the mop and puppet show

I am completely useless when it comes to lip balm

Maybe its because I’m a guy and never had to practice with lipstick, or maybe its because I usually put some on right before I go to sleep and my mind isn’t 100% prepared for the task.

The lovely pills the doctor prescribed for me have one interesting side-effect, amongst a few, in that it I get really dry lips. At first I was all ‘be a man’ about it and just ignored the problem. But once my lips started cracking and hurting, it was time for a more logical approach.

Ever the canny individual, I immediately asked my wife what to do.

She gave me some paw-paw infused, strangely vaseline-looking product and I was ready to try and fix this issue. I put it next to the bed to join my ever-increasing pile of odds and ends that remind me to do something important before I sleep (like lock the front door or take my shoes off) and promptly forgot all about it.

That night, as I retired to the bedroom for the night, I tripped over the paw-paw product on my way to bed. Evidently I had knocked it to the ground earlier and failed to retrieve it in that oh-so-manly “I’ll get that later” way. But it proves my reminder system works!

I dipped a finger into the pot of paw-paw flavoured mechanic’s lubricant and scooped out what I thought was a reasonable amount. After this, I am a little shaky on the details. All I know is that during my application attempts I managed to eat a disturbing quantity of this balm (it tastes nothing like paw-paw), get some in my nose and then some in my eye.

I don’t know how it happened.

After awhile I got some of the balm on my lips and settled down to sleep. Since that night I have tried using the balm many times (the reminder system keeps working!) and I can’t say I have gotten any better. I consistently eat more than I get on my lips.

And so I say: I am completely useless when it comes to lip balm.

My Shaver is Trying to Kill Me

Around 8 years ago I was wandering through a random electronics store looking for floppy disks or CD-ROMs or something that you really can’t find today, and I stumbled upon a product that would change my life. It was a beard trimmer. I think it was made by Braun or Phillips or Hitler or something.

Before that moment it hadn’t even really occurred to me that I could have a beard. I shaved every day with a razor because I had to for school, my friends did and my father did. It was what I grew up with and you just copied those around you.

From that day forth I vowed to never shave again. It was beard or bust. I threw out my razor, shaving foam and about 462 spare replacement blades that were my only extensive financial investment at the time, costing around $30 each (that’s how they get you, those sneaky Germans!).

For 8 years I had either a beard or something resembling a beard. It didn’t really bother me because hey! I don’t have to shave every morning! I can just shower and walk out the door. For someone who is patently not a morning person, this was the ideal existence.

Then it happened. My wife turned 30. She asked for a ‘special’ gift.

Wife: Could you please shave just once?
Me: Nope.
Wife: Please?
Me: Nope.
Wife: I’m getting old and need sympathy…
Wife: …and I think the killer might be using some form of explosive
Me: (pauses CSI on the TV, think I might be getting confused at this point)
Me: Alright fine. If it will stop killer explosions.

The day finally arrived. I bought a razor with numerous, vibrating blades (oh how far they have come!) and some sort of foaming gel that was all the rage in that aisle of the supermarket. After relinquishing a rather hefty pile of cash in the general direction of the check out lady, I was home and ready to see my face again.

I followed the instructions. I used warm water. I used the foaming gel (smelt pretty nice too). And I was off. Within minutes, I was in agony and watching the slow trickle of blood coming from my chin. In a panic, i moved around suddenly, sending blood flying across the mirror and basin in what I believe the forensics team investigating my death would call ‘high-velocity spatter’.

But i didn’t die. After a monumental clean up I managed to complete my shave and present myself to Wife looking like I had been attacked by a bear, but now facial hair-free. She was excited for the requisite 45 seconds, then promptly forgot about it and ignored me. Mission Accomplished.

Now I have an agonizing few weeks as I watch my wounds heal and my beard grow back in. I find myself looking in the mirror and reminiscing about my missing facial hair, much in the way that I assume bald people do about their head hair. Except mine will grow back, so not quite as sad a face.

Only one good thing may have come from this and that is three warning messages for all of you bearded fellows out there. These do not appear on the shaving gel bottle nor the razor packaging, but I feel they are much more important than the ‘do not swallow’ warnings that do feature quite prominently. I mean, if you are going to drink shaving gel, perhaps you’re not ready for something as demanding as running razor blades over your face.

WARNING!
Even though you may think you remember how to shave, you DON’T. Please consult with other grown-ups before attempting to use these products.

WARNING!
Even though you have shaved for years in the past AND have consulted with another grown-up on the proper technique, you will still approach this task with the reckless abandonment of someone who has forgotten how sharp razors are. The answer: VERY.

WARNING!
Do not attempt to clean up blood with the towels in your bathroom. This has two side-effects:

1. The cost of replacement towels.
2. Four weeks of your wife/girlfriend/life partner/whatever glaring at you.

Dear YouTube…

It may be time to face the facts. We don’t watch your advertising. I know you get paid for it, so ‘whatever’, right?

More importantly perhaps, it doesn’t work. When the ad’s come on we mute them and talk to people for 30 seconds. Or, more importantly, if we can we hit the ‘skip’ button, we go for that shit like it might make free ice cream.

It is time to learn about this now. I know why you did it. It is easy to just throw random, location-based ad’s at people and make money.

People are malleable. They will conform to the views and pay you money without thought. People are happy, content, can access video information at will.

We know why you do it. You were thinking ‘how?’. How can I make money from this? How can I justify my expenses? No one blames you. But it is time to think about what we ‘want’.

But you are turning what you are into an abomination. You are taking the idea of consumption and applying ‘retail’ values.

‘You want this?’, you ask. Then take a look at ‘these’. Not only are ‘these’ in no way related to our search, but cannot even be obtained via your service or similar like you. They want us to pay money to receive what we can download (faster) on P2P networks.

It is time to make a stand. Embrace your technology and influence. If you must advertise something to me (and I know you will, regardless), make it RELEVANT. And create ACCESS.

If I view a movie trailer, and you show me a 30 second ad for a similar movie, give me a purchase link! Make me pay my $2.99 to stream or download it. Watch what happens!

Make some changes. Make them global.

If you haven’t heard this yet, you are in serious trouble in the next few years. If you have, and haven’t acted on it: hire me. I’ll draw stupid cartoons and tell people they are ‘squiggly’, but by the look of things you might need me.

Bow down before thee and pray to Apple

When Tim Cook stares out from the WWDC stage, I wonder how many Apple logos gleam back at him from the laptops in the crowd?

Does he feel like a pastor in a church staring out at the masses wearing various versions of the cross?

It must be an interesting perspective you get in these positions. I wonder if Larry Page is jealous or not?

These are the kind of thoughts you get when you haven’t slept for a few days. They are tedious in the mind, but excellent fun with the addition of googly eyes.

On bathing.

We live in an apartment that, due to its layout could not in any configuration have room for a bathtub. Even if we owned one I would not be able to find a place for it. Plus we are renting and the owners may object to me installing a bathtub in our kitchen (the kitchen being the only place with enough room for one).

So of course since day one of moving in here, having signed our 12-month lease, my wife decided that she could not live without a bathtub and any future residence we live in must contain one. I believe it was inserted into the checklist right below ‘locks on the doors’.

And frankly, on my list it remains somewhere around ‘has a cat flap already installed’. This is quite low down as we don’t own a cat.

I’ve never seen the appeal of baths. Now don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with the ocean, lakes, swimming pools, rivers or other varied aquatic environments in which I can immerse myself, water ski across or launch myself into via a rope swing or diving platform. I’m all for them. But a bath just doesn’t seem to cut it for me.

Something about sitting in a small pool of your own filth, water gradually cooling, doesn’t invite relaxation into my mind. I always feel like a good shower after I’ve been in a bath, which alone should tell you something isn’t quite right.

The other problem is my height. At 6’4”, apparently I am way too far up (down?) the scale to be considered by the industrial designers who produce residential bathtubs. Or airline seats, car seats, couches, table heights and many more examples I couldn’t think of any more right now, but you get the point.

So instead of laying down into a bathtub for a relaxing stew, I am able only to immerse small portions of my body at any one time, resulting in the remaining body parts splayed out in the air and rapidly turning blue in the cold. Not pleasant. Not relaxing. Somewhat amusing to anyone watching.

To add to my dislike of bathtubs, one time I got into a bath and sat straight down, failing in my distracted musings on important world events (or hamsters) to check the water temperature was roughly that of a small pool near the surface of the sun. In the interest of being SFW and family friendly, lets just say it really rustled my jimmies.

tl;dr I hate bathtubs and cannot be trusted to sit in them carefully.

//: Images used in this post are from here, here and here. Because words alone are just boring.