Category Archives: Rants

The Green Mile

725 Replies

So I’m now on Day #4 of the Green Vegetable Detox.  And Uncle Gaz ain’t copin’.

I wake up tired.  I have the shakes, and my head feels doughy and vague.  I have never been Jonesing for a coffee so badly, I feel like a junky.

I stagger to the kitchen to rustle up some grub.  Actually I wish I did find a grub hiding out in all these greens, I could do with the protein.

Meal #10:   Broccoli, beans and snow peas.  Hip-fucking-hurrah.  I try to drink some of the supplement and trick myself into thinking it is coffee, but my gag reflex threatens to trigger a green volcano, so I give up.

I am then given the fantastic news that as part of the program, I need to have blood work done.  I’m not sure what they are testing for, some sort of scientific jargon was used, but I pretty much switched off after I heard the word “fast”.

Apparently I am to fast overnight until after my blood test the following lunchtime.  As much as I am hating green vegetables, I hate the idea of eating nothing even more.  I am hating Day #4, but I am seriously dreading Day #5.

Meal #11:  I can’t face another branch of broccoli, and the thought of Brussels sprouts makes me nauseous.  I end up boiling up a plate of beans and snow peas.  I give up after a handful of mouthfuls.

Meal #12:  Zucchini, broccoli and beans, washed down with water.  I have very little to say about this meal, suffice to say I laboured over every mouthful, knowing it would be my last for the next 18 hours or so.  I feel absolutely melancholy.  I need a hug.  Today was very tough.

I continue to struggle to sleep.  When I do, the dreams are more like hazy hallucinations.  I dream I’m trekking through the wilderness.  I’m lost, but in a hurry.  I crash through undergrowth.  I stumble across fast flowing rapids.  I climb, and climb and climb.  I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I need to get there – and fast.  When I half wake I realise I need to use the bathroom, and I now understand the urgency.  I don’t want to burden my good readers with any of the gruesome details, but suffice to say I’ve never “moved faster”.

Day #5:   Speaking of fast, that’s the theme of the day.

Meal #13:   One glass of water.  Medium rare.

The bear from my previous post is my constant companion today.  My stomach has never been this noisy before.  The best way to describe it is unpleasant “squirrely” noises.  Wait, that’s unfair on squirrels.  I love squirrels.  I could eat a squirrel.

My forest friends and I spend an excruciatingly long morning watching the clock, counting down until my blood test.

Meal #14:   One scotch and soda.  Hold the scotch.  Sigh.

Finally, I am able to head out to get my blood test done.  I’m usually fine giving blood, but I was particularly wobbly walking out of the clinic afterwards.

Meal #15:   I head home to feed the animals a late lunch of broccoli and snow peas.   Even they seem to have grown tired of greens, as they refuse to shut up afterwards.

I am glad that I had the foresight to deliberately avoid scheduling any meetings this week, as I knew it could be dicey.  However, I did have a product launch I promised a former business partner I would attend.  I toss up cancelling, but figure it will be good to get out of the house, so I shower and head out.

Big mistake.

Of course there’s a buffet.

Of course there’s an open bar.

Of course it’s a cornucopia of all things nice – seafood, cold cuts, mezze and cheese platters, along with a never-ending procession of wait staff, carrying tray after tray of a dazzling array of Hors d’oeuvres past my pallid, pleading eyes.

Of course there’s not a green thing in sight, besides some garnish and one lonely, bedraggled salad.

The soiree is otherwise pulsing with sophisticated, urbane people, laughing and exchanging witticisms, pausing only to stuff mouthful after mouthful of cheesy, creamy, gooey, dreamy vol-au-vents.

*wipes drool off keyboard*

My willpower is sorely tested.  I go to the bar, and have to tell the bartender twice that I “only want a glass of water, please” (kill me).

I head to the buffet to fill my plate with a mix of salad leaves and several sprigs of parsley.

Needless to say, I am not the belle of the ball, and politely depart after about 30 minutes.

Day #5 ends with another visit to my porcelain throne.  Who says it’s good to be the king?

Anyway, screw you all, I’m going to bed.

It’s not easy being green…

13 Replies

As part of a corporate health and wellness push by a company I am Vice Chairman of, all senior management recently agreed to partake in a swag of healthy lifestyle initiatives.

First part of the initiative is a 7-day “Green Vegetable Detox”, where literally all you are permitted to eat is green vegetables.  You’re also allowed to drink water, and a supplement that tastes like dirt that’s been diffused through a hobo’s sock, but that’s it.

No fruit.  No bread.  No animal proteins.  No alcohol.  No caffeine.  No dairy.  No nuthin’.

I ask if avocado is allowed, and am told it is a fruit.  While that may technically be true, I think the test for a fruit should be whether or not you’d put it in a fruit salad.

In hindsight, I think the psychopath who came up with this diet would have felt right at home as one of Mengele’s assistants.

But I digress.  As most of you who know me will attest, I’ll pretty much give anything a go.  So for my sins, I agree to participate (and truthfully, because this is the environment and motivation needed to start to lose weight).

Here is a diary of my progress.

Day 1:

“Ok”, I thought to myself, “how hard can this be?”  I actually love broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas – they’re amongst my favourite foods.  But usually they are an accompaniment, not as a standalone meal.  In fact, whenever people say they hate Brussels sprouts, my response is the same as when people tell me they don’t enjoy sex – I pat them gently on the shoulder, console them and say “Perhaps you’re not doing it right”.  They are fantastic sautéed with bacon, olive oil, garlic, shallots and a sprinkling of vegetable stock powder.  Admittedly, the rules do not allow bacon, oil, vegetable stock, garlic or shallots, but regardless, I nip to the grocer and pick up a bag each of broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas.

Meal #1:    I steam some broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas.   I see why people might hate Brussels sprouts if they can’t be pimped out with something else, but I chow my way through it without too much drama.  “This won’t be so bad”, I tell myself.  “You’re a deluded twat”, I later tell myself.

Meal #2:    Since it’s all I have, I prepare another meal of broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas.  This time, it’s a little tougher to get through, but I plough on.

Meal #3:    Aaaand it is broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas again.  I’m starting to regret starting this diet with my three favourites, as they are now rapidly plummeting down the hierarchy.

I go to bed and drift into a fitful sleep, my head spinning as my mind tries to conjure up a list of tasty, alternative green vegetables, but am constantly interrupted by a dancing hamburger.

Day 2:

Meal #4:  I awake tired.  I crave coffee.  I can’t have coffee.  I dabble with the idea of breaking my detox and having a coffee.  I slap myself (*metaphorically) for being so weak, and prepare myself a succulent (*emphasis on the suck) meal of broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas.  It is tough going.  At the conclusion of the meal, I walk to the fridge, fetch the remaining broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas, toss them down the garbage chute and head out to the grocery shop in search of greenspiration.

I am surprised at just how few green vegetables there are.  There is little that satisfies my restrictive colour palate, while satisfying my other palate.  I cannot have spinach, as I am allergic (the power of Popeye evades me) so end up buying up bagfuls of anything green, but mostly just replacement broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas.  Seriously, chard?  What the fuck is chard?

Meal #5:  I dabble with steamed zucchini and blanched asparagus, but discontinue with the asparagus because it makes my pee smell foetid.

The acclaimed auteur, Marcel Proust once said “asparagus transforms my chamber-pot into a flask of perfume.”  Proust, you’re a fucking idiot.  I can’t see anyone clambering to buy Eau de Asparagus Toilette.

Meal #6:  I spend 10 minutes standing at the open door of my fridge.  I end up grabbing a bunch of celery, and mindlessly chomp on it in front of the television.  First thing I realise is just how many adverts there are, for things more tasty and satisfying than celery.

Have you ever noticed, that when you decide to upgrade your TV, advertisers suddenly appear to have read your mind, because all of the sudden you are receiving pamphlets in the mail for new TVs, there are signs on bus stops spruiking new TV’s and every second ad on TV is for a new TV?  How did they know?

It is stereotypical of the world of advertising, that in mainstream media, the mass-saturation, shotgun approach to marketing is the oft preferred model, hoping to capitalise by catching you at an opportune moment of need.

The same applies to food.  You just don’t notice how many ads for food are out there until you are starving.  In two hours I count 5 pizza ads, 3 KFC ads, 2 McDonalds ads, and a plethora of ads for junk food and snacks of one variety or another.

I note that not one ad was for green vegetables, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot convince my tastebuds that the stick of celery I am munching on, is really a beef and bean burrito.

I trundle off to bed.  Sleep is difficult, but I must have drifted off, as I later awake with a start, at the realisation that a bear had wandered into my bedroom.  I quickly realise the growling is simply my stomach.  It is difficult to sleep amidst all the racket, so I spend a couple of hours distracting myself with Candy Crush.  Candy… *drools* argl argl argl arghh.

Day 3:

Meal #7:  All vegetables and no coffee (or whiskey) makes Gaz a dull boy.  But we welcome broccoli, Brussels sprouts and snow peas back into the fray.  Must.  Resist.  Urge.  To kill.

Meal #8:  This time, I spend 20 minutes in front of the fridge.  I end up making a salad of rocket, cucumber and mint, and try to convince myself I’m the culinary equivalent of Thomas Edison.  Turns out Edison couldn’t cook to save himself, but it is a welcome, albeit unsatisfying, break from Brussels sprouts, broccoli and snow peas.

Meal #9:  Shit is getting real.  Really real.  I am tired.  I am hungry.  I am on edge.  I am on the edge.   I find myself drooling over a wilted carrot in my vegetable crisper.  However I do not yield to wiles of the orange temptress, and throw together a hearty platter of broccoli, Brussels sprouts and some green beans, just to shake things up.

I once again try to sleep, but headaches, hunger and homicidal tendencies rule the night.  Once I do doze off, I dream I am a broccoli farmer.  Endless, endless rows of broccoli.

I am told days 3 and 4 are the toughest, but I honestly can’t see things improving.  I’m just halfway there, but I am more than halfway out of my mind.

Day 4:

SUPER MEGA TILT!

Stay tuned for further updates, assuming of course I do not yield to the overwhelming temptation to kill.  Actually, if anyone is competing in a “Dead Pool” hit me up with your list.  If I’m going to go postal, it is always good to have a purposeful target.  So watch your back, Putin.

Sochi? Ouchy….

6 Replies

Sochi – it may be 10,000 km from Vladivostok, but it is well on the way to Laughingstok.

How much of a debacle was the Winter Olympic Games?

Incredulity-inducing twin-share toilet amenities, nausea-inducing toilet paper disposing instructions, and cancer-inducing drinking water.  It had it all.

Putin must be seething.  Heads will roll.

Seriously, he’s ex-KGB.  There’s all likelihood heads will be detached and/or rolled.  Or perhaps curled?

With the Cold War long over, but with Russia-USA relations at a low point, particularly with the wounds from the Snowden affair still scabbing over, along with the Ukraine crisis reaching a head, it will no doubt bring mirth to the West that Russia ballsed it up so humiliatingly for all the world to see.

Look, Olympic host cities have historically scrambled to get everything ready in time.  Sochi is not alone here.

However with an estimated $51 billion price tag, and this being the first time the Winter Olympics has come to Russia, this was supposed to be their time to shine.

But the shine wore off the moment reporters started to arrive in the seaside resort town in the lead up to the Games.

Muddy bogs surrounded hotels, where grassy lawns were to have been.  Side-by-side toilets, unseparated by the nuisance of partitioning, forced strangers to communicate in a place where communication is least desired.

And by the time the fifth Olympic ring failed to light during the opening ceremony, the world was cringing with embarrassment, and the super-trending #SochiProblems swept the Twittersphere.

In the wash-up however, there were numerous saving graces.  Russia ended up winning the medal count. There was breathtaking brilliance shown by athletes from across the globe in an array of exhilarating, extreme pursuits, as only the Winter Olympics can deliver.  Well except maybe in the curling.

But then there was controversy as a multitude of athletes complained that the skiing and boarding runs were overly dangerous, resulting in a higher than normal injury rate.  Or perhaps that was just a ploy by Sochi administrators to increase the number of high-profile athletes able to compete in the Winter Paralympics in the weeks to follow, saving on marketing costs by allowing them to re-use promotional material?

In all seriousness, fingers firmly crossed the Paralympics go off without a hitch.

But all of that will be by-the-by, because that’s the problem with first impressions, Sochi.  You only get one shot.

Come Fly With Me

18 Replies

I am a frequent flyer (95% work related).

All told, in the past 12 months, I made over 100 flights around this fantastic ball of dirt, water and gas we call Earth. In the last 10 years, over 2000 sectors.

I’ve had some great flying experiences.  I’ve had some awful flying experiences.

One of the downsides of flying is that you have to interact, a lot, with a lot of people.  On the whole, people suck.  You’ve met them, so you know what I mean.

Nowadays, I must admit, I predominantly fly First Class – don’t begrudge me, you would too.

But I also make loads of smaller, internal domestic flights, and not all have a Business Class option.  So today, we’re talking domestic, cattle class only.

Here are Gaz’s Tips for improving the airways.  Three for the airlines, and three for passengers, as both contribute to the overall flying experience.

Gaz’s Tips for Airlines:

1.    Elbow and Leg Room:

Charge a little more, and cram a few less seats in.  There.  Simple.  You can achieve this without impacting upon your bottom line.  I’m a businessman.  I get why you maximise the number of seats you can fit in a plane.  But airlines, you have pushed it too far.   Just because you are filling flights, doesn’t make it right.  You are not catering for the masses, but you SHOULD be.  Indeed 40% of flyers list this as their biggest gripe, so I’m not Robinson Crusoe here.

I am also quite “big boned”, so I am acutely aware of people’s pleading eyes as I’m walking down the aisle, that scream “please don’t sit next to me, please don’t sit next to me!”  Don’t get me wrong, I always pay more whenever I can to buy a little leg room, but the width is fixed in sardine class.   As a general rule, I don’t want to rub body parts with a complete stranger, without both parties being consenting adults.

* Armrest territorial wars will be covered in greater detail in the Passenger Tip section.

 

2.     Seat Comfort:

This is not a width thing, or even a girth thing.  This is purely about ergonomics.  Most airlines seats are akin to an ironing board, bent in half at 90 degrees, but with far less padding.  The irony is, airlines of the world – you’re filling your seats, so you should be filling our seats.  Seriously, when someone is rummaging in the seat pocket behind my seat, it should not feel like I’m getting a Thai massage.  Again, I’m not Charles Darwin here, as this is a major gripe of close to 80% of air travellers.   It really does require an industry-wide rethink.

3.     Wifi:

As a busy, corporate traveller, the wait for inflight Wifi has been a long, and frustrating one.  The technology is there, and I will choose a carrier with Wifi over one who doesn’t, regardless of any price differential.  I want to be able work, stay connected, or keep myself entertained, irrespective of flight duration.  Inflight entertainment was a necessary transition, but its appeal is limited.  Give us Wifi and we’ll probably bother the attendants less.  Pretty sure they’ll like that too.

 

Gaz’s Tips for Passengers:

1.     Armrest Battles:

Ah, the delicate ballet of armrest tenure.  Since there are no rules, anarchy reigns supreme.

The point is, there should be rules, and these rules should be read out during the pre-flight spiel, so there is no ambiguity.  Here is what I propose:

  • If you sit in the aisle seat, you get the aisle-side armrest.
  • If you sit in the window seat, you get the window-side armrest.
  • If you’re stuck in the middle, you get both.  Simple.

Here’s my logic.  If you’re in the aisle, you have the space to lean towards the aisle on the armrest (the heightened risk of trolley impact is outweighed by sprawl freedom).  If you’re in the window, you have the ability to lean towards the window.  If you’re in the middle, your leaning capabilities are hindered.  Indeed if you have two selfish armrest hogs, there is nought to do but cross your arms and plot their demise.

 

2.     The Seatbelt Sign Free-For-All:

People, the moment the seatbelt sign flicks off is not the trigger for you to charge into the aisle like ants on a honey trail.  What is the point of this exercise?  You still need to wait for the passengers nearer the exit to “deplane” before you can budge, so why do you feel the urge to leap out of your seat in order to beat your cross-aisle opponent out of the plane?  I don’t like my face being anywhere in the vicinity of your midships, aft or bow.  In addition, the spontaneous flurry of action means that any poor sod who had to place his belongings in an overhead locker behind where they were sitting, has to swim upstream like a migrating salmon to collect their carry-ons from the overhead compartment.  So seriously, sit the fuck down.  Wait for the plane to start clearing, then casually stand, stretch, collect your belongings, and stroll out of the plane.  Again, this should be instructed during the pre- and post-flight spiel.

 

3.     Personal Hygiene:

It was down to this, or screaming kids.  But sound attenuating headphones eliminate most noises nowadays, no matter how shrill or insistent, so I’d rather eliminate the odours.  And folks, it’s real easy.

  • Shower before flying.
  • Deodorise before flying.
  • Wear clean clothes before flying.
  • Clean your teeth before flying.

You wouldn’t go to work dishevelled and malodorous, so why subject a complete stranger to it, especially one who will be rubbing shoulders with you for the next few hours?

“Do unto others, as you would have others do unto you” is an apt phrase under the circumstances (but one that will likely get you kicked out of most Gentleman’s special interest establishments).

So it is in the hands of both airlines and passengers to heighten the flying experience for everyone.  Who knows, it might even lead to increased membership of the Mile High Club, and not just in the Solo Aviator Division…

Get a Room

24 Replies

I travel.  A lot.  And you should too.

I truly believe travel broadens the mind.  Admittedly, it also shrinks the wallet, but mine is pretty big.  And so is my wallet.

But on the whole, I’d rather be living the scratch and sniff lifestyle of the world traveller, rather than being stuck in upper suburbia worrying about what the Reserve Bank will do next with interest rates, what to pick up from grocery store on the way home, or working out “which fucking night is bin night again?!”.

However – travel does have its little nuances and nuisances.

So I thought I would present Gaz’s Top Ten Tips for the world of Hoteliery.  Airline Tips will follow.

These tips are free (unless you want to pay me for them).  They are also not rocket surgery.  These are small changes, for big results.

Right, here goes.

Gaz’s Top Ten Travel Tips – for Hotels

1)     Train your fucking staff. 

This is the toughest of my tips, so let’s get it out of the way first.

Good customer service is not free.  Invest in your people.  They are your lifeblood.

Nobody likes stumbling out of a cab in the pouring rain, after travelling for 24-hours across the globe, only to be greeted by pimply teenager with attitude, telling you “your room isn’t ready yet, you’ll need to come back in a few hours”.

Do that to me, and I won’t be back in a few lifetimes, of that I assure you.  Anticipate your guests’ likely problems, and come up with appropriate, pre-planned solutions to suit.  Simple yeah?  You’d think so, but far too many hotels fail this one, horribly.

 

2)     Free Wifi

In-room WiFi should be fast and free.

I reiterate.

In-room WiFi should be fast and free.

Do it.  Do it now.

If you don’t know why, you should not be in the hotel business (or indeed any business at all, full stop).

Alright, fine.  Here are a few of the more obvious reasons.

  • You will increase repeat business.
  • You will give guests fewer reasons to leave your premises, thereby improving your room service, mini-bar and on-site restaurant returns.
  • You will attract more business clientele, Gen X’ers, Gen Y’ers and Gen-Whatevercomesnext’ers.

In turn, you will make more money.  If you don’t like money, you should not be in the hotel business (or indeed any business at all, full stop).  Capiche?

3)     Bed Runners

Ditch the grubby bed runners across the foot of the bed.  We don’t use one at home, and we sure don’t need one in our hotel room.  We always just kick them off onto the floor.  Besides, we know you rarely wash those manky things between bookings.   A black light would flare up like the Aurora Borealis when waved over one of these stinking cessrags.

 

4)     Towel rails. 

It’s a rail, for hanging towels.  Google it if you must.  Every bathroom should have one, or indeed several.  Hooks don’t cut it.  Rest assured, if a towel drops on the floor, I will not re-use it.  Install towel rails, and you will save a fortune on laundry, and you will thank me for it.  Well, you should thank me.

5)     Air Conditioning / Heating

Thermostat of choice?  The simplest one.  If it requires a manual, dump the fucker.

What should it have?

It should have an on/off switch (for turning on and off) and a dial, which if I turn one way will make the room warmer, and which if I turn the opposite way and you are still reading this to find out what comes next, you seriously have no place in the hotel trade either, you imbecile.

Seriously, you don’t want us calling reception every time we’re feeling a little bit chilly or toasty.  Your Duty Managers will also welcome the fewer distractions from crushing Candy Crush.

6)     Blackout curtains

Install them.

Enough said.

 

7)     Changing Technology 

Keep up-to-date with changing technology.  For example, if you have a sound dock, make sure you have adaptors to fit.

There is nothing worse than trying to crank out some Feargal Sharkey only to find that your iPhone 5 won’t fit in the “antiquated” speaker dock.  Okay, maybe a jalapeno enema is worse, but this is right up there.  Actually, a japapeno enema is right up there too, if you get what I mean?

8)     Pillows

This is a tricky one, because not all people are the same, and not all pillows are the same.

For example, I’m awesome, and most hotel pillows are not.

So please provide a smorgasbord of pillows in the cupboard, or at least offer a “pillow menu”.

A well-rested Gaz is a lot less likely to quibble over the number of adult “special interest” films that show up on the final bill at checkout.

9)     Don’t touch my stuff!

Seriously, so not cool.  I know that maids are instructed to return the room to a pre-set order, and I accept that within reason, but there needs to be an overriding ethos.

Let me explain.

Examples of things not to be touched:

a)     My stuff!

b)     My fucking stuff!

c)     All of the (fucking) above!

If I leave my toothbrush on the vanity, work around it.

If I leave my laptop on the table, work around it.

If I leave a glow-in-the-dark, rechargeable, battery-operated, therapeutic “massager” on the night-stand, yeah you probably don’t want to be touching that anyway.

 

10)  Power Outlets

Seriously, throw us a fucking bone here.

I have a laptop.  I have an iPad.  I have 2 iHones  I have a rechargeable therapeutic massager.   Please, more outlets, and in convenient places too – I am not crawling under that bed, even if my giant wallet falls under there.  I’ll consider it collateral damage.

Give us a couple adjacent to each night stand, a couple dotted around the room, and at least a couple at the desk.  That shouldn’t be so hard (that’s what she said).

GAZ’s BONUS TIP!

11)  “Do Not Disturb”

If I have to explain this one, please stop wasting my precious oxygen.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record*, these tips are not revolutionary.  They are common-sense.

Get your house in order, hotels of the world.  Provide the level of services your customers expect, and they will pay you (repeatedly) for it.  It’s that simple.

Put in a little effort and those Trip Advisor reviews will start to have more little gold stars next to them.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

You will also make a simple Gaz, very happy.  I assure you, this is a good thing if I am staying at your (expectedly) fine establishment.

If you have any other hotel tips for my good readers, please throw your thoughts in the comments section.

If you don’t have any hotel tips, you seriously need to travel more.  Go on, off you go then.  The world is your oyster.  And you know what they say about oysters…

 

* For the Gen Whatevercomesnext’ers, a broken record is a flashback to the heady days of vinyl records, where sound waves were created by a needle on a stylus that traced the spiral grooves in a spinning vinyl disc, transferring the vibrations to a diaphragm in a speaker which then amplifies it to an auditory level.   If one of these grooves is corrupted, the needle no longer tracks inward along the spiral, and instead follows a continuous circular loop, causing the music to cyclically repeat – hence the term, “sounds like a broken record”.  Okay, I probably lost most of you GenW’s (attention span of a fucking ADD goldfish) but for any still reading, it’s like your iTunes getting stuck on repeat.