There's Something In The Water

I've figured it out. I know who is behind it all. If you recall my piece on My Private War, I had not yet worked out that there was common denominator in the conspiracy, a mastermind behind the plot. But now I know the culprit- it's the hot water. It can control the dishwasher, the washing machine and all the appliances one way or another. It's amazing I hadn't realised before since the hot water has been a long-standing nemesis of mine.

From the moment my family moved in, it has been fighting our very presence. The hot water likes to run so hot that it will burn your hands. Consequently, you can never wash your hands for long enough in the hot water before getting scalded. It doesn't start off hot though, but the speed at which it turns from lukewarm to burn-your-skin-off hot is rapid. The normal response to this is a sudden withdrawal of the hand followed by several profanities. 

This of course creates further difficulties with the shower; the high end of the temperature knob will boil you, while the low end will freeze you. I guess that's fairly standard. And like so many showers, finding that ideal temperature in between requires minuscule adjustments of the gauge, during which you are subjected to those very extremes. I think we've all been there; you learn to know exactly where to aim it and soon enough the torture abates. 


But the hot water had more tricks up its sleeve; the pressure is very high so it shoots out quickly. This is all very nice, but it uses up the hot water much more quickly than usual. Consequently, anyone faced with the fourth shower in a morning faces a race against time before the hot water runs out. As you feel it failing, you inch the knob around and it warms up for a bit, but before long the knob won't go any further and you are faced with a very chilly exit from the shower. 

But wait, there's more. The hot water taps around the house get stuck. You turn them off and they seem to stop completely. But after a while, the taps will suddenly decide that they haven't actually been turned all the way off and therefore they should start dripping. And boy do they love to drip, especially in the middle of the night. The chief culprit is the tap in the kitchen, which is ideally placed right next to my bedroom. And we all know that once you hear a tap dripping, you can't get it out of your head. Invariably, I end up storming into the kitchen to turn the damn thing off. A few nights ago the tap decided to do this at exactly 12 am. It was then I realised that the hot water was out to get me, and that it was the mastermind behind the war of the appliances. This was quite an eye-opening moment; everything seemed to click into play. The dishwasher and the washing machine were its minions, and through them it could get at anything. It's very worrying.

The Dishwasher's
Cousin!!

And I think it knows I'm on to it. It has backed off recently and the appliances are currently behaving. The dishwasher, having been fixed for the umpteenth time, has decided finally to be cooperative. And speaking of the dishwasher, I have recently discovered it has a cousin. Also named Nemo, I spotted this at a friend's hosue recently. The cousin is a bit worse for wear and slightly older, but seems to be much better behaved. I think perhaps it is a sign of love and attention; a good cookbook will always show that it has been used and appreciated with spots and stains from many cooking adventures. In the same way, a well-used dishwasher will look the part. Perhaps our dishwasher has been playing up because we have been ignoring it or generally treating it badly. Or perhaps it has just been poisoned by the lies of the evil hot water. Who knows?


Whatever happens, I don't think this is the end of my Private War. I can only guess what scheme the hot water is plotting currently, but rest assured, you will hear of it when it happens. Until then, I think I will make the most of having a working dishwasher and reasonably pleasant showers!

All Dressed Up And No Place To Go

I love dressing up, especially when it's fancy. Not fancy as in the dress associated with the eponymous parties, but dressing up in flash looking clothes and generally looking snazzy. Not to say I look particularly dashing or anything, but there is an innate satisfaction in wearing good-looking clothes. I don't go overboard either- fancy for me is a nice shirt with a collar and maybe some cuff links etc. If I'm really lucky, perhaps a tie too!

For some, this sort of dress is very regular and boring. Those people normally have to wear formal dress for work or functions, which can take the fun out of dressing up. It's like school uniforms- you hate them because you always have to wear them. I really liked wearing our school's formal uniform, because it was nice but importantly, we didn't have to wear it too often. This meant it still gave that satisfaction of looking a bit more special than usual. In fact I loved it because it was the last time I really got a chance to wear a tie. Ties are great!

Human beings often define themselves by what they wear; when we have to wear formal clothes by some inherent obligation, it is not so much our choice and we are limited in our expressiveness. There are those, however, who still manage to be expressive within the confines of a 'dress code.' They can come across as a little eccentric though. It's when we choose to dress up and look flash that really speaks volumes. And like I said, I love the opportunity to dress up. 

Yesterday was one such occasion;  it was an informal singing recital for my teacher's pupils, but I still took the chance to wear a smart-looking shirt and generally to take pride in my appearance. On the way there I had to stop for petrol and it wasn't until I was inside the station that I realised I was a bit over-dressed for your local Otahuhu shop. I decided I wasn't going to be embarrassed though, since I took pride in my appearance and looked nice. And so I should! But you wouldn't go around in public dressed up like that for no reason- that would be a little strange!

Not too shabby!

Singing competitions are great for dressing up; obviously the girls can, and do, go a lot further in terms of 'showing off.' Dresses provide a much greater scope for creativity and expression, though this can sometimes backfire. Men are a bit more subtle; the neat yet impressive look is the one I truly prefer. I like to think of myself as looking rather suave, in a Sean-Connery-as-James-Bond sort of way, though I am sure in this I am rather misguided. Nonetheless the intention is there! 

I haven't yet got the wearing suits stage; I can remember when my brother came back from a year in the UK, where they had been the absolute norm; it took some time for us to get used to his frequent wearing of suits and for him to stop wearing them so much! When I do need a suit, I know I can borrow one of his many jackets without worrying about getting my own. I suppose soon I should invest in one of these and my whole dressing up experience will go up a level. I certainly enjoyed wearing proper hired suits for school balls, those were very flash. 

For the future, I do hope my life will not reach the stage where dressing up is more like a chore than a bit of fun. I think whatever happens, I will keep enjoying it because I am one to enjoy things I do in life. You may have a different opinion on the matter, but that's up to you. I say you should enjoy every opportunity to look nice and make the most of it!

My Life In Sport: Running

Oops I did it again. I apologise immediately for that terrible allusion. But seriously, I went out running again today. The idea is a good one in my mind. That is, if I ignore practically every realistic implication of the activity. It's not like I have an excuse to be unaware of these; I have a long and painful history with the 'sport.'

Since time immemorial, my body has found the idea of propelling itself at any rate faster than a walk to be turpitudinous. In an effort to convince me of this view, it resists by any and every means at its disposal. Soon enough it has turned my lungs to lead, stabbed me beneath the ribs and makes the mere lifting of a limb nigh on impossible. Finally, my mind gives in and I stop. I stand there panting and straining, covered in sweat, feeling sick and wondering what on earth ever possessed me to do this in the first place. 

In times gone by, however, giving up was not an option. And this is where I begin my rant about that most cruel and degrading invention of sadistic schoolmasters, the Cross Country. I hate it. I was introduced to the concept at an early age; fortunately they weren't so arduous then and I even managed to be sick for one of them. As Primary school went on though, the course became longer and I became wider- a disastrous combination. My efforts to avoid them increased, though this energy might have been better spent actually training. But there was to be no helping me. 

By the time Intermediate school came along, I was well and truly a rounded individual- literally. For our orientation day they made us do a run- how nice was that? Needless to say even over that short distance I struggled badly! In my first year I nearly died from a coughing fit on the Cross Country; or at least I started coughing and thought that if I kept going maybe they would let me stop running. Didn't work I'm afraid. By the time I got back to my class to get changed everyone had gone home! Added to the Cross Country were Aquathons, which I previously wrote about. Just when you thought running couldn't get any worse, they made you swim beforehand... Come Year 8 I had had enough of all of this and took the day off sick when Cross Country came along. This wasn't easy for me since my father was a teacher and very strongly resisted the idea of 'playing hooky.' Somehow or other I managed to convince him to let me stay home, which was a small mercy to say the least. 

Then came Secondary School. Not only did we have to run the cross country, but we also had to do house runs in preparation and run the course in PE as well. In my first year at King's I was still very round and slow; I somehow managed to survive the house runs, but that year's Cross Country was by far the worst. I fell behind early on and was already at the back when I approached the 'bog.' Not only had everyone else run through it already but the staff member on duty was none other than Jules Robson and his faithful dog Gubbins. So I was pretty keen to get out of there, but alas when I came out the other side it was sans my shoes- not good. For the life of me I can't remember whether I went and got them again or took my socks off and went barefoot- either way it seemed to take forever and I could never have caught up to anyone. So I was doomed to come last. Though from memory quite a few of the other potential candidates for last place happened to be away that day from school...

The next year I had the benefit of having become taller and thus slimmer. This made the runs somewhat easier, but unfortunately for our house, our hockey-dominated seventh form group decided we should all do the 1st XI training run, also known as the 'Brewery Block.' This meant running out of the gates, down Hospital Road, left at the big palm tree and left onto Great South Road, past the DB Brewery, left onto Mangere Road and finally back down Golf Avenue. For those of you lucky enough not to be familiar with the geography of South Auckland, that is an insanely long distance to run, something like 7km. Not to mention that it meant sending kids out alone into the middle of the most dangerous part of Auckland. Anyway we all managed to survive, with the help of some seniors driving past in a car to shout at us if we were walking. 

Come Cross Country I was determined not to come last and I finished well ahead of several people, thank god. In fact, never again was I to come last in any race. Not that I did well at all, I just didn't come last. I was lucky that I was a year younger than people in my year because the different distances were determined by age not year. Year 11 and 12 went by in much of the same fashion, though never again did we run the Brewery Block. There were runs before school, after school and even during lunchtimes. In the end, it was never going to make much of a difference with me. In my last year I decided that I would go and join in with my Housemaster's soccer team's practice instead of doing a run. I equated the two activities in terms of physical exertion and in fact the soccer took longer, but I actually enjoyed it. I even scored a goal once.

Cross Country in Year 13 marked the end of being made to go running by anyone with power over me. And it was not until very recently that I did start running again. I don't know why, all things considered, but I guess it can't be bad for me. I guess it would be a shame to waste the opportunity when you live right next to a world-class running track after all! Plus now I can listen to music when I run, which is one of my most favourite things to do at the moment and makes the experience somewhat enjoyable. 

Unfortunately I am still not very good; my father once described my running as 'moving up and down on the spot without really going anywhere.' It seems little has changed. But I think I will persevere, as long as I have the time and motivation to do it. You never know what you might end up running from one day...

Uptime

This last week has been very hard for me; it hasn't been easy, but I have managed to free myself. For years now it we've been nigh on inseparable but I bit the bullet and decided it was time to move apart. It wasn't anything drastic and we will still spend lots of time together, but no longer will my day begin and end with it. My computer has a place in my life, but that is no going to bed with me! For the last five nights, I have slept with it in a different room. It doesn't have to be that bad, but to start with it is necessary to avoid temptation. I think tonight I will let it stay in my room with me. But it will not be coming to bed with me and sleeping next to me.

On the topic of my computer, the last time you heard about it had just upset me greatly. It had decided that charging its battery was just too much like hard work and now it lasts for about ten minutes. I've learned to live with that and now wherever it goes, it is also plugged in. The other day I was trawling the depths of the internet and came across an article about uptime. This is a neat stat to show how long it has been since you last shut down your computer. Further than that, you can get detailed information about your computer's history of crashing etc. Naturally I was interested in this because it is a nice combination of statistics and every day life, so I thought I should check mine out.

I was certainly surprised to see the result! Looking back through its history, the computer had managed periods of up to 8 or 9 days without crashing or restarting. Personally, I only ever put my computer to sleep and never shut it down, so this seemed about right. Furthermore, the general consensus on the internet was this was about the most you would get. But then I looked at the current uptime and was shocked. At the time, it read 45 days. It now reads 60. While I initially couldn't figure this out, I thought a bit harder and looked back 45 days in the calendar. Though that didn't help as such, it gave me an idea. I came on here, looked at the post I mentioned above and sure enough, it was from 45 days before!

So it clicked- since the battery had given out, the computer hadn't crashed or been shut down. And when I thought about it, that was right! It has been very well behaved in the last two months since my letter. Of course, one might explain it away with the idea that being plugged in the whole time would explain the exceptional performance. But it's nice to think that it has been trying to be nice to me since that very sad letter!

Anyway, thinking rationally it does seem as though rather ironically the battery giving out has improved its performance, because it always has a full power source. I started to think a bit outside the square and consider how this might apply to our own lives. And it seems quite simple- things tend to go wrong with people when we are at our worst, when we are running on empty. Work, stress and a lack of sleep run us down and put us in our most vulnerable state. While the first may not be avoidable, the other two are. We choose to stress ourselves out; I am one who does not like to get stressed about much. In fact, I often go out of my way to relax rather than study before an exam. As for lack of sleep, that is a matter definitely up to us. Too often we sacrifice a good night's sleep for something pointless and trivial. And that's criminal; if we choose to run on empty, we choose to bring bad things into our lives.

So that's why the computer and I are going our separate ways at night. It's all too easy to sit there online until the small hours of the morning for no reason. No more! I'm going to be sleeping properly and by myself! In the words of the immortal Billy Joel-

Either way, it's ok, you wake up with yourself

This Is Not An Allegory

Once upon a time there lived a little bear in the big wood named Ben. He lived with his Mummy and Daddy and had a happy life. Every day he would go out and play in the wood with his friends. He didn't have a worry in the world. He always looked up to his parents and adults, who always seemed happy and cheerful to see him.


One year Ben got a pair of shoes for his birthday. The shoes were quite large and he became a lot taller when he put them on. Suddenly everything he saw was different. He no longer had to look up to adults and soon realised they were not smiling and happy. They were unhappy and angry. They were no longer cheerful when they saw him. 


None of his friends had shoes of their own yet, so he was always looking down on them. Eventually some other bears got shoes as well and they formed their own group of friends. They no longer played with the bears who didn't have shoes or whose shoes were too small. They always looked down on them because they were taller.


Soon the bears with shoes wanted to get bigger ones, but their parents wouldn't get them for them. So they left home and went to get their own shoes. They found that they had to work to afford these shoes. They began to work hard doing jobs only the tall bears could do. This made them unhappy and angry. The shoes no longer made them happy, since everyone they knew had them.


One day the bears noticed other bears with different kinds of shoes. These were the lady-bears. They were the same bears they had played with as children, but now that they had these different shoes, they were far more interesting. Ben met a lady-bear he particularly liked, Kate, and soon they were married. Though Ben was happy to have his own lady-bear, she often made him unhappy or angry.


A few years later Kate and Ben had a little baby bear. The little baby bear made them happy and cheerful when they were with him. Other times he made them unhappy and angry but they never showed it to him. Soon their little boy began to grow and play with the other bears. He didn't have a care in the world and loved his parents very much. All the parents were happy and cheerful around their children.

Eventually the time came for Ben to give his son his own pair of shoes. He looked back at his life and it tore his heart in two. He wished that none of it had to happen. But because he knew the other bears would give their children shoes, his son would be better off with them. So he gave him a big brand-new pair of shoes to wear. Now his son was the tallest of all the little bears. He soon began to look down on the rest just like his father. Ben was no longer happy around his son. His heart had broken. He was unhappy and angry.

As his son grew, Ben aged and aged until he was on his deathbed. His son came and stood next to him, towering over him in his big shoes. Ben looked up at his son and smiled. His son looked down at him without a flicker of love or compassion. 
And Ben died in peace.

My Private War

Unbeknownst to most, I am in the midst of a hazardous and bloody war... with my household appliances. Much ink has been spilled, at least virtually, regarding the dishwasher. If you thought that saga had finished, you were much mistaken.

The last time we saw the dishwasher he was menacing with bared teeth, having recently broken down and attempted to eat me. Well, the big brave man who came to fix the dishwasher set him right. Apparently it was just a flood and water had leaked into the base; it sounds to me like he was salivating a bit too much at the thought of gorging on my carcass. Anyway, the violent gurgling and beeping disappeared and there didn't seem to be any lasting problem. The man said it was hopefully a one-off and it should be the last of our troubles.

Not this dishwasher though. Only a couple of days later, upon opening the door to fill it up, it started gurgling and beeping again. I swore profusely and quickly switched it off before it could consume me. The man was called again and soon returned. The problem was the same, but he could not seem to find anything wrong with the machine itself. Luckily he didn't charge, but it didn't give me great confidence that the issue was fixed. I think anger management or some sort of disciplinary training is what is really required. Anyway, it had a good run for a couple of days before yet again setting off this last Friday.

What is worrying is that it seems only to do it me. Each time I have been the poor unsuspecting victim of this savage attack. That is possibily explained by the fact that I am the one who has to empty and pack it, but I really think it has it in for me. What is even stranger is that it waits; it goes on at night, is perfect in the morning but waits until the afternoon or evening to play up. Very disturbing. Maybe that is when it is hungry? 

Anyway the man is coming back tomorrow. Let's hope there's something he can do, I am sick of having to wash all the plates on top of all the other dishes every night! But if you think that's my only problem, you'd be wrong. It seems the appliances have banded together to get me. The war has moved to the bathroom, where the washing machine and dryer seem to have formed a conspiracy, if not to eat me, then to ruin my life.

The Washing Machine
At Work...

The washing machine was not subtle in its intentions. Last week I innocently put my umpiring shirt on to wash, innocently forgetting to take my red pen out of my pocket. Armed with this weapon, the machine decided to extract blobs of ink out of the pen and launch them at specifically targeted spots on my shirt. The result was not pretty; however, I was able to rectify much of the damage and the shirt is ok for the most part. I will probably try and bleach the last remnants out, though it's hardly noticeable as it is. Thank goodness, since those shirts are not easy to come by and being the spendthrift I am, I wasn't keen on forking out for a new one!

The dryer has adopted guerilla tactics in the War Against Ben; it has decided to turn onto the 'airing' setting whenever it goes on. This may not seem so bad, but this makes it turn on for a few seconds every 5 minutes and then beep again. If you haven't turned the thing off, it will keep doing this. Recently it has decided to do this late at night, to deprive me of sleep until I am forced to get up and open the door so it turns off. Of course when I do this it beeps at me even louder, but finally lets me get to sleep.

Thankfully, none of the other appliances has yet taken up the attack against me. But I await the moment when the Refrigerator tries to bombard me with falling bottles or the Freezer tries to give me hypothermia. I probably shouldn't write these things, lest they get any ideas. Well, either way this is probably not the last you will hear of my private war with the appliances! Stay tuned!

First Impressions

Do you remember the first time you saw the house you lived in for years or the school you attended for seemingly an eternity? Quite often our first memories of a place will be completely different to those we come to develop over time. It's only natural that we don't take in everything on first glance. The strange thing is that because first impressions are so important, we tend to retain those first, strange memories. 

Just think about it for a moment. Try to remember the first time you drove up to your house and took in the sight. When you remember those first impressions, they will seem quite unusual. You are seeing things from a different angle; or rather, from only one. Compared to the many years of memories and experiences of the place, this initial viewpoint is extremely limited. Over time we see these places from many different angles, at different times and in much greater depth. We come to develop a universal knowledge of the place, rather than a single memory. It is like comparing a two-dimensional snapshot of something to three-dimensional mode; there just isn't the depth of detail. 

This becomes a problem when we aren't so familiar with places and need to remember them. This struck me today while I was driving back from the same Cricket ground I had been to last week. As I was heading onto the motorway, I reflected that I really couldn't remember having gone this way at all last week, though I must have. Granted the last time I was in a hurry and had other things to think of, but my recollection of that journey was quite limited. Driving is a very good example of this sort of thing; some roads we know very well, though if you think back to your first memories of coming that way it can seem very different. Likewise we simply can't retain a comprehensive memory of roads we are not familiar with in one go. 

So have a think about your thinking, remember memories and recall recollections. It will be surprising what you mind will think of! 

Armless

We'll Be Right Back...

Well it's the end of a crazy month and things are getting a little busy for now, so this might be the last post here for a while! Since I should be studying for exams, I thought I'd just give a quick look back at the last month on Quod Erat Demonstrosity...

We started with a nostalgic look back at my exploits at the French (spading) camp; the dishwasher saga continued and all looked well- until it threw yet another fit. Believe me there is more to come from that story. There were a few My Life in Sports posts- Cricket and Swimming, and a very in depth look at dictionaries. From hard books to read to hard poems to read, there was a peculiar lesson in homeoteleuton; then came the alphabetised look at Facebook users and a nice self-satirising look at blogging, in my opinion my best two posts of the month. On the shorter, lighter side there was a fake post about procrastination, a tribute to the 1000th page view and even a very brave if misguided attempt at a comic. My moral indignation at blogging atrocities lead to me write To What Lengths Will We Go? which made a small impact on the Networked Blog forum on Facebook. Finally, a couple of pieces about Halloween- before and after the legendary party. Not a bad way to finish the month I must say!

So that's all from me for now folks; I've got two exams this week as well as a big gig tonight, the inauguration of the new city council. I know people really won't mind my absence but since I feel guilty I thought I'd give you a couple of funny videos to make up for it! 

To make music lovers cringe: Orchestra Fail and Organist Fail 
And to make you laugh: Timpanist Fail


Enjoy!
Ben