Why I need a wife and other musings from an island paradise

Well to be honest I don't really need wife, what I need is someone to save me from myself and I'm just not sure who would be willing to other than a wife. Now if I had bucket loads of cash, I could probably hire a personal assistant to do the job, but I don't have bucket loads of cash — although I do have a poster roll (you know one of those cardboard tubes that poster's come in) that is almost full of pennies, nickels and dimes — so I'm left with the wife theory. I say theory because I imagine what I think a wife does and what a wife actually does are probably very different, and I wasn't even thinking sexually.

I'm in Hawaii at the moment, and I realise I won't get any sympathy from you when I say it is not nearly as much fun as it sounds. And when I say that I'm not talking about the fact that they've just had 40-odd straight days of rain, or the fact that a pipe burst and several million tonnes (or maybe tons, what difference does it make when we're talking about millions of them) of raw sewage was dumped in the ocean near Waikiki beach. No, instead I'm talking about the fact that I'm here for work, case in point it is seven o'clock on Sunday evening and I'm in the lab — admittedly I'm in the lab typing this and not actually working at the moment, but I was ten minutes ago. I feel it is going to be something of a long week.

Although work isn't all bad, and I don't want to give the impression that it is. For instance, yesterday I got to see a truly great comedy moment. One of my colleagues plugged a cable between our battery box (can you guess what's inside) and one of our other boxes. When he did this great plumes of smoke were emitted from each connection. It was very impressive! It's not very often that you get to see great plumes of unintentional smoke in the physics lab. The truly funny thing about the story is if you had asked around the collaboration who would be the guy most likely to cause plumes from our experiment, most people would have picked the gentleman involved yesterday. The even funnier thing is though who would have been the popular choice, yesterday's smoke was not entirely his fault. It made me laugh anyway, it might lose something in translation.

Okay, so I appear to have got distracted away from my initial point, which is basically that I shouldn't really be left in charge of myself. I think this trip illustrates the point very well.

Exhibit A: my plane tickets. Now I spent a long time trying to decide which days to fly and which airlines and all that. In the end I flew out last Wednesday on American West (now US Airways), there was nothing particularly unpleasant (beyond the usual 10 hours on a plane amount of unpleasantness) about the flights themselves it was more the timing of them. You see, I picked the cheapest ticket I could find, a ticket which had me arriving at half past midnight. What I didn't realise when I booked the ticket was that arriving so late the car rental places would be shut and I'd have to spend the money I saved on a cheaper ticket on an expensive airport hotel room. Not very well thought through, although I did at least realise I would have a problem before I flew and wasn't taken by surprise upon landing.

Exhibit B: my hotels. Now I say hotels because last night I stayed in my third different hotel this trip. All the more impressive as I've only been here four nights. The first change was somewhat understandable as it was the change from the airport hotel to one nearer the UH campus. The second change was somewhat less understandable as it was to save $7 a night for the remaining 6 nights of my stay here. It is particularly un-understanable as it's not even my money and $42 dollars extra on trip that's costing over $1000 is probably not worth the struggle. Which brings me to...

Exhibit C: car parking. On Thursday night it rained. Now I don't just mean a-little-bit-of-moisture-was-falling-from-the-sky rain. No, I mean the-world-was-ending-and-God-was-punishing-until-the-last-second rain. In this weather I had to check in to hotel number two. A sensible man would have pulled up in front of the hotel, checked in and then paid to use the hotels parking, thus never having to venture out in the inclement weather, after all parking is only about $10 a night and at the end of the day it isn't his money. I chose a slight course of action. I drove around Waikiki looking for on-street parking. This didn't go to well, in part because I could barely see the street and in part because there just wasn't any parking. So I ventured a little further afield, got lost parked in a spot near a big building (on the grounds that I thought I might be back near Waikiki) and then wandered around in the rain for ten or fifteen minutes trying to work out where in the blazes I was. Eventually I did manage to find some on-street parking that was only seven or eight, rain soaked, blocks from my hotel.

Exhibit D: the morning after. On Friday morning I woke up at around 6:30 in the morning. Feeling a little bit tired, and a little bit hungover. It was then that I began to realise I had parked by a parking meter that would become active (I now have an image of a parking meter running up and down the side of the street, but maybe that's just in my head) at 7:00. Did I: a) say fuck it go back to sleep; b) get up and go check whether there was a meter and either move the car or put money in it; or c) lie in bed wondering what to do until ten past seven then get up have a hasty shower, before hurrying to move the car and go to work, only to discover that there wasn't a bloody parking meter (or maybe it was running up and down the street).

Exhibit E: last night's dinner. Last night it was getting late and I was a little hungry. I wasn't very hungry as I'd had both breakfast and lunch, so I just wanted something light. I decided to go and have some sushi. Apparently (in my head) the cute little I Love Sushi restaurant two blocks from my hotel wasn't up to scratch so I walked a few more blocks to a 'antique Japanese' restaurant I'd been to before. When I sat down at the bar area, there were only a couple of other customers in the restaurant. For some reason this put me off ordering sushi, I think my logic was they might have put it away or it might be going 'stale' or I have no fucking idea it was late and I was stupid. Anyhow, I ended up ordering something could neither pronounce or spell and was basically a big greasy Japanese omelet with pork and cabbage and cheese topped with mayonnaise. So not entirely the light sushi meal I was aiming for. At least they had beer.

Now my theory is if I was with someone, and I just mean if somebody was physically present with me, I wouldn't have quite so many of these strange ideas that result in me wandering around lost in the rain or eating mayonnaise covered omelets. Of course, I'm probably wrong on that count.

In retrospect clicking on this link at work was probably a mistake

From the popbitch issue that informed me of what a polecat is (it's a nocturnal weasel not a cat, and a prairie dog's a rodent) I came across the following.

Find out what happens to breasts when girls run:
http://www.shockabsorber.co.uk/bounceometer/shock.html

An unusual Saturday post

Unusual in the sense of there aren't very many Saturday posts, as opposed to this a particularly unusual post of itself.

Now I must admit that I have on occasions walked down the train tracks. I've never really considered this to be a dangerous occupation. Of course I've never been trying to write a text message as I walked down the tracks, but still if I did I would still feel fairly safe. Of course I'm not deaf, and by that I mean I'm not the (no longer) reigning Miss Deaf Texas. (This only got as far as a chortle, although I did laugh when a friend asked so who is Miss Deaf Texas now — a question that needs answering, I think you'll agree.)

This is not bias it's very simple: protesting a war that started three years ago and is now incredibly unpopular is just not very interesting so that's why the BBC didn't report it. It's not like the war is still going on, what is happening now is that we've stirred up all sorts of shit in Iraq and have to hang around until at least some of it dies down. Of course, whether the troops continuing presence is increasing the friction or calming the nerves is a whole 'nother matter. One which deserves serious thought as opposed to knee jerk reactions, so not much hope on that front then.

Maybe I'll leave the office and go and watch Inside Man this afternoon.

Reason number 713 why the author is going to hell

This story made me laugh. And not just smile or chortle but actually laugh out loud a couple of times. I found it particularly amusing that the TV show was called A Challenge to the Heart.

Like I said I'm a bad person and I'm going to be toasty for eternity.

In other news, I saw V for Vendetta this weekend. On the plus side Natalie Portman's attempt at an English accent was marginally less irritating than I thought it was going to be. Actually I thought the film had a lot of plus sides, of course I haven't read Alan Moore's version yet so maybe after I do I'll think less of the film. It was kind of fun though, as long as one didn't go in expecting a really frantic action packed film or something terribly deep and meaningful I think they'd generally enjoy it. Of course anybody who goes to see Hollywood films expecting them to be terribly deep and meaningful is going to come away disappointed a lot of times.

The "Are you married?" post

In the morning I wake up, have a shower, drink some orange juice — or grapefruit, sometimes — and then start my stroll to work. There are days however when for one reason, or another, there is no juice in the house and I have to start the walk un-juiced. Yesterday was one such day.

On such occasions I usually stop in at the United Dairy Farmers on High Street (the one at 12th, not the one at 1st — that one is my PBR UDF, not my juice UDF) and pick up a juice based drink. Yesterday I managed to select my juice beverage from the refrigerator and was at the counter, or till if you prefer, trying to purchase the item. Before I continue, I should probably point out that at this point in the day I'm generally about 70-80% asleep. Anyhow, the girl behind the counter noticed I had an accent and asked me where I was from, the conversation went something like this:
"England"
"Where in England?"
"London"
"London! I have some friends Essex..."
"London? Are you married?", shouts a girl on the other side of store restocking some shelves.
"Yeah, if I was still pretending I liked boys and not girls I'd hit on you too" says the counter girl.
"Right" says Ryan, and walks, read shambles, out of shop more than a little confused and befuddled.

As was pointed out to me last night, the correct response would have been to say "No" to the marriage girl and then turn back and say "Well we can try change that" to the counter girl.

Maybe next time. But somehow I doubt it.

With a smattering of sex, smut and innuendo

Actually this post doesn't really contain any of that, I just thought it would be amusing to write it and then have people's hopes and dreams crushed, under a giant stone. Well okay, I didn't really think that I just thought it would be amusing to write it and ...

You remember that Brit went to drunk camp last weekend, well this week he got to go and meet with his probation officer. What fun! Because he had high alcohol content in his breath test he now has to go for 'Alcohol Assessment', which entails going and speaking to some sort of analyst who decides whether you need to come back for a 14-16 week once a week course of therapy. This is therapy that if recommended is mandatory if you're not to violate the conditions of your probation and spend 57 days in jail. It is something of a scary system when you go and speak to someone for a couple of hours and then that person decides whether or not you need to come back for the full 16 week course, which is payable by you to them. What's more interesting is that you have the option to either pay $75 for the 2-hour assessment or pay nothing (depending on which of the state approved places you choose). So is it better to pay the money because the free place is more likely to recommend you so that they make some money off you? Or is it better to not pay the $75 as if you do they'll think you're willing to pay 16 more times? Umm.. I honestly don't know.

Ryan's quick film fill in (in the order which I saw them).
Firewall = Pile of old tosh. Didn't choose it and didn't pay for the tickets so can't really complain though.
Good Night, and Good Luck = Surprisingly good. I was initially put off by the Clooney factor, but it turns out to be a smart, compact little film about the McCarthy era and the power of the press. I do feel a little dirty liking a movie that George Clooney co-wrote and directed though.
Cache = Odd. Good. But odd. But good.
Night Watch = Not quite Russian enough, but quite enjoyable. And by not quite Russian enough I mean it looked a little too much like a Hollywood movie. The subtitles were fantastic though, eg. when someone was swimming in the pool with a nose bleed the red subtitles washed away as though they were written in blood in a pool.

WAWIBF?

Drinking and God
This weekend was Brit's three day getaway to the drunk class (yes, this was for his bicycle DUI). As I'd borrowed his car for the weekend I thought it only appropriate that when I picked up I brought him something. So I decided on a bottle of beer (naturally) and a copy of this book, Al-Anons Twelve Steps & Twelve Traditions — which I found quite by accident whilst browsing through a used book store in Yellow Springs. I was very pleased with myself.

It was only when we read the twelve steps last night that I realised that Alcoholics Anonymous (and their strange offshoot Al-Anon) were a bunch of crazy religious folks. Yeah, I know sometimes I'm pretty unobservant. I thought they were just trying to help people who had drinking problems. Now I'd heard of the 12 Steps, but I had no idea what they were. That is until yesterday. (AA Lousiana has them up on this site.)

They start of pedestrian enough by getting you to admit you are powerless over alcohol, but from step 2, Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity., I started getting scared. Step 3 had me terrified with, Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him., I'm really not sure what the as we understood him part is about. After that it peters off into religiosity before steps 8 and 9: Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. and Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.. Which sounds like one part rational and one part Isaac Asimov.

Ho hum, you learn a new thing every day I suppose.

Walking down the train tracks
Which is always fun. At least it's always fun if you've been properly indulging in activities that would make the AA people frown.

Jewish Propaganda
I had the misfortune to see On Wings of Eagles last night. It is one of those horribly pervasive (although thankfully not persuasive) infomercials that American TV (and increasingly British TV I imagine) is rife with. This one was paid for by an organisation called "International Fellowship of Christians and Jews" and was encouraging the audience to donate $350 to return a Jew to Israel (their words not mine). You can even donate on-line. The show itself was a mixture of old decrepit people looking miserable in the former Soviet Union, essentially racist comments about the Arabs (in particular how they are breeding too much), happy faces of contented Jewish folks in Israel and, of course, a liberal splash of biblical quotes interpreted as proof that God wanted Israel for the Jewish people and them alone. Suffice to say at one point in the show it featured Pat Robertson, a man for whom my contempt knows no bounds, waffling on about something or other. I don't know what he actually said as I was screaming abuse at the TV by that point. To cut a long story short the TV show part baffled and part terrified me, reminding me that that whole freedom of speech thing is, as always, a two-edged sword.

Ashley Cole
So there you are, one of those multi-millionaire footballers that the papers are so obsessed about and the News of the World suggests that maybe you like other boys, do you a) Sue them or b) Have a laugh at the story and light another Cuban cigar using a fifty pound note, just cause you can. Obviously if you're Ashley Cole the answer is a) and you're a twat. In fact you're so much of a twat that you get upset and think that Google, the company who said no to the American government when it wanted records, need to tell you why they link the word gay to Ashley Cole. Like I said Ashley Cole you're a twat and what's more with all this fuss I reckon you're probably gay as well. Which would all be kind of amusing if it weren't for the fact that Britain's only openly gay footballer (I think), Justin Fashanu, ended up committing suicide. Poor bastard. You're still a twat though Ashley.

Me not posting
Well, at least up until now it was.