Klunk.
When the Japanese engineers wanted to know what made German cars so damn good, they started with the doors. Back in the 70’s, Merc doors weighed 600kg, and required an army of Albanian sheep herders (quite accustomed to pushing resistive objects) to close. Then they made the Klunk noise. And all was good, which made them boring.

All is well on planet Souza now too. Life is busy, I have more going on than I can possibly manage with 4 limbs. This translates to lack of inspiration for diary entries.

There was one good point that I formulated this hypothesis:

The more educated a male, the less chance of success he has with the opposite sex.
This is based on a scatter-graph I have in my head:


Postulations rationalizing this flittering thought:
-Control is substantially less of a challenge with the mentally dormant.
-The hunter-gather instinct demands that brawn outweighs brain
- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, April 28, 2005 0 comments

 
Hypothesis & Fact
Hypothesis: No-one can make you, as an individual, happy. The enjoyment you experience, whether in a large group or with one other person, if merely you enjoying who you let yourself be at that time.

Rationale that follows:
You generate your own happiness. This means that you are never dependent on any person or circumstance to ever be happy.
Nobody can make you unhappy. If someone upsets you, this is a failing on your part, not just an obnoxious action on their part

So, if you ever stumble across that which eludes most over consumptive, self absorbed Westerners today, fear not. You never stumbled, you arrived, because you wanted to. And nobody led you there. Fate is that which we bring upon ourselves, the scenarios we subconsciously conjure - to learn. The suffering and sadness we endure is the mile marker to the greater good. Always finish the journey.

Fact: I saw a BMW with polished chrome wheels today. The majority of people have bad taste. Which means anything elegant can never take strength in numbers. Sigh. Well, at least the counter culture boys will be happy to be an arrogant minority.
- posted by Daniel @ Tuesday, April 26, 2005 0 comments

 
Greetings from Singapore
Thursday, and James Sharpe visits. With everyone unsure of how and why he appeared, EY surfaces in a drop top, wanting to drive about town. And so we do. Lesson Number 1: if you put the heating on full, having the roof down is bareable in April.

We drop by some pub by the side of Waverley, pick up James, (Sharpe, meet EY; EY this is Sharpe) head back to the flat, dump stuff, dinner and then drinks with lots of random people from work.

Butler passed Go, did not collect $200, but was allowed to stay out for a couple of drinks. Birthday cake appears to random group at the bar, MacMillan whispers words to the effect of "Birthday Girl - wow! It's your birthday too? Can you take a photo with our Birthday Boy?" Butler immensely flattered as unknown woman jumps to the idea of getting attentions from so many random men; poses for a photo with our mock Birthday Boy. Butler was flattered to an extent which led me to worry for him.

Bell appears on the scene, with a handbag, and Sharpe declared to me that he is, in fact, Jody Owen. Owen, Sharpe fills me in, is a bloke from yesteryear, whose degree days have long since passed, and ambition has been choked by narcotics. But he was cool when I knew him! I protest. He's still working a bar, Sharpe assures me.

Drewe used to scare me, because he represents what could have been. A man so intimidated of failure that he will never try. The story goes that his ego is majestically perched upon a virtuous Bank Statement. Within the same ball park as George Soros, he assures us. Then why work? I demand to know. "Because I dont know what I want to do". I chose to interpret this as "Because I haven't found something easy that I can guarantee success with. What if I quit work, try to go run a diving school in Cairns, and fail? That won't do! People think I'm a winner here, because I have wage rises exponentially greater than them, and bury the money in the back garden, along with all my non-pecuniary hopes and dreams".
Lesson Number 2: Never be scared, and never mistake happiness for security.

Head over to the next bar, get drunk enough to reveal my identity to some woman I had been obnoxious to, via email, over a year ago. "It was YOU!!!" Once again, the sweet taste of pleasure from other people's misery.

3am: Exit the bar, head for the taxi, and manage to trip on some innocuous-when-sober step resulting in broken thumb nail, blood, and a grand dose of humiliation and embarrassment. I was that drunk who fell out of the bar.

Friday was spent zombified, drove back to the City, picked up Sharpe, picked up a parking ticket (Grrr), picked up fodder, returned home. Cooked a feast. Drunk some wine, and finally got a chance to talk. James has got life sussed - he doesn't worry. Never did. And for 2 nights, I got to hang out with someone whose social skills were refreshing - by their mere presence. The long term plan keeps him alive, he's looking at everything in its most simplistic form. Which means living with your in laws isn't a strain; he knows how to drift through it. The best is yet to come. Talking gave Lesson Number 3: Self Doubt befriended me at an early age, it is time to let him walk free.


Saturday: Wake up stupidly early, drop Sharpe at aeroporto, get back, wash car.

Smile. Today, a small slice of Daniel says: I am lucky.

- posted by Daniel @ Saturday, April 23, 2005 0 comments

 
Shorts
I shouldn't wear them, because it's too damned cold.

The weekend's excitement consisted of a Saturday night, and an exploding block of flats.









- posted by Daniel @ Monday, April 18, 2005 0 comments

 
The density of Hg
One of the most useful properties of the metal is that the density changes drastically over small temperature variations.

Today, a very annoying person, failing to deliver promised goods to his management, ensnared myself for his personal failure. He went about this in the most direct of fashions, initially blaming me, refusing to accept my disacknowledgment, instead chosing to become testy. After a few minutes of a failing attempt to placate him on the telephone, I finally lost my ability to think clearly, and capriciously blurted "None of your business". A quote which he will take, with incontainable glee, to his management, showing a clear lack of professionalism on my part, and hence declaring me culpubable for what is his own shortcoming.

If only I was smart enough, at the time, to work out what he was doing. A simple "Just tell me what you hope to achieve from this" would have been enough to napalm any ambush. At the next duel, I will win. And host a rocking party on site of his tomb.
- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, April 07, 2005 1 comments

 
Fate
If you believe in fate, you must accept the notion that everything happens for a reason, and all things help you learn and develop as a person. Today I realised why I can never win the lottery. I have nothing to gain from it. I know exactly what I would do, and it would not aid my character in any way. Hence fate does not allow me to win. That, and the fact that I don't buy a ticket.
- posted by Daniel @ Wednesday, April 06, 2005 0 comments

 
Sharpe gets married
EDI-FRA-PRG, walk outside to catch the bus into town, turn around to look for a bus ticket vending machine. As I walked over to the ticket machine, I forgot to take my suit-bag with me, just my main bag. Consequently, some scum-of-the-earth taxi driver is now wearing my tailored cashmere suit, and two of my favourite shirts. I hope the arms are too long, and the trousers too tight for him. Some time was spent in frustration running between left luggage departments, in the vain hope that someone has handed it in, rather than lifted it, before I got on the 119 and headed into town.

The person sitting next to me on the metro looked local (Nikola), so I asked for a suggestion on where to get a cheap suit. Got a good description on how to get to some store, felt more cheery, and left the metro to change lines. I took one step onto the first escalator I could see, and looked up to about 5 stories worth of travel - it had to be heading for the surface, and it was too late to turn. Only one thing for it, belt it to the top of the stairs, and run back down again. Finally at the top, and a little out of breathe, I bore the look of the tourist, who stationary body obstructs the gangway of every irritable city commuter, who clutches a map and turns to the sky for directions. And then Nikola appears, panting and wheezing,
after chasing me up the escalator to tell me I've gone the wrong way. Feeling ashamed of her fellow Czechs for stealing my suit; she felt that an extra effort was needed to reprieve the people of her country from the many scorns that I was doubtlessly bestowing upon them. Eventually, she led me all the way to the shop, then lunch, and a walk around the city. Depart company. One of the most pleasantly innocent encounters I have had with a random person, and something that is rare beyond the realms of travel.

Feeling good, and head to the Café Slavia to wait for the German, after quick snappy-happy photo tour of Prague. Café Slavia - a delightful artsy modern café served a cup of melted chocolate with a healthy dose of Stroh-style rum. Fabulous. Drink beer, meet Hasilik, drink beer. We thenwalked down the road to discover a picture of the Czech Prime Minister


Then beer, meet Rit, beer, and jump on the train to Valleske. The Czech transport infrastructure is superb. The trams are frequent and quiet, the metro is quick and clean, and the trains run on time. Which means we pulled into Valleske at 1am, jumped into a cab and emerged at Hotel Eroplan, Rosnov. The final destination, some 32 hours in the waiting. Collapse in bed. Woken up by Probst an hour later, who appeared with stories concerning a drive from Vienna to Rosnov, via Zagreb. It appears that his wife had a Bridge game she couldn't postpone.

The next morning we all head downstairs, hungry for value for money from the buffet breakfast. Back to the room, Hasilik in chords, Rit in Boss, and me in my shiny, newly procured synthetic attire. Perhaps my memory of Rit had softened over the years, as I was overwhelmed once more by his keenness towards being IN. Boss suit, shirt, belt, and everything still paid for by daddy. He always scares the hell out of me, because he really does represent a part of me that is still so reliant upon my father, that I am compelled to reject for no other reason than the psychological disposition of a father figure and self determination. All equating to that basest of all emotions: pride. Rit's dependence is unchecked.

Finally meet James outside the mayor's office, looked suitably pomp for his wedding. With a dramatic weight loss since Singapore, Probst's analysis was "a smug, middle-aged driver of a Mondeo". I couldn't disagree. Hana and James have both given up smoking. My compliments. And then into the town hall for a civil service. Hana walks in, looking beautiful, and delightfully on time. Probst can't stop himself, and offers me a 10 euro per minute spread on the service lasting 29 minutes. I accept, going short, without money. I won.

Head back to the hotel and wait for the bride and groom to undertake a traditional sweeping of broken crockery. I wasn't told what this was supposed to represent, but I did take a certain degree of pleasure in watching James crouching with brush and pan, as people booted the fragments of smashed plate from across the patio.

A massive lunch, and some mingling. Aussie bloke opposite us was astounded to hear that Probst had already retired age 26. It's not really gambling when you're making money. Or so I'm told. I was astounded to hear that he had left Oz for the first time to come to this wedding. Some folk dancing, chillout, then more food. And beer. And absinthe. And that disgusting plum stuff which could not be avoided. Then a healthy jug of whisky to wash it all down.

I remember some folk dancing, the oh-so-intrinsically wrong birdie song, lots of banter, Sam attempting to humiliate James with stories from the past. Of course, I thought long and hard about humiliating stories, and was unable think of many not involving narcotics, deviant behaviour, or anything else that a mother-in-law need not hear. And then when the music started to suck, and Sam's attempt to jack in his iPod failed, we headed over the road to the local outpost of drunken mayhem. A Czech bar. Probst decided it was too much hassle to pay for drinks, so he decided that he and I would simply buy the bar for the rest of the night. Some haggling with the bar manager, and in a decadent display of Western capitalist wealth, the DJ announced
that James Sharpe was getting married, and all drinks were free. At which point, the foreigners catapulted their way to becoming popular in Rosnov, and Rit had trouble beating nubile sorts away from him - some were even female.

Jam our way through the night, with a congo line or two, then hit the sack at 5am after chilling in Probst's room for a while drinking champers. Rit not to be seen.

Wake up at 7am with every intention of leaving early. Rit still not to be seen. Probst unable to wake up. Eventually discovered Rit, poured 2 pints of water on him, dragged him back to the bathroom to wash, and lay down for some pillow talk with Albert; discussed the previous nights shenanigans, slowly becoming envious of his lifestyle. Unemployed, qualified, professionally inexperienced. Yet patiently waiting for the next thing, age 29. It made me remember that there is so much more to life that getting a job at 16, exporting databases, counting cash, and getting drunk.

Realised that Rit had fallen asleep in the toilet for over an hour, and gave up trying to get the early train. Concocted a revised escape plan, involving a drive to some town beginning O. Said our sad goodbyes, jumped into Probst's panzerkampf, with and I drove to that town beginning with O. Then train, PRG-FRA-EDI. Bed.
- posted by Daniel @ Tuesday, April 05, 2005 0 comments