Link 'o the week
Before I hit you with this one, let me just preface it by saying that I gave more than a few seconds thought to not posting it at all. Partially because it's already been posted by every man and his blog, but also partly because of it's subject matter. It's kind of a blog / online journal, posted regularly on a writer's workshop bulletin board. It details the continuing adventures of a smart, funny 31 year-old woman working as a clerk in, of all places, a pornographic video store. Sounds kinda icky? Well, yes and no.

If you think you might be offended in any way by this sort of thing, I urge you not to click. If, however, you enjoy intelligent, perceptive and witty writing, and are not likely to be put off by the occasional bemused description of her store's range of, ahem, "genre" then I promise that you will get a real kick out of True Porn Clerk Stories.

The emphasis is very much on the writer's reaction to the bizarre world in which she finds herself. The one good and the many bad customers, her occasional mistakes and her many triumphs. It's really hard not to like this woman. This is one of those journal's where you suddenly realise with sadness that you've read the entire archive and yearn for more. The last time I caught myself doing that was with Mil Millington's Things my Girlfriend and I Argue About.

And while we're talking real-life comedy classics, has everyone read The Spark's Date My Sister Project?

P.S. Save Alex!

In hell, with Fark
I know a lot of people are almost religious in their devotion to the wacky link repository that is Fark.com. I'm more of a casual devotee. I find the signal to noise ratio is quite low, and those endless requests from people to "Photoshop" a picture of the groom for an up-coming wedding shows, to my way of thinking, a decided lack of imagination. Or maybe that's just me.

Anyhow, today I popped over and found a couple of things worth sharing. The first one is mildly entertaining link to an online store specializing in what I now know to be a rather less marginal specialty area than I had previously suspected. To put it another way, they sell Fainting Goats.

Given my blog's unchallenged reputation for being Google's Number One for Virgin Goats, I now feel morally obliged to include links to any story related to the far wider social issues of Goat Modesty and Shyness.

Isn't education a wonderful thing?

The second link found at Fark pointed to a Chicago Sun-Times story which tells the story of a bus driver who was arrested for quote: "driving her bus past an elderly man." They can arrest you for not stopping a bus? Hell, that's practically a national sport here in England.

You would be amazed the length some drivers will go to "accidently" avoid noticing passengers at a bus stop. Sometimes, when you're running late, or as is more often the case, the bus itself is running late, you find yourself practically willing the driver to not notice the old lady who will spend five minutes carefully counting out her change. And then there are the times when you're standing there, arms flailing like mad, and you just know he's not going to stop. I can spot the tell-tale signs from a good 50 metres away; that sudden increase in speed, the merest hint of a wry smile on the driver's face and the casual tilt of his head in the opposite direction.

I should add that according to Chicago police there was a tad more to the arrest than just failing to stop for a customer, but why let the facts get in the way of a good story?

P.S. Save Alex!

Doin' the five
I hate to bore you kiddies, but it's Friday Five time again.

But just before we go all fivey, let me explain something. Despite all my exhortations that you should attend yesterday's Blogmeet, I myself was unable to attend. If I didn't own a dictionary I'd be tempted to call that ironic.

I'm sorry if you were expecting a write-up. I have no excuse, but those who know me can probably take a guess. First guesses are always right (and if they're not, the answer is C or X=7).

And naps always win out over everything.

[1] Where were you born? Sydney, Australia.

[2] If you still live there, where would you rather move to? If you don't live there, do you want to move back? Why or why not? No, I don't live there. Yes, I will move back one day, if only because, to my feeble way of thinking, Sydney still is the coolest place on the planet.

[3] Where in the world do you feel the safest? I feel safe pretty well everywhere. I'm not a small guy, muggers and the like tend to go for more obviously easy targets.

[4] Do you feel you are well-traveled? I'm not sure. I think most people would consider me to be well travelled, although I haven't really hit the road for a while (England and Germany excepted). I've been through most of Western (and a few choice bits of Eastern) Europe. I've visited most of the big places on the US Coasts (plus a few bits in the middle), hitchhiked the Trans-Canadian Highway, visiting places big and small along the way. In Australia, I'm ashamed to say, I've only really seen the Eastern half. Asia and Africa I have experienced largely through the magical world of airport transit lounges, except for Turkey, of which I've seen quite a bit. As far as experiencing more than the hotels or backpackers hostels of a country, I've actually lived in Australia (of course), the UK, Ireland, the US and Canada.

[5] Where is the most interesting place you've been? Always going to be a toss up between Florence and Prague. I know Prague has gotten increasingly touristy over the years, but I was there just after the wall came down, and it was like another world to me. And Florence? Well Florence is Florence, it is and always will be the Jewel in the World's crown. What's not to love?

How cool is Bunny Anya?

I love watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's one of my favourite shows. I don't know if you watch or not, but a couple of years ago they had an episode where everybody's favourite Vengence Demon, Anya, played by the delightful Emma Caulfield, admits she is terrified by the very thought or even the sight of bunnies.

For reasons far too complicated to explain, Anya spends the rest of the episode wandering around in a big pink bunny suit. Just the thought of it makes me giggle.

Anyhow, while doing some random surfing today, I discovered that toy manufacturers have now produced a Bunny Anya action figure.

I know you probably don't care, but something compelled me to share this discovery with you. I'm not proud of it.

Not again...
Just what is it about friends of mine and major air distasters?!?

First Adam flies into New York on September the tenth and was, as near as he can tell, sitting in a subway train under the World's Trade Center when the first plane hit. Then Justin moves to Germany just in time for two planes to collide over his roof. And now eleven people die in a North Sea Chopper Crash.

The eleven were on their way to the Santa Fe Monarch Oil Rig where my good friend Mark spent three months working last summer. As Mark said, "Chances are I knew almost everybody that died! Am feeling a bit weird right now!"

Me too.

Beam me up, baby!
Tonight's the night: The First International Blogger's Meetup. Just wait til the greeting card industry get their grimey little paws on this one.

Anyhow for those interested, there are two blogger Meetups in London tonight. One is some anonymous West End Starbucks, and the other, which I will be attending, is at 7pm in Pages Bar. I've heard about this place, but have never been. You can keep your Irish theme pubs, and your Olde English Real Ale pubs. Pages puts them all to shame.

That's right, Pages is England's one and only Star Trek themed pub! See ya there kiddos.

Pages Bar
75 Pages Street
Westminster
London
(Nearest Tube: Covent Garden)

Be there or be sober. Make it so.

Vikki's essay - First Kiss
On Tuesday I found that I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted to write about. Fortunately Vikki of Bus Girl fame came to my rescue with 5 suggested topics. They were:

1. first kiss
2. first time you drove a car
3. an opinion about bean burritos
4. how mud feels squished between your toes
5. your first crush

I've chosen to write about my First Kiss, although I'm not sure why. I have to be honest, it wasn't anything to write home about. I'm sure Vikki had in mind some soft focus, riverbank tale of childish innocence.

Perhaps, after a week of almost too-cute-for-words handholding, I might have snuck in that first kiss as we both watched the fireworks at a summery church picnic. I can see us now; She with her long auburn hair fluttering in a warm summer breeze. Just enough freckles to remind you of Becky Thatcher, but not so many to spoil her inevitable future as hard-nosed but glamorous TV journalist. Me, standing beside her, nervously swallowing near endless supplies of saliva, so that I might be ready to pull her face down to mine and plant one. Our parents looking on, charmed beyond words.

I wish I could tell that story, I really wish I could. I'd give almost anything for it to be true.

But it's not even close.

No, my first kiss was rather less idealistic, and quite a bit less wholesome. Just now I forget her name. When I first starting thinking about this piece, her name came straight away. Now that I come to type it, it has drifted off somewhere.

Perhaps that's for the best.

But her face? That I remember all right. It was round, had big cheeks and was always smiling; almost cheruby, you might say (is that even a word?). Her hair was a soft red and straight; not too long. She always had a ribbon or one of those bobble things in it.

I swear the girl was a walking, talking Johnson's Baby Shampoo advertisement!

She was also short and kind of slow. When I say slow, I don't mean to imply that she wasn't bright. I actually have no idea if she was smart, or kind-hearted or anything important like that. No, when I say that she was slow, I mean she couldn't run very fast. And that, as it turned out, was a crucial factor in bringing about our moment of destiny.

Sonja! Her name was Sonja! Oh god, how could I forget that?!?

I'd had my eye on that little red-haired girl for a long time. Maybe a whole week! She rocked my Seven year-old world.

The name of the game, boys and girls, was Kiss and Chase. I don't know why they called it that, because it was really more like chase and kiss. I didn't normally subscribe to that sort of behavior. Girls were icky and I had better things to do with my playlunch. Like regular Chasings or Armies or "Ant Hospital."

Then one day I saw Sonja playing Kiss and Chase, down near the library. Oh well, if it had to be, it had to be. I girded my loins, or what passed for my loins, and joined the hunt.

I honestly don't remember much about the game itself, but I'm pretty sure it was a dark vision of hell for most of those involved. My moment came when I saw Sonja getting a drink from the bubblers. I approached slowly, careful not to arouse suspicion. Suddenly her friend spotted me and screamed. Sonja made a dash for the girls toilet, but it was too late. I spread my arms wide, blocking her path, making kissie-kissie noises. The girls behind me cast some disparaging comments, but I stood my ground.

After a few moments, I decided to break the stalemate and dashed towards her. She spun and twisted by me (damn her netball training). At first I thought I'd lost my chance, but as I said, she wasn't too fast. I grabbed her arm just as she was about to enter the sanctuary of the girls toilets, pulled her towards me, enfolded her in my manly arms and...

...broke a tooth on her eyebrow as our faces bumped together.

She screamed, cried, called the teacher and pointed. I mostly just bled. I'm not sure what was redder, my chin or my cheeks.

To this day redheads make my teeth hurt.

What if that's it?
What if there's nothing left to write about? What if it's all been written? Is this the end of blogging as we know it?

No promises.

Dark Satanic mills

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

William Blake

Are calls centres the modern equivalent of Blake's Dark Satanic Mills? It's hardly an original observation, but is there anything to it?

Yes! A thousand times Yes! That is if Australia Post has anything to do with it. The Age is reporting the case of a woman, employed at Australia Post's La Trobe Call Centre, who has had the equivalent of a whopping $3000 pay reduction for, and I quote "refusing to remove a photograph of herself with friends from her desk."

Workers at this call centre were allowed to keep just three personal items on their desks. The rabble-rousing anarchist in question had four. Clearly she had to be made an example of.

I'm reminded of the story of a BT call centre employee highlighted by a Channel 4 investigation a few years ago. He lost several hundred pounds in bonuses after leaving work early. This dangerous free-thinker seemed to think that having an epileptic fit, the resultant gash torn in his forehead and being taken unconscious to hospital somehow meant he could get away with taking three hours off work.

Well, I guess BT showed him!

It's official!
Yes, folks, you can quit your worrying. According to the good people at Google, you are looking at the number one site in the world when it comes to Virgin Goats. I know a lot of you were hoping, as indeed was I, but it's good to have this thing resolved once and for all. Clearly I'm going to have to change my Blogsnob ad...

kaymc -- Number One for Virgin Goats!

...but aside from that, not a lot is going to change around here. At least not right away. I'm certainly not planning on letting this whole thing go to my head.

Anyhow, thanks for sticking with me during this difficult period.

For those of you like to link with buttons, I think now might be right time for me to jump on the bandwagon (a goat pulled wagon, of course).