Category: the daily column

So today’s the day that is officially designated for romancing and early-stage love (for whatever reasons; explore them further on Wikipedia). And I suppose the expected thing would be for guys to go find some lucky lady and proclaim their love, or somehow do it discretely in a manner that says “I love you (and I don’t want to tell you my name) (possibly from a distance) (please don’t take me to be a stalker)”.

Y’know, guys in Japan got this deal sorted the right way around. Valentine’s, the pressure is on the ladies. The lads simply await in passive contention for the chocolates that the ladies are to offer them. A month later, on “White Day”, if the lads are showing some significant interest in return, they get the ladies chocolates. It’s a very safe bet, I think, because for guys it’s clear as mud who is interested normally (i.e. not clear at all) and for the ladies to sort themselves out and express their interest first means the lads are quite clear as to what they have to live up to. Not to mention that if you don’t get anything, eh, you’re a guy, what are you gonna care.

At least, in theory/anime. I don’t know if Japan really works like that, I’ve just heard it and watched way too many anime. Regardless, I think it a good system that should apply the world over. Only in Japan though, I guess, because they’re quirky like that.

Anyway, I’m going to walk around all day humming Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson because it is stuck in my head.

edit: Ok so Miss Independent isn’t hummable. The Girl From Ipanema it is.

Harbour Views? Tick.

Actually, that’s about it for knowing when you’re really working in Sydney. What more can you truly ask for than harbour views from your office when you’re merely a graduate? It’s stunningly gorgeous. I remember those moments of doubt, of questioning myself as to why i went through the hassle to move up to Sydney, and then I look out the window and… bang, there it is. I’m sorry, no other way to put it.

I avoided giving a description yesterday of Sailing because it’s one of those had-to-be-there type of things. I’m not the greatest sailor by any means, and the blowy winds didn’t help what so ever, and while there were some hair-raising moments, the adrenaline rush wiped it out and the whole experience was very positive. Plus it helps that we snatched 2nd place in a field of seven when rounding the first bend we’d been 6th. Come-from-behind? There is no better definition!
Still, I’m your stock land-loving rat, and when all pirate jokes were aside it was real and it was hard and all in all I’d rather be on something a fair bit more sizeable. Say with 6 decks or so.

Today consisted of more presentations introducing us to the bank and its policies. HR, Compliance, and a demonstration of how the whole bank works together. (I asked for policies on dooceability, but beyond the standard privacy policy – god knows there’s enough of them – I’m free to blog. Nothing to specific, obviously.) Thrown in the mix was lunch with the previous year’s grads. Finally the day was capped by cocktails with the Australia-NZ CEO, at which there was an abundance of everything but cocktails, but I’m not one much to mind. Met my manager and worked out roughly what i’m doing. The deep end it truly is.

And thus… it begins. Tomorrow morning, 9am, office, work. Harbour Views though. Don’t know if I’ll actually get work done with that view out the window…

(oh and p.s. I wonder how quickly you can call people friends. I did kinda automatically today, wonder whether the label will stick =D)

I’m kinda nervous. I’m here much too early, so I stop at a park bench in the sun, adjust my tie, shift stuff around in my bag. Haven’t worn a tie for this long since high school, basically, and I’m not even in the door of the place. Gawd.

m-flo & yoshika start to sing let go. I exhale deeply, glance at my watch. 8:37. Close enough to showtime if there ever was one. I pick up my bag and go.

I get to the building and its newness is palpable. Later today I will find out that, initially at least, I will be working at the older building, right on the harbour. For now, the elevator speeds upwards, fast, and accentuated by the glass letting you see exactly how quick you’re rising into corporate Sydney. It glides to a stop at floor 16, deceleration not helping the nervous stomach at all. The preponderance of glass lets me see I’m not the first, and suddenly it’s just another corporate office to walk into, only I’ll be working here, soon enough. Initial smiles are all a little nervous and tentative, speech just a notch below what it needs to be, but tension is broken soon enough and the introductory routine settles in.

26 grads starting, total of 4 in Technology, 5 ladies spread through other departments. 4 others have moved up from Melbourne, and 2 are here for training, so I’m not so much of an outsider all of a sudden. Best of both cities, really. I’m the youngest here, by a clear margin of 2 years – fast course, young starter. Funny, I feel part of the place already – and it’s only 9:30, and I’ve already forgotten people’s names.

Self-Introductions. I remember to not concede the pronounciation war this time, insisting on the closest to the original sound over ease of pronounciation. I figure you get one crack at getting people to get used to it correctly. Find myself only Monash grad to make it through.

“And over the summer, I painted the house.”

It appears I’m the only one that didn’t either go overseas or do an internship (thereby prepping you very nicely for the environment). Still, it gets a laugh, and that’s worth something.

The rest of the day disappears in a blur of presentations, chatting, snacking on those dainty catered sandwiches and generally feeling your way into the place. We’re going sailing tomorrow as a team-building excercise.

The weather prediction says gale force winds overnight into the morning. It’s blowing a gale outside right now actually.

And right now… I need me some sleep. Haven’t had to concentrate constantly for that long since Elvis was a boy. Figureatively speaking.

So I’ve been here two days…

• Sydney is hot. Which is nice, and which I recall quite clearly.
• Sydney is humid. Which is less nice. And I don’t recall it being this humid at all.
• Living alone has its own ups and downs. I think in part this will sort itself out when I start working, bringing something of a routine to the place, but it’s altogether too tempting to waste the day lying in front of the TV when there’s no-one to supervise.
• Dialup is oh so frustrating. You want to be sure each and every page loaded is worth it.
• You can’t imagine what it’s like not having a car once you’ve had it for so long. Feels almost like it’s a ticket to freedom and fun.
• The utility of cordless phones is vastly, vastly underestimated.
• … did I mention I can’t wait for work to start?

We have managed to uncover a huge clothing conspiracy which may explain why you no longer fit into that nice size M shirt, and are now guiltily standing at the counter buying a size L even though you really aren’t all that large.

Yessiree, there’s a bourgeois conspiracy to make the untailored clothes buying public feel guilted, fat and generally uninterested in doing anything to upset the supressed place of the proletarait. It is not the simple fact that fashion has deemed a “skinny fit” to be the standard; the very size has been downsized!

Evidence, you ask for? Dad picked up a shirt at the shops recently, and his established size standard – M – didn’t fit well enough, so he had to step up to a L. Now my Dad has maintained his body shape well enough that for him to change sizes could only mean that the sizes have changed, but Dad bought it anyway, blaming a small drop in physical activity along with the trend for “slim fit”. However! Today he got me to try a shirt from 1998 which is sized M – and it fit!

These days, a standard L size will not fit me any longer, but given that I know that I’ve hardly maintained anything that passes for a figure I reasonably assumed that, yes, I had gone up a size to an XL. And yet, this shirt from 8 years ago sized M, somehow manages to fit near enough to an XL’s sizing of today. An L size shirt strains against my shoulders and biceps, but this shirt fits comfortably! Allowing for 8 years of slight loosening, counterweighed by the fact that Dad observed the shirt has always been pretty loose on him, so it has been worn less often than others might have been, and also allowing for the fact that it may well have been a loose M in the first place, it still is irrefutable evidence that the size of shirts has decreased, not that we as a society and me as a person has grown more obese.

I suspect the blame for this can squarely lie either in two factors. Either clothing manufacturers want to flatter the bourgeois elite – possibly their very sons & daughters – with the oh-so-ideal shape that lets the now-smaller shirts cling tightly to pointless muscles – the aforementioned “slim fit” – and they’ve taken it to extremes by dropping whole sizes. Or – and this is possibly the controversial part of my theory – the sizing has changed from being measured on your average person to – now don’t sue me here – the average Chinese clothing factory worker, where definitions of small, medium, large and extra large are a whole category smaller – and who would deny that a improvished Chinese factory worker is going to be smaller & skinnier than your stock standard westerner?

Skinny fit indeed.

In my more idle moments, such as those occupying the many hours spent on public transport, I often daydream and speculate – some of which ends up here on this very blog when it happens to be something I deem intriguing – and one of my occasional random thoughts is: what am I going to call my kids?

I have, over the years, decided on my daughter’s name roughly 17 times, in my more idle moments, taking names from friends, celebrities, chance-met strangers, or even making them up in a hope of getting them to fit into whatever dreams of future partners i may have. But it was with some surprise that I noted myself thinking along these lines merely minutes in to a decently violent movie, in the middle of some decently violent opening scenes, that “Amelia”, a name shouted moments before, would be an altogether sweet and beautiful name by which to address my daughter. In front of me, a man turning from human to werewolf was loudly and rather messily decapitated.

Now, many people would think this a futile line of thought to walk. Not withstanding lack of imminent children to name, let alone life partner with whom to contemplate such a prospect, it would appear to be a most fruitless pursuit. One would, as society deems it, wait until said child is born, and then taking into account many factors, one would, with consultation, pluck a name from the veritable assortment available from the world over, and thus impart such name upon the child, thereby changing it from “the child” to something far more intimate. I think, however, many people fail to appreciate the value of a name, and underestimate the necessity to think ahead. I know through personal experience that a name that is by and large easy to say is vital; having to constantly explain that, no, my name is in no way related to a major religion’s central text, and that indeed, it should be pronounced roughly “Ka’rn”, but with a nuance of a supressed ‘a’, or maybe ‘u’, sound between the r and n, something that some people get right on first occasion and others fail to pick up for years on end; all in all, having a name which doesn’t need to be explained on first contact generally smooths social occasions and avoids potential embarrasment. It is not unknown for people to grow into names, which somehow defines them for life. You’d never catch a Randalph down at the footy on a Saturday night, for instance.

Clearly, I have digressed. This is, I must note, perhaps the 18 time – that I can recall – that I have settled on a name for my daughter. We shall see indeed if my mind changes in the future, as Amelia may join such names as Natasha, Rebecca, Honey, Radhika, or Aiko on the rejected list. It is such a pretty name though, allowing shorter forms like Amy or Lia, or even with my last name the decidedly tomboyish AJ. Versatile, I tell you.

I’ve only thought of my son’s name 3 times, however. My wife can name him.

Official notice to all you Melbourne peeps that I will be flying away in two weeks, and that’s the start of my working life just around the corner there and ohgodit’ssoscaryIbarelywanttothinkaboutit.

So yes, officially notified that I am out of here. value your time with me as you will.

Technically, yes, this is infact the 13 month iPod anniversary, but what with being away for a sum total of 1 month under repairs (approximately & exactly) I consider this the culmination of a year’s worth of iPod use. (and the end of the warranty…) And that also means it sums up my music of 2005…
So in a year, I estimate at an average of 3 hours of playtime a day I’ve got over 1000 hours of use out of it. At an average of 4 minutes a song that’s nearly 15,000 plays, or 3 times through the entire library at its current size, although I did start the library with only 3500 songs. Obviously the play count is not spread evenly, so my top 5 songs of 2005 by iPod play are:

1. Artful Dodger – Summer Jam ft. Craig David
2. Hinouchi Emi – Crying
3. Lumidee – My Last Thug
4. Cake – The Distance
5. Illaria Graizano – I Can’t Be Cool

Given that not a single one of these songs, as far as I’m aware, is a 2005 release, it appears my music tastes are “maturing” (read: getting stuck in the past). No. 7 however was Mariah Carey’s We Belong Together, which is the top 2005 song of my list, so my tastes are still kinda with it. I think.

The price I paid was $550, and accessories come out to $70, so that’s roughly 62 cents an hour, or 4.13 cents a song. All up, a happy investment =)