In November 1980, a certified audiophile and ski-holic was laughing at kids riding up on chairlifts with their little trannies blaring. As it so happened, he was a sound engineer too… and hit upon the idea of a wearable audio device.

The Bone Fone was the product of his (perhaps) overly fertile imagination, and he took out several patents on the technology. To the untrained observer, the Bone Fone looked more like two transistor radios shoved into a long sock - but to electronics geeks and audiophiles, and people addicted to horse racing, it looked pretty much the same. That’s because it was.

I remember some older kids coming to school with Bone Fones, and getting to try one on. There were these weird speaker things that rested on your collar bones, and when you turned the sound up you could “feel” the vibrations getting sent right up through your spine. It gave you a tickling sensation, and if you went too loud you just wanted to rip the damn thing off and run away crying. Well at least I did. Oh, and the “sound” was absolutely terrible.

Nonetheless, I am sure every well to do bike riding dad and jogging yuppie owned a Bone Fone in the summer of ‘81. Sadly, along came Cliff Richard on his rollerskates with a brand new gadget from Sony… an entirely new form of portable audio… and… well… the rest as they say, is history.

I hear they are quite rare now, so if you have one, or find a dusty smelly one in a garage sale somewhere, hang on to it!

Tags: general, generalboy remembers by admin
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In the parrot world, Galahs are not exactly looked upon as the most attractive or intellegent. The very name found its way into Australian colloquial language over a century ago - as a derogatory label for a loudmouthed bufoon. When Galahs are not stripping a much loved tree of almonds, or robbing some birdie town of a villiage idiot, you’ll find them perched atop a leafy Eucalypt - screaching at the top of their tiny lungs along with 50 of their loud mouthed buddies.

This one seemed to be eyeing me off as I strolled up toward the beach this morning, almost challenging me to outdo him in the time wasting stakes.

How well I do remains to be seen, but one thing is certain - when it comes to time wastin’, the humble Galah has the act down pat.

( now tell Mr. Galah about your TWT! )

Tags: Time wastin' Tuesday by admin
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You could put that bottom on any other girl… and not give it a second look. You could come across that smile from a cleaning lady, or a granny out walking her overweight labrador, or your own mother. You could see those eyes from the other side of a bar, but in the abscence of any other visual cues, quickly forget them. There are more ample bosomed, more taughter thighed, more bronzed, blonde and buffed girls meandering about the city of a lunch hour. There are, by the standards tabloids, soap operas and glossy magazines set, more beautiful women. She should be, by these measurements at least, very unnoticeable.

For some reason though, when all these attributes that seem so very, very average, so un-unique, so un-stunning, are all applied to a particular person, something happens. She somehow becomes more than the sum of these parts. There’s something else, something more subtle, perhaps something less obvious, and yet something that appeals at a very basic and fundamental level.

Is it because she seems more realistic, and not manufactured? Is it because she seems almost mundane, unlikely to stand out in crowd, and therefore possibly more attainable? Is it because she laughs at your jokes, or that the timbre of her voice when she speaks to you and smiles triggers something primal? Is it because the covert, harmless flirting is quite obviuosly mutual, and enjoyed?

What is it about her that draws your eye… down… and back up… tracing a curve? Why can you not resist smiling as you pass her in the corridor, or share a joke in the lift?

She is not hot. She is not glamourous. She is not spectaular in any way whatsoever.

You simply should not find her attractive and sexy. Yet you do.

Irresistably so.

Tags: TOS, general by admin
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What you bought won’t make you feel good. It won’t make you feel good because it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work because the people that made it don’t care. The people that made it don’t care because they are not paid to care. The person paid to care also doesn’t care, because they are incompetent and jealous of people promoted to higer positions in the company, who are paid not to care.

When you send what you bought back to get fixed, it won’t be. The person fixing it doesn’t care, because they are not paid enough to. They hate their job. They hate you. They have enough to worry about. The person in charge of them also doesn’t care, because they get paid whether they care or not. If they cared their job would just be a lot harder. And no-one wants that.

When you get what you bought ( but was sent off to be fixed)  back again, it still won’t work. And you’ll think about all the pictures of nice things in magazines, and how they promise to make your life better, and realise all they will do is consume all of your time, money, and patience. And you’ll think about all the people that lay bleeding in ditches fighting for the better world that advertising promises you, and you’ll think about your parents’ optimism that their childeren’s life would be somehow better, somehow more worthwhile, somehow more fulfilling and prosperous than theirs.

And you’ll get up and go to work. And pretend to care.

Tags: general by admin
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My iron randomly destroyed one shirt today, and the washing machine mysteriously destroyed all the hems on a pair of work pants.

My appliances clearly do not want me to go back to work tomorrow.

So ummm…. yeah… that was time wastin’ Tuesday.

How was yours?

Tags: Time wastin' Tuesday, general by admin
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Sitting in the cool air conditioning of the departure lounge I could feel the sweat had dried in the small of my back, and I felt slightly grimey. I pushed the lemon further down the neck of my Corona and fought Miss R for the last handful of chilli chips. Then there was nothing to do but sit, and watch the multi-coloured tailfins dance across the tarmac like giant birds performing a mating ritual.

We reflected on the white knuckle cab ride to the airport, and taxi drivers in general from this city. We concluded that if is at all possible, they have become dumber and ruder… either that, or more deliberately dishonest. With our fingers held firmly on the rewind button we went back to the day before, and our lunchtime arrival in the city of bloggers, and yet another dim-witted, overcharging cab driver. And I recall how the sticky heat hit me as I threw my bag over my shoulder and lept out in stationary traffic, deciding it would be quicker to walk the last 200m to the hotel.

That night, after the nuptials, and the speeches, and the talking were done, we took up a window seat, and just sat, and just watched. I knew it was probably one of the most desireable views in the city, taking in two internationally famous landmarks. I snapped off pictures through the plate glass, while Miss R and I sat and sipped “proper” Heinekin, occasionally leaning back on the pair of chairs we’d dragged over next to the large window.

On the walk back to the hotel, we passed a late night chemist. I looked inside, and down toward the back of it as I thought of certain somebody, before I remembered that now she’s a “doctor”  she no longer works in the chemist. Sometime later we passed a club just a posse of party girls spilled out onto the pavement, a cyclone of giant heels and lipstick. Among them was a platinum blond in a strappy top with pouty lips, and I wondered… could it be??? I slowed and waited patiently for her trip and fall face down onto the pavement, but alas she didn’t… so it mustn’t have been her.

The next day in market square we soaked up the smells and sights, ducking and weaving to avoid the “just try” massage guys. In one of the alleys the crowd parted and I caught a glimpse of a striking looking girl with dark skin, jet black hair and bright lipstick. I stopped dead in my tracks and wondered… could it be the Sri Lankan princess? But as she turned I could tell it wasn’t - the eyes just weren’t dark and sultry enough.

As the cab cut through the eastern suburbs we stopped at a set of traffic lights. I turned and looked just as a lowered Audi pulled up next to us, driven by a girl with long, dark hair and dark sunglasses. I peered through the tinted glass and was sure I could hear Bon Jovi on her car stereo. Then the lights went green, and in a flash she was gone - flat changing as she sped off like a race driver.

After waiting too long on the tarmac we finally taxied out, as I watched grey clouds roll in over Camperdown and Stanmore. As we pulled out over Mascot we made a big sweeping arc to the right, and as we gained height I looked down through my window to the long expanse of golden sand broken by headlands below. I studied the tiny coloured dots as we passed over Tamaramma, Bronte, and Coogee, and I wondered about a certain enigmatic, elusive somebody that just might be stretched out on a large beach towell among them, somewhat bemused by the approching weather and her fading tan.

And as I said a quiet goodbye to the city of bloggers, I promised I’d return before too long.

Tags: general by admin
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8am: Ways I intend to waste time today:

- wait for tradesmen to arrive
- walk up to the beach, look out, and sulk because there is no surf. Again.
- make repeated trips to Timewasting Hardware Megastore Incorporated
- check to see who has updated ther blogs *hint hint*
- open IM in stealth mode to prevent people from work whining to me about other people from work, and so I can chat to Miss R and Mr Blonde
- shake my fist at my ebay listings and groan “buuuuuyyy my things, damn you!”
- look at surf cams in other states where the surf doesn’t completely suck

5pm: Ways I *actually* wasted time today:

- waited for tradesmen to finish and then leave
- did a drive by of the beach carpark. the sky was grey, the sea was grey, the surf was non existent and the beach was all but deserted. *groan*
- made one trip to Timewasting Hardware Megastore Incorporated but actually got in and out in under one hour… a new record
- googled anyone doing what we do in here in New Zealand and was shocked to find absolutely no-one. Still looking…
- ignored repeated questions on IM from people at work. Yes… sometimes when my status says *away* it actually means I *am* away…
- found a heap more stuff I forgot to list on ebay
- watched webcams showing better surf in other states because I couldn’t escape long enough to walk up to the beach and sulk because there is no surf here. Again.

And that was time wastin’ Tuesday. How was yours?

Tags: Time wastin' Tuesday by admin
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While there’s so much that differs between my generation and my parents’ it’s just not funny, a recurring theme I find is an overly dutiful, noble fortitude toward so many things that simply don’t warrant it.

Take answering the telephone, at anytime of the day or night, to anyone, for example.

Now, if I hear my phone ring ( landline ) it’s very rare that I’ll pick it up. If I do get anywhere near it and see the number flash up as “Anonymous” I quickly dismiss the caller as one of the 10 carpet cleaning buisnesses that tries to call each evening. You might argue that I’m throwing out the baby with the bathwater here… that just one of those calls might be X-Lotto winningly important… but then again, you probably haven’t suffered the bewildering degree of negative re-inforcement I have.

Because my parents began life in an era where just fourteen people could afford telephones, if someone called you most likely knew them. If you weren’t already married to them. This meant that it was almost unheard of to not pick up… in fact, many people would argue that to ignore the phone marked any point along a line drawn from the height of rudeness, to desperate neglect. Never mind that you are in the middle of passionate, athletic, noisy sex, asleep, or otherwise engaged in any number of less pleasurable bodily functions. All must be abandoned instantly in the name of good manners! Who knows what earth shattering news the caller has for you, or what life changing piece of information awaits your expectant ears! Pick up! PICK UP!

To this day, my dear P&M carry this ethos, and steadfastly refuse to understand how we can opt not to pick up the phone. “I always answer my mobile because only people I know have the number” I explain in a slightly laboured tone, and they look flummoxed and groan, and frown a lot, as if it’s the first time I’ve related this. I reiterate, “don’t bother calling the land line… all you will get is the FAX”, and then at 7pm the following night, the FAX goes off three times, followed eventually by my mobile - and I answer once again to find an overwrought, irritated parent complaining that “I rang three times”. Ugggghhhh.

I seriously love my P&M, and in sooo many ways they defy the stereotypes you’d usually apply to people of their generation and age (clearly I’d love to relate so much more here than I am at liberty to). They are comfortable with Google, Skype, DVD Burners and digital cameras, yet after all this time the humble telephone confounds them. On one hand, it frustrates me… but on the other, it’s quaintly endeering. Perhaps I secretly hope they never change…

Tags: general by admin
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