Baby names

I’ve given it careful consideration, and clearly not consulted with anyone, but I think I will name my daughter Charmin.  A name like this will immediately make my daughter interesting as people ask about her name and what a story she will have to tell.  She can tell them how her parents (i.e. her Father) named her in homage to his internet avatar name and of course from the years of service provided by toilet paper.  Depending on the audience she might even want to mention that I have never actually knowingly used Charmin, but I’m not totally crazy, I wasn’t about to name my daughter Ralphs.

 

Last day in Malaysia

Finally my last day in Malaysia. Went for my last run and dip in the pool. So relaxing to go for a nice early morning run in the park with the cars whizzing by just the other side of the bushes. Finishing your run with your head feeling like a rocket is about to explode in your head and more water is coming out of your body than a bore hole in the Sahara desert. 

And then you get to dip your toes and slowly slide your body into the almost cool blue water of the swimming pool. For a moment it is refreshing until you realise it only seems that way because your body is hotter than a Victoria Secret model, the nice ones not the super skinny “I haven’t eaten in a week” ones.  You swim up to the edge of the pool and rest your weary arms (they grow tired from all the mosquito swatting while running through the park) on the shelf to the end of the world. Relaxing and staring out down into the valley, over the lake and out across to the hills, the high-rise apartment blocks and the traffic jams below, pumping freshly squeezed greenhouse gas into the air.

There is no one around at the pool as the sun slowly edges up behind the mosque avoiding the pork and winking at the moon as it sends it packing until tonight. All you hear is the chirping of the birds, the gurgling of the fountains and the whirl of a 1000 air conditioning units.  Peace, tranquility and the overwhelming desire to get the hell out of here and go home to my life.

 

The Race

This story could be long or could be short. I could start with when my alarm went off at 3:30am scaring the crap out of me and end with my shower at 4:00pm trying to scrub my race number off my arm and my age that was tattooed onto my right calf. Alternatively I could give you the whistle stop tour of the key highlights and stick to the more amusing events of the day.  I guess you will just have to read on and decide for yourself which it is.
 
Well the fun all began with the early morning drive to downtown Los Angeles and the Staples Centre where the race was due to finish.  We were to park there and then catch a shuttle bus to Venice Beach  for the start of the race. On the 30-40 minute drive I could sense a little trouble brewing down in my stomach. That’s all I need, a runny tummy.  By the time we enter downtown I am getting desperate.  Of course the roads are all closed off for the race and we have to drive in an enormous circle to get to the parking, adding another 15 minutes of agony to my every increasing battle taking place down below.  As we park the two of us bolt for the parking garage toilets, 3 floors up, only to find they are locked.  Are you kidding me?? Now what? The hotel across the street. We take off running, but the entrance is around the corner. Finally get there and find the toilets and they are cleaning the men’s room. The cleaner takes one look at my face and tells me to go ahead.  There were no skid marks on the toilet seat, but there were skid marks across that nice clean floor after I skidding into the stall.
 
Down at the beach we are all suited up in our wetsuits, the beach looked like it was covered in a moving oil slick with all our black bodies.  I turn around to head towards the start of the 1.5km swim and I see a guy down on one knee on the beach proposing to his girlfriend (well I am presuming that, but it seems to be a fair assumption).  She jumps in joy in her tight wetsuit and he starts showing off the ring.  All the girls around me start ooing and ahhing.  I’m guessing she didn’t wear the ring during the race.  The swim leg of the race is rather amusing.  All these black bodies in the water that makes it difficult to see except for the occasional white foot.  And it isn’t that easy to swim in a straight line, and for some people this seems harder than others so you are constantly getting slapped, hit and doing the same to others. I got a solid elbow to the ankle at one point.  Next thing I am swimming into a guy so I look up and he is swimming right across everyone.  A few strokes later I turn my head to breath and see him heading out into the deep. That brought a big smile to my face.  The swell was fairly large drifting between 3-6 feet. On the way in to the beach I was looking forward to catching a nice wave and in the wetsuit you should be able to float nicely on top of a wave.  I hear a lifeguard shout “wave coming” and I look over my shoulder and catch it. Off I go whizzing towards the beach, well so I thought. That probably only lasted a few seconds before I got dumped over the front of the wave and went tumbling over and over. I felt something in my left leg go and thought that was the end of my race, but luckily it didn’t last. Finally I came back up and exited the water. 
 
Next was to get out my suit and into my cycling shoes, my new shoes I had ridden with once for about an hour. Once they are on you have to walk/run with your bike until you are out of the transition area before you are allowed to mount your bike.  Well it seems the combination of a hard plastic cleat and a wet transition area do not mix well. I was slipping and sliding all over the place. After I nearly went flying I had to shorten my stride.  I also got to learn that a wet cleat doesn’t want to hook into a pedal very easily either. On my first attempt I nearly went flying off the front of the bike as my left foot slid right off the peddle. The right foot wasn’t much more successful. I must have looked like I was trying to kick start a motorbike and it just didn’t want to ignite. Part of the 40 km bike ride was on a loop course.  First time around I see two dachshund looking dogs cross the road and I thought to myself why do their owners not have them leashed with all these bikes going past. Well second time around I got my answers. They were out there alone and this time they were crossing the road right in front of the guy ahead of me. He tried to go around the second dog, but in the same direction the dog was going. The dog panicked liked a scared squirrel and bolted in the other direction in front of me. Luckily I had already slowed down.  Fat lot of good the two cops were, they just sat there on their motorbikes watching the two dogs cause chaos.  About a mile or two from the bike turnaround point I passed two guys who were dressed the same, in the race sponsors outfits. When I came back around I found they had crossed the road and were buying hotdogs at a hotdog shack.  I guess the race concept of the day had been lost on them.
 
At the end of the bike leg it was the turn of my running shoes to take over and run around downtown LA.  Shortly after the start I turned left onto Grand Ave and about a mile up ahead I could see the large hill looming and crowds of people making their way up to the top.  That hill was mean and steep, but luckily no more than about 300 yards and at the top I was greeted by my old Deloitte office and shortly thereafter the famous architecture of the Disney Concert Hall where we turned around to head back down the hill, a real knee killer.  On the way down I heard a guy behind me shout to a guy going up the hill and to my dismay he confirmed I would be going up that hill one more time.  I decided it was time to push to the finish and know all that hill training I had done was going to pay off.  There were all shapes and sizes on the course.  One girl was just walking on the run route, but her makeup wasn’t out of place. I wanted to shout at her “Excuse me, but I think your eyeliner is running”, but she had headphones on. Another girl had what appeared to be oversized artificially enhanced breasts which were cocooned in a tight triathlon top that was pushing them so high up they looked like they were sitting right under her chin. I cannot confirm or deny whether or not she had any black eyes.
 
As I came down  the final stretch and towards the finish line they called out my name on the loudspeakers and I was sure they would pronounce my name wrong, but to my surprise he got it right.  Just past the finish line they had a tent with energy restoring food, but anybody could access it. As I arrive I see orange slices and am dying for food, but my path was blocked. This idiot had wondered in there with his bike and two girlfriends and they decided they were going to stand at the entrance and have a chat.  I was in not state of mind for pleasantries and told them in no uncertain terms to get out of my way. They moved out of my way faster than anyone out on the course.
 
I finished in the time I had set myself when I started training of 2h49, swim 36 mins (if there was a most improved swimmer prize I am sure I would have won it), bike 1h14 and run 51 mins, with about 7 mins in transition.  There is definitely room for improvement, but that will have to wait until next year and I still have to decide if I want to do another one. Although not as tough as  a marathon, it certainly was no walk in the park, despite the fact that some “athletes” looked like they were just going for a walk in the park. Maybe I’ll test my fragile knees on a half-marathon next, the ocean is getting too cold to be doing triathlons anyway.
 
Here is a link to the official photos and video of me from race day.
http://www.asiorders.com/view_user_event_video.asp?EVENTID=60080&BIB=560

 

Dress to depress

Nothing like a little people watching when in a foreign land.  I was at a rather upscale Japanese restaurant the other night, dressed like a sweaty hobo of course, but that is besides the point as I am here to make fun of others and not myself.  But I digress.  Into the restaurant comes this blonde gentleman, a larger than life blonde gentleman. it seems he may have been a body building champion in the over 45 age category. He was popping right out of that tight little white v-neck shirt.  Covering his legs were a pair of those “god knows why they are back in fashion” ’80’s style jeans. he had them pulled up really high on his waist so they were pulled right up his crack, not a pleasant sight.  But as my eyes slowly went down from head toe I had to do a double take on the footwear because what I thought I saw just couldn’ be true, my eyes must be deceiving me. But no it was true, he really was wearing a pair of beach flip-flops with a  pair of socks, a pair of black socks with white spots. What was he thinking?  It is over 30 (86) degrees out there and humid as hell, you do not need socks with your flip-flops.

Now I never dreamed in the same night I could possibly see anything more bazaar on the fashion front than blondie with the sandal socks, but little did I know.  Back out on the streets walking aimlessly when I spotted an incoming homing beacon. Coming towards was an elderly male, maybe around 60, wearing a nice pair of black trousers, the type you might wear to work, a pair of dress shoes and a matching belt, all perfectly normal I hear you say. But then there was the what he had chosen to cover his abdomen.  A body hugging, super tight, fast wicking, bright orange running shirt.  Amazing! What was he thinking? Besides the damage to my eyes, the only regret I had was not taking a picture. Not even the guy that walked past me with his fly so wide open you could have landed a light aircraft in there could match lighthouse man.

 

Work that core

So you want to strengthen your core, try and get that six pack, have a stomach tighter than Pete Sampras’ wallet. Well the conventional school of thought is you go to the gym, get your self a trainer and spend time working those muscles. Then there is my school of thought. I guess that would mean there are two schools of thought. My almost guaranteed solution to having the core you always wanted is a simple two step process. Step one: make yourself constipated, the how is up to you. Step two: go to the ivory throne and spend 15-30 minutes (you’ll gradually need to build up your time) and try your damnedest to push a sucker out. I think we all know which school will get results quicker.

And remember always consult your physician before embarking on any form of exercise and in the case of my program you will probably need to afterwards as well. Good luck.

 

Push the button?

Here in Hong Kong I went into a public toilet today and on the wall behind the toilet was a button with a sign underneath it “Push the button after use”. Problem was I wanted to flush the toilet before use (it had a bit of paper floating and a slightly murky water colour). I searched everywhere, but couldn’t find a before use button. And forget about a during use button, that would be a tale of science fiction. In this town where even thinking about thinking about spitting could get you a jail sentence and shacked up with drug dealers and a cell mate called Foo Fighter who tries to pimp you out, dare I push the post use button pre use? I think not.

 

In search of twin peaks

Yesterday I was on a ferry going from one seaside town south of Sydney to another even smaller seaside town south of Sydney.  On walks a young couple, a short guy by Australian standards, well any standards, but he has done well to find an equally little friend. Poor guy, she might look cute now, but have you had a good look, she is not going to age well? I suggest you meet the Mother ASAP. We have just started our trip when he sweeps in for a kiss.  Better watch out my Caucasian friend, with teeth that big your lips could be in serious danger of coming away injured. Wait I see some hand movement. They are all over the place.  He must be hunting for her breasts, has he forgotten there aren’t any? And there are children here, if you are not careful they will think it is a treasure hunt and start trying to help you.  Wouldn’t surprise me if his next fortune cookie said “You will be visiting a plastic surgeon before you are married.”  Maybe he is a surfer and he likes his women like his boards, flat and aerodynamic.

 

Reception

The receptionist here is very amusing, well to me and my small mind that is easily amused. She looks very young, but is engaged and is pretty tall, maybe 5’10”. She wears the same thing every day, a pin stripped suit skirt, a white blouse (this does appear to vary slightly), black tights and black high heel pumps. Not sure who she thinks she is kidding with the pin stripped skirt, all she seems to do is keep the kitchen and meeting rooms clean, and fill up the biscuit jars. And those pumps. She can hardly walk with them on and definitely struggles to stay upright in a Homo Erectus kind of way. She did surprise me Friday morning though, oh yes. It is casual Friday and she wore a denim skirt that very closely resembled the pin stripped suit and high heel boots. She couldn’t walk any better in the boots than in the pumps. She looks like a giraffe trying to cross the office savannah.

 

Working in Australia

I’m currently in Sydney for work and it is interesting to see how work practices and work place culture varies from country to country. When I arrived the reception was literally a hole in the wall, with no one on the other side of the hole When she did turn up she was clueless. Standing at around 6ft tall and then another 4 inches for the high heels she was like the leaning tower of Pisa in a strong wind, swaying all over the place. She takes me to my contact and introduces me with the wrong name and from the wrong country. This confused the hell out of my contact who had shockingly bad skin. It looked like he had been repeatedly attacked by an angry wasp.

At my desk I have been given for the week is a little wooden statue of a man with a gigantic penis and my desk has three women working around me. Now in Europe or the US you would probably be fired, which might explain why my desk is empty. One of the first things you always ask in a new office is where the toilets/restrooms are and where is the kitchen. I sneak into the restroom unnoticed, find myself an empty toilet and quietly drop and lock. As I look up at the closed door I see a sign on the door, with a picture. The picture is of an empty road with burnt tyre marks. The caption “Keep the skid marks for the road – use the toilet brush”. After doing the dirty I proceed to wash my hands. On the back of the restroom door are detailed instructions on how to wash your hands including when to do it, what it prevents and cute little instructional pictures. Above each faucet is a notice that this tap contains hot water that can scold. Now this is not unusual, what I found unusual was the fact that the sign was true. I burnt the crap out of my hands, literally I guess you could say, damn leaky TP.

 

Memphis Rendezvous

Friday night in Memphis and what you gonna do, but go in search of the famous Memphis BBQ.  A little tipsy birdie in the hotel tells us to scuttle down a dark alley to Rendezvous. Sounds good, just don’t follow me.  The pleasure starts with a greeting from the hostess so large her stomach is resting on the counter and so wide you’d have to tunnel through her to get your car down that street.

The wait for the delights of this enormous establishment is at least 40 minutes, but this offers up the opportunity to hang out outside in the dark alleyway with many of the other waiting patrons, the smokers and of course the mosquitoes. These are true southern mosquitoes as they are nearly as big as the locals.  It is now my favourite time, people watching time and boy is there some prime people watching to be done. 

If you are looking for Asians you are definitely looking in the wrong place, but there were two Indians who rolled in, almost literally and had to deflect with their force fields some serious stares.  They did their best to  blend in, they had very competitive guts and the one had a championship winning double chin, which combined with his short neck gave him the distinct appearance of a bull frog.  Attractive women were also in short supply, although there was one blonde of slightly above (Memphis) average appearance who was unfortunate to be wearing a dress that looked like  a skinned African antelope.  I wanted to walk up to it and stroke the fur.  Next up was a woman so large I think  she was wearing my two-man tent.

Once finally seated I had time to peruse the local customers.  I came to the conclusion that the chairs must be made extra strength as they were having to support some serious weight.  Weight so wide more hung off the chair than was supported by it. Then the single Asian walked through into our section of the restaurant. I think they keep him at the back and then pay him to walk through every now and then as he looked a bit lost.  A guy walked past wearing sandals I can only assume were hand me downs from his much larger brother as I couldn’t think of any other reason for him to be wearing sandals three sizes too big.

At least we get to leave these parts, cholesterol a little higher, but otherwise none the worse. Departing from Little Rock National Airport, yes national not international, but that doesn’t stop them making announcements in English, Spanish and French. You heard right, French for that large French population living in the area. ???