Secret Santa - Encore

Christmas is gathering quickly on the horizon - much like a great cumulonimbus moving in stealthily from the south. 

Sure, it looks fluffy enough as you admire its shapely form. Comfortable, even. You imagine somersaulting into it with child-like frivolity sending tufts of white foamy flotsam and jetsam into the endless blue. But then, as it gathers, it takes on a more menacing demeanor. Panic ensues: hideously early Christmas adverts. Last minute Christmas shopping. Boney M. And finally.... the most blood-curdling of all: Secret Santa.

Readers of my blog (me) will recall an earlier post in which I revealed my distaste for this nasty corporate Christmas routine which seems to permeate every organisation at this time of year. And this year was no different. 

Again, I have to wonder aloud what pleasure people seem to be persuing through this Secret Santa mechanism?

Giving a gift to someone in THAT team who (other than the bespoke 'good day' counterpoint you may have shared during the year) you would otherwise rather bludgeon with your stapler than buy a gift for does NOT bestow the Christmas spirit on anyone. Especially when said gift is purchased within the infinite realms of a $5 spending cap. Add to this poisonous mix the anonyminity of the giver, and you have, ladies and gentlemen, the perfect storm.

At Santas sweatshop Where I work, we made it a week-long affair. People could bestow their $5 nugget to the unwitting recipient at anytime during the 5 day ordeal week. This not only meant that you had no idea WHAT you might get from WHOM, but also WHEN the nasty deal would be done. Essentially, a $5 secret santa trifecta.

For three days I watched. Waited. A hapless duck on open water waiting for my fate. Scanning every movement on the bank, every swaying reed. For three days there was nothing. And then.

Apon returning from the photocopying machine (grinning stupidly with the afterglow only multiple pages of colour-copying can bestow) there it was. Sitting there like a wrapped scar apon an otherwise untouched landscape. A. Bar. Of. Soap.

And lo my darling boys and girls! Not just any kind of soap. This was something special.

Manuka Honey GARDENERS soap. And left on my swivel chair - no doubt an extra added touch. It will come in very handy at my apartment where the only hint of 'garden' is my struggling parsely pot. No matter, I often need something fairly round, smooth and weighty to lob at loud pedestrians on the street below. And if it leaves a honey-scented slipstream - all the better.

I have to confess that while my allergy to Secret Santa was again cemented into every fibre of my being this year, I was not alone. 

My lovely colleague B returned to her desk to find a non-descript memo pad staring back at her - with a smug look that suggested it had come from our very own stationary cupboard no less! At times like these we, the mass affected can only gather. We had coffee. We swapped Secret Santa war stories - holding our trophies to the light, marvelling at the sheer incompetence that brought them to us. And we laughed.

Perhaps, I was not given a bar of honey soap this year. Perhaps I was given the chance to sit with someone special: to laugh and joke and remember that Christmas is not about what you find on your swivel chair - but those who sit in the ones around you.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Happy New Year

After a short hiatus, it's back to work, back to school and back to reality.

Did you hear the thud ?

I strayed a bit from my usual 'holiday formula' at the end of last year, swapping my normally compulsive drive to 'always do something' and make the most of every last scrap of free time I have, to simply vegging out.

In fact, I couch potatoed my entire holiday away, and I can safely say it was a great decision.

I slept in, I mooched around. I watched glorious episodes of innocuous daytime TV and wore my socks twice in a row. In fact I did whatever the hell I pleased within the boundaries of the law and physics. Mostly I simply succumbed to the pull of gravity.

And the result? I'm feeling really refreshed! A little lacking when it comes to swapping holiday adventure stories around the old water cooler may be, but a whole lot more bright eyed and bushy tailed than the rest of my colleagues.

So there really is something to be said about chilling out - completely.

I see now the lure of those white beaches and miles of blue ocean somewhere in the pacific where you have little else to do but work on your tan and consider your navel. I think I'll look into that.

What did you get up to. Did you go on a wild adventure? Or did you, like me, assume the couch potato position too ?

Mind Your Manners

Wow. Now there are barricades going up on Manners Street - I guess in an attempt to herd all of us sheep out there who still cant understand why it is we get hit by busses when we decide to cross the street without bothering to look. And who needs to look anyway? I mean, its only a dedicated two way bus lane in one of the busiest areas of the city. All you need to do is make a blind dash for it, and the rest will take care of itself.

In reaction to the mass stupidity and ensuing bloodshed over the last few weeks, bus drivers are now threatening to boycott the route. And I dont blame them. These guys are getting the raw end of the deal, having to dodge stray pedestrians who fling themselves onto the tarmac like lemmings. Someone likened the new lane to a bowling alley, and I think they were onto something, with all these human skittles around.
It must be a traumatic experience hitting someone with your big yellow bus, and I fully sympathise with the drivers. No one wants a lemming for a hood ornament, let alone the emotional stress that follows.

Not even the yellow tape, strung along the sidewalk in desperation, could deter these would-be lemmings, determined to flirt with death. No sir, tape is not going to stop them from crossing. Ducking under the tape or pulling it down completely has been the order of the day and still the stupidity continues. I'm waiting for another strike.

So with the situation now escalating as the number of hits and near misses racks up, the council and other stakeholders have decided to hold an emergency meeting, to discuss what could possibly be done to stop the spread of stupidity resolve the situation, before the bus drivers throw in the proverbial towel, and all that time and money gets wasted because the route has to be redirected somehow.

And walking to work, the outcome was obvious: hideously ugly barricades being bolted to the road side, like cattle gates, to ensure that the only people able to cross the road would be olympic hurdle jumpers and giraffe.

I am dismayed. Not only at how people can fail to look both ways before crossing a busy road, but also that everyone else has to put up with being treated like herded sheep. And whats more, the barricades are Absolutely Positively Ugly. Come on people. We deserve better than this.

Two Ply Sentence

No longer do you see any of our able-bodied prisoners working on literally reconstructing their lives, but rather they are learning the fine art of paper mache - a key skill we should all foster, should the urge to whip up a giant paper mache forest troll for the backyard suddenly hit.

If you find yourself admiring some of the more historic structures in your city, chances are they were all made possible by criminals. Thats right - that lovely old stone bridge you walk over everyday or the cathedral you kneel in on Sundays, could all possibly be the handiwork of theives, rapists and boy-racers (in an ideal world, of course).  

You see, in the 'old days' hardened criminals were'nt given a room with cable, gym facilities and a well thought out diet-specific menu.

Going to prison meant doing time - not 'getting away from it all'. If you went to prison, it meant you weren't going to enjoy life a whole bunch.

Now I'm not saying we should start thinking about regressing in terms of human rights - we have certainly come a long way since Joan of Arc landed on the barbie. It just seems to me that we seem to be getting rather soft in the name of political correctness. Two ply kind of soft. 

Nope, these guys are now servin' time making toilet paper.

What kind of criminals are these ? Were they put away after stealing candy from a baby?

And I have to ask the question: How do they get the paper so thin? Did they have a lot of of spare pasta machines that were simply collecting dust? These are serious questions. Is there someone who has the dedicated task of putting in the perforations?

To be honest, I think it would be great to see these guys out in the open, working on some big project. Sure there would be some logistics to work out - you know, so we dont have them escaping and all, but I think under the right circumstances it could really work.

Toilet paper is fundamental, we know this, but wouldnt you rather have a cool cable car in your city than prisoner made bog rolls ? In lieu, so to speak.

Secret Hell

Christmas really is starting to creep up on us, and while I do love this tineselled time of year, there are certain things about it that make me cringe more than David Hasselhoff's chest hair.

Secret Santa is one of them.

Secret Santa seems to be something of a workplace tradition around the country, and I'm just wondering if there are any more secret santas out there who, like me, would rather pull a hamstring than pull a name from the jolly santa hat.

In fact, I am willing to bet there are probably thousands of us, all over the world who smile like the Angel Gabriel, while dipping our hands into the mix of names - all the while secretly fantasising about feigning a sudden seizure.
And if you could have just one Christmas wish come true this year, it would be that you don't pick Dave from Accounts.
Not Dave, please. Not. Dave.
You say this several times in a hypnotic mental mantra kind of way as you gingerly unfold the little slip of paper.
This whole charade only takes a few seconds to complete, but it takes considerable skill to look convincingly pleased that you are participating. And even more so to look the picture of zen once you've read 'Dave' on the little piece of fekkin' paper.

'Dave'.

You smile. Maybe bat your eyelids.a bit

You consider throwing your stapler at the organiser's head as he/she turns to go to the next lucky person to draw a name. They may as well be wearing a long black cloak and carrying a sickle.
I dont know. There are some people who absolutely love this part of Christmas, and seem to delight in organising the perfect gift to the value of $5. I do not pretend to understand them, nor do I make direct eye contact with them.
Me, I'm not a big fan of forced fun. Being obliged to buy something completely random for someone even more random doesn't exactly inspire my inner santa.

But more than that: what really drains the life out of this activity for me is the sombre thought that somewhere out there, amongst the tinsel and lights that bedeck our open plan office, MY secret santa may just be going through their own private nightmare after dipping their hands into the hat.

And why the HELL is Dave batting his eyelids at me ?


Are you like me, do you secretly detest secret santa? Any ideas on some good secret santa gifts?

Good Form

Were you at the Bon Jovi concert last night ? I was, and boy what a cracker.
Every bogan within a 100 kilometer radius was there - it was like a great rocking bogan nest, and Bon Jovi was the queen bee.
Speaking of bogan nests, I havent seen so many mullets gathered together in one place at once. It was like being at a national McGyver lookalike convention.

But beyond the prerequisite flannel shirts, faded denim and leather jackets, lets not forget it was Bon Jovi we were there to see. And see him we did.

From the stands he looked more like a little bogan figurine than the international superstar he is - but when you're singing along to the raspy lyrics of It's my Life, it doesn't really matter. Unlike so many singers these days who seem to get catapulted to stardom through winning a singing contest on TV, Bon Jovi is one authentic rock star. No one txt'ed his name on a Friday night to help him get through to the next round. This guy did it himself and it shows. The sounds were slick, the video projections were fluid and professional, and the entire show was thoroughly entertaining. These guys have clearly done this before.

And I commend that:

The hair, the faded denim, the leather jacket - the classic coarse voice that lends itself equally well to the touching Bed of Roses (which was noticeably absent from the line-up) to the rebellious Bad Medicine, BonJovi delivers exactly what's expected from his fans. And that's more than I can say about most products you pay for these days, which leave you more living on a prayer than he does.

Anyone else at the concert?

Left, Right and Left again

So, after many months of construction work, barricades and pedestrian mayhem, the new bus route in the city is finally complete.
The bus route in question saw the conversion of a pedestrain mall into a two lane bus route to help speed up the circuit. The leftist pedestrians came out in full force early on in a bid to save their precious mall. These tree hugging hippies would write screeds of waffling text in pink chalk all along the mall, sprouting damnation to the government who apparently had forgotten the common man.

Personally I didn't subscribe to that ilk, and rather looked forward to the busses which would replace the deliquints who loitered in the mall and enhance the area generally with new paving, benches and trees.
Now that its all complete, I think its a huge improvement all around.
There are trees planted down the road, which now hosts two new bus lanes, instead of the once cracked and rather tired looking mall with its grey paving and weathered benches. The new paving along both sides looks fantastic and has already given the whole place a new lift. Even the dodgy turkish joint looks almost appealing. New benches have been installed and everything is fresh and new. I like it, and I dont care if the hippies dont.

Of course, it didnt take long for graffiti to show up on the new benches, and that beloved pink chalk to once again proclaim (on the new road surface) that someone is going to be killed by a bus. It amazes me how narrow minded people are. Graffiti in particular I think is the purest form of non-appreciation for what we have and a complete disregard for our neighbours.
The pink chalk I can tolerate - it washes away within a couple of days and does no harm. I have to confess too that 3 people in the last 5 days have been knocked by a bus, which does in some way vindicate the incessant ramblings of the chalk man. Though I do have to make the point that it's not the new route - or the busses that pass through it - that are at fault.

The city council has done a commendable job of making people aware of the new changes. Signs are everywhere, people have been out in full force handing out pamphlets, and there are clear markings on the sidewalk. With all this spoonfeeding, how anyone can be hit by a bus is beyond me. Did our brains shrivel in the last 6 months or what ? This may be just me, but I dont care where in the world you are, or what road you are about to cross - you look both ways before putting your little toe onto the tarmac - that's just common sense. If someone is so stupid as to walk into a road without checking their left and right for traffic, Im afraid the ensuing bump on the head will probably not do any damage anyway.

And another thing chalkman, the new route and changes didnt happen overnight as if the traffic fairy waved her luminous baton. Construction took months to complete. Did people just not notice? Who were these three people that were hit by a bus? And more importantly, who the hell let them out of the house ?