I spend too much of my time saying sorry I think. Is that good or bad? Good that I have understood wrongdoing but bad that I did anything to warrant it in the first place. Or is it just that I placate to not have it escalate. I have no idea. Making a mistake at work and having to do the knowing nod and admit your failings and attention to detail and yes it won't happen again is necessary in work's eyes but not mine. If I make a mistake I am the one that perpetually beats myself up on the inside and tries not to do it again. Why isn't the assumption that intentions were pure yet outcomes went awry? If the intentions were not pure, then simply saying sorry after the fact is somewhat vacuous. The human need to hear sorry assumes the person isn't actually sorry unless it's verbalised. There needs to two versions of the word. One for "I did it because I wanted to and you didn't like it so sorry but shall I continue to do it" and another for "wow that took me by surprise that that happened because I really meant something else to happen so sorry". Sorry is something deep inside that isn't manufactured by a request or a look, its a pre-existing condition. You either are or you aren't.
I get cranky at the kids for no reason and say sorry. When I say no reason at all I mean they didn't cause me to be that cranky at that time but that other preceding factors from the day culminated with them not bringing the bins in and well why not I say! I don't remember my parents ever saying sorry to me but I knew when they were. I do though, mine appreciate it I think.
I say sorry to my wife for not being what I was to have done/said/been/thought and I must admit that's on a pretty frequent basis.
If I was never to do anything ever that required me to apologise I think I'd be the most boring shit on the planet. As a cub leader, I broke long established rules for camps with a view to making the camps better for kids and parents. They were so much better I never had to say sorry. So sorry is only there if it works out bad, not if it is bad to start with.
I'm sorry this post is such a god awful boring one. When I have a thought and run with it, often its just because I am me and will always be so and just no use swimming against the tide. I am the one that does stuff that ends in the word sorry. And I am sorry about that I think.
Tuesday, 30 April 2013
Monday, 29 April 2013
Dogs
I know I'm a dog person. They love me and I love them. All of them except one. I'll expand on that later. Ironically, one of the only songs I really dislike by Cat Stevens is "I love my dog"!
As a boy in Belrose, I remember we had 2 dogs, Ticky and Tarvi. Tarvi being dad's big kelpy cross and ticky mum's Australian silky. I have vivid memories of me running into the loungeroom as dad was due home with tarvi from the vets and dad walking through the garage door into the house carrying a big blue plastic bag in the shape of a very rigid dog. Tarvi was old even before I was born so its not so surprising I didn't know him for too long. He was buried in the back yard.
Ticky hung around for another decade or so and was then interned to the back yard. Puck was then part of the family until his disappearance 15 years later. I suspect he is in someone else's yard now. You see, in our family, dogs were the pet of choice. Yes, we had a cat but that doesn't fit in with this post so I'll ignore that version of the facts for the time being.
Anyways, dogs are simply a loving and stress relieving bit of life.
Our first was Ollie. When Jane and I reunited after a brief engagement hiatus, she brought with her back into our relationship a tiny white puff of fur called Ollie. As a perfect maltese, we was very important to us both. I brought with me back into the relationship a 1982 1200cc Honda Goldwing. Apparently relationships with motorbikes are a little more easily ended. Ollie stayed with us for 17 years and saw 2 kids come into the family but is now buried in the back yard of the house we owned at the time of his death. He is so sadly missed.
My wife refers to our black Labrador as "Blaze" when she needs him to listen to her woes. His name is "Po" by the way but he seems to handle the role change in his stride. We bought Po from a lady across town about 4 years ago. The family wanted a smallish dog suitable for lap sitting and the like but I was in favour of something a little bigger. So we took off in the car to just 'look' at the 8 week old black lab puppy. On the way, the boys both decided when ever we did get a dog, it was to be called "Flamo". It was clearly understood by all that we were just looking though. Well we saw this as yet unnamed puppy, fell in love and took him home. Upon reflection, our plans to just look were doomed from the get go. The white splash of fur on his chest determining his name to be Po from KungFu Panda. I still have yet to see the movie but I'm reliably informed it is an accurate portrayal. Po is a perfect dog. Well, when I say perfect I mean perfect temperament, perfectly behaved, perfect size, perfect colour and perfect hair shedding dog. There was the once, no I mean two times, he reduced a sofa cushion to cotton balls and of
course the scratches on the back french doors and lets not forget the dug holes in the driveway and fouled up the pool by swimming too many times but other than that I mean, he is perfect. I looked at my instagram the other day for the first time in ages and well its pretty much just Po. We sit silently in each others company late at night and I know he's there for me and he knows me too. When its time for bed, I stand up and he ,without prompting or shushing or anything, takes himself outside to his bed as well. He is perfect.
Oh, that dog I don't like and am glad he's dust now. I was a boy about 10 years old. Walking up the street to my house I happened to glance to my left and looking down the driveway of a house, made eye to eye contact with their mangy filthy hairless cranky shit of a dog. That look was a long one. We sized each other up in those few moments. Dog V Man, the age old conflict long since removed with the domestication of canines. I knew his intentions were not honourable though and so as my legs launched me up the street towards my house, I felt I was safe as I reached my driveway. He was not a young dog and he had a long drive to cover before he even got to the street I was on. My relief as I reached the crest of the street and the haven that was my yard was punctuated with the sensation of animal teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my right buttock cheek. The fear and pain was tremendous but the embers of embarrassment glowed hotter by the sniggering chortles of those entrusted with my care post bite. Mum and dad.
I went on with my life but always, always, always went up the far side of the street and never turned my back on that little fucker ever again. I know Po has my back now though.
As a boy in Belrose, I remember we had 2 dogs, Ticky and Tarvi. Tarvi being dad's big kelpy cross and ticky mum's Australian silky. I have vivid memories of me running into the loungeroom as dad was due home with tarvi from the vets and dad walking through the garage door into the house carrying a big blue plastic bag in the shape of a very rigid dog. Tarvi was old even before I was born so its not so surprising I didn't know him for too long. He was buried in the back yard.
Ticky hung around for another decade or so and was then interned to the back yard. Puck was then part of the family until his disappearance 15 years later. I suspect he is in someone else's yard now. You see, in our family, dogs were the pet of choice. Yes, we had a cat but that doesn't fit in with this post so I'll ignore that version of the facts for the time being.
Anyways, dogs are simply a loving and stress relieving bit of life.
Our first was Ollie. When Jane and I reunited after a brief engagement hiatus, she brought with her back into our relationship a tiny white puff of fur called Ollie. As a perfect maltese, we was very important to us both. I brought with me back into the relationship a 1982 1200cc Honda Goldwing. Apparently relationships with motorbikes are a little more easily ended. Ollie stayed with us for 17 years and saw 2 kids come into the family but is now buried in the back yard of the house we owned at the time of his death. He is so sadly missed.
My wife refers to our black Labrador as "Blaze" when she needs him to listen to her woes. His name is "Po" by the way but he seems to handle the role change in his stride. We bought Po from a lady across town about 4 years ago. The family wanted a smallish dog suitable for lap sitting and the like but I was in favour of something a little bigger. So we took off in the car to just 'look' at the 8 week old black lab puppy. On the way, the boys both decided when ever we did get a dog, it was to be called "Flamo". It was clearly understood by all that we were just looking though. Well we saw this as yet unnamed puppy, fell in love and took him home. Upon reflection, our plans to just look were doomed from the get go. The white splash of fur on his chest determining his name to be Po from KungFu Panda. I still have yet to see the movie but I'm reliably informed it is an accurate portrayal. Po is a perfect dog. Well, when I say perfect I mean perfect temperament, perfectly behaved, perfect size, perfect colour and perfect hair shedding dog. There was the once, no I mean two times, he reduced a sofa cushion to cotton balls and of
Oh, that dog I don't like and am glad he's dust now. I was a boy about 10 years old. Walking up the street to my house I happened to glance to my left and looking down the driveway of a house, made eye to eye contact with their mangy filthy hairless cranky shit of a dog. That look was a long one. We sized each other up in those few moments. Dog V Man, the age old conflict long since removed with the domestication of canines. I knew his intentions were not honourable though and so as my legs launched me up the street towards my house, I felt I was safe as I reached my driveway. He was not a young dog and he had a long drive to cover before he even got to the street I was on. My relief as I reached the crest of the street and the haven that was my yard was punctuated with the sensation of animal teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my right buttock cheek. The fear and pain was tremendous but the embers of embarrassment glowed hotter by the sniggering chortles of those entrusted with my care post bite. Mum and dad.
I went on with my life but always, always, always went up the far side of the street and never turned my back on that little fucker ever again. I know Po has my back now though.
Monday, 22 April 2013
Ups and Downs
It appears to me that my life (and more than likely the rest of the universe) is subject to the ebbs and flows of highs and lows. The frequency and intensity may vary and there's a sine wave (look it up if you need to) for pretty much everything you can think of. Just imagine how complicated and convoluted your life's sine wave looks when charting everything? Food, Music, Happiness, Tolerance, hair cuts, sex, driving, friends, work, generosity, pain, consuming, spending, earning or even angry birds. The list is endless. The matrix of lines even then affects each other. Pain is high so food is up there too but then weight suffers and so on and so forth. Sometimes they are good and perform a useful circuit breaker and other times not so.
As a young stupid adult I was a smoker. My parents weren't so I freely admit my teenage insecurity and wish to be cool lead me down that path. As a young adult Metallurgist shift worker I would not enter the control room where I was about to begin a 12 hour shift without at least a full packet of Dunhill blue. Smokers will tell you there are days when the cigarette is the life saver and other days you wonder why you even bother. I chose an ebb like this to stop, threw away the near full pack and just never bought another. Sure I'd bludge a fag from a mate after a few too many red wines but I was never ever addicted again. That ebb was of particular benefit to me. I only wish the pain from bloodied nail beds stopped me from biting my nails too! now that's what I call an addiction! God please provide an ebb to stop that one for good. Not all of them, just the 4 sacrificial ones.
Music has its own frequency and comes and goes. My taste moves from one to another in phases and is quite all encompassing for the duration. For some reason Hunter Hayes is in my head now. I suspect the boss and a few other strong male voices will star in my earphones until another wave hits. At what point I decided I liked country music I have no idea but it must have been at a low I suspect.
Food and cooking is a great love of mine, I get excited and driven at the prospect of cheffing a marvellous and kudos inducing meal. I love the praise as much as the next person but its not my main driver. It's satisfying that wave of need to create that and see an outcome that's so good. I'd still be doing it if it was only cooking for myself. I only wish my drive was constant and not subject to these highs and lows.
I'm sure my highs are getting loftier and my lows going subterranean as I get older. Is that a function of anything other than years I have no idea. I'm not even sure others have the same sensations as me in this regard. I have a mathematical brain more or less so am quite comfortable with the assumption that the trend will correct itself over time and average out to be normal. In the mean time though (pun intended) I have to tell myself that this ebb is not the last one and that getting past this is not only rewarded with a great high but another ebb as well.
I had a high today actually, my employer was named the highest corporate donor for Movember 2012 and lo and behold, I was the highest fund raiser within that corporation. It's ironic that such a feat is the subject of celebration in a post about the potential for highs and lows.
I am looking forward to the cooking high where I can do a bomb alaska but not the music low where Boy George enters my play list.
As a young stupid adult I was a smoker. My parents weren't so I freely admit my teenage insecurity and wish to be cool lead me down that path. As a young adult Metallurgist shift worker I would not enter the control room where I was about to begin a 12 hour shift without at least a full packet of Dunhill blue. Smokers will tell you there are days when the cigarette is the life saver and other days you wonder why you even bother. I chose an ebb like this to stop, threw away the near full pack and just never bought another. Sure I'd bludge a fag from a mate after a few too many red wines but I was never ever addicted again. That ebb was of particular benefit to me. I only wish the pain from bloodied nail beds stopped me from biting my nails too! now that's what I call an addiction! God please provide an ebb to stop that one for good. Not all of them, just the 4 sacrificial ones.
Music has its own frequency and comes and goes. My taste moves from one to another in phases and is quite all encompassing for the duration. For some reason Hunter Hayes is in my head now. I suspect the boss and a few other strong male voices will star in my earphones until another wave hits. At what point I decided I liked country music I have no idea but it must have been at a low I suspect.
Food and cooking is a great love of mine, I get excited and driven at the prospect of cheffing a marvellous and kudos inducing meal. I love the praise as much as the next person but its not my main driver. It's satisfying that wave of need to create that and see an outcome that's so good. I'd still be doing it if it was only cooking for myself. I only wish my drive was constant and not subject to these highs and lows.
I'm sure my highs are getting loftier and my lows going subterranean as I get older. Is that a function of anything other than years I have no idea. I'm not even sure others have the same sensations as me in this regard. I have a mathematical brain more or less so am quite comfortable with the assumption that the trend will correct itself over time and average out to be normal. In the mean time though (pun intended) I have to tell myself that this ebb is not the last one and that getting past this is not only rewarded with a great high but another ebb as well.
I had a high today actually, my employer was named the highest corporate donor for Movember 2012 and lo and behold, I was the highest fund raiser within that corporation. It's ironic that such a feat is the subject of celebration in a post about the potential for highs and lows.
I am looking forward to the cooking high where I can do a bomb alaska but not the music low where Boy George enters my play list.
Monday, 8 April 2013
The Music in my head
I recently read a blog about music and although had already drafted one with the same title prior, liked theirs a whole lot more. So I deleted and this is the redo.
Music allows me to retreat into myself and just be me and my brain and what ever picture the melodies are painting for me. It invokes such strong emotions and responses to me both psychologically and physically I love it. If I hear a beat, chances are some part of my body is moving in time with it. I sing to myself and more often that not, too loudly and disturb others. Depending on the inappropriateness of my response, they will be told 'tough luck' (to my kids for example) or 'sorry, will try not to let it happen again' (to my colleagues). I leave the house and have music on the instant I'm out the door and pretty much have it on all day unless I have a meeting or other, but it's essentially on all the time.
As a young kid, I was lucky enough to have a dad that loved having a good Hi-Fi. Massive box speakers with separate components for dual tape, records, radio and a big fat shiny amp with heaps of switches. There would be no shit '3 in 1' in this house. Dad provided the means to listen to good quality sound but had to come the records. My first record as a kid was "Susie the little blue coup". It was a book that narrated on one side with the proverbial twinkle to turn a page but on the B side was a fast and furious guitar laden track that was more for a head banger than a 5 year old but I loved it.
My taste matured rapidly when I became aware of James Last and the track "she too fat for me". Although the lyrics were risqué and funny for a kid, my love of brass was born.
I was lucky enough to have older siblings that brought Pink Floyd, Manfred Mann and Styx into the house. ELO, Sweet, Christopher Cross and David Essex. I was however always BANNED from touching their stuff and had to always wait til they were out before doing the audio raid. Invariably, the music would still be playing upon their return and I'd be found out but it was always worth it. I still listen to those same songs today (sad old bastard music as its now known in our house) but I just don't give shit. Mr Blue Sky is always welcome in my head.
In primary school I signed up for band and after asking for a saxophone (its the sexiest thing in any ensemble I don't care what you say) was handed a clarinet. It's about that time that I found Glenn Miller Band and the harmonious frequencies that just force you to close your eyes and let the notes merge in your head. Anyone not in the band was listening to ABBA I'm sure, but our little jazz and swing group consisting of Frog on trumpet, Mic on base, me and Mouse on clarinet and someone on Piano (I feel bad I forgot your name if you read this, just know you played really well) played every school gig we could, be it assembly, P&C meeting or awards night. We loved it. I'm really sure the improv was working in our heads far better than in our fingers but being a part of the process and hearing the applause always gave me great feelings of accomplishment. My pestering for a Sax got to fever pitch and like always, Mum and Dad came through. It was a dinged up old french alto with an inoperable octave key but I loved it. It kills me to think I sold it years later as a stupid adult, some assets you should just never sell. I ended up buying a tenor years later in New York (name drop yes, but shit you're impressed now aren't you?) but as the grass is always greener, will get an alto again one day. I play only for myself now. I know that sounds stupid but its like singing in the car, you sound pitch perfect until someone else gets in the car. I should play more but with only 16 minutes a week in the house alone, I'm 'time poor'!! (I fucking hate that term - its bullshit) I'm lazy I mean.
As a teenager, my first proper record I bought was Foreigner! Because I had heard Cold as Ice and loved it. I still do. I paid $7.99 and cherish that album. I gave it to a friend that still has it to this day I'm expecting. (I've gone 100% digital)
As a young adult, the first thing I did with any new car I got was to go straight down to Strathfield Car Radio and buy the biggest and brightest car stereo that I could afford. We had a noise complaint lodged against one night by the pub we were parked out the front of in my 1976 Toyota Hiace campervan.
Live music is one of those things that I hum and har over, worry about the cost and can't quite be bothered doing until such time as I go and then realise what a brilliant thing it is to see such brilliant artists on stage. Sometimes its shit (Dire Straits at Sydney Entertainment Centre) and other times its so wonderfully awe inspiring (The Whitlams at Yallah Wool Shed) I should go to more live gigs but as I've explained, I'm 'time poor'. I have though seen in descending order of (oh shit pinch myself I'm really here) importance Pink Floyd, Queen, INXS, Billy Joel, James Taylor. Midnight Oil, and Matt Finish. I should admit INXS was at the Bateman's Bay Bowling Club a tad prior to them hitting the big time.
I find myself now in constant search of new and exciting music. Some just hit a chord with me and bring me to sit down to contemplate why the hell I can't do that. Gabe Dixon Band is one example. If you've never heard of him, look him up. I'll copy the tracks for you if you like but just listen to his words. (I deny promoting the piracy of music btw). I've been introduced to Portishead, Jay Z, Bruno Mars, Jason Mraz in the past few years and love them totally. Others I've found myself like Hunter Hayes (when I say found myself I mean Spotify fed him to me).
Music to me is key to being alive. Its soothing, invigorating, emotional, memory invoking, gets you mad, makes you drive too fast, makes you run too slow, gets people looking at you like you're from Mars and other people a knowing nod to show 'yes' I'm one of you. I'm about to get up from my desk and go home, all the whilst listening to music. If I cook tonight, it will be with music. When my Mr 15 says he likes to fall asleep with music, I know exactly what he means. Music is in my core(d). its nice to end on a bad pun.
Music allows me to retreat into myself and just be me and my brain and what ever picture the melodies are painting for me. It invokes such strong emotions and responses to me both psychologically and physically I love it. If I hear a beat, chances are some part of my body is moving in time with it. I sing to myself and more often that not, too loudly and disturb others. Depending on the inappropriateness of my response, they will be told 'tough luck' (to my kids for example) or 'sorry, will try not to let it happen again' (to my colleagues). I leave the house and have music on the instant I'm out the door and pretty much have it on all day unless I have a meeting or other, but it's essentially on all the time.
As a young kid, I was lucky enough to have a dad that loved having a good Hi-Fi. Massive box speakers with separate components for dual tape, records, radio and a big fat shiny amp with heaps of switches. There would be no shit '3 in 1' in this house. Dad provided the means to listen to good quality sound but had to come the records. My first record as a kid was "Susie the little blue coup". It was a book that narrated on one side with the proverbial twinkle to turn a page but on the B side was a fast and furious guitar laden track that was more for a head banger than a 5 year old but I loved it.
My taste matured rapidly when I became aware of James Last and the track "she too fat for me". Although the lyrics were risqué and funny for a kid, my love of brass was born.
I was lucky enough to have older siblings that brought Pink Floyd, Manfred Mann and Styx into the house. ELO, Sweet, Christopher Cross and David Essex. I was however always BANNED from touching their stuff and had to always wait til they were out before doing the audio raid. Invariably, the music would still be playing upon their return and I'd be found out but it was always worth it. I still listen to those same songs today (sad old bastard music as its now known in our house) but I just don't give shit. Mr Blue Sky is always welcome in my head.
In primary school I signed up for band and after asking for a saxophone (its the sexiest thing in any ensemble I don't care what you say) was handed a clarinet. It's about that time that I found Glenn Miller Band and the harmonious frequencies that just force you to close your eyes and let the notes merge in your head. Anyone not in the band was listening to ABBA I'm sure, but our little jazz and swing group consisting of Frog on trumpet, Mic on base, me and Mouse on clarinet and someone on Piano (I feel bad I forgot your name if you read this, just know you played really well) played every school gig we could, be it assembly, P&C meeting or awards night. We loved it. I'm really sure the improv was working in our heads far better than in our fingers but being a part of the process and hearing the applause always gave me great feelings of accomplishment. My pestering for a Sax got to fever pitch and like always, Mum and Dad came through. It was a dinged up old french alto with an inoperable octave key but I loved it. It kills me to think I sold it years later as a stupid adult, some assets you should just never sell. I ended up buying a tenor years later in New York (name drop yes, but shit you're impressed now aren't you?) but as the grass is always greener, will get an alto again one day. I play only for myself now. I know that sounds stupid but its like singing in the car, you sound pitch perfect until someone else gets in the car. I should play more but with only 16 minutes a week in the house alone, I'm 'time poor'!! (I fucking hate that term - its bullshit) I'm lazy I mean.
As a teenager, my first proper record I bought was Foreigner! Because I had heard Cold as Ice and loved it. I still do. I paid $7.99 and cherish that album. I gave it to a friend that still has it to this day I'm expecting. (I've gone 100% digital)
As a young adult, the first thing I did with any new car I got was to go straight down to Strathfield Car Radio and buy the biggest and brightest car stereo that I could afford. We had a noise complaint lodged against one night by the pub we were parked out the front of in my 1976 Toyota Hiace campervan.
Live music is one of those things that I hum and har over, worry about the cost and can't quite be bothered doing until such time as I go and then realise what a brilliant thing it is to see such brilliant artists on stage. Sometimes its shit (Dire Straits at Sydney Entertainment Centre) and other times its so wonderfully awe inspiring (The Whitlams at Yallah Wool Shed) I should go to more live gigs but as I've explained, I'm 'time poor'. I have though seen in descending order of (oh shit pinch myself I'm really here) importance Pink Floyd, Queen, INXS, Billy Joel, James Taylor. Midnight Oil, and Matt Finish. I should admit INXS was at the Bateman's Bay Bowling Club a tad prior to them hitting the big time.
I find myself now in constant search of new and exciting music. Some just hit a chord with me and bring me to sit down to contemplate why the hell I can't do that. Gabe Dixon Band is one example. If you've never heard of him, look him up. I'll copy the tracks for you if you like but just listen to his words. (I deny promoting the piracy of music btw). I've been introduced to Portishead, Jay Z, Bruno Mars, Jason Mraz in the past few years and love them totally. Others I've found myself like Hunter Hayes (when I say found myself I mean Spotify fed him to me).
Music to me is key to being alive. Its soothing, invigorating, emotional, memory invoking, gets you mad, makes you drive too fast, makes you run too slow, gets people looking at you like you're from Mars and other people a knowing nod to show 'yes' I'm one of you. I'm about to get up from my desk and go home, all the whilst listening to music. If I cook tonight, it will be with music. When my Mr 15 says he likes to fall asleep with music, I know exactly what he means. Music is in my core(d). its nice to end on a bad pun.
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