Sunday, August 28, 2011
I will be the first to admit that I am not a keen gardener. What makes it worse is living in suburban Australia. You see until fairly recently a standard block of land here was a quarter acre. When you have an average 3 bedroom house stuck in the middle of that you are left with a whole lot of garden to take care of. The truth is I don’t take care of it.
There are a few reasons for this. I have been working 6 days a week at my job plus trying to be a graphic artist / designer online. That really leaves little time for anything else. Also I am a world renowned, first class procrastinator. Any excuse is a good excuse. As a result over winter my garden went from unkempt (I like to refer to this look as shabby chic) to a meadow and finally a wilderness that could be hiding anything.
So I made a pact with myself that I would spend today gardening. So after waking up, having a shower, breakfast, checking my emails, facebook, online store and screwing around on twitter I pulled myself into action and approached the back door.
I have one of those glass slidey back doors that let you see just what you are in for. Looking at the backyard I was expecting to see Indiana Jones leap out while being chased by a family of tigers. It was not a good feeling. I braced myself and whoosh - the glass door slid aside for the first time in months. Unnaturally fresh air rushed into my man cave, dispelling the lingering funky smell. So far so good. I grabbed the flyscreen and ........... nothing. It seems the gazillion ants that live in my garden had excavated 10 tonnes of sand that the rains had then washed against the door. Grass had then grown in that sand rendering the door immobile.
After fighting with it for a while I had to go all MacGyver on it with a screwdriver. Lifting it up on its tracks and giving it a fantastic Chuck Norris kick it went sailing out onto the paving. It was alright though. All the weeds cushioned its fall. The door wasn’t damaged at all.
Grabbing a rubbish bag I attacked. Pulling out with weeds with great gusto unearthed the ecosystem at my back door. David Attenborough would have loved it. Angry ants, colourful caterpillars, milling millipedes, spiders and a frog. The frog just sat there staring at me. I named him Fernando and told him to hop along. He didn’t. I think he was trying to guilt trip me into stopping with his hypno stare, but it wasn’t going to work.
Like an archaeological dig the area of pavers came into sight. I should of been feeling pretty good but Fernando was still staring at me. I thought I would give him a piece of his own medicine and started a staring competition. Even though I cheated, he clearly won. He is that good. Stepping things up a notch I went and got my camera. Flash flash flash. He didn’t even blink. Not sure if I have a retarded frog or if he is a paparazzi whore. No wait, they are the same thing.
Eventually the bin was totally full so I took that as proof that I had done enough gardening for this week. (plus Fernando was freaking me out) Let me tell you, those 2 square meters of paving outside look great. At this frenetic pace I should have the whole garden done by 2247.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
I have been thinking a lot about hair recently. That is a strange way to open my first blog post in some time I know, but bear with me.
As a whole, we love hair. It gets washed, primped and pampered every day. We run our fingers through it and love the smell of our partners hair. Vain people spend every minute looking into reflective surfaces to check that it is still in place. Balding men are secretly jealous of all those with a full head of it. Heck we even wrote a musical about it.
We spend billions of dollars every year on hair cuts and products to make our hair look the best it can be. We judge others by their hair and are equally judged in return.
There is a big but in all this though. As soon as that hair is no longer connected to a human body it instantly becomes the most reviled, disgusting thing in the entire known universe.
I cannot figure out how this happens. Does the strand of hair change at a molecular level to such an extent that it instantly renders food completely inedible upon contact? Will soap cause your skin to melt off once a stray hair has stuck on there?
We need a government funded study to figure all this out. I need to know what is happening and if I will implode if I try to unblock the drain in the bathroom.
It seems that our hair is the original love hate relationship.