Category Archives: Rants

Selfies

Selfies. Love them or hate them, you must admit, it’s pretty easy to hate them…

The term “Selfie” is a recent Australian concept, but the notion of the selfie has been around since before the invention of the camera.

This 17th century painting of the Dutch artist Rembrandt is a self-portrait. The painting is worth an estimated $50 million. Not bad for a selfie. Not bad at all.

The Italian Renaissance painter (and Ninja Turtle inspiration) Raphael, was a notorious selfie painter. He used to hide a selfie in his major frescoes. You could spot him, because he was the one “staring at the camera”. Here he is in his famous “The School of Athens” painted in 1509 in the Apostolic Palace of the Vatican. Nice one Raffa. Possibly also the earliest example of “Where’s Waldo”.

However, it’s hard to beat an original. In terms of “true selfies”, you have to hand to it to the guy who started it all. This dishevelled self-portrait by Robert Cornelius, taken outside his family’s lamp and chandelier store, is believed to be the oldest ever captured.

However, as a general rule, selfies are a no-go.

As a specific rule, selfies are a no-go.

There are very, very few legitimate, acceptable reasons to take a selfie.

These are those few examples:

1) The “Once in a Lifetime Selfie”

Where the rarefied surroundings warrant a sick, sick selfie brag. Like this guy – Lee Thompson. The 31-year old Londoner recently convinced Brazilian authorities that he should climb up the inside of Christ the Redeemer while in Rio for the World Cup.

This is the outcome:

2) Any “Smurfie Selfie”

Well, I am a Smurf tragic.

The talented Shayne Murphy whipped this one up for me. Nice one mate.

3) “Dog Selfies”

Sure, they’re not *real* selfies, but they are pretty freakin’ cool. They’re dogs. Taking selfies.

4) “Miranda Kerr Selfies”

Morning-hair, bedroom-eyes selfies? Please selfie away Miranda, I’ll tell you when to stop.

5) Ricky Gervais “Bath Pics”

The water’s natural refraction, coupled with the camera angle = comically distorted the features. The results?

6) “Covert Selfies”

When you absolutely, positively must capture the moment discreetly, but you don’t want to be overt.

Again, this one’s not technically a selfie, but it does really get to the “nuts and bolts” of it.

The rest, unacceptable.

Here are examples:

1) “Justin Bieber Selfies”

Seriously, is just me, or does Justin Bieber look like he is having something forcibly inserted, or removed, from his rectum in most of his selfies?

2) The “Gratuitous Selfie”

AKA, the “Obvious Selfie”. Yes, P-Diddy. We see what you’re doing. Obvious Selfie is obvious. Well done. You’ve stood where only a handful (of millions) of people have stood.

3) “Darwin Awards Selfie”

For those oxygen thieves who are wasting all that good usable air. You know who you are.

4) The “I’m a total cunt Selfie”

Yes Shaq, I’m looking squarely at you.

The Shaqwit ended up apologising to Jahmel Binion – a Detroit man with a rare disorder, for making fun of his appearance online. Binion was a massive Shaq fan. I stress, “was”.

Binion has ectodermal dysplasia, which affects his face, teeth and hair. He commented afterwards that he was “confused” when O’Neal posted a picture on Instagram making a face “imitating” Binion.

Binion said he was thinking, “Man, he’s supposed to be this role model, someone everyone is supposed to look up to. If Shaq does something like this, everyone who follows him will think, ‘We should do this.’”

5) “The Anti-Miranda Selfie”

Mr Warne, you know I love you, and cannot wait to catch up in a week or two. But Ms Summer Warne is spot on. Stahp! Please leave these to the professionals. Otherwise you will lessen the chance of Miranda “sharing” a bed-hair selfie.

Fortunately, there is some “Selfie Karma” as highlighted below.

1) The “Heads Up!” Selfie.

2) The “Pre- and Post- Car Crash” Selfie

3) The “Camel Chomp” Selfie

4) The “Keep Behind the Yellow Line” Selfie

5) The “Lowest Approval Rating” Selfie.

All in all, while this is a bit of a fluff piece, the recent selfie explosion must stop.

Self indulgent? Self absorbed? Self gratifying?

Either way, you’re likely to be spending more time with yourselfie if you keep this up.

But hey, if you absolutely must feel the need to send me a selfie, please feel free to go fuck your selfie.

Bad Air Day

357 Replies

I hate airports. Airports are nature’s armpits. Yet it feels like I spend half of my life in them. In fact I probably do. For most of my adult life, I’ve travelled extensively for work, interspersed with pleasure. As such, I’ve seen a lot of airports, in a lot of countries. For the most part, they’re dreadful places, but there’s no reason that they should be. Yet sadly there’s precious little we can do about it.

Partly we pay for airports with fees hidden in our ticket prices. As such, we are essentially captive customers. We can’t take our business elsewhere without it being awfully, awfully inconvenient and/or inefficient. The Siberian Railway, Zeppelins and Shetland Ponies will only get you so far, nowadays.

Can we protest the charges hidden in our airfares? No.

Can we negotiate a better deal? Of course not.

Airlines aren’t going to help us either. They want to pay the airport as little as possible to use it themselves, so they’re happy for passengers to be endlessly swindled by rampant profiteering. “That’ll be $100 for parking, $15 for that limp sandwich and $10 for your teensy, tiny beer, etc. etc.”

So what are my* biggest gripes? Here are twenty to get you started:

1) Wi-Fi:

All airports should have free Wi-Fi. We’re forced into turning up hours before departure to make things smoother for both the airport and the airlines. The least they can do is pony up for free and good Wi-Fi. Relax, we’ll still buy your overpriced, tepid coffee. Just please allow us to get some business done. Or at the very least distract ourselves from all the other unpleasantness, and heaven forbid, interactions with humans.

2) Security:

Stop the over-scrutinising security. More than 12 years on from 9/11 and airport security remains a theatre of the absurd. Bin Laden must be laughing (gurgling?) in his grave.

It started with the confiscation of all things pointy. No more mid-flight self-administered mani-pedis for Uncle Gaz. Sigh. Now I’m embarrassed to show my toes in meetings.

Next came the mandatory shoe and belt removal, accompanied by increasingly bored pat downs. Seriously if you’re going to touch me up, at least show some interest. Indeed Security don’t actually need you to remove your belt and shoes. These sadists get their kicks from watching you try to waddle off while juggling all of your shit (laptop, keys, wallet, phone, sunglasses, bag, belt and shoes) with one hand, while holding your pants up with the other. There’s a word for them, and it doesn’t not rhyme with bunts.

The latest was the prohibition of liquids and gels. The liquid thing always makes me laugh. At every security checkpoint you’ll see a bin brimming with “contraband” containers taken from passengers for having exceeded the volume limit. Now, the assumption has to be that the materials in those containers are potentially hazardous. If not, why were they seized in the first place? But if so, why are they dumped unceremoniously into the trash? They are not quarantined or handed over to the bomb squad – they are simply thrown away. They seem to be saying they know these things are harmless, but they’re going to confiscate them anyway, and either you accept it or you don’t fly. Point in question – renowned (and outspoken) atheist Richard Dawkins reacts to having a small pot of honey confiscated. I hear you, Mr Dawkins. http://www.news.com.au/travel/travel-updates/scientist-and-atheist-activist-richard-dawkins-loses-it-after-airport-security-confiscates-his-honey/story-e6frfq80-1226753217875

3) Layout:

Airport design boffins – please design airports more functionally. Seriously, you should have anticipated that there would be queues. So at least design the place so that the inevitable queues don’t cross the thoroughfares. Should be simple enough, surely. I hate queues at the best of times, but having to cross a queue to get to another queue, is not only impractical, but downright infuriating (see Point #7 for more information). Furthermore, many airports strive to be too architectural, when it is wholly unnecessary. All we really desire is banal and competent. We’re not going there for any reason other than to get from A to B. It is not a destination we seek out in our downtime. In an airport, I’ll take function over style any day (at least for the essential part of the experience, arrival and departure – not in the First Class Lounge where I expect, nay demand, opulence). Pour me another Dodo Skull of Unicorn Tears, there’s a good fellow!

4) Baggage Claim:

Too often, we are faced with an impenetrable human blockade when attempting to salvage our luggage from the conveyor. It’s like a war zone, only slightly less congenial. The only time people become more territorial over real estate that they don’t actually own, is in shopping mall car parks. Common sense at the baggage carousel should be this:

You stand back in an orderly manner.

Your luggage spins into view.

You casually stroll forwards to the carousel to collect your item(s).

You head merrily on your way.

For the Neanderthals who don’t get it, there could also be a line, 2 metres from the carousel, labelled “Stand This Side of the Fucking Line, You Fucking Fuck”, or something equally ambiguous. This should be coupled in conjunction with a looping, educational video, displayed on an array of screens, providing advice on proper baggage collection etiquette in line with the above.

Failing that, they should eliminate the rotating carousel, and simply have a conveyor, 10 feet off the ground, that dumps all the bags off the end in a huge pile. It will work just as effectively.

What I do love, is the backroom baggage handler who always places a single piece of lost luggage on the conveyor 15 minutes before the real luggage arrives, just to fuck with people. I dig that guy.

5) False Advertising:

You should only be able to name an airport after a city, if it is actually located within the municipal bounds of that particular city. Paris Beauvais Airport, I’m talking to you. “Paris” Beauvais Airport is located in the town of Beauvais – 85 kilometres outside of fucking Paris. I once missed a flight to Prague, after jumping in a cab and asking to go to Paris Beauvais Airport. 120 Euro later, I arrive 5 minutes too late to check-in. “Paris” Beauvais Airport – you just made the list. It is deception of the highest order. So no Christmas card for you this year, fuckers.

One of my favourite deceptions is Frankfurt Hahn, a Ryanair special that’s around an hour and a half from Frankfurt. Congratulations Ryanair. You take the cake (right out of the baby’s mouth).

6) Smokers:

Airports. Please. Fix this. You must have designated, well-ventilated smoking areas – away from all the entrances. Non-smokers shouldn’t have to smoke half a pack of second hand smoke just to get to a taxi, or to get inside the terminal. I hate the smell of cigarettes, and I hate smelling like them. As a non-smoker, this shits me to tears. Fix this.

7) People:

Airports are full of hordes and hordes of people. You’ve met people, surely. So you know what I mean.

Tourists are the worst. How many times have you heard interchanges like this? “Oh, you’re going to Laos? I’ve been to Laos. It’s a nightmare, actually. It’s all tourists and you can’t get a decent Latté anywhere. I actually feel sorry for the people that live there.”

I fucking hate people. Not you, dear reader. Just the other people.

8) Neck Pillows:

People who wear inflatable neck pillows in arrival or departure lounges need to have a dignity biopsy.

9) Clocks:

More of them, please. And the bigger the better. I appreciate that every arrival and departure screen has the time in the corner, but the display is so small that you have to virtually be standing underneath the screen to see it. Incidentally, there is never a Departure Screen in any restaurant, bar or café…

Make it easy on us, airports of the world. We’re always conscious of the time, so please put some big motherfucking clocks up, all over the motherfucking place, for all the motherfuckers to see. Common sense says it would benefit everyone, even the non-motherfuckers.

10) Children:

As many of you likely know, children are essentially small people. Please see Point #7 for more information. Please keep control of your small people, or I will suddenly become “Mr Trivia” on air crash statistics. That should make for some fun family travel for the next 8 hours (and indeed for future travel). This is a public service announcement, parents of small people. You have been warned.

11) Signage:

They’ve announced your flight is boarding just in time for you to discover that Gate 82B is, surprisingly, not right next to Gate 82A, but in a completely different terminal building. Now, I run for no man. Some ladies, yes. But no man. And I don’t want to be a ball of sweat just before boarding a plane for the next 8 hours, and nor does the person sitting next to me. So I choose to walk. I’m checked in, so they have to give me some sort of grace period. But it is an inconvenience all the same.

Besides, just after you get there, you just know they’re going to switch your designated boarding gate to Gate 82A.

12) Inefficiencies:

I know Health and Safety has gone mad, but seriously, walking onto the tarmac, squeezing into a shuttle bus, and then being ferried 30 metres to the plane is just plain ridiculous. Homophone… nice…

13) Duty Free:

What a rort. Airports now direct disembarking passengers through Duty Free shops as part of the departure process. Yet everything in Duty Free is more expensive than High Street shops. And the oversized Toblerones are so large they come with 50% off vouchers for diabetes treatment. Buy your family a gift BEFORE you get to the airport. Or give them an i-Tunes voucher. Or fuck ‘em. Just don’t buy anything Duty Free.

14) Customs/Immigration:

Where do they find Customs Officers? What is it about their demeanour that causes you to look guilty when they question you and to laugh nervously? And why is it sniffer dogs are infatuated with one’s crotch? Why are we always so relieved once we get the all clear, like we got away with something? Is it them, or is it simply the human psyche? I blame them. It’s easier.

15) Hire Cars:

They never, ever, give you the car that matches the picture when you booked online. I’m sorry, but a Hyundai Getz does not resemble an Audi R8, not even in dappled light.

16) Currency:

You have no local currency, so you go to the only ATM at the terminal. It swallows your card. Cab drivers only take cash. You start busking. The only song you remember the words to is “The Old Grey Mare”. It is going to be a long night, regardless of how much energy you put into the choreography.

It is time for a world currency. Bitcoins it is! And here I previously thought they would only be useful for getting and/or hiring a hit.

17) Carry-on Nazis:

I’m not referring to one of those bawdy, British films. I’m talking about the stickling carry-on luggage weighers. You know the ones. They make you weigh your carry-on, and it’s always a kilogram over. Your carry-on could be empty and you’ll still be a kilo over, so there’s no point planning in advance. What you’ll end up doing is carrying a book in one hand, your camera in another, and your laptop around your neck as “oversized bling”. They will then wave you through, even though the net weight is precisely the same. Perplexing system, that one, but irksome nonetheless.

18) Air Conditioning:

Airport climate never matches the climate outside the terminal. It never matches the climate of your intended destination. It never matches the climate on board the plane. It is therefore impossible to turn up at the airport, suitably attired, because airports have their own, fetid ecosystem. You will be shivering, or sweltering. Despite this, airports always seem to produce the perfect living conditions for germs, and germ mutation… This feeds onto my next point.

19) Hygiene:

Airports are cultural melting pots. People from all over this exotic ball of dirt and gas congregate in airports, each one a unique thread that weaves to form the rich tapestry that is our glorious planet, Alderaan. I mean Earth. However, they also bring together a mix of social habits that allows a little piece of their culture to transfer over to my being, usually causing me to curl up in the foetal position on the toilet floor of my luxury poolside villa for at least the first 3 days of my vacation.

They sneeze without covering their mouths. They toilet without washing their hands. They spit without… well, the fact that they spit at all, says it all.

I don’t know what we can do to fix this, but I’d rather risk illness, than wear a surgical mask throughout my travels. I’m one thing, but I’m no Michael Jackson.

20) Travelator:

Nothing gets my goat (aside from goat poachers) more than people who stand stock still on travelators, blocking the way. Move aside. You’re not fucking Gandalf!

It’s also not a magic carpet ride. It is designed to hasten ambulatory rapidity, not to act as a substitute for walking. Maybe I’m being harsh, and some people really do wish to take in all of the sights that Murmansk Airport has to offer (ooh, Salt Mine Tours!). If that is the case, then by all means run two parallel travelators. A walky one. And a standy one. But until that day, get the fuck out of my way! Sprinting on travelators is the only time the words “Fun” and “Run” should go together. Travelators make me feel like I’m Usain Bolt. Until the jarring deceleration at the end brings me back to the realisation that I’m more like Hurley from Lost.

So there you go Airports. The ball is in your court. If you could fix only one, I’d say you weren’t trying…

(*Disclaimer: I travel First/Business class and have a PA, so some of these gripes may or may not apply to my actual travel experience now, but even I did fly economy once upon a time!)

Gazzler’s List

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My good friend Nolan Dalla recently wrote a blog piece titled “Ten Common Things I’ve Never Done”

http://www.nolandalla.com/ten-common-things-ive-never-done/

Nolan’s list is quite a fun and interesting read, as it does shed new light on someone I feel I know reasonably well. But I also feel compelled to respond to Nolan’s list, and to make a list of my own.

Nolan, you know I love you. But as friends do, I like to get the boot in, whenever I can.

I shall respond to Nolan’s list first.

1) Nolan has never used illegal drugs. Not once. Period. This from a man who was a teenager in the 1970’s. Nolan, I assure you, you’ve at least inadvertently done illegal drugs. And mate, not all “illegal drugs” are as scary and dangerous as you seem to believe, especially if only used recreationally.

2) Nolan has never bought a new car. Nolan doesn’t know what he is missing. New cars are awesome. It’s not like you’re beta testing by being the first to own a new car. All the behind the scenes safety and performance checks have been done. There are no bugs to iron out. Wouldn’t you rather a gorgeous, shiny kitten that purrs for you? Rather than a tattered, shabby old tabby, with diarrhoea and half of one ear missing, that mews and spits whenever you go near it?

3) Nolan has never been on a Cruise Ship. Ironically, I am in the same boat. I wholeheartedly concur. Once you’re in the middle of the ocean, you’re stuck there. If I’m not having a good time, I like to be able to pack my bags, check out and go someplace better. You do not have that luxury on a cruise. If the cruise is full of screaming children (and I hear that many are) there’s no escape. If the cruise is full of boozy Spring Breakers, there is no escape. That reminds me, there used to be a party Cruise Liner in Australia in the 90’s called “Fairstar the Fun Ship”. Little did they know, it was also known by many as the HMAS Herpes. Party cruises. Can you imagine anything worse? There are only so many times you can call me “dude”, or even worse “duuuuuuude”, before I will hurt you. Oh, and lean in, and listen closely, drunken college students. I’ve hurt people before, and not one of them has come back and asked me to please hurt them again…

4) Nolan has never watched the Simpsons. WTF??!! He mentioned some other TV shows that he’s never watched, including the Sopranos, but I just can’t get past the Simpsons. It’s been on for almost half of your life! You do realise it is not a children’s cartoon, but an “adult” animated series? And it is freakin’ hilarious?! The writing is second to none. So many memorable characters, so many catch phrases. Indeed the character development is superb and has evolved, and honed to perfection over the course of the years. And the voice actors are simply brilliant at bringing the characters to life. I’d suggest you buy the boxed set (but if you watch it for 8 hours straight every day, it will take you the better part of a month to watch it since you have so many years to catch up, you schlub). However I fear that watching it now for the first time, would not be the same as watching it from its inception. I actually feel sorry for you Nolan. You have truly missed out. D’oh. In fact, this has outraged me so much, my next blog post is going to be “My Top 10 Favourite Simpson’s Quotes”. It actually saddens me Nolan, that you may not recognise (or chuckle at) a single one of them…

5) Nolan has never eaten at “Subway, Carl’s Jr., Capriotti, Chick-fil-A, Quizno’s” et al. I’m afraid your list doesn’t effectively sort the wheat from the chaff. Subway, for example cannot be compared to other fast food chains such as Chick-fil-A that peddle mostly in deep fried fare. Subway is ostensibly a fresh sandwich franchise (and Quiznos, to a similar extent). Admittedly, some of Subway’s cold cuts are processed and full of preservatives, but they do also offer fresh-cooked meats, an array of healthy salad ingredients, and bread baked “same day”. If you ate Subway every day, there’s little to no risk of becoming stricken with “Supersize Me” syndrome as evidenced by Morgan Spurlock. I’m not saying you should eat fast food. Your general fast food philosophy is quite sound, and indeed meritorious. I’m simply suggesting there are some healthier chains out there that shouldn’t be tarred by the same brush.

6) Nolan never runs the air conditioning in his car. What is that, I don’t even? You’re in Las Vegas for fuck’s sake. It’s the middle of the fucking desert! Just because cavemen were too tired after a long day of hunting and/or gathering to take the time to invent air conditioning, rest assured they’d have used it in a heartbeat if it existed. And Nolan, your reasoning that it causes motor damage is spurious. I bet that’s something a mechanic told you back in the 80’s and you’ve never forgotten it. You probably also believed that no-one would tire of “HyperColor” t-shirts. The reality is, modern cars (even second-hand ones) are designed for air conditioning to be seamlessly integrated into the engine’s operation. Not running the air conditioning, but then turning it on for the occasional dinner car pool, is actually worse for your vehicle. In fact, I’d hate to be the person who purchases your car second hand. They switch on the air conditioning, the vents splutter a cloud of dust in their face, and the engine conks out. The post-purchase “cooling off” period is quite ironic, in your case.

7) Nolan has never owned a female pet, because they are walking “kitten factories”. Seriously, you’re blaming female cats for bringing kittens into the world? Nolan, come up and sit on my knee. It’s time we had a little talk. Now when a boy cat and a girl cat love each other very much…

Anyway, all that aside. You should neuter your pets, regardless of whether they are male or female. That goes for everyone, neuter your fucking pets, you irresponsible ignoramuses. And never buy from Pet Shops. Pet Shop puppies are mostly bred in puppy mills. Puppy mills are evil, conveyor belts of torture and deprivation. Don’t give these evil people your money, while millions of perfectly happy pets are being needlessly euthanised in animal shelters. Adopt from a shelter, save a life. <end Gaz rant>

8) Nolan claims he has never worn white shoes in his life. I call bullshit. But regardless, it seems an absurd philosophy. If we only wore clothes that camouflaged us against the most common causes of soiling, we’d all be wearing brown and yellow underwear.

9) Nolan has never seen Van Morrison in concert. Nolan you’re not Robinson Crusoe there, although I daresay a lot of Britney fans could learn from your philosophy.

10) Nolan never says “Goodbye” when leaving a social gathering. Nolan, amen brother. Fuck convention. This trumps all of the above in my books. Words to live by, my friend. I’m stealing that one.

Now it is time to throw together my list of “Ten Common Things I’ve Never Done”. It was not as easy an exercise as I thought it would be. I’m fortunate to have enjoyed many, many fun and interesting experiences. However, there are a handful of things (well, two handfuls, if you’re going to be pedantic) that I’ve never done before. Here goes:

1) I have never, ever waxed. Anything. And never will. Sure, I do the odd spot of manscaping. It is important to trim the undergrowth from around the base of the ol’ oak tree, (it makes it look taller) but I have never felt the need to do any widespread, comprehensive land clearing. A man is supposed to have hair. So are ladies, for that matter – how else is the plane supposed to know where to land?

2) I have never snow-skied. This will come as a surprise to most of you who know of my love for Whistler. Truth be told, the idea has always terrified me. Strangely, I am perfectly comfortable snowboarding. I think it is the fear of each leg being independently responsible for my safety. Don’t trust the fuckers to act in unison, so strap ‘em together, I say.

3) I have never been arrested, or even detained. Either I’m very straight-laced, or I’m extremely good at not getting caught. I wonder if Nolan can say the same? No judgement buddy, it would just appear that some are not as wholesome as some, on the whole.

Actually, that reminds me of a joke: “Jesus loves you”. A nice thing to hear in Church, but not so in a Mexican prison…

4) I have never been to South America or New Zealand. Now I am a guy who has been everywhere. Well not literally, obviously. But I have undertaken some heavy business travel over the past 12 years, and have had the pleasure (and sometimes displeasure, truth be told) of visiting over 60-70 countries. I have booked New Zealand trips on several occasions, but the fates got in the way and I have had to cancel each and every one of those visits. And for some strange reason, I have never made it anywhere in South America. I must fix these aberrations. I hear there’s some sort of football tournament coming up down that way. I simply must check it out. Sao Paulo via Queenstown, por favor. Sweet as bro.

5) I have never, or will ever let this kind of thing happen to me: http://www.nolandalla.com/two-russian-cunts-ruined-zucchero-concert/, which could mean my third point might still be in jeopardy. I simply don’t suffer fools. I would rather sort that shit out early, and have them seethe and glare at me while I enjoy the rest of the show, rather than seethe and glare at them, while not enjoying being able to enjoy the rest of the show. There are unwritten social conventions that can sometimes only be taught by harsh lessons.

6) I have never been to a game of baseball. I don’t know why. I have no excuse. I’d actually love to go, but for some reason I’ve never made it happen. I’m a massive cricket fan, and try to see it live when I can, so I can handle the tedium of long, drawn-out sports. Fortunately, I like a drink, so I’m pretty sure I can remain entertained for a few hours. And heck, I love the baby elephant walk. It makes no sense. I’ve been to countless NHL, NBA and NFL games in the US (including several Super Bowls) but have never experienced a live ball game. Right, this is now on my bucket list. My next invite, I am accepting. Except maybe if it’s the Pirates *shudders*

7) I have never bungee jumped. And I have never skydived (but I have zoomed in on Google Earth really, really fast). And I never will. Sorry, it’s unnatural and it’s just pushing your luck. If I am in need of a head rush, I’ll simply stand up too quickly after tying my shoelaces.

8) I have no tattoos. My body is a temple. I would never defile it in any way. *hand me another gin and tonic, my good man* Besides, any artwork I liked enough to hang on my wall 10 years ago is long gone. I can’t say I have the confidence to settle on something I know I’ll like in a year’s time, let alone a lifetime. Can you say the same for your Chinese symbol tramp stamp? You do know it translates to “Goat Fucker” in Chinese? Gaz’s Tip o’ the Day: Never haggle the price with a tattoo artist…

9) I have never seen Schindler’s List. I know, I know. It’s not quite as bad as Nolan and the Simpsons, but it’s true. I missed it during its cinematic run. By then, most of my close acquaintances had seen it. So whenever it came to hiring a movie, Schindler’s List was never considered, as everyone had seen it, and it’s generally not considered “light entertainment”. As a consequence, I have simply not made the time to sit down and watch it. I must fix this.

10) I have never folded 7-2 under the gun. This is because I like to live dangerously. As for conservative, old “Blackshoes Dalla”, I cannot say the same…

Heck, why stop at 10. Let’s make it a neat dozen.

11) I have never broken a plate at a Greek restaurant.

12) Although I have been heard to say otherwise, I have never beaten the following people at golf (at least fairly): Matt Savage, Ty Stewart, Shane Warne, Barry Hearn, Jim Preston and John Caldwell. I am admitting it here, publically. Seth Palansky however, anyone could beat. The guy is a fish.

Right, that’s it. As usual, I welcome some critique in the comments section. Indeed, feel free to throw your lists in there as well, I could do with some shits and giggles.

Until then, bugger off. I’ve got to whittle my next blog down to only 10 Favourite Simpson’s Quotes. This may take a while.

Impersonal Training

5 Replies

Sorry for the blog radio silence folks. My arms have been too fucking sore to type.

After the Green Vegetable Detox Cleanse was complete, it was time for the intensive fitness regime.

“Regime” is a suitably apt description, because three weeks in, I think my personal trainer has all the attributes of a third-world Dictator – oozing charm and charisma, but liable to rip you from your bed in the wee hours to inflict excruciating torture.

Anyway, the first thing Gaddafi sorted out was my diet and supplement plan.

Imagine my joy when he handed me a bag containing 30 premium grade, NZ rib fillet steaks.

I was to have one every morning for breakfast to sort out my protein requirements and energy levels.

“Don’t mind if I do”, I said to myself eloquently, “I fucking love steak”.

Well now I hate steak.

I never usually eat breakfast, so slugging my way through a steak every morning has proven quite challenging. I almost miss the Brussels sprouts…

Besides the requirement of plenty of protein, and the right amount of good fats, the rest was obvious – don’t eat junk or carbs.

Half of that was easy – I don’t like junk food anyway – but I am seriously jonesing for some vegemite on toast.

We then did an intolerance and allergy work up, and found that I am gluten and lactose intolerant. So no bread and milk for Uncle Gaz-gaz. Actually that reminds me of an amusing David Mitchell rant on QI:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTn3eJG87IQ

“Actually we’re supposed to live till we’re 250. But no, we’ve been eating all this poisonous bread and milk all the time, we can barely limp past 98!”

The real downside is the cheese. I love cheese. A frisky Moscato and a silky Camembert go together like… well, wine and cheese.

Since I’m not supposed to eat carbs, the gluten intolerance is redundant anyway. But fuck the lactose intolerance. I will not be prejudiced towards cheese, no matter the consequences (and I’m pretty sure there will be consequences…).

The daily physical training started with basic stretching and simple exercises to get me back into the groove. We now alternate days of boxing, with cardio and weights. Normally, I wouldn’t go for a run if you paid me. Now, I’m paying someone to make me run. It hardly seems fiscally equitable.

Stupidly, I actually thought the boxing training would be fun. It’s not. I think it is best described by a line I’m stealing from the late, great Douglas Adams in “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”:

“It is unpleasantly like being drunk”.

“What’s so unpleasant about being drunk?!”

“Ask a glass of water”

My boxing trainer is having a title fight on Good Friday, so he has turned me into his personal punching bag. He is amazing. And powerful. And terrifying.

If I drop the pace, it’s 100 star jumps. If I cower in the corner crying, it’s 100 star jumps. If I lose count in the middle of my 100 star jumps, it’s 100 star jumps.

Thankfully he hasn’t demanded I do 100 push-ups, cos that shit ain’t happening. Indeed is it wrong for me to pray that he’s taken a few too many uppercuts, and doesn’t have the visual or mental acuity to read this blog?

Regardless, if I let my guard down, I get a punch in the face. If I don’t kick him hard enough, he demonstrates, with great vigour, just how hard he wants me to kick him.

The shit is real. Frighteningly real. But it is also exhilarating.

All in all, the training hasn’t come easy. After a leg curling session (single leg curls), I’m embarrassed to admit I was hurting so badly, I had to take a cab home from the gym rather than make the 5 minute walk.

For most of the first week, I was so sore, if I dropped something on the floor, that was precisely where it would remain.

Another day I couldn’t lift a cup of coffee to my face.

That was all pretty dismal, but now a few weeks in, I’m starting to actually enjoy it.

Not only that, I’m feeling fantastic and have heaps of energy.

I’m also down a shirt size, and have discovered two more usable holes on my belt – I was wondering what they were for.

My personal trainers say shit hasn’t properly started yet. Three weeks ago, that would have been a worry.

But now, I say bring it on!

Walks away humming*:

“Rising up, back on the street. Did my time, took my chances. Went the distance, now I’m back on my feet, just a Gaz and his will to survive…”

* Actually, I did no such thing. My motivational gym song is actually Fatboy Slim’s “Right Here, Right Now”, but its lyric deficiency would have made it a lacklustre way to end this story…

Green around the gills…

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So I’ve reached the final stretch of my week of horror.

*shakes uncontrollably and whispers*

The horror… The horror…

Day 6:

I awake tired. Again. I don’t understand why I can’t sleep. I would have thought that without stimulants, such as caffeine, I’d be sleeping like a baby. Well I guess I technically have been sleeping like a baby – I have been waking up crying every few hours…

The good news is, the hard work has been done. And while I have not enjoyed the Green Vegetable Detox, I’m actually over the hump, and feel confident of bringing it home.

The bad news is, the unshakable nausea, the headaches, and the obtuse dreams.

My body and mind just feel out of sorts, not to mention my bowels. Oops, looks like I did mention them. Since I’m on the topic, I have a feeling the detox is working. Judging by the recent experiences I’ve had “dropping the kids at the pool”, I am fairly certain the poisons are leaving the building. In droves.

As a result though, I’m just plain sluggish. It is hard to get motivated to prepare a meal, as nothing in my fridge (of an appropriate colour) is particularly appealing to me right now. I hope I haven’t damaged green vegetables forever?

Meal #16: I eat the remaining zucchini and broccoli. Yup, that’s it. Time to go to the shops one last time.

While scratching about for some variety, I notice the grocer has edamame, so I pick some up on a whim, along with your old pals, broccoli and snow peas (Brussels sprouts are still on the outer). The girl at the checkout is the same one that has served me throughout the week, and finally she has the courage to ask if I was aware that everything I’ve bought is green. I tell her it’s because I’m colour blind. She accepts that with a knowing nod.

Meal #17: I have a steaming bowl of edamame. I forgot how much I freakin’ love edamame! Where have you been all my week, you little soy bastard?! Edamame may actually see me through.

I am so buoyant from my successful lunch that I trundle out for some fresh air. It is while I am out and about, with the wind in my hair and a song in my heart, that I receive the call from my “trainer”. I had forgotten about this. Once detox ends, the physical training is to commence. Sadly, Gaz and exercise go together about as well as baths and toasters.

It is then he drops a further bombshell. I am supposed to do this 7-day detox, every 2 months! Is he mental? I’ll bet he doesn’t do it every two fucking months. Practice what you preach, lycra boy. No wonder everyone, aside from personal trainers, hates personal trainers.

So thanks trainer dude – you’re a major buzz kill.

Meal #18: I splash out with a plate of broccoli and snow peas AND a side plate of edamame. I actually feel full afterwards, so it feels like a small win.

Surprise, surprise, I sleep restlessly. I dreamt that I’d finished the detox, and went out with friends to celebrate, and no matter where we went, all any restaurant had on its menu was green fucking vegetables. I awoke in a cold sweat.

Day 7:

I’ve made it! Last freakin’ day. 3pm is my nominal end time, so just two meals to go!

Regardless of what Nautilus Nigel says, I am not doing this ever again.

Meal #19: Edamame, edamame, edamame. They are just the most filling little power nuggets of green. I improvise a little ditty while preparing them.

Edamame, you’re so yummy, boiling away beside me,

Edamame, in my tummy, I want you inside me…

Safe to say isolation, and a high fibre diet, are making me just a little weird.

Meal #20: The last supper. I decide to cook up anything left in my fridge that is green. I don’t finish it, but I don’t care, and take great delight in throwing the leftovers in the trash. It was only going to “waste” anyway.

3pm can’t come soon enough, so I distract myself by heading to the wine cellar to pick out something red in order to celebrate (and for a change of colour). We settle on a nice 1990 Barolo, and give it the rest of the afternoon to breathe, while I do the same.

I jump on the scales for a final weigh in. All in all I have lost 4kg. I imagine half of that was water, and the other half my will to live, but it is still a very rewarding thing to see the scales going down.

The strange thing is, while I thought that I would be sitting down to a nice steak to end the week, I actually don’t crave it. I would have had some fava beans and a nice Chianti, but for some reason I’m off the greens…

What I do have a hankering for, is blue cheese and crusty bread. Coincidentally, they go swimmingly with red wine, so I nip down to the delicatessen to select a generous wedge of Roquefort and a sourdough batard.

I’ve been waking up nauseous, with a sore head all week. Tomorrow, I intend to do the same… 🙂

Gareth Edwards – The Blog

The official blog of Gareth Edwards

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Green around the gills…