A Job! A Job! My kingdom for a JOB!

And the search continues. 'Tis a strange and daunting world out there and one with which I am loath to interact. Not that there are not wondrous and venerable people to be found out there. On the contrary. There is a plethora of fantastic, witty, honest and interesting sorts out there. It's just unfortunate that none of these people employ people.

I blame HR. Human Resources. Which to me sounds like a ministry department in a highly developed cannibalistic society. In the good old days (oh my god! I'm a grumpy old man at the age of thirty one!) people were employed by the boss, or failing that, the boss's right hand man (and when I say "man" I also mean "woman", I just didn't say right hand "person" because it sounds stupid. Sue me.).

But today, in our faced paced world where idiocy is at your fingertips and mind numbing bureaucracy is only a short email away, the boss has done away with hiring and firing altogether. Instead giving the task to other employees, even giving them there own little department. Human Resources. A whole department dedicated to the noble pursuit of hiring like minded sycophants and masochists and weeding away the talented and even competent.

The main problem is that, essentially, you're giving ultimate power to, intrinsically, the powerless. In most cases these very young women of Human Resources (yes, that's a generalization. But one based on fact.) know what the company does but not how it does it, know the "essential criteria" that must be exhibited by a potential employee but lack any of these skills themselves, can hire someone with a pay package quadruple their own but be hard pressed to have a say in the colour of the office kettle. Yet here they are, Gods amongst mortals. And if you think that it's the heads of the different departments who have the final say on a hiring (or for that matter a firing) then think again. From my short stints in various large offices I came to fear the girls in HR, as everyone did. You see, they can hold back information, diddle with your file, and if you really piss them off, they can start a rumour. I was once witness to the near collapse of a large institution's subsidiary office all because a HR lady thought her stapler had been stolen (it ended up being found in the office fridge. Ain't they always?).

So be careful out there, Kids, because it ain't the boss that can make your life a living hell any more. It's worse.

It's middle management.

Would ya look at the time!

A few days can pass us by in a rather unexpected and plausibly accurate flash, can they not? I would normally fill the next few sentences to bursting with excuses piled on reasons, stuffed with accusations and maybe even a red ripe rant on top. But I shan't. For I am sick to near vomitous regurgitation (note the wonderfuly superfluous adverb) with my inane babblings about the state of my own life and how amazingly, and without apparent training, I have absolutely no control over it.

So I shall instead babble about what is happening in my life without the accustomed tirade on the almost spiteful neutrality that fate, destiny, people, the world, and small mammals have towards me.

For the last couple of days I have been hopping, if not skipping, between abodes. For you see, I am homeless. Not shopping cart, hand scrawled pleas on cardboard, shouting at strangers kind of homeless (although I must admit to shouting at a few strangers in my time) but not far off. A famous person (so famous, in fact, that I don't know who it was) once said that any civilised society is only three square meals from rebellion. I shall now try and be forgotten by some future blogger by adding my own quote to the fray.

"Any person with a home is only two arguments and one hefty bill from being without one."

This is not actually how it came about for me, but the logic of it seems plausible. So I find myself adrift in the world. Not that I am without lodgings. Far from it. I have a wonderfully generous family and a fantastic girly so I will always have a roof over my head and a snuggly blanket (if not said girly) to cling to on those muggy summer nights. But the thing of it is, the strange feeling of dislocation, that intangible feeling of not quite being able to "get it together", as there is no steady location in which to stand and gather said things. I think it may be the deep down feeling that, should everything go pear shaped with the loved ones, that there is no place to go to lick one's wounds, sulk, watch TV till four in the morning, smack yourself for being an idiot and then go back and apologise. No siree, straight to the merry aforementioned streets for young tit head.

Do not collect $200.

Do collect your complimentary shopping cart.

Do collect your free cardboard and marker.

And we see, sir, that you have the shouting at strangers down pat.

Luckily, I'm not the worrying type.

If I were President of the world...

Okay so I feel like a big rant, so sue me. Aha! There would be the first thing to go. Suing. Take away that over indulged crutch of the masses that wish to blame everyone but themselves.
"I became overweight because I ate too much food."
"I got lung cancer because I smoked cigarettes."'
"I am an uncoordinated lackwit and wish to sue you over your perfectly flat unimpeded surface that I fell over."
"Amazingly, upon sticking my head in a band saw, I no longer retained the ability to think." Not that said person had a great penchant for overabundant thinking in the first place.

It's ridiculous. I hate it. And I hate the fact that Australia is happily trotting after America like some overanxious puppy with lemming tendencies. A litigious society run wholly on fear and trepidation of the person standing next to you. Not only might that person be a terrorist but he might sue you for passive smoking, blocking his sun therefore leading to vitamin deficiencies, owning a mobile phone, looking at him funny, pervasive iconism of his perceived deity of choice etc.

One perfect example of this is when I was managing a bar and one of the new staff complained about the smoke. I was dumbfounded. What did she think she would find in here? Placid twenty-somethings sipping carrot juice and eating cucumber sandwiches whilst playing gin rummy? Fresh cool air being pumped in from the alpine slopes of Gutenberg? I mean PLEASE! IT'S A PUB!!

Scaffold Rigger. First day on the job. "I'm not sure about all these heights?"
Garbage man (sorry, person). " Bloody horrible smell. Didn't think it would be so smelly. I might catch something!"
Politician. "People keep photographing me and writing down the words I say!"
Train driver. "This thing goes awful fast. I might crash and be killed!" (Obviously this is not a Sydney Train Driver as they are hard pressed to find the cabin let alone make a train go)

There is danger in every profession, circumstance, love affair, shopping expedition, sporting activity, sleeping pattern, marriage, divorce, incarceration, growing up, growing old, hobby, bath, shower, cooking adventure, relaxation exercise, night in, night out and sitting still. It's been said before but the one thing that is certain in life is that, one day, you're not gonna have much of it, in fact none at all.

Now I realize that keeping one's limbs and head attached in vaguely the same place in beneficial to most (cue class action by Amputees Against Humour, acronym AAH), and that continued health is a high priority on most peoples "to do" list but going for a job in a pub and then complaining that people were drunk and unruly and had the audacity to smoke is tantamount to intentional idiocy. I felt like suing her for making false pretences in her interview claiming that she was a rational human being with a firm grasp on reality.

As President of the World I will make it mandatory that everyone to turn to the person next to them and shout at the top of their lungs:

"I AM A HUMAN BEING AND THEREFORE FALLIBLE. I ADMIT AND ADMIRE THE FACT THAT ONE DAY I SHALL MAKE A MISTAKE, IF NOT MANY, AND THAT PEOPLE AROUND ME ARE GOING TO DO THE SAME. I AM TOTALLY OPEN TO ALL LITIGATION AS I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR MYSELF, MY ACTIONS AND THE CONTINUED ENJOYMENT OF MY LIFE."

Now if everyone said that, then everyone could sue everyone and get it out of their systems. Life would trundle merrily forward and saying "Oops. That was silly of me. Oh well" would creep it's way back into the vernacular of the human race.

Then we would kill all the lawyers.

Just a quicky...

Not up for a big rant on this hot and sweltery day. Merely a bit of a notage to allay the worries of my thousands of readers... both of them.

The morrow doth be the weekend so I shall be up to as much as I was during the week. Unemployment, you glorious Mistress of Lethargy you. I will endeavor to do something of worth, but I'm not promisin' no-one nofin'!

To those of you out there that said goodbye to someone today:

May you dream sweet those times of joy
Find warmth in memories full
Don't forget
Don't regret
And gracious the heart shall feel
Upon knowing them at all

Weekday Whimsicals

A Wednesday, when all is said and done, is much like a Thursday. Perhaps a little more cyan than magenta but really and for all practical purposes, the same. Identical. Indistinguishable. Duplicate. Matching. Carbon copy. Dead ringer.

...

I forgot what day it was today. Seemed to think I had already done Wednesday. Had the feeling Wednesday had already done its thing. Felt that I'd been "Wednesday'd". But alas, no. For Wednesday had just started. But it was a sneaky Wednesday. Unlike most of it's anscestors before it, today it jumped up and in a loud and distinct voice (with breath smelling slightly of gooseberry) stated "Hello Tobbë! I'm ... Thursday!". I should have realised then that something was amiss. Weekdays very rarely exclaim their intentions. It's more of a weekend thing. But not having the stomach to, nor really the knowledge of how to, I did not argue.

So merrily I went about my day (well, not my day, the day belongs to all, whether they want it or not) and thought no more about it. Upon hindsight, though, I realise that this Wednesday was (and at this hour of the night, still is) a foxy character. You see, his brothers and sisters would be hard pressed to get away with this ruse. Grumpy Monday and the strict Miss Tuesday are far too close to the wild and raucous Saturday and his regretful twin sister Sunday to manage the sting. Methodical Thursday and excitable Friday are already in anticipation mode for any type of shenanigans. But bored and crafty Mr Midweek, good ol' Wednesday, is in the perfect position to create mild mayhem by careful misidentification.

Well, you've won this round, Wednesday, and considering that you will be around long after I have shuffled (kicking and screaming) off this mortal coil, I gather you are pretty much predetermined to win the whole boxing match. But still, I have your number now sonny jim! I will be on the look out for your insipid prankstery, and when that time comes my friend, haha, well then.. I'll .. you.. *shakes fist with little conviction*

I'll see you next week, Wednesday. I'll bring the crackers, you bring the timeline.

I'm a wanderin' wanderin' wanderin'...

So here I am, once again adrift on the tumultuous seas of chance. Guided by lady luck and occasionally kicked in the goolies by random happenstance. Hunkering down at the abode of none other than the irrepressible Papa Bear I find myself looking back and wondering how I got here. Bored, I then look at a tree outside for fifteen minutes before walking over to the fridge, opening it, and staring blankly at the inside for another ten minutes. Thinker I may be, industrious thinker perhaps not.

Today has been a day of settling. Settling in the manner, of course, of someone who does not intend on settling for long. I look forward to finally having a little place of my own. A place where I can leave Mr Guilt grumbling outside the door and get to making a habitation mine and mine alone. I had this discussion with Miss ZB the other day about not really "decorating" (for lack of a better word) our own abodes. In the past, I unthinkingly advised ZB, I had relented to former girlfriend's tastes. Let their style be a substitute of my own. I did not think about it at the time. It was just a way of keeping the peace. How the place looked didn't rank very high with me (I didn't think) at the time. To ZB this sounded like I was having a go at women, as though I was brow beaten into submission. But this was not the case. I was just doing what I thought was the path of least resistance. I see now that this a bit of a plaster cast of what I have done a lot in my life. Something I'm trying to change.

"Insert witty yet slightly maudlin life changing quote here"

All in one day.

I wasn't going to post something today.

It has been a day of sad events. A day to which waxing lyrical would be crass and base. When the world just seems that little bit too serious, as though someone out there wishes to remind us that life is not all fairy floss and rainbows.

ZuckerBaby lost a friend today. He passed away this morning. I shook his hand once, upon meeting. I did not know him but from the grief I am feeling from ZB and the posts from all his friends, it's obvious he was, and is, well loved. It is, of course, a grief that I am feeling for a stranger. Someone I did not know. I suppose what I feel is the pain my girlfriend is going through. A vicarious grief I wish to alleviate from her. I know I cannot and more importantly, know I shouldn't.

When I was roughly thirteen years old my house burnt down. Actually it didn't burn down, just out. The inside. It would have been a lot better in some ways if it had burnt to the ground. Having remnants of a house bulldozed is a lot more expensive than most people would think. I can't remember much about what happened. I was the first person to show up (none of the family were in the house at the time, thank god). I can't remember much. The constant stream of people trying to console me. People standing on the side of the road. And the smell. I smelt that smell tonight. It doesn't smell like a wood fire. More plasticy. Never forget the smell.

I walked out the back of ZB's house and took a whiff. Definately not a normal fire. Not burning off. I walked out the front. A woman was screaming "I'm on FIRE!" from two houses down. A couple of lads were walking back down the street from the nearby pub. We all ran to the house. A little old lady in hair curlers and a pink nighty was running back and forth up her hallway. Smoke was billowing out the door, starting to fill the house. She was trying to get her dog. One of the guys ran straight in. So did the old lady. It was all a little sureal. A little old lady in curlers and a pink night gown. Trying to get back into her immolating house to save her pets. It just seemed far too cliched to be real. Unfortunately it was all too real. The strangers passing by made a gallant attempt to get the hose from the front of the house to reach out the back to where the fire had started but the hose was too short and the smoke too thick.

The fire brigade came and quite frankly I can see why women (and I'm sure a lot of men) find them sexy. It's not the uniform. It's the fact that when that truck pulled up a guy jumped off, donned his helmet, and stolled straight into a burning building like he was popping in to buy some milk and bread. Selfless bravery has quite an attraction.

So the lady survived. So did the pets. The house is still standing but I would imagine the back of the house is pretty bad. It strikes me now that the clichedness of the situation must have been catching. At one point the lady, who as you can imagine was quite hysterical, wailed that there were valuables in the house before attempting to go back in. I stopped her and said that the only true valuable was her. She spat back with such gusto and venom that I'm still reeling:

"NO I'M NOT!"

That's going to reverberate in my head for a while.

A lot can change in one day.

I hope you all the best little old lady. You showed great bravery tonight.

Goodbye Mr Chocolate. You have a great many friends who love you very much and will miss you dearly. I wish I had gotten to know you.

An Utterance. Loud and indistinct.

So I said "A pox on your house!"
And he said "Who are you and why are you waving a spatula?"

So where was I. I just had the good fortune to find out that someone other than the Wonderous Miss ZuckerBaby and the Spectacular Miss Mim actually takes the time out to have a look at this cantakerous conconction of consonants and credulities. So a big hello to Mr Placid Grin, Master of All Board Games He Surveys.

Today, like most others in my life, the sun came up, hung around for approximately twelve hours, and then buggered off "to the other side of the planet" (if you wish to believe those scientific type boffins). The difference with today was my uncontrollable lack of enthusiasm with the idea, nay even the thought, of thinking. Now, I know a lot of you out there may be thinking that this is a contradiction in terms and bully for you, you're right. But my point is that usually, even in my most downest of moods, I was (am?) quite the Walter Mitty. For those of you not au fait with such an archaic movie reference, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty was a Danny Kaye movie in which the lead character was a rather obsessive day dreamer. I was one such Mr Mitty. Always drifting off into my own little world where Tobbë fights off nasty muggers with powerful martial arts that he's never learnt and can, at will, turn a loaf of white bread into a wad of cash the size of .. well, a loaf of bread.

But today saw a change. I am yet to determine if it's a good or bad one, but today Tobbë did not find himself with an ability to fly and have CNN do a live broadcast as he attempted the first solo flight around the world unaided.. by anything. Today Tobbë did not kidnap the world leaders, put them in a room with fairy bread and fruit crush cordial, and tell them they're not coming out until they can play nice. No, today, Tobbë was just Tobbë. Nothing overly spectacular. Nothing of earth shattering or news worthy to report. Just a guy. Having a day. And that was just fine with me.

A Ratopotomus. 

Yesterday never happened... really.

Ok so I missed yesterday. One blog just after spouting my fervour at never missing a day. All I can say is I just found myself swept up in the day's events. Mostly it was a day of nothing much in particular. Just one of those days when you just seem to be waiting for tomorrow.

Tomorrow (as in today) turned out very productive. Sent off drawings to said and sundry, got myself a long anticipated packet of cigarettes, met up with the ZuckerBaby for tea and crumpets. Altogether a wonderful day.

So what shall I talk about on this wild and woolly day. A day that encompases a yesterday in it's rumbling embrace.

Vwallah. I shall talk about this word because the wonderous Miss Zucker and her unfathomable brain brought up the fact that I spell it incorrectly. At this point, some of you may be wondering what Vwallah is. Vwallah is voilá. It's a french word that means.. well.. TA DA! Sort of. The reason I bring this up is that I find one of these words everyday. Every day another word that I have either been spelling incorrectly for going on thirty years or a word that I have been using in a totally unsuitable if not contradictory context. I find it bizarre. Not so much that I spell so badly or use words incorrectly (all of us children of the 70's were taught by hippies, I accept this) but the fact that nobody has brought me up on any of these words before. It astounds me. But then with my poor excuse for a memory, I probably have been told on numerous occasions but have no recollection and just slide back into my strange but sometimes cute habits.

And another thing... no I can't think of anything. The sugar from my fizzy drink has shooken up me brain bits and I no longer have needed thinky power to continue... so I shall post a drawy thingie instead.