sam chalmersIs It Safe
August 2nd 2010 07:16
Soon to come, an article outlining whether or not where you might be spending your sexy dollars is safe or not.
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Sydney brothels
June 17th 2010 11:01
Sydney has a very large interest in sex, it flavours every part of our lives. There are some who don't want to have to mess around with the whole dating, talking dinner thing, and decide they'd prefer to get straight to the dirty.
For these people a brothel is the best idea, and you need to find the best one. This is where sydney brothels review comes in. This site will let you know which are the best brothels and which are the worst. Where you'll find the hottest girls, and where to avoid. Or if you are interested in something a little different then try out erotic massage sydney, you might get lucky.
Check out Really Long Link
For these people a brothel is the best idea, and you need to find the best one. This is where sydney brothels review comes in. This site will let you know which are the best brothels and which are the worst. Where you'll find the hottest girls, and where to avoid. Or if you are interested in something a little different then try out erotic massage sydney, you might get lucky.
Check out Really Long Link
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Posted By: sam chalmers - Category: Miscellany
Hot Stone Massage
June 12th 2010 10:28
Hot stone massage is long known and is administered through the tactical placement of heated stones at key pressure points on the body. It is a traditional massage modality that is performed to reduce muscle adhesions, improve blood circulation and ease tension. By the placement of heated stones at particular points like back and legs, muscles are prepared for deep tissue massage and relaxation.
The Massage sydney Therapist will administer utilizing a heated stones and rubbing your body with these stones to produce a heavenly relaxing and healing experience. The warm heat produced by the hot stones assist in relaxing the muscles. It lets the Therapist apply deep pressure. Deep tissue massage helps in reducing the stiffness of the muscles and relaxes the entire body by enhancing the blood flow. Deep tissue massage and pressure is one of the features that make hot stone therapy so popular. The massage therapy also helps in flushing out the excess of toxins from the body. A hot muscle therapy can help in reducing these ailments:
1. Muscle pains and aches;
2. Effects of anxiety and stress
3. Upper and lower back pain
4. Depression.
5. Insomnia
6. Symptoms of arthritis
7. Fibromyalgia
The hot stone massage makes use of river rocks that are smoothened by the river current with time. These stones are made of basalt and help in providing deep relaxation to the body. These stones have high iron content and are therefore able to retain heat. After storing in water they are heated to a specific temperature. This technique is very famous among those who are undergoing any kind of stress related symptoms and those who are comfortable with lighter massage strokes. The hot stone massage helps in deeper relaxation because the muscles are heated and prepared to gain maximum benefits from this therapy.
The idea of hot stone massage may sound whimsical to many but the effects of this therapy are amazing and it calms the body by redefining the blood flow and rejuvenating the soul.
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Posted By: sam chalmers - Category: Miscellany
World Youth Day!
July 3rd 2008 00:45
Sydney-siders face 'unreasonable interference' during World Youth Day
Pope Benedict will arrive in Sydney amid tight security. (Reuters, file photo: Erin Siegal)
Draconian, repugnant and unnecessary. These are just a few of the criticisms of special regulations coming into force for the upcoming Catholic World Youth Day event in Sydney.
Civil libertarians and legal experts say the regulations could see situations such as someone deemed to be wearing an offensive T-shirt being arrested and given a hefty fine.
New South Wales Police say the measures are designed simply to ensure that World Youth Day is a peaceful and happy event.
The event runs from July 15 to July 20, but from today until the end of the month the regulations come into force.
Under the regime SES and Rural Fire Service volunteers will assist police in bag checks at World Youth Day locations.
And anyone deemed to be causing annoyance could be arrested and fined up to $5,500.
New South Wales deputy police commissioner Dave Owens says the regulations do not restrict democratic rights.
"If people wish to lawfully protest, we will facilitate those protests as long as they are law abiding," he said.
"Police officers always maintain a discretion, and I expect them to use that discretion."
There have been suggestions that people could be arrested if they wear a T-shirt that promotes the use of condoms. Mr Owens refused to rule that out.
"There are individual circumstances that will have to be dealt with individually," he said.
'Repugnant'
President of the New South Wales Bar Association Anna Katzmann says she does not understand why the regulations have been brought in.
"They are repugnant for two reasons," she said.
"First of all the Government has by-passed the normal parliamentary scrutiny that would be available if they were introduced by an Act of Parliament," she said.
"Secondly they are an unreasonable interference with people's freedom of speech and movement."
She says there is a chance people could be arrested for trivial offences in the areas that have been declared as special World Youth Day zones.
"These World Youth Day-declared areas are numerous and they encompass places like Sydney University and the Opera House. Places that you and I would travel to regularly, not just churches or church schools," she said.
New South Wales Council of Civil Liberties president Cameron Murphy says he is opposed to the proposed measures.
"A police officer may find someone's T-shirt annoying and on that basis issue them with a fine," he said.
"That sort of thing is likely to escalate any problems that occur rather than prevent them."
The Greens have joined civil libertarians and the Bar Association in calling for the regulations to be cancelled.
Based on an AM report by Barbara Miller.
Pope Benedict will arrive in Sydney amid tight security. (Reuters, file photo: Erin Siegal)
Draconian, repugnant and unnecessary. These are just a few of the criticisms of special regulations coming into force for the upcoming Catholic World Youth Day event in Sydney.
Civil libertarians and legal experts say the regulations could see situations such as someone deemed to be wearing an offensive T-shirt being arrested and given a hefty fine.
New South Wales Police say the measures are designed simply to ensure that World Youth Day is a peaceful and happy event.
The event runs from July 15 to July 20, but from today until the end of the month the regulations come into force.
Under the regime SES and Rural Fire Service volunteers will assist police in bag checks at World Youth Day locations.
And anyone deemed to be causing annoyance could be arrested and fined up to $5,500.
New South Wales deputy police commissioner Dave Owens says the regulations do not restrict democratic rights.
"If people wish to lawfully protest, we will facilitate those protests as long as they are law abiding," he said.
"Police officers always maintain a discretion, and I expect them to use that discretion."
There have been suggestions that people could be arrested if they wear a T-shirt that promotes the use of condoms. Mr Owens refused to rule that out.
"There are individual circumstances that will have to be dealt with individually," he said.
'Repugnant'
President of the New South Wales Bar Association Anna Katzmann says she does not understand why the regulations have been brought in.
"They are repugnant for two reasons," she said.
"First of all the Government has by-passed the normal parliamentary scrutiny that would be available if they were introduced by an Act of Parliament," she said.
"Secondly they are an unreasonable interference with people's freedom of speech and movement."
She says there is a chance people could be arrested for trivial offences in the areas that have been declared as special World Youth Day zones.
"These World Youth Day-declared areas are numerous and they encompass places like Sydney University and the Opera House. Places that you and I would travel to regularly, not just churches or church schools," she said.
New South Wales Council of Civil Liberties president Cameron Murphy says he is opposed to the proposed measures.
"A police officer may find someone's T-shirt annoying and on that basis issue them with a fine," he said.
"That sort of thing is likely to escalate any problems that occur rather than prevent them."
The Greens have joined civil libertarians and the Bar Association in calling for the regulations to be cancelled.
Based on an AM report by Barbara Miller.
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Posted By: Troy McNaughton - Category: Rants, Chai, Paraphernalia, Inner West, CBD, North Shore, North West, West, South, Miscellany, Food
Oxford Street--What Happened?
January 23rd 2008 01:46
What happened to Oxford Street?
Recently, the Sydney Morning Herald published the conclusions of a report lamenting the decline of Oxford Street. The report, commissioned by the City of Sydney, found that crime, alcohol-fuelled violence and gay-bashings are discouraging large sections of the public from visiting.
I’m not out late enough to be worried by any of the area’s crime. Sadly, lots of things discourage me from visiting even during the day. Things like:
• Beggars. The same sorry individuals eternally whining for your spare change after they’ve blown their dole money on booze and drugs. ‘Scuuuuuuuuse me……’
• Straight Male Wankers. Groups of open-shirted, gold-chained young men, intent on an evening of clubbing. Frequently pumped up on drugs, they stride down Oxford Street radiating angry, bristly machismo, ready to fistfight anyone who mistakenly assumes they’re gay. By the end of the evening, they’ll be too smashed to score the pussy that they came in search of. They will spend Monday morning at the used car yard where they work bragging about how much they vomited.
• Straight Female Wankers. Chattering nervously and wearing skimpy clothes even if they’re fat, these Paris Hilton wanna-bes can be spotted shrieking into their mobile phones and attempting to text message with their horrid fake fingernails. They will spend Monday tittering with their fellow shop assistants about the Straight Male Wankers who stared at their boobs/grabbed their arse/vomited on their designer handbag.
• Bad takeaway. Clubbers seeking sustenance at 3 a.m. after a boozy night tend not to be terribly choosy. Shrewd owners of fast-food outlets realise this, and start serving inferior-quality food. Anyway, the Straight Wanker crowd doesn’t have sophisticated food preferences even when they’re sober.
The report wistfully concluded that Oxford Street had ‘lost its mojo’. I agree. A more precise diagnosis might be that Oxford Street has become a victim of its own success. Oxford Street became known as a place that was edgy and interesting. Straight Wankers who want to be interesting, and think that being interesting is something that can be bought, began frequenting Oxford Street. Landlords, finding that it is more profitable to rent to high-volume businesses, raise rents. Small, unique businesses like The Pop Shop are forced out. Tawdry clubs flourish.
I still like Oxford Street. There aren’t many other places in Sydney where you can
do your weekly grocery shop at 11:00 pm. But I regret the passing of places like The Albury Hotel, which I first visited on a blistering summer day in 1994. My then-boyfriend, a Manly native who rarely ventured south of the Bridge, took us in for a beer, not realising it was a gay venue. The pretty bartender handed my boyfriend his change, then squeezed his hand and winked suggestively.
My boyfriend and I had a laugh. We realised that were out of place, but knew we were welcome. My boyfriend wasn’t offended by the gay pass. The gay bartender wasn’t annoyed that a straight couple came into a gay business. Could a similar scenario happen now? I don’t think so, and it makes me sad.
Recently, the Sydney Morning Herald published the conclusions of a report lamenting the decline of Oxford Street. The report, commissioned by the City of Sydney, found that crime, alcohol-fuelled violence and gay-bashings are discouraging large sections of the public from visiting.
I’m not out late enough to be worried by any of the area’s crime. Sadly, lots of things discourage me from visiting even during the day. Things like:
• Beggars. The same sorry individuals eternally whining for your spare change after they’ve blown their dole money on booze and drugs. ‘Scuuuuuuuuse me……’
• Straight Male Wankers. Groups of open-shirted, gold-chained young men, intent on an evening of clubbing. Frequently pumped up on drugs, they stride down Oxford Street radiating angry, bristly machismo, ready to fistfight anyone who mistakenly assumes they’re gay. By the end of the evening, they’ll be too smashed to score the pussy that they came in search of. They will spend Monday morning at the used car yard where they work bragging about how much they vomited.
• Straight Female Wankers. Chattering nervously and wearing skimpy clothes even if they’re fat, these Paris Hilton wanna-bes can be spotted shrieking into their mobile phones and attempting to text message with their horrid fake fingernails. They will spend Monday tittering with their fellow shop assistants about the Straight Male Wankers who stared at their boobs/grabbed their arse/vomited on their designer handbag.
• Bad takeaway. Clubbers seeking sustenance at 3 a.m. after a boozy night tend not to be terribly choosy. Shrewd owners of fast-food outlets realise this, and start serving inferior-quality food. Anyway, the Straight Wanker crowd doesn’t have sophisticated food preferences even when they’re sober.
The report wistfully concluded that Oxford Street had ‘lost its mojo’. I agree. A more precise diagnosis might be that Oxford Street has become a victim of its own success. Oxford Street became known as a place that was edgy and interesting. Straight Wankers who want to be interesting, and think that being interesting is something that can be bought, began frequenting Oxford Street. Landlords, finding that it is more profitable to rent to high-volume businesses, raise rents. Small, unique businesses like The Pop Shop are forced out. Tawdry clubs flourish.
I still like Oxford Street. There aren’t many other places in Sydney where you can
do your weekly grocery shop at 11:00 pm. But I regret the passing of places like The Albury Hotel, which I first visited on a blistering summer day in 1994. My then-boyfriend, a Manly native who rarely ventured south of the Bridge, took us in for a beer, not realising it was a gay venue. The pretty bartender handed my boyfriend his change, then squeezed his hand and winked suggestively.
My boyfriend and I had a laugh. We realised that were out of place, but knew we were welcome. My boyfriend wasn’t offended by the gay pass. The gay bartender wasn’t annoyed that a straight couple came into a gay business. Could a similar scenario happen now? I don’t think so, and it makes me sad.
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Posted By: Mitchell Hooter - Category: Rants
Be a Sydney Real Estate Copywriter!
January 15th 2008 07:15
Be a Sydney Real Estate Copywriter!
Sick of unpaid blogging? Sydney’s booming housing market offers a career opportunity for writing enthusiasts. Take a look at your local realo’s printed glossy advertising vehicle, or domain.com. You don’t even need a command of English to crank out this kind of copy—one ad boasted that the unit was located in a ‘sort-after’ area—just an affinity for frogshit.
I nearly choked on my coffee when I spotted an ad for the North Sydney rental dump I used to live in. The author shows an astounding talent for euphemisms and flowery adjectives worthy of Mills & Boon.
Why should someone else get paid to do this? Why not me? I’ve decided to give it a try…
Rooty Hill ambience, Liberal voter postcode!
Late Victorian gem, chopped into three flats by an enterprising landlord with a passion for DIY and a jones for illegal wiring.
Nestled between the shabby gentility of Flat 1 (sweeping view of blocks of flats with sweeping harbour views) and the edgy cool of Flat 3 (al fresco shower and loo in weed-choked courtyard), Flat 2 offers the discerning tenant the following prestige amenities:
•Vintage kitchen appliances: H.G. Palmer fridge featuring solid ice block freezer compartment; Metters Slimline stove with ornamental toaster tray, non-functional burners, and heritage bits of dried egg
•Wall-to-wall carpet in trendy Rental Brown; bathroom tiles in Barf Camouflage
•70s Orgasmatron shower unit drains freely into the sewer, without the encumbrance of a water seal. During hot showers, the odour of steaming effluvia adds an exotic Calcutta vibe to this charming retro element
•Handy proximity to Kirribilli’s premium-priced eateries
•Nearby coffee shops with outside tables offer ample opportunities for public preening
•Distinguished demographic: from the P.M. in Kirribilli House, to the colourful denizens of Greenway Public Housing, to the wanker who roars down Carabella Avenue in his red Ferrari, this neighbourhood truly has it all!
A short stroll to the Telstra payphone, the Australia Post box, and all the varied pleasures of this enviably chic and oh-so-exclusive area. Ring 0400 SUC KER for a guided tour. (Those with impeccable references need only enquire.)
Sick of unpaid blogging? Sydney’s booming housing market offers a career opportunity for writing enthusiasts. Take a look at your local realo’s printed glossy advertising vehicle, or domain.com. You don’t even need a command of English to crank out this kind of copy—one ad boasted that the unit was located in a ‘sort-after’ area—just an affinity for frogshit.
I nearly choked on my coffee when I spotted an ad for the North Sydney rental dump I used to live in. The author shows an astounding talent for euphemisms and flowery adjectives worthy of Mills & Boon.
Why should someone else get paid to do this? Why not me? I’ve decided to give it a try…
Rooty Hill ambience, Liberal voter postcode!
Late Victorian gem, chopped into three flats by an enterprising landlord with a passion for DIY and a jones for illegal wiring.
Nestled between the shabby gentility of Flat 1 (sweeping view of blocks of flats with sweeping harbour views) and the edgy cool of Flat 3 (al fresco shower and loo in weed-choked courtyard), Flat 2 offers the discerning tenant the following prestige amenities:
•Vintage kitchen appliances: H.G. Palmer fridge featuring solid ice block freezer compartment; Metters Slimline stove with ornamental toaster tray, non-functional burners, and heritage bits of dried egg
•Wall-to-wall carpet in trendy Rental Brown; bathroom tiles in Barf Camouflage
•70s Orgasmatron shower unit drains freely into the sewer, without the encumbrance of a water seal. During hot showers, the odour of steaming effluvia adds an exotic Calcutta vibe to this charming retro element
•Handy proximity to Kirribilli’s premium-priced eateries
•Nearby coffee shops with outside tables offer ample opportunities for public preening
•Distinguished demographic: from the P.M. in Kirribilli House, to the colourful denizens of Greenway Public Housing, to the wanker who roars down Carabella Avenue in his red Ferrari, this neighbourhood truly has it all!
A short stroll to the Telstra payphone, the Australia Post box, and all the varied pleasures of this enviably chic and oh-so-exclusive area. Ring 0400 SUC KER for a guided tour. (Those with impeccable references need only enquire.)
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Posted By: Mitchell Hooter - Category: North Shore
NYE Sydney--where's the best place to be?
January 6th 2008 03:21
You would think that Kirribilli, with its proximity to the Harbour Bridge, would be the perfect spot to spend New Year's Eve. It is, if you have a unit with a harbour-facing balcony. But in years past, I've often had to batten down the hatches of my ground-floor unit, stay indoors, and miss the fireworks. Why?
--Throngs of bogans clogging the trains and ferries
--Bogan single mothers with two or three screaming children in tow
--Drunken bogans throwing/smashing/pissing into their empty beer bottles
--Aggro/drug-affected bogans swearing/leering/disrobing
God, how I envied the champagne-sipping yuppie snots perched on their balconies, watching the fireworks far above the unruly proles.
This year was different. Police blocked off the neighbourhood and performed bag searches, letting no BYO alcohol or glass into the area after noon. Kirribilli was crowded, but not dangerously so. And the crowds were generally well-behaved. Three North Americans did climb on top of the Beulah Street ferry shelter, strip to their shorts, and jump into the Harbour to the cheers of their fellow travellers, but no one got hurt. One tipsy young man was loudly recounting some sexual adventures, but when he caught my eye, he apologised and wished me a happy new year.
I watched the nine o'clock and the midnight fireworks from different vantage points near the water--one with a view of the Opera House, one with a view of the Bridge. Between the two observation points, I got a complete view of the show without being squashed in a crowd.
New Year's morning, there were a few broken bottles and some rubbish, but this was easy to ignore. An atmosphere of celebration and goodwill lingered. Fitness buffs wished me a happy new year as they jogged past my front verandah as I sipped my first coffee of 2008.
Where were you on NYE? Was it good? Bad? Overrated?
--Throngs of bogans clogging the trains and ferries
--Bogan single mothers with two or three screaming children in tow
--Drunken bogans throwing/smashing/pissing into their empty beer bottles
--Aggro/drug-affected bogans swearing/leering/disrobing
God, how I envied the champagne-sipping yuppie snots perched on their balconies, watching the fireworks far above the unruly proles.
This year was different. Police blocked off the neighbourhood and performed bag searches, letting no BYO alcohol or glass into the area after noon. Kirribilli was crowded, but not dangerously so. And the crowds were generally well-behaved. Three North Americans did climb on top of the Beulah Street ferry shelter, strip to their shorts, and jump into the Harbour to the cheers of their fellow travellers, but no one got hurt. One tipsy young man was loudly recounting some sexual adventures, but when he caught my eye, he apologised and wished me a happy new year.
I watched the nine o'clock and the midnight fireworks from different vantage points near the water--one with a view of the Opera House, one with a view of the Bridge. Between the two observation points, I got a complete view of the show without being squashed in a crowd.
New Year's morning, there were a few broken bottles and some rubbish, but this was easy to ignore. An atmosphere of celebration and goodwill lingered. Fitness buffs wished me a happy new year as they jogged past my front verandah as I sipped my first coffee of 2008.
Where were you on NYE? Was it good? Bad? Overrated?
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Posted By: Mitchell Hooter - Category: North Shore
Bad Managers in Sydney--Part Three
December 31st 2007 12:40
Bad Managers in Sydney—Part Three
Bridie O’Wiggie, Operations Manager
Bridie O’Wiggie was different from most bad managers I have met. While ambitious and occasionally ruthless, she was not power-hungry or vindictive. She was perhaps the truest example of the Peter Principle—that people are promoted to their level of incompetence.
Bridie was so unattractive that she frightened people. A firm believer in the ‘can-do’ attitude, Bridie systematically and ineptly attacked her appearance one element at a time. A creature of impulse, Bridie opted for the quick fix as opposed to the careful makeover. Bridie had teeth sticking out at crazy angles. Lacking the patience for traditional orthodontia, Bridie had her teeth capped, resulting in a mouthful of dull, squarish piano keys. Bridie’s natural ginger hair was unmanageable, so she covered it with a black wig that resembled an electrocuted cat. Her skin was the palest pale short of albino, so she periodically went for dark orangey spray-tans.
Homely but clever women often resort to fabulous wardrobes to distract attention from their looks, and Bridie spent a lot of money on her clothes. Unfortunately, her taste ran to vivid colours, busy prints, rhinestones, and outré stiletto heels, usually all in the same outfit.
Looks are unimportant. I’ve mentioned Bridie’s only because the way she dealt with hers is a perfect example of the way she dealt with everything—tremendous enthusiasm, bad judgment, and no forethought.
Bridie really tried to be a good manager. Her bookshelf was lined with titles like “The 50 Habits of Successful Managers,” books full of clichés and dumbed-down McNuggets of information designed for people like her, busy people with short attention spans who believe that for every problem, there is a quick fix.
Bridie gleaned the following ideas from her library of management theory drivel:
• A good manager has a sense of humour.
Bridie did not get jokes, but she learned to recognise from facial expression and tone of voice that a joke had been made. She would force a laugh, but only after taking a split second to send the joke through her political correctness filter.
• A good manager promotes a ‘fun’ workplace.
Bridie did not understand fun, either. Fun is essentially pointless, and Bridie never did anything without a goal in mind. But since the management manual said that employees work harder if they have fun, Bridie organised cricket matches, trivia contests, and Easter egg hunts. She never noticed that employees resented this enforced jollity, as it often meant that they would have to stay back to get their work done.
• Having a company mascot is a great idea to improve morale.
Why stop at one mascot? Bridie populated the office with several, all of them stuffed animals that made some sort of noise when you pulled a string.
• Team-building exercises foster an atmosphere of cooperation.
Bridie forced all team leaders to conduct team-building exercises with their plebs. We did. Nothing changed.
• Negative language leads to an unproductive work atmosphere.
Bridie forbade us to say ‘no problem’ or ‘no worries’ on the grounds that these ‘negative’ phrases falsely implied that our company had problems and things to worry about. (We had a 48% turnover rate. No problem!)
Would that Bridie’s shortcomings had been limited to a love of hideous clothes and goofy management theories. Unfortunately, she had an explosive Irish temper and a ‘ready, fire, aim’ style of implementing her madcap schemes.
Bridie announced that the Quality Control department would be a thing of the past. Why? Bridie decreed that ‘going forward’ (one of her favourite phrases) no one was allowed to make mistakes, therefore, Quality Control was not necessary. Bridie shouted down anyone who predicted this would not work. Once Quality Control was gone, Bridie shouted down anyone who told her it was not working. When clients started complaining about defective products, Bridie shouted at the employees who had made the mistakes. When employees quit because of the verbal abuse, Bridie shouted at the team leaders for not retaining staff. When the team leaders resigned, Bridie hired new ones and shouted at them when mistakes kept happening. Finally, Quality Control was brought back. Bridie claimed that she had been opposed to the demise of Quality Control all along, and blamed the fiasco on another manager who had left the company.
Variations of the Quality Control debacle never stopped happening. Bridie instigated many other costly disasters, and to my knowledge she was not held responsible for any of them. The Director lived on a higher plane of existence, buzzing in and out of the office with his mobile stuck to his ear, repeating ‘price per unit’ and ‘return on investment’ like a mantra. My guess is that Bridie presented him with a spreadsheet of massaged figures and distracted him with fanciful descriptions of her next master plan.
My, this post is getting long. I haven’t the space to describe Bridie’s many other displays of bad judgment and just plain lunacy. I bailed from the company when Bridie sent a lackey to our overseas branch to sort out the problems they were having with English. The lackey was a functional illiterate who failed to solve the problems and created several more. Upon her return to Australia, the lackey was promoted.
I declined an exit interview.
Bridie O’Wiggie, Operations Manager
Bridie O’Wiggie was different from most bad managers I have met. While ambitious and occasionally ruthless, she was not power-hungry or vindictive. She was perhaps the truest example of the Peter Principle—that people are promoted to their level of incompetence.
Bridie was so unattractive that she frightened people. A firm believer in the ‘can-do’ attitude, Bridie systematically and ineptly attacked her appearance one element at a time. A creature of impulse, Bridie opted for the quick fix as opposed to the careful makeover. Bridie had teeth sticking out at crazy angles. Lacking the patience for traditional orthodontia, Bridie had her teeth capped, resulting in a mouthful of dull, squarish piano keys. Bridie’s natural ginger hair was unmanageable, so she covered it with a black wig that resembled an electrocuted cat. Her skin was the palest pale short of albino, so she periodically went for dark orangey spray-tans.
Homely but clever women often resort to fabulous wardrobes to distract attention from their looks, and Bridie spent a lot of money on her clothes. Unfortunately, her taste ran to vivid colours, busy prints, rhinestones, and outré stiletto heels, usually all in the same outfit.
Looks are unimportant. I’ve mentioned Bridie’s only because the way she dealt with hers is a perfect example of the way she dealt with everything—tremendous enthusiasm, bad judgment, and no forethought.
Bridie really tried to be a good manager. Her bookshelf was lined with titles like “The 50 Habits of Successful Managers,” books full of clichés and dumbed-down McNuggets of information designed for people like her, busy people with short attention spans who believe that for every problem, there is a quick fix.
Bridie gleaned the following ideas from her library of management theory drivel:
• A good manager has a sense of humour.
Bridie did not get jokes, but she learned to recognise from facial expression and tone of voice that a joke had been made. She would force a laugh, but only after taking a split second to send the joke through her political correctness filter.
• A good manager promotes a ‘fun’ workplace.
Bridie did not understand fun, either. Fun is essentially pointless, and Bridie never did anything without a goal in mind. But since the management manual said that employees work harder if they have fun, Bridie organised cricket matches, trivia contests, and Easter egg hunts. She never noticed that employees resented this enforced jollity, as it often meant that they would have to stay back to get their work done.
• Having a company mascot is a great idea to improve morale.
Why stop at one mascot? Bridie populated the office with several, all of them stuffed animals that made some sort of noise when you pulled a string.
• Team-building exercises foster an atmosphere of cooperation.
Bridie forced all team leaders to conduct team-building exercises with their plebs. We did. Nothing changed.
• Negative language leads to an unproductive work atmosphere.
Bridie forbade us to say ‘no problem’ or ‘no worries’ on the grounds that these ‘negative’ phrases falsely implied that our company had problems and things to worry about. (We had a 48% turnover rate. No problem!)
Would that Bridie’s shortcomings had been limited to a love of hideous clothes and goofy management theories. Unfortunately, she had an explosive Irish temper and a ‘ready, fire, aim’ style of implementing her madcap schemes.
Bridie announced that the Quality Control department would be a thing of the past. Why? Bridie decreed that ‘going forward’ (one of her favourite phrases) no one was allowed to make mistakes, therefore, Quality Control was not necessary. Bridie shouted down anyone who predicted this would not work. Once Quality Control was gone, Bridie shouted down anyone who told her it was not working. When clients started complaining about defective products, Bridie shouted at the employees who had made the mistakes. When employees quit because of the verbal abuse, Bridie shouted at the team leaders for not retaining staff. When the team leaders resigned, Bridie hired new ones and shouted at them when mistakes kept happening. Finally, Quality Control was brought back. Bridie claimed that she had been opposed to the demise of Quality Control all along, and blamed the fiasco on another manager who had left the company.
Variations of the Quality Control debacle never stopped happening. Bridie instigated many other costly disasters, and to my knowledge she was not held responsible for any of them. The Director lived on a higher plane of existence, buzzing in and out of the office with his mobile stuck to his ear, repeating ‘price per unit’ and ‘return on investment’ like a mantra. My guess is that Bridie presented him with a spreadsheet of massaged figures and distracted him with fanciful descriptions of her next master plan.
My, this post is getting long. I haven’t the space to describe Bridie’s many other displays of bad judgment and just plain lunacy. I bailed from the company when Bridie sent a lackey to our overseas branch to sort out the problems they were having with English. The lackey was a functional illiterate who failed to solve the problems and created several more. Upon her return to Australia, the lackey was promoted.
I declined an exit interview.
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Posted By: Mitchell Hooter - Category: Miscellany
NYPD Pizza, Oxford St--Bring it Back!
December 22nd 2007 06:56
NYPD New York Style Pizza & Hotdogs, come back!
Another great hole-in the wall eatery has disappeared, and Sydney is the poorer for it.
NYPD Pizza, which served New York-style pizza by the slice, is gone. Gone the way of The Pop Shop and dozens of other unique businesses that used to make Oxford Street a magnet for all sorts of people, not just gays and clubbers.
Not being a foodie, I don't have the vocabulary to describe what made me regularly break a bus journey or even cross the Harbour just to get one of their monster-size pepperoni slices. The sauce was heavenly. The crust had that perfect balance of chewiness and crispiness. The two sisters who ran the place were friendly and chatty, and always remembered my usual order.
A newer pizza place has opened at NYPD's former location. Unfortunately, it has the featureless look, feel, and taste of a franchise. This is what McDonald's would do to pizza. Bland pies with bases that look pre-formed, displayed in a sterile plastic case. The sauce is tasteless and has a slimy mouthfeel. The allotment of cheese (and toppings) is so skimpy that I left feeling hungry. The slices are served too hot--let it cool or risk a blistered tongue.
At the new place, I didn't try chatting with the clerk, a dreadlocked teenager with dead eyes who burnt the first slice I ordered. She put the slice in the oven, then disappeared into the back of the shop and forgot I was there. Not that much conversation would have been possible over the noise of the offensive rap music that was playing.
To the former owners of NYPD, if you're out there, I'm holding on to my loyalty card in the forlorn hope that you will return.
Another great hole-in the wall eatery has disappeared, and Sydney is the poorer for it.
NYPD Pizza, which served New York-style pizza by the slice, is gone. Gone the way of The Pop Shop and dozens of other unique businesses that used to make Oxford Street a magnet for all sorts of people, not just gays and clubbers.
Not being a foodie, I don't have the vocabulary to describe what made me regularly break a bus journey or even cross the Harbour just to get one of their monster-size pepperoni slices. The sauce was heavenly. The crust had that perfect balance of chewiness and crispiness. The two sisters who ran the place were friendly and chatty, and always remembered my usual order.
A newer pizza place has opened at NYPD's former location. Unfortunately, it has the featureless look, feel, and taste of a franchise. This is what McDonald's would do to pizza. Bland pies with bases that look pre-formed, displayed in a sterile plastic case. The sauce is tasteless and has a slimy mouthfeel. The allotment of cheese (and toppings) is so skimpy that I left feeling hungry. The slices are served too hot--let it cool or risk a blistered tongue.
At the new place, I didn't try chatting with the clerk, a dreadlocked teenager with dead eyes who burnt the first slice I ordered. She put the slice in the oven, then disappeared into the back of the shop and forgot I was there. Not that much conversation would have been possible over the noise of the offensive rap music that was playing.
To the former owners of NYPD, if you're out there, I'm holding on to my loyalty card in the forlorn hope that you will return.
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Posted By: Mitchell Hooter - Category: Food
Shopfast--is anyone else giving up on them?
December 15th 2007 07:49
Shopfast--I give up!
When I started using Shopfast in 1999, they were great. Buy your groceries online, and pay only six dollars to have all your stuff delivered. For someone like me, who does not drive and buys lots of bottled water, it was a godsend. No more schlepping back and forth to the neighbourhood grocery with a little upright trolley, which for some reason, made people eye me with curiosity and/or suspicion. The trolley was wire, red, and purchased at a two-dollar shop in Marrickville--there was nothing inherently threatening about it. I guess the problem was that people associate trolleys with (a) stooped little old ladies carting crates of cat food back to their flat, (b) Asians going to and from Paddy's Markets, and (c) derros wheeling around their filthy blankets, newspaper clipping collections, and casks of Arkansas Jed's Fire Eagle Piss. The spectacle of a young, healthy person pulling a trolley down the footpath screams "WEIRDO" in the mind of most Australians.
Shopfast rescued me from this weekly embarrassment, and had other benefits, as well. The groceries were delivered in enormous, sturdy cardboard boxes that made excellent storage containers, and came in handy during my too-frequent moves, whenever I was bounced out of a house-share. The variety of goods on Shopfast always exceeded the choice of goods at the local supermarket. Premium cat food that you can usually only buy at the vet's. Premium wine and liqueurs. South Cape feta cheese. Amazing choice of bottled water--sparkling and still, imported and domestic.
First, Shopfast replaced the deluxe delivery boxes with cheaper and less sturdy boxes, then did away with them altogether. Fair enough. You weren't supposed to keep the boxes anyway, and anything that saves the environment is good. I did feel sorry for the delivery drivers though, who had to unpack all the merchandise from the reusable plastic crates.
It was around this time that the delivery drivers started looking more rushed and harrassed. One driver told me he was quitting because Management were cramming more deliveries into time slots and demanding that he work inconvenient shifts, without increasing his pay. More work, more time-pressure, and complaints from disgruntled customers who were too stupid to assign blame where it belonged. As someone who was temping in call centres, being screamed by middle-class farts in a froth of impatient greed about the accrual of their credit card reward points, I could empathise.
Then the range of items offered narrowed. No more vet-approved cat food. Gone was my preferred brand of cheese biscuit. Oh well. I could get those items elsewhere and carry them home in my backpack. Anyway, I primarily used Shopfast for things too bulky and heavy to fit in my bicycle panniers.
Then I stopped buying milk, because the cartons delivered only had a few days to go before the use-by date. Shopfast always credited my account when I complained via email (not to the downtrodden driver), but it kept happening, so I gave up ordering milk.
Then things were frequently out of stock. Anything over a certain number of items triggered an 'unusually large quantity' flag in the minds of the Shopfast computer, which meant my bottled water orders were frequently unfilled. 'They'd be using Just In Time inventory control,' my husband sneered. 'Modern companies are run by middle-class deadshits showing off all the fancy systems they learned in management school.' In other words, the sort of people who threatened to call the Ombudsman in my call centre days when I explained that I could not reinstate the expired bonus points that they'd been hoarding for six years.
Prior to the delivery of my most recent order from Shopfast, I got an email saying that seventeen of the items I had ordered were out of stock. I called Shopfast's 1800 number, waited in the queue listening to the 'your call is important to us' recording, and explained to a weary-sounding, patient, and exquisitely polite operator that I would like to cancel the order, and that Shopfast's management needed a kick up the backside.
Guess it's time to buy a new trolley.
Does anyone else use a grocery delivery service in Sydney? Please comment below.
When I started using Shopfast in 1999, they were great. Buy your groceries online, and pay only six dollars to have all your stuff delivered. For someone like me, who does not drive and buys lots of bottled water, it was a godsend. No more schlepping back and forth to the neighbourhood grocery with a little upright trolley, which for some reason, made people eye me with curiosity and/or suspicion. The trolley was wire, red, and purchased at a two-dollar shop in Marrickville--there was nothing inherently threatening about it. I guess the problem was that people associate trolleys with (a) stooped little old ladies carting crates of cat food back to their flat, (b) Asians going to and from Paddy's Markets, and (c) derros wheeling around their filthy blankets, newspaper clipping collections, and casks of Arkansas Jed's Fire Eagle Piss. The spectacle of a young, healthy person pulling a trolley down the footpath screams "WEIRDO" in the mind of most Australians.
Shopfast rescued me from this weekly embarrassment, and had other benefits, as well. The groceries were delivered in enormous, sturdy cardboard boxes that made excellent storage containers, and came in handy during my too-frequent moves, whenever I was bounced out of a house-share. The variety of goods on Shopfast always exceeded the choice of goods at the local supermarket. Premium cat food that you can usually only buy at the vet's. Premium wine and liqueurs. South Cape feta cheese. Amazing choice of bottled water--sparkling and still, imported and domestic.
First, Shopfast replaced the deluxe delivery boxes with cheaper and less sturdy boxes, then did away with them altogether. Fair enough. You weren't supposed to keep the boxes anyway, and anything that saves the environment is good. I did feel sorry for the delivery drivers though, who had to unpack all the merchandise from the reusable plastic crates.
It was around this time that the delivery drivers started looking more rushed and harrassed. One driver told me he was quitting because Management were cramming more deliveries into time slots and demanding that he work inconvenient shifts, without increasing his pay. More work, more time-pressure, and complaints from disgruntled customers who were too stupid to assign blame where it belonged. As someone who was temping in call centres, being screamed by middle-class farts in a froth of impatient greed about the accrual of their credit card reward points, I could empathise.
Then the range of items offered narrowed. No more vet-approved cat food. Gone was my preferred brand of cheese biscuit. Oh well. I could get those items elsewhere and carry them home in my backpack. Anyway, I primarily used Shopfast for things too bulky and heavy to fit in my bicycle panniers.
Then I stopped buying milk, because the cartons delivered only had a few days to go before the use-by date. Shopfast always credited my account when I complained via email (not to the downtrodden driver), but it kept happening, so I gave up ordering milk.
Then things were frequently out of stock. Anything over a certain number of items triggered an 'unusually large quantity' flag in the minds of the Shopfast computer, which meant my bottled water orders were frequently unfilled. 'They'd be using Just In Time inventory control,' my husband sneered. 'Modern companies are run by middle-class deadshits showing off all the fancy systems they learned in management school.' In other words, the sort of people who threatened to call the Ombudsman in my call centre days when I explained that I could not reinstate the expired bonus points that they'd been hoarding for six years.
Prior to the delivery of my most recent order from Shopfast, I got an email saying that seventeen of the items I had ordered were out of stock. I called Shopfast's 1800 number, waited in the queue listening to the 'your call is important to us' recording, and explained to a weary-sounding, patient, and exquisitely polite operator that I would like to cancel the order, and that Shopfast's management needed a kick up the backside.
Guess it's time to buy a new trolley.
Does anyone else use a grocery delivery service in Sydney? Please comment below.
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Posted By: Mitchell Hooter - Category: Miscellany
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