet urinal. It’s not something that I boast about, but at the time it was, “wow, I’m peeing with Paul Swain, MP. I’ll remember this day.” And I do.
As a man, peeing with well-known people has that effect on you.

And I am a man. Well, last time I looked I was anyway. Men make up around half the population, with woman the other half. There are a few in between these two groups but we won't go into that yet. So why, when I am at home, do I have to put the toilet seat down when I've finished doing my thing?
If woman want equality in income, then they should want equality in the putting up of the toilet seat, not down. You want equality? Then start standing while you take a pee.
And please make sure the seat is up when you have finished. Thank you.

I guess that’s one bonus for a man using a public toilet – he doesn’t have to worry about the seat at all…especially if it’s one of those high-class public toilets where there is no seat, just a raised steel moulded bit that you sit on. One of the joys of travelling, that one.

So just to clarify things, because I’m sure lots of people are thinking the same thing, which toilets do Transsexuals use? Is she a man or is he a woman? Do we need some sort of checking system as people go to use a public toilet? Perhaps if they’ve had the Op, he is a woman, but then if we are to be extremely PC, is that victimising the ones that haven’t had the chop yet, but are queued up to have it done?
We had better watch ourselves here – the guys who have had a vasectomy might start making noises that they too could be considered to legally use a woman’s toilet. After all they haven’t got the balls to be called a man, but neither are they a woman if you get my drift. This could lead to a new in-between toilet. We’d have the Men’s, the Women’s, and the Eunuchs.
I know we have lots of Unisex toilets now, perhaps the trannies could use those. Hmmmm Unisex. It makes me wonder. If you only want to have sex with one person, perhaps that’s the best place to go?

One thing that still gives me the giggles is when I see a condom vending machine in the men’s toilets. You just know what they are going to do with those…he he. It’s that I Still Feel Like A Kid syndrome. These machines are popping up everywhere now, even in local restaurants – so is that a sure thing then? You take her out for dinner and you must get sex out of it? Will write that one in my diary for sure. One place I didn’t see any condom machines was in the men’s toilets at the local RSA. Hmmm. I guess whoever said you can’t shoot pool with a piece of rope was right.

Can someone please tell me: when staying over night at someone’s house, what is the protocol for flushing the toilet? Do you only flush for number twos (surely that’s a given)? I never know and then if I don’t flush at 2am, I’m awake all night wondering if I should have.
Is that someone getting up? What if they see my pee? Will they know it’s mine? Maybe they don’t flush at night. Maybe they do and they talk about it behind my back. “He didn’t flush the toilet! Let’s never stay at his house.”
In the morning I avoid eye contact with whomever it is I’m staying with, just in case they can see it in my eyes.
“I’m sure he’s the one who didn’t flush last night. That’s just gross.”

I do enjoy it when people come to stay – except if it’s for too long. Just long enough to want to see them again sometime, but not so long that you know what times they regularly go to the toilet.
Having people to stay is like going on holiday, except you still have to go to work while they hang around the house relaxing, or go off and do cool things like fishing, which really stinks (not the fishing, the you go to work while they have fun). It is cheaper than a real holiday though, but another downside is that you still have to do the dishes.
Something that you never ask someone when they come to stay is just how long they are staying for – that’s just plain rude. But you don’t have to worry, because it’s the first thing that anyone that your visitor comes into contact with will ask.
“Oh hi John, good to see you again. When did you arrive? Oh Thursday, cool. And what day are you driving back home?”
It happens every time. Someone comes to stay with you. You get a (local) visitor, and it’s hi there. When are you leaving? What’s weird is when they say they are going on Thursday, and Thursday rolls around and they don’t go. Then Friday, Saturday and so on. When you start seeing their underwear through your washing machine a second time, warning bells should be ringing quite clearly in your mind.
If it gets to Tuesday I think it should be law that they either buggar off or you are allowed to ask them when the hell they are leaving.

Peeing at the side of the road is just not fun. When you think about it, peeing in general can be a really happy experience. But when you are pressured by the thought that at any second someone could drive around the corner and see you, all the fun goes out the window. Or on the ground, if you like. Once I was in the middle of nowhere, just a splattering of houses and I was absolutely busting to go to the toilet, so I carefully waited until there was gap in the houses in an S-bend of the road. Ok all clear, not a house in sight. So there I was hanging it out, and around the bother corners of the S-bend, appeared cars at almost exactly the same time. How do people do that? No way of stopping, full-flow and no going back. This must be the most embarrassing moment of a man’s life. Of course, both cars had women in them. One had a mother and daughter, I waved (with just the one hand of course) and tried to not look embarrassed, which is impossible.

TradeMe & Ebay

I will lay a bet with anyone that this will be the new addiction of the common person. Sky City breathe easy – TradeMe is here to stay.
I cannot believe the number of people who not only visit this website, but cannot stop themselves from buying second hand things for above retail for new (with a guarantee).
Now I’m not going to mention any names, but my Mum bought a Valentines Discount Voucher from TradeMe. It was a $5 discount voucher, and she bid a dollar for it and won. Then she paid $3 postage. Total saving: $1. But wait, there’s more! We don’t even have a Valentines in our town, so she’d have to drive for 2 hours to the nearest one, eat her dinner (something $5 or less I would hope), and then drive back for two hours. Fuel used: $30. Total saving: -$29.

A few years ago when my wife starting visiting this website, there would be say 2,000 people online at the same time as her. We’d say, “Wow look! There are 2,000 people on this website the same time as us!” Now you can expect around 30,000 at any given time of the day. You don’t think this is an addiction? I think Sky City would be rubbing their little hands together if there were 30,000 people in there at one time.

Once I saw a jam sandwich for sale on TradeMe. I wish I was kidding. Not even jam and cheese, just a plain old jam sammy. I’m not sure what it sold for (yes, there were bids) but I expect that the postage would have made it quite expensive, and it may have been mouldy on arrival. Other times I have seen boyfriends (and occasionally, but more rarely, girlfriends) and husbands up for sale. I’m not sure that this is legal but I’m thinking it’s a joke. Hmm. Maybe my wife put me up without me knowing it.
But not to worry! The Government is here. I’m sure very soon we’ll have support groups, all paid for by a cut of commissions by the TradeMe people. There will be signs, not dissimilar to the ones on cigarette packets stating that online auctions will harm your bank account and maybe your intelligence.

Car auctions are a bit of fun. The bit that’s not fun is sitting in those seats being choked by carbon monoxide, as the cars sit there idling, waiting for someone to bid. I think in fact this may be a ploy by the auction people to make people drowsy. You go to put your hand up for some medical assistance, and bang! You just bought that Rolls Royce, sir. Will it be cash or direct deposit?

Kids’ Birthday Parties

The power of the written word can start and end a World War. In this case, I am going to strike fear into the hearts of a distinct group in society: Those With Children. And it only takes 3 words. Ready? Here they are: Kid’s Birthday Parties. Vomiting yet? There is no other thing which can cause so much terror, friction, anxiety, pain and even humiliation as a Children’s Birthday Party. And that’s not even talking about the financial cost - which is plenty – but it sure makes the Warehouse happy.
And while this will cause me misery for the rest of my days, there is one common denominator in this event; the Mother. For the Father, anything will do. Hakuna Matata. Chuck on a party hat, play a couple of games, light up the bar-b-que – it’s all easy. But no, we must have a theme for the party, and none of the selectable themes includes taking it easy and having fun. We simply must have a theme. Barbie, Barney, Buzz Lightyear – these are all themes that we must pick from. There are many more – pirates, princesses, pink. No theme = not good enough for the mums. No theme = fun for the dads. But there’s no point in arguing because they always win, we just give in and go with the flow. Mind you, working 9 to 5 helps here – you always arrive after the hard work is done and it’s time for tea.
“Oh, you built the fort, carved the swords out of a millet of steel and dug a moat today? And I missed it? Boy am I sorry I have to work and miss all this fun. Where’s tea?”
And then on the day is the biggest upper of them all: the Sugar Rush. Never have I seen so much sugar in one place, other than that visit to the Chelsea Sugar Refinery. The token non-sugar item is always those little red sausages; everything else is sugar sugar sugar.
“What’s that little Johnny? You want icing sugar on your hundreds and thousands sandwich? Yet bet! Just wait here and I’ll get a kilo bag for you, you just spoon it on, boy.”
Of course most parents think that if we load them up with sugar we gotta get them to run around with some games to get it out of their little systems. In reality that probably takes all night but it’s the thought that counts. So there they are hyped up into overdrive and now we’ve got them running around the yard going loopy.
One party I went to, after the sugarfest it was decided that the game they would play is statues. So here, lying on the floor, are 12 kids of various ages, trying to be statues but their little bodies are convulsing as the sugar ran pure through their veins. It’s like watching Alien (the original) when the little beasty was trying to get out of that guy’s stomach.


Coffee

Black coffee, white coffee. Not much confusion there. Black Coffee=no milk. White coffee=milk. Easy!
I am a black coffee drinker. You could say I’m bovine-challenged, but why the victimisation? Why oh why do I have so many hassles when asking for black coffee?
These things have actually happened to me (more than once):
“Black coffee please.”
“You want milk with that?”

“Black filter coffee please.”
“Sorry we don’t have filter coffee. I can make you a long black and put milk in it.”
“But then it won’t be black.”
Silence and stunned-mullet looks from coffee shop girl.

The amount of times I’ve driven away from the drive through at McDs without checking to make sure they haven’t added milk…and they have. And of course you’re already 20ks down the road, and since it’s got milk in it, it’s gone cold. A bit like the looks you get when you ask for it black in the first place.

And so many people ask you if you want cold water with it. Well I want it undiluted, thanks. It’s as if they really feel you can’t just have coffee and water, you must have coffee and water and water.

I think it’s really a plan by all white coffee drinkers to rid the world of us. We must stick together! I can see it now – we’ll be huddling outside of all public buildings, in a semi circle, being ridiculed from the coffee with milk drinkers in the cafeteria, in the only Black Coffee Drinking Zone in the entire office block.
In the end it will probably be illegal and we’ll have to have some sort of underground system where we can drink our undiluted drug in peace. If you see a shadow lurking, it will be me. Join me why don’t you?

Food
So now we have No Fat Ice Cream. If the cream in ice cream is the fatty part, what are they selling? Ice? This must be the greatest marketing move ever! What's next? Perhaps an empty container? “No-fat no-ice ice-cream! Get yours here – no calories, no sugar, no additives or colourings. No nothing. Only $6.99 for 2kg! And so easy to carry.”

One of the most gross things when cooking must be when you crack an egg open and you can see parts of a beak forming, or little feathers – yuk. Nothing could put you off having more eggs faster than this.
“Dum de dum de dum….ahh no kids or wife for the day. Think I’ll have a huge plateful of scrambled eggs for lunch, on toast with real butter, and cheese underneath the eggs.”
Crack.
“Oh! Ahhhh. Uggh. On second thoughts, I think I’ll have a jam sammy instead. I’ll just check TradeMe for one.”

I remember as a kid having the job of feeding the neighbours cat while they were away. Perfect! Some extra food for a growing kid. And this is true – the cats got very little food while they were away. I’m not saying they were fat, but they sure weren’t overfed by the time the neighbours got back. Daily, I chowed down on some of the finest Chef Jellimeat there was to have. It tasted great. But I wish I had of known what was actually in the “chicken” jellimeat, with “real chicken pieces!” You know when they say “real chicken pieces!” what they mean? It means ground up chicken feet and beaks (at least there’s no teeth). “Real Venison chunks!” You can read that as a deer’s hooves and ears chopped up, heated up in a big pot and cooled down to make it look like you are getting some “real” bits of venison for your favourite moggy. Disgusting, ain’t it? That’s why they put “not for human consumption” on the tin, because it sure isn’t fit for people to eat. I don’t know why Fear Factor bothers to get cow’s uterus and pig’s intestines; they could just use some jellimeat and really gross the contestants out.

I still wonder why petrol is cheaper than milk. Isn’t most of our oil imported, and then refined to the nth degree to make petrol? Yet milk is more expensive. Don’t we have our own cows even? And still worse, there’s a 45% tax component of petrol.
And the funny thing is not everyone has cars, but we all drink milk (except in my coffee of course). Maybe the government hasn’t discovered this fact yet.
You’d better watch out – the next government may click on to this and wop a 45% tax rate on milk. People will be siphoning cows at night, and using petrol in their coffee instead of milk. The flashy cafés will use 96 petrol where as at home we’ll use 91. Some cheaper cafes will be caught out on the Target television programme using diesel. At least we’ll have more room in the fridge, although you wouldn’t want to cook a flambé with petrol. After all, there’s caffeine in coffee, so some benzene wouldn’t hurt, surely?

Speaking of siphoning cows though – a few years ago a friend told me that they had parked their campervan up for the night in the Far North. It’s one of those big campervans with a toilet and shower and all the mod cons. Apparently some local low-lifes decided to help themselves to some of the campervan’s diesel one night while my friends were sleeping in it. Problem was, they put the hose into the toilet waste tank instead of the fuel tank. You get the picture. The pile of vomit by the waste tank in the morning was the give-away. Just thought I’d share that with you.

I saw on TV recently that there’s a restaurant in Australia that, when you go in, is completely in the dark. I bet you could start some great food fights in a place like that, they’d never know who threw the food in the first place. One thing I’d like is paying the bill – they have to tell you how much it is, and you can just pull out a $20 and tell them it’s a $50, and hey, keep the change. It would be great for me – I could undo my belt and really let it all hang out and no one would see. Imagine the gas – no one would know that it was you that just let a big one rip.
Who thought of this? Who on earth would sit around and say, “hmmm, I wonder what it would be like to serve people food when they can’t see. We could serve them yesterday’s leftovers and they’d never know.” How do you order? “Yes I’ll have, uh, something to eat, please.” You could be eating Chef Jellimeat or Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches and you wouldn’t know it. Order a beer and get something else yellow but not as tasty.
The problem is, just where does it stop. Next we’ll have the be mugged while you eat restaurant, or the passers by spit on you restaurant, or the Your Beer is really our Urine restaurant.

Speaking of urine, and this isn’t something I’m proud of, but I know a guy who drinks his own. He seems to think it will keep him healthy, but in reality he’s the sickest person I know, both physically and mentally. Can you imagine it? And you aren’t allowed to drink the nearly-clear stuff that comes out after too many cups of water. Oh no, it’s got to be the Morning Fresh version – straight out of bed and grab the nearest glass. One thing I’m glad of is that he is a guy. If he was a girl I knew drinking her own urine, then at some stage I may have to kiss her (you know, New Years, birthday etc). I’m not sure I could go through with that, much as I like kissing girls. Do people who drink their own urine have partners? If they do, they may not keep them for long.
Just picture it – boy and girl, first date, fancy restaurant. Lovely atmosphere, music, candle light. The waiter comes along. “good evening sir, madam. Would you like to see the wine list?”
“No mate, isn’t this BYO? Just bring me an empty jug, thanks. Excuse me sweetie, while I go get us something to drink.” Ug. What about when he goes to kiss her goodnight? Pucker Up Baby!

Dairies and Supermarkets

Been into a corner dairy lately? I guess if you drive a car then you probably haven’t. If you have then you’ll have seen that there’s almost no counter left anymore. Any real estate around that counter is taken up with boxes of lollies and condoms. Anything bigger than an ice block is going to have to be held up and shown – there’s no room. And the space isn’t just on the counter. It goes 360 degrees around with racks left and right and another rack along the top for ciggies.
And because of all the stuff around the sides of the counter, you don’t actually see the person behind the counter – all you can see is a mouth that has an Indian accent. With technology the way it is, soon you won’t need a real Indian there – just a fake arm that comes out to take your money (and if you’re lucky, gives you change), and a plastic mouth that moves up and down and says “have a nice day”, and sounds like Apu from The Simpsons.

And can someone please tell me why some shops sell you yesterday’s paper. This has happened to me far too often. What are they trying to do? Recreate Groundhog Day?
“Here comes that guy again – let’s put yesterday’s paper out and freak him out.”
Perhaps they are just trying to save an extra day’s credit.
“What? Our account is due? That can’t be – I’m looking right at today’s paper and I still have another day until the 20th of the Month. Call me tomorrow and we’ll see what day it is then.”

Maybe the owners of dairies are sick of the ole 5-working-days-to-clear cheque scenario, and want to shorten it. I still can’t believe this. You write someone a cheque, it comes out of your bank straight away, but they have to wait for five days to get the money. Aren’t computers instantaneous? Where does the money go in the meantime? Do they run from bank to bank with a bag of cash, equivalent to the cheque you wrote out? Maybe that’s why you see those “armoured” cards outside banks all the time – the bags are full of deposits from cheques being cashed. Armoured cars. Let’s see – it’s an old Nissan C20, with some Lockwood house locks on it, and they call it armoured? Any 12 year-old with a ballpoint could break into one of those things. If the bank (well, Armourguard) wants me to believe it’s armoured, then I want to see armour. I want some gun barrels sticking out of it and at the very least some flashing lights on the roof. After all, I want to see a little security for all those cheque deposit fees.

Some of the things you see while shopping are eye opening to say the least.
Who decided that supermarkets should be called Supermarkets? I don’t see any super about these places, other than it’s a place you can waste an hour without even knowing it.
The worst thing in going to the supermarket is seeing how people drive their trolleys. These people drive cars! And yet they have no idea of what they are doing, or even that there’s anyone else in the store. At all.
You know the ones – park the trolley, then stand next to it and reach out on to the shelves, blocking the entire lane. Or gas-bagging to the neighbour on who’s sleeping with who this week. Move it along people, I want to finish shopping before the Expiry Date on this cheese! If I had my way we’d have a few shopping trolleys with flashing lights and a loud hailer telling these people to move it or lose it. And you, the Fat Lady handling the full-cream milk. Put it down and move carefully to the exit.
I like to grab their trolley when they aren’t looking and tow it around for a while, and just dump it somewhere out of the road, hoping it will be trashed by some supermarket trolley thieves. When they find their trolley the wheels are gone and it’s been tagged. That’ll learn ‘em.

While at the checkout, I noticed that down the sides where all the hundreds of lollies and sweets are where two items sharing a shelf: Trojan condoms on the left and pregnancy test kits on the right. Now you would think that those with half a brain would be buying more of the former. But no. The box holding the condoms was overflowing while the box with the pregnancy test kits was nearly empty. Every picture tells a story…
And here’s a thought: who decided on using the brand name Trojan for condoms? Trojans were citizens of Troy – and what happened to Troy? We all know that it was infiltrated in the sneakiest way, but some people coming in through a hole in their defences. And you want me to trust these condoms? Well, hello? Trojan city=infiltration, Trojan condoms=babies.
This must be the worst brand name for a product ever, aside from Microsoft. There’s nothing Mirco about them and certainly nothing I’ve seen them do is soft.

Now you would think that the reason for the lolly-free lane is so your kids don’t get tempted by looking at all the lollies, and generally there are heaps of them. So what do they leave there in the kids’ faces? Oh, maps, rubbish bags, Condoms, KY Jelly and pregnancy test kits. Excuse me? A kids’ lane with these items? Check it out next time you use the lolly-free lane – there ain’t any free lollies, just sexual aids.
“Mummy can I have some Trojan Condoms? I think they’re like some new balloons or something. Ohhh that KY Jelly looks tasty. What flavour is it? What’s a pregnancy test kit? Can we use it on the cat?”

Mind you it’s not much fun going to the Warehouse either. Have you noticed that they are selling “seasonal” crud that much earlier, every year? You hit August and it’s the Halloween stuff out. Before Halloween is even over in October, the fireworks have hit the shelves and it’s all on until November 5th. Barely have we had Guy Fawkes out of the road and hello! Christmas is here! Well, it’s still 7 weeks away but as far as the Warehouse is concerned you should start spending you money there now, and listening to badly-recorded Christmas music. Why wait until December when they can suck more cash out of you 3 weeks earlier? If I was the PM I’d make a law that they can’t start playing Christmas tunes, selling Christmas decorations or even mention Christmas until December 1st.
We all wait for the Boxing Day sales at the Warehouse, but in the end they may very well make this the first day of the next year’s Christmas sales…stranger things have happened. Remember, you read it here first.

The saddest thing with New Zealand retail is the sale. Any excuse is good enough. “It’s our change of daylight saving sale!”, or “this week only – it’s a petrol’s gone up again sale!” I still don’t understand why you get 2 Warehouse sale brochures each week – are they trying to get that far ahead of themselves?

Muslims

Before I die, I want to convert to Muslim. Then I can be reincarnated as a bull. Ahhhh then life of a bull. On a daily basis you are shown a field of cows and told to go forth and multiply. Only problem is that you have to perform. They put chalk on the cow’s asses so they know if you’ve been good or, well, sad.
And even then if you don’t get a field of cows to “service” they come along with a bottle and a warm hand and….you get the picture.

I have a gift of picking what people were in a previous life. You know the boy racers who love to do donuts on the roads or beaches? They were all dogs in a previous life. All they are missing is a little fury tail to stick on the back of the car to chase. Often I see them chasing their tails in their cars on 90 Mile Beach and if I try really hard (and squint a lot) I can see their tongues hanging out too.
Another example is the guys that when they go into a men’s urinal, they head straight for the cubicles, regardless or whether they are doing number ones or number twos. In a previous life these guys were gals.
The straight guys who can pick their own clothes and look good in them? They used to be gay.


New Zealand Drivers & New Zealand Roads

On a daily basis we have the old Speed Kills message drummed into our heads. Never mind that apparently most accidents happen at intersections, on rural roads, within 1 kilometre of your home – Speed Kills end of story. If, according to statistics accidents happen most at these locations, where are we all living? Picture in your mind: Rural area, intersections everywhere and all houses one kilometre apart. According to the LTSA, this is how our land must be laid out because statistics said so.
The only problem for me with the Speed Kills message is that I spend more time checking the speedo than I do my eyes on the road.
“Ok, doing 55, still under speed cam levels.”
Thump thump. Two kids run over.
“What was that? Oh never mind, what’s my speed now? It’s been 2 seconds, I could be speeding!”

I heard on the news that about half of the accidents on Auckland’s motorways are caused by nose-to-tail crashes. Well call me stoopid but I would have expected that figure to be more like ninety percent. So if 50% are caused by nose-to-tail, what causing the other 50%? Wayward elephants? Clowns running down the fast lane?

Roads
Do the guys that fix the roads ever drive on them? I’ve seen pot holes that would take an entire car to fill and yet still you have to drive around them (if you wheels will fit around it that is).
Maybe that’s their plan. Wait until a Mini drops into one, rush in and fill over the top with asphalt. It’s economic sense when you think about it.
I wonder why they’re called pot holes? I’ve never seen any pots in a hole on the road, and rarely do I see anyone cooking in them.

Can someone tell people who drive with their parking lights on just what parking lights are for?
P.A.R.K.I.N.G.
PARKING.
Parking (v) - to park. Antonym – driving.
So if parking lights are for parking, why do people put them on when it gets dark? Maybe they are driving 2 hours on a straight road looking for a park that will take the Titanic.

I was following a truck the other day. It had one of those “How’s my driving” signs on the back asking me to call an 0800 number and dob this guy in. Ever noticed how the How’s My Driving part of the sign is so much bigger then the 0800 number? If you can read that 0800 number you’re up the guy’s ass and someone has already called 111 (and you better hope they don’t send a taxi out). And the rest of the numbers after the 0800 are always so confusing. The 3s are with the 8s and the 6s with the 9s. It’s almost impossible to read. I do wonder if you checked out the numbers they give whether or not they spell something, like 0800 SCREWYOU, or 0800 UPYOURS.

So tell me, how do you train to be a Land Speed Record Holder? Do they have a school for this? And what are the requirements here? A foot?
“Ok Fred today we’re going to start your training to be a Land Speed Record Holder. Have you brought your right foot today? Ok, good, you’re all set. Ok sit down in the coffin on wheels. Don’t forget your seatbelt – if this thing goes over you wanna be buckled in good – the law says we must find at least seventy percent of your torso to claim the insurance. Right, excellent. Ok next step, put your foot down…hold it down, a little longer, just a bit more…ok, you're trained. Here’s your certificate. Go forth and die at great speed.”

Boy Racers
Oh boy racers – I’ve coined a new term for these guys: Involuntary Clowns. I’m not so sure they realise that they are the greatest free (for us) entertainment out. Never do I laugh so as when I see a Boy (or Girl) Racer cruising down the road, their little heads jiggling like one of those fake dogs old people used to put in the back window of their cars (but perhaps on methamphetamines). These cars have so little suspension that they must ride like a rock. It’s just so funny.
I expect the dentists love these guys – their fillings must fall out at regular intervals, they bounce around so much. Ditto the Chiropractors in town.
Then there’s the wheels. So they have this 1985 Mazda 323. Its value is $500. So what do they do? Go out and spend $4000 on new 19-inch wheels and tyres to make it look good. The car’s new and improved value? $500. And they get the wheels and tyres on HP so they cost twice as much and then it’s likely they’ve written the car off before they’ve paid them off anyway.
So they’ve got the wheels that scrape the guards. Next up? The huge drainpipe exhaust. The engine may be only 1.6 litres but they’ve got to have the 4-inch exhaust that came off a Commodore V8. I once saw a diesel van, that was an automatic. It had the big wheels and two drainpipe exhausts. It was like some wannabe Boy Racer who had been given an instant family but just couldn’t let go. And yes, it sounded terrible when it drove. But for me, the laugh-factor was off the scale.
So got the wheels and big exhaust. Next up? Well if a guy hasn’t got some racy gauges running along the dash and down the pillar inside the car, he’s just not a man. Check it out next time you see one – there’s a gauge for turbo boost, uh perhaps oil temperature, driver coolness, and maybe another for pose factor. There could be a couple more for spinal injury rate, months to go on HP and a filling loss counter too.
I’m not sure the drivers need all these gauges or even know what they mean, but they look just sooooo cool.
So tell me – why do they wear their hats on backwards at nighttime? Are they expecting some sudden burst of light on the backs of their necks? Are they all bald as a result from all the jiggling while driving?
Another thing that really sticks out with Boy Racers is that most of them are really, really short. Take a look next time you see one, these are some short people here. Are they trying to make up for their lack of height by kitting out their cars so loudly?

Personalised Plates
Wanna blow five hundred bucks? Forget pyramid schemes – you actually get something for your money here. A plate of metal you can stick on your car. Wow.
The saddest PP I’ve seen is ‘DATEME’. But the worst part is I’ve also seen ‘D8ME’. So two women have forked out $500 on trying to get a date. I could have just pointed them to TradeMe; there are plenty of guys there for sale and they are a lot cheaper too. I’m not sure you could screw them to the front of your MX5, but the least they could do is hold the number plate you’ve got now.
One I saw recently said "ICU". Ok, He sees me, there's five hundred bucks down the drain. My answering plate would be: "ICU have no brains and too much money".

Some of the car names that manufacturers pick have me beat. Not even including the wacky ones seen on Japanese imports, but your average off the showroom floor new models. Yes sir, I can just see you driving down the road in your Astra CD. CD? You mean as in Cross Dresser? Uh, no thanks – I’ll come back when I’m head of the Police or something.
There’s a new Hyundai Terracan out now. Ok, who can see what’s wrong with that name? Terra–can. Can o’ terror. Yes there’ll be people lining up to buy that baby. And some of them are a sort of crap-brown already – saves a custom paint job.


Christmas
I love Christmas. I loved it as a kid, and as my wife will attest because I’ve said it so many times, we only got one present, and we loved it and looked after it. Now that we have the Warehouse hounding us with two-month long pre-Christmas sales, kids (including mine) get a plethora of presents, most of which are forgotten by New Year’s Eve.
And the funny thing here is people are always asking their kids, “What’s Christmas about?”, and hoping (or expecting) them to say, “It’s about love and Jesus and giving – not receiving – and all things bright and wonderful.” Parents are aghast when kids say that Christmas is about presents. These are the same parents that buy their kids a stocking full of presents as a entree, then on to the main course of presents under the tree. Our household is just as guilty of this aspect of Christmas. You want your kids to think that Christmas means more than presents? Then don’t give them any.

Television
Reality Television?
Come on now – Reality? Some girl rips her fake face off to reveal that it’s her underneath, not her Mum, and this is reality? Can’t see that’s ever happened to me but then maybe I’m reality-challenged.
“Hey Bro wassup?”
“Oh man I was out with this chick last night. Things were cruisin’ until her Old Lady came down and balled me out then she ripped her face off and it was her, man! The girl! She had one of those fake Mother faces you get from the Warehouse.”

A more recent reality show is where they take a husband or wife, and swap them with another family for a week. This is televised wife-swapping people! I’ve never seen such a brazen attempt at bringing swinging couples into mainstream television. I expect that perhaps some of the white wives who go with the black husbands for a week may not want to return to their husbands…

I wish someone would tell Jeff from Survivor that he can adlib a few lines if he really wants to. If anything puts me off that show it’s the fact that they could use a tape recording and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
“Once the votes are counted the decision is final and the tribe member will be asked to leave the area immediately. I’ll read the votes.” You know the drill. Then he starts reading, and my God, are Americans that slack at counting he has to tell us every step of the way:
“Bill. One vote Bill.
Amy. One vote Bill, one vote Amy.
Bill. Two votes Bill, one vote Amy.”
Jeff – we can count past two, so just get on with it why don’t you?

Maybe the television producers do think everyone is thick as super thick toast. Few things annoy me on television, if it’s not on. If it is on everything annoys me.
It’s that “they are watching television so must be stoopid” factor. Just look at Survivor: “Go to the CNN website and type in the keyword, ‘survivor’.” Really? I was going to type in ‘sausages’ and just see what happened. How thick do they think people are?
New Zealand television is just as bad. While watching a One-Day Cricket Test the commentator told me (well, not directly) that I could go to the TVNZ website and using the keyword “cricket”, could find out more about it. Well golly-gee I would not have worked that one out by myself.
I’m going to be abused for this one, but since when did “WWW” become “dub dub dub”? Sounds like a bloody Volkswagen driving down the road, not the beginning of a website address. “If you go to dub dub dub you are stoopid dot com you can find out more.” I think there are lots of us who can actually handle someone saying “WWW” in full without the sound effects, thanks. Some smartarse will come along soon with “W-cubed” or “Wx3” or even “triple W dot buy my crap dot com”.

And then there are the people who watch Survivor, and at work they say to people, “I don’t know why the producers of the show put those two together, they just don’t get on.” Well hello? Of course they want as much friction as possible, that’s good TV. If they had the ones that got on together, we’d be bored out of our brains. Mind you, then it could be called Reality TV quite legitimately.

If I want some excellent humour, I just pick up a TV Guide and start reading the letters pages. These people live for television to the point that they do believe it. I was with someone who I won’t mention (because I’m married to her) and one day we happen to drive past one of the TVNZ studios. She called out to me, “look there’s Nick!” She meant the guy from Shortland Street. Now he has a real name – this is his acting name. He is not Nick. He plays the part of a guy called Nick. Reality Check required please!
Have you read a TV Guide lately? My favourite bits, after the letters pages, are the ads for Physic Readings.
If these gals are this good, why aren’t they ringing me first? “Oh hello Mr Alvrez. You were thinking about getting a reading weren’t you? Thought I’d save you the effort of calling me. I know you are lazy, really. Don’t worry – it’s our little secret.”

Singing Idols
Can’t the producers of this show see the giant plot hole in it?
“We’ve tallied up all the votes and the person going home tonight it…Joe Johnson. Sorry to see you go Joe, but that was such a crap performance last night. Hey why don’t you sing it again and make us all retch just one more time.”

Sky TV
I’m sure we can all relate to this. It’s tea time, you’ve just sat down after a hard day’s work. The phone rings.
“Hi this is Chuck from Sky TV. We’re doing a special promotion just in [insert your suburb] for this month only. Are you interested in getting Sky?”
“Yes Chuck I am.” And truly I am interested in getting Sky – still. But it won’t happen…read on.
“Okay great! Well for this month only you can get all the channels and Sky digiwhatsy for only $65 a month and $99 installation.”
“That’s wonderful Chuck, but how much for only National Geographic, History and Discovery channels?”
“Hey it’s ok – those channels come with the package.”
“Yes Chuck but I only want those channels – no others. Can I pay $5 per month per channel please?”
“No sorry, you can’t do that.”
“Well, call me back when you can.” Click.
I know it’s not Chuck’s fault but I’m truly sick of Sky TV calling me and not offering me what I want. If they had a deal for five bucks a channel they’d have people in their thousands queuing up.

We’ve all seen this but nothing is ever said about it. I’m going to go forth and be bold: Why do we see houses in (mainly) poorer rural areas that have not been painted since World War II, they have more rust in the roof than actual roofing iron, there are holes in the weatherboard you can drive a car through (sometimes cars are still parked in the holes). And yet there is a Sky TV satellite dish on the roof. Amazing.
What happens? Are they using the Sky dish to cover up a hole?
“Dear there’s a hole in the roof, can you fix it?”
“Sure, where’s the phone? I’ll call Sky TV and get it sorted for $99 including one month for free.”
Sometimes the houses are so bad I think it’s the 4 screws that hold the dish down that are holding the entire house together. Maybe they are animal lovers who want the rat and mouse holes in the floors so the local rodent population can come in and watch The Animal Channel.

I wonder what it would be like to live with David Russell, from The Consumer Institute? You know, the guy that always has something to say on Target. He must get heaps of freebies. I imagine that every restaurant he goes to bends over backwards to give him the best food and service.

Used to love those new Plasma TVs, until I noticed that they are using these devices to censor the general public. “What?” I hear you say. Well have you actually sat in a shop and watched one of these cool devices? Anything above the chest is cut off – women no longer have any breasts at all when you see them on the new TVs, just a hint of cleavage, a neck, and most of a head. Forget the forehead, they must have decided that this too can be promiscuous and have chopped anyone’s head off.
And excuse me but you want me to dump my old 4:3 TV, and spend five grand on a 16:9 TV? It may have been a while since I was at school, but I’m sure that 4:3 and 16:9 are pretty much the same thing. Work it out – 16 divided by 4 is 4 and 9 divided by 3 is 3. So you had a 4:3 but now you and have a 16:9 and are five grand poorer. Whoopee.

I real feel for Judy Bailey. Well, not her specifically, but any “celebrity” who has had their salary debated in the newspaper and on TV itself. Sorry Judy but we are going to use you as an example. So she makes, at the one job, $700,000 per year. That pays the bills huh? Anyway everyone knows what her pay is because it’s been right through the newspapers. So she goes into the corner diary to buy a loaf of bread. “Hello dere Ms Bailey,” (apply Indian accent). “What have you got today? A loaf of bread? That will be $500 thank you very much, have a nice day.” She must get hell at every collection day, or when she passes a busker, or just about anyone who knows what she earns.

Why do we have so many murder programmes? Check out the TV Guide – you have CSI, True Calling, Murder She Wrote, Cold Case and even more,
Maybe, to put a positive spin on it, instead of killing people we could have programmes about people being born, but no one knows why? You’ve got your crime scene (generally a bedroom, but the backseat of a car is also popular), you’ve got your characters. It may be that the programmes chase down the father who’s disappeared, rather than killing someone every week. And no real need to get fancy with the names, we can just change the ones they use now. Things like Birth She Wrote or Breastfeeding Calling.


Cellphones

You know what the kids are? They are the best excuse for singing in the car without being embarrassed about it (as long as they are your kids). You can be driving along singing away and the people in any other car just think you are the greatest dad – he’s probably explaining the cycles of the sun and earth to his kids while they are out in the car.
Kids? Oh yeah, they’re in the back seat. I think. Did I remember to pick them up after that last toilet stop? Hey I just luv this next song….
If you haven’t got or don’t want kids but you do want to sing to the sounds of music without being embarrassed by passing traffic, I have the answer for you: Cellphone. Pick it up, but don’t dial anyone, and sing away. People driving past just think you are working. Of course if they change the law and this becomes illegal, well you never heard it from me. But you could use this as your defence.
“Your honor I was not speaking on the phone, I was singing to myself. What song? I think it was Jailhouse Rock.”
And even if the cellphone isn’t working anymore, you can still use it. You’ll soon see them on Trademe as a mobile single-user karaoke system, and people will pay more for them than a brand new cellphone that works (and has a warranty).

Has anyone noticed cellphones just don’t last as long as they used to? And the price of them has risen up heaps. I think we need to rename them to Sellphones I go through that many.

So now people calling your cellphone can get music while they wait. What’s next? Where does it end? Who decided we needed this feature? Do we really need this much music? Daily our ears are assaulted by sounds of all sorts – boy racers, hotel bathroom fans. Now you can’t even listen to a nice, soothing ringing tone.

Technology is moving so fast these days. You wonder where we will be in 50 years. If past predictions are anything to go by, lots of us will be living either on the moon or on some space station orbiting the moon. Now I want to see a hands-up: who here wants to live on the bloody moon? Can you picture it? “Darling, I’m just popping down to Earth to pick up the newspaper. I’ll be back in 3 or 4 Light Years. Do you want any milk? Don’t wait up…”
Or worse, you are living on some space station. There’s no business trips away from the Mrs - in fact you are with her 24/7. This is a volatile situation. You can’t even use the excuse of going out to do the lawns. I expect the best you could come up with is, “Honey, they’ve asked me to count the stars tonight, be back later.”
Maybe all the guys on the Space Station could have their own little club where they can drink space beer (i.e. warm water) and reminisce about things they used to do.

Hotels and Motels
I like travelling for work. I enjoy driving and listening to music – although you have to sing using your cellphone in the car as the kids don’t generally come along on business trips.
But the best part of going away for work is staying in motels and hotels. I’m not sure why we still have to call them motels and hotels as we all know the difference, but that’s another story.

One thing I hate about hotel and motel bathrooms is the fan that’s always running at 10,000rpm as soon as you turn the light on. No delay, no separate switch, just BANG! 90 decibels while you sit and do your thing. It’s worse when you get to a really flash hotel and they actually have a bath, or even a spa bath. After a long day of driving or meetings, you could sit back with a beer and relax in a hot, bubbly spa – if it wasn’t for that blasted fan going flat out. I never stay in a hotel the second time if their bathroom has this feature, but I’m fast running out of places to stay.
I recently stayed at the 5-star Duxton Hotel in central Auckland, which was nice I must admit. But the problem with their bathroom is there’s no fan switch at all. There’s a fan, but you can’t turn it on. So you’ve gone from a jet exhaust type of bathroom fan to none at all, and I’m flat out wiping the mist from the mirror, using up all the towels and even the bathrobe. I need a switch people, that is all!

One place that was lovely to the max was the Carlton Hotel in central Auckland. Five Stars and service to match. One feature that surprised me on so many levels is the turn-down service. At around 7pm each night the maids come around, knock on your door and announce, “turn down service”. Now in my earlier days I’d been turned down so many times but do they have to offer it as a service? Are people who stay in Auckland that busy hopping beds that they need someone to turn them down? It took me a few days (after I’d left the place, actually) to realise they come to turn the bed down, not me, so that lifted my spirits a bit. Although this service makes me wonder just how lazy people are going to get. If they feel they need to offer a service where they pull down the sheets for you, where does it stop? Will a brush-your-teeth-for-you service be next? Perhaps the –turn-the-pages-of-the-newspaper-for-you service will next doing the rounds next year. Problem is, once you start, you can’t stop it. You can’t offer services like this and then take them away. Take the bathroom. It used to be the common little bottles for shampoo and conditioner. Then came the bottles of bath gel. Now I’ve seen shampoo, conditioner, bath gel, bubblebath, lanolin crème, and even mouthwash appearing on the bathroom counter. They are running out of room to put these things in now – they look like little soldiers all lined up, awaiting your command.
While at the Carlton I realised I had not brought a tie with me – I always forget something. So in a moment of brilliance, I rang Housekeeping and asked if someone had left behind a tie that perhaps I could borrow? “No problem,” said the cheery voice at 6am, “I’ll send up the bellboy.” Now I am open to the fact that women want equality but to me a Bellboy is in fact a boy – they are not called Bellgirls. So there I was, fresh out of the shower with a towel tucked loosely around my waist, when there is a knock at the door. Me, wrongly assuming that it is a Bellboy, opens the door wide to find three young girls standing there holding up 2 ties. To say that their eyes were wide open to me standing there with only a towel and a smile is an understatement. “Uh, which tie would you like?” said one of them. “Any one thanks!” I said with a slightly squeaky voice. I grabbed one and shut the door quickly. For one, why are bellboys now girls, and two, why does it take three bellgirls to bring up two ties? Are they arithmetically challenged? Perhaps these are the ones that Survivor is catering for.
“Oh Betsy, I missed that first vote, who was it?”
“It was Bill. I simply can’t believe it!”
“Bill. Wow. So how many votes is that for him now? Is one vote one or two votes? It’s just so hard to keep track.”

I do love flying for work though. It makes you feel all grown up when you get on that plane with your laptop. I try and act cool and look like I fly from Auckland to Wellington daily, but if you’re quick you’ll see the child’s joy on my face when you get that “whoa!” on take off.
Why on take off, does the main flight attenedant tell the other lower attendants to "arm the doors"? Against what? I may have watched too many movies in my youth, but to me, arming the doors means sticking a bomb on it. Perhaps it's for those people that try and rush off the plane when its landed, before the seatbelts sign has extingushed. That'll teach them - boom!

I am concerned however that the passenger window blinds must be open on take-off or landing. If you ask the stewardess (sorry, Flight Attendant) she’ll tell you that it’s so the pilot can keep an eye on things when the plane is taking off or landing. Yes, I did ask. Well call me old fashioned, but if the pilot walks down the aisle looking seriously out the window when he’s supposed to be flying the jet, I’m going to start searching for my oxygen mask and life jacket (I knew I should have watched that safety demo!). Maybe they expect the passengers to become unpaid fire wardens? I know fares are cheap and margins are tight but this is taking user-pays too far. Is this the best safety technology they could come up with?
“Fred to pilot. Fred to pilot. Fire on engine 3. Over.” Not going to happen.
And this girl giving me my coffee is a Flight Attendant? Just how is she Attending to Flight? I don’t see her in the cockpit giving orders, or checking out of the windows while landing. No way – they are safely buckled up down the back laughing at us Fire Wardens working for nothing.
One other thing that bugs me with flying is the going on board before take off. So you’ve got your boarding pass. You had to show it before you even walk down the bit that joins onto the plane, so they know it’s you. But still, every time you get on the plane the Flight Attendant feels that he or she must look at your boarding pass and tell you where you are sitting. Now I’m pretty good with maths, but I think even the most stupid of people could actually see on the boarding pass the bit where it says, “Seat Number”. This is not rocket science. I feel like saying to the Flight Attendant, “look - not only can I count, but I can read too. I don’t think I’ll have a problem finding seat 9F, thanks. Go and help some old lady that’s blind find her seat. Leave the rest of us alone to look for fires on the wing.”
I guess really the flight attendants have the best job in the world. Think about it - Auckland to Wellington is a one hour flight. So they work for any hour, then go home. Sure they have to smile lots and walk around heaps of people who are probably farting in their seats , but hey - it's only for an hour sweetie.
One day I'm going to go up to the pilot and ask him not to turn off the lights inside the cabin while landing. Can you explain why they do this? Is it to stop us seeing the fuselage bending and cracking on landing? And I've heard from a reliable source that they are going to stop calling them cockpits now, in these days of excess PC. From 2007, they will all be called Genital Pits.

I don’t know why, but when I stay on my own in hotels I end up staying up late watching all sorts of rubbish on TV. You know the story: 50 channels and nothing to watch. I did get shocked at the porn shows shown on channels like Sky 1 at 2 in the morning, so it wasn’t a dead loss. But the funniest thing is the adverts they have on in the wee hours. They must expect desperate guys are searching for entertainment that includes some naked parts of the female body, so what do they advertise? 0900 chat up lines, varying in price from $1.99 to $4.99 per minute, and please make sure you are the person who pays the bill. I wonder what the difference is between the two dollar line and the 5 dollar line? I may have struck the answer though, as one of the ads proclaimed, “talk now with REAL ladies!” So that must be the $4.99 line! So who answers the $1.99 line? Some guy with a squeaky voice? “Hi, I’m Mandy, fly me.” That, or perhaps that have blow-up dolls answering the el-cheapo lines. The sound you hear when she answers is the air leaking out of one of those large holes.
So if you buy a blow-up doll, does it have different size holes? I know this is borderline, but for us that need space, what if you break her? Does it come with expanding bits, or one size fits all? I love the pictures on the box (at least, I’ve only seen them on the internet, of course). On the front of the box is a picture of some real girl, beautiful of course, long blonde hair etc, and on the back of the box is a picture of the actual doll, mouth open and looking nothing like the girl on the front at all. I guess they expect you to use lots of imagination.
So I’m watching these 0900 ads, not for the purpose of using one, but because I’d never actually seen them advertised on TV before. So they’ve got pictures with the ads, and quite explicit ones too (as you could guess, I don’t have Sky at home. Not enough leaks in the roof yet). So in the ads, there are plenty of naked ladies, and I’m talking naked naked here. But they have little computer-generated stars over their more private bits. Which I guess is good for a bit of censorship, but to be honest, all these girls I’m looking at have rather large assets, and the little star? It’s only over their nipples. And it is a little star. Very little. So begs the question: why bother? If the biggest part is shown, it seems a waste of time to try and cover up the smallest part. Such is the PC world of censorship I expect. It’s the little things that count.

One thing everyone watches at any hotel or motel are the charges. And there are plenty. “You want to connect your laptop to the internet using our phone line? Sure, that’s $2 for each and every time you do that.”
This is taking user pays to the extreme, I feel. You never know what items that will start appearing on your account when you go to check out. “Yes Mr Alvrez, that’s 27 flushes of the toilet, 42 segments of toilet paper and 300 cubic metres of our oxygen you have used. Please sign here.”
I bet everyone steers clear of that mini-bar. I think that it’s now time for a name change of the mini-bar, because it just ain’t mini anymore. It’s a maxi-bar with a capital M. Have you seen how much these places are sticking in that fridge now? And it’s not just the fridge – chocolates and all other manner of crap food is appearing outside the fridge, trying to tempt you during your midnight hunger pains. A few years ago all you could find were those little bottles of liquor and maybe a bottle of coke, but those days are long gone. You want a can of coke? Sure, that’s $5 thanks. After all that must cost the hotel all of 80 cents to buy. If you are sneaky and quick you can drink the coke and replace it before the maid comes, but it just adds pressure to what could be a relaxing stay.

One thing that bothered me more than a little was at the Kingsgate hotel in Whangarei. Ok, you’re sitting on the toilet, doing your thing, what’s that right next to me? A bottle opener? I kid you not. Just what do they expect people to do? Ring up their mates? “Yeah I’m on the crapper, bring a crate, mate – don’t worry about an opener, I got it covered.” Jeez. A bottle opener?

Teenagers and McDonalds
Why are teenagers so tall these days? Your average 14 year-old is like 6 feet tall with shoulders to match.
I do have a theory: fast food. McDs, BK, KFC, it’s all called fast food. My theory is they put so many growth hormones in the food it’s the kids that grow fast.
Why are they all abbreviated now? It just to be McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Burger King – now it’s McDs, KFC and BK. Maybe they thought they’d get the abbreviations in before txting really took off, so they’d be easy for kids to spell when they want to meet their mates somewhere. Txting Kentucky Fried Chicken hurts the fingers too much, but KFC? Finger typin’ good.

I’m saying this because the food itself isn’t delivered fast at all. It gets to the point that I’ll take whatever’s ready because I know I’m going to waiting a long time otherwise. Why, at lunchtimes, does McDs in Kaitaia only open one or two tills? You would think this would be their busy time, and it is, but still the queue goes out the door. And forget the drive through – unless there is only one car there you’re better off parking up and walking in. How many times have you seen 2 cars in the drive through, and you think, “Ok, not much of a queue,” and you end up waiting for ages. And then you see the person that walked in off the street at the same time you joined the queue leave with their stuff and you’re still waiting, probably with the engine turned off by now.
Fast Food? I think not.

Some travel agents are talking about flights to Australia next year for $1. That throws a McSpanner in the works.
“Let me see, I’ll have the Quarter Pounder Combo please. Oh hang on. I wonder if I should make that just a Quarter Pounder, and I’ll fly to Oz and back with the difference.” That’s a tough choice.

I’ve got some worrying news for the male readers of this blog. Sit down now. Did you know that the chickens that KFC uses are pumped full of growth hormones to make them get bigger quicker? Sure, you say, that’s old news. But did you also know that the type of hormones they use are Estrogens…these are the same hormones that cause the onset of puberty in women. If that isn’t enough to put you off KFC, then go out and pick your favourite bra and lippy right now.
But wait, there’s more!
These same estrogens are used sometimes in the clear plastic cover that goes over food you buy in the supermarket. So there’s no avoiding it; one day we will all be women. No more worries about leaving the toilet seat up, but there will be huge queues at the shoe sales.

Electricity
Did you know that you can create 3,000 volts just by walking on the carpet?
And yet they keep telling us there’s an energy crisis? What crisis? Most of us have legs, and many have carpets in our homes. Can’t we just hook up to the house and walk around, generating power?
We’ve got thousands of elderly people just sitting around all day watching Shortland Street and Oprah reruns. Stick some cables on them and make them contributors to the national grid. If we hide their TV remotes they’ll have to get up to change the channel, and that will surely keep the country in power.
Three thousand volts. That’s a lot of power. Next time some guy wants to punch me over I’ll tell him to hang on while I find the fluffiest carpet I can, charge myself up, and send him to Pluto with a single touch. Bring it on!
You want more proof of my strength-potential? The Healthy Back Association tells us through advertising that picking up a hankerchief is equivalent to picking up a 300kg weight off the floor. So if I haven't actually lifting any 300kg weights lately, how come I have a bad back?

Lotto
I admit it: I occasionally will buy a Lotto ticket. It’s the old story: you ain’t got a ticket, you ain’t gonna win.
What amuses me is the actual queue to buy a ticket. Like most people I leave it until the last minute to get one, and join the line with others who do just that same thing.
But people who may be absolute bastards outside of that shop all of a sudden become the nicest possible people just before they actually buy the ticket. My theory is that they think by being nice for a few seconds, luck will come their way in the form of a million dollar cheque. Have a look next time you queue up – there’s no pushing in line here.
“Oh I’m sorry; I seemed to have jumped the queue on. You go on.”
“No that’s fine, please, you go first.”
“Oh I insist, please, you go first. It’s my good deed for the day.”
“No really, I’m in no hurry. You simply must go before me…”
And so it goes on. Don’t believe me? Want to feel good? Go and stand in the queue for a Lotto ticket and wait for the good manners to roll your way, like a $5 Lucky Dip that’s now $6.

I’d love to win Lotto, as I’m sure much of the population would. But when the chances of winning lotto are worse than the chance of being murdered, you’ve got to ask yourself – am I feeling lucky today? Let me see, will I be shot in a drive-by shooting, or will I win lotto? I have to pay $6 to win lotto, but getting shot is pretty much free.

IRD
Hmmm. Can’t be too harsh here, it may come back to bite me in the butt.
But come on – the slogan just doesn’t fit: “It’s our job to be Fair”
How about instead of that, we give them a new slogan: “It’s not our job to answer the phone quickly”, or “It’s our job to make you wait a really long time for a cheque from us, but owe us money and hey! Send us one now!” Okay perhaps that’s too long a slogan. I bet if we had a competition there’d be some good ‘uns.

Politics
There’s just no way you can’t make fun out of any political. I mean to say – these people run our country, and yet they’ll make fun of an MP because he has a speech impediment? Maybe on the application form they should put a new box in: Please tick if you are under 12 years-old. Well they act like an 10 year-old on a bad day, so might as well check first before they actually enter parliament.

One thing that has me beat is when you have a political party with co-leaders. Now I’m not picking on the Green Party, but do co-leaders split the normal salary between them, or do they each get the same as other political party leaders? If this is so, then it seems they may be doing the country out of some money. Here’s a plan; we create a new political party – we could call it the New Zealand Party, but that may backfire. So we call it the “Salary Party” and we have every New Zealand who earns under say 60 grand per year listed as a co-leader. Then we all get paid $125,000 per year, free national air flights, 10% international air flights, and a house in Wellington that we can rent out. Where’s the downside? We even get to act like kids, and get paid heaps for it. This is a win-win situation, people!

Random Thoughts
Here’s stuff that has no place in life, but lives in my head.

When sitting exams, we are told so many times beforehand that you must read the entire exam first before answering any questions. We are always given the example that the “last question may just tell you to write your name on the top of the exam paper and hand it in”. Now, have you ever sat any exam, answered all the questions and got to the end, only to find the last questions says something like, “please do not answer any questions. Just put your name at the top right of this exam paper and hand it in. That is all. Sucker.”
So there you are sweating like a pig when you never had to. Why don’t the exam watching people just say, “look, start at question 1 and get to the last page. That is all.”
And who has ever seen a pig sweat? Not me, and not anyone I know. Any farmers here? How many pigs have you seen sweating today? If they’re rolling around in mud all day, how can they raise a sweat?
What about “I don’t know him from a bar of soap.” Just how many bars of soap have you been friends with? The thing with soap is, the friendships never last.

And what about “you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face soon.” This I’d like to see. So people are watching some movie which you’d expect is a comedy, and then one guy stops laughing on just the one side of his face, and then starts laughing on the other side? What does he do with his other side of his face then? Take a drink, shave, what? This man would be on TV around the world. “And in tonight’s news, we show a man that can laugh on either side of his face. Incredible, isn’t it?”

I don’t know if it’s because we can get information so much easier now, but there seems to be a lot more reports of UFOs these days. I realise many people are scared of being abducted, but fear not! I have the answer. This is a sure fire way of keeping yourself from being abducted by aliens. This will cost you nothing to do, but may save your life, or at least save some of your orifices from probing. Ready? This is so simple I can’t believe something hasn’t thought of it sooner. The answer is to not turn on your radio. That’s it. Now I’m not sure about CD player, but I am sure that if you listed to your radio in the car, and there is a UFO about, it can home in on your signal. Think about it – any UFO/alien abduction type of movie there’s ever been, the person only gets abducted when they have the radio on.
I’ll set the scene: Old farmer Joe driving along, in his pickup truck usually (a red one is popular), and then the radio starts to play up – all sorts of static. Joe plays with the knobs but just can’t get rid of that static. After this of course all the electrics start playing up, lights flash, the horn beeping is very common, and then the engine dies. If only Joe had not turned on his radio, he would have been fine. Railway tracks are another concern. Any movie where the guy or girl is driving along and go over or alongside railway tracks, you can bet ET that a UFO is approaching at light speed.

Speaking of light speed – if you’re driving in your car at light speed, and you turn on the lights, what happens?

Recently we dumped five cent pieces. Like many, I remember when you could buy a whole bag full of lollies for five cents, but those days ain’t coming back now I guess. Maybe you can still write a cheque, or at least eftpos five cents. So what’s next? I think the answer is fairly obvious – the days of ten cent pieces are now numbered. Yes sir, give it five years and everything will be at least a dollar. You want that lollipop? Okay, that’s one dollar thanks. How much for two? No, that’s not one dollar twenty, that’s two dollars now.

Why doesn’t Glad Wrap stick anymore? When I was a kid, it was so dangerous we had the Glad Wrap Police at my school on a yearly basis to drum in the dangers of Glad Wrap. “It will kill you in an instant! It’s worse than putting a loaded gun in your mouth. Stay away from Glad Wrap, it’s just for adults!”
But now, Glad Wrap isn’t Wrap, and mostly it’s not Glad, it just Sad. It hangs there limply on the side of the bowl, while you constantly are tapping it back in place in a futile attempt to make it Wrap. Forget taking something in the car in a bowl with Sad Wrap on the top – it’s gonna pour out the sides when you hit the first corner. Maybe someone could invent Glad Velcro, so we know it’s gonna stick no matter what. Trouble is when you go to remove the Glad Velcro, it’s so hard to get off you gonna lose whatever is in that bowl anyway. And this is progress?

Isn’t it funny how we hear about girls who have left the family home, but then come back. You know what they are? They are being supported. But then you hear of some guy you know who’s moved back home. You know what he is? Pathetic. This is sexist in reverse. She supported, he’s a loser. She’s in the best place, he’s got no friends.