Jock's Jocks

I often think I could redesign everyday objects, just to make them a little more user-friendly, or even useable. One such object is the trusty tome of travel directions, our very own Melways. Every driver I know has a Melways wedged under their seat, in their side door or even that special empty spot on their back seat. A Melways can even take preference over friends; "I'm sorry mate, I've only got room for three, you know, with Melways in the back seat and all."
They are hallowed institutions, and enjoy sitting on the same throne as other worshipped symbols such as comb-overs, socks with thongs, and little hats for dogs.
Nothing's perfect, and the Melways is no exception. Every Melways I've owned, borrowed, or seen in other people's car has the same hubris - they fall apart as easily as a pair of Dunlop Volleys.
Sometimes the pages that have come out disappear entirely, and so for example, after getting close to one's destination, pulling out the Melways and working out how to get to that barbecue you're late for, it's the only page missing. That or you've blown your nose with it and chucked it out.
The cover always comes off, there are strange stains over destinations, it's just getting to be a problem.

When the Melways has really reached the end of its life as a street directory, it doesn't mean it has to be retired to the bin. Here are some top-tips:

1. Randomly pasted pages all over your walls as some sort of clichéd student bedroom wallpaper.
2. Pasting all of the pages together on the ground to recreate a whole map of Melbourne, then using it to play Micro Machines.
3. Folding the pages in half and turning them into lovely cards for that special person, giving them the page that their house is on, and making it a pseudo post-modern self-improvement-find-yourself piece of crap.
4. If you run out of pastry, maybe the pages could be used to finish off a lasagne or the rest of those sausage rolls, perfect for when trying to recreate the taste of Melbourne if you happened to be in another country.

Hi and stuff. I hope you like the new much more user-friendly address, the crisper graphics and all that stoof.

Jock

Sometimes, we have to take a course of action based not on choice but a lack of choice. We may not be able to choose between A or B, or this path or that. Making choices can be painful, especially when each potential ‘suitor’ is so closely matched. Not having two things to choose from takes away the decision-making aspect, so the painful experience of deliberation, heart-string tugging and the like are gone.
The other day, I came to the realisation that I had either lost all of my jumpers, or they were in the wash. It was cold outside; there was potential for rain. The day just didn’t permit the casual wearing of a t-shirt, no, more warmth was required if I was to avoid becoming a human ice-sculpture.
My dilemma began there: out of my vast collection of clothes, the only slightly warm thing I had to wear was a brown female cardigan. A cardigan. My heart began pumping uncontrollably, my mind was awash with anxiety, and my body was seizing up with the anticipation of this seemingly unavoidable destiny. I was to wear a man cardigan to university that day, and go against any traditional sense of masculinity, and face head-on my sometimes-shaky self-esteem.
I managed to think happy thoughts about beer and waterfalls, and quickly don my brown garment of pain. I jumped on my bike and rode to uni. There was something nice about the unbuttoned option, with the wind in my face, and the man cardigan trailing behind me in the breeze like a super hero’s cape. Definitely not like Super Man, more like a Not Quite a Man Man. I got to uni, quickly took off the man cardigan, rolled it up and squashed it up in my bag. The t-shirt was sufficient for sitting inside, but by the time the lecture had finished and we were outside, I realised due to the intense need for warmth, my secret wouldn’t remain so for much longer. I pulled up the flap on my satchel-bag, slid a hand in, and whipped it out, in one smooth easy motion. Then I pulled the man cardigan out. Actually I pulled just the man cardigan out.
I put it on. I announced to my friends that I had just put a cardigan on, a brown cardigan. The cardigan used to be a girl’s, and right now I, a man was wearing it. They turned around, and I waited with nervous anticipation. Would they approve? Would they think I was gutsy for trying to turn the fashion world up on its head? No, the world isn’t that forgiving.
Instead they laughed and asked what the hell I was doing. I needed excuses fast, which wasn’t too hard, as I didn’t have any other warm clothes to wear. I tried to justify my cardigan though, quickly reeling off theories of changing fashion norms, the fact that I was trying to make a statement, through brown female clothing. Alas, my argument wasn’t strong, and their laughter and jokes dwarfed my small cardigan like the Eiffel Tower (Paris is the centre for fashion I’ve heard).
I tried two methods of wearing it too, the first being the buttoned-up, old-style Italian look, and the unbuttoned casual, going for a walk armed with loads of mojo look. The latter version of the man cardigan gained higher approval, however when I talk about approval, to my friends, it wasn’t really approval but the agreeance upon the lesser of two evils.

After all this, I didn’t care as it didn’t change who I was, just how I looked, and that surely doesn’t matter. Well I think it does to be honest, and although I don’t quite agree with it, I can’t escape it.
The Man Cardigan, or Mandigan was born that day, worn by a young guy, trying to be hip, trying to be different – daring even. That day showed however, that to look manly, cardigans don’t have much currency, in fact due to fashion hyper inflation, I’ll need a wheelbarrow full of Mandigan Dollars to buy some coolness, and next week, probably a trailer full.
That is the tale of the Mandigan, and I am a proud man.

My day began in essentially the same fashion as those days that have ruled before them, by me waking up. However, there was more. I won’t bore you with the details, bar one; the one when I was reading the morning paper. So I was reading my paper, going through all the usual bits, when for some strange reason I happened to glance over the second-last page at the back of the main section in The Age. Usually I don’t give it the time of day (or morning), however one small thing did catch my eye. It was the “FYI” section, which I assume is an acronym for “For Your Information,” not to be confused with the “FYI” for reformed rude people, which of course stands for “Fasten Your Innuendo.”
I glossed over the correction policy, the shipping news and the faith headings, and arrived at the heading entitled Vice Regal. “What could that mean?” I thought to myself, so I began to read. Here it is in its entirety as it appears on page 19 in the 15/8/05 edition of The Age:

“On Friday Governor John Landy received the call of former Irish president Mary Robinson at Government House and later, at a reception at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, presented Mrs Robinson with the United Nations Association of Australia International Peace Award. Mr Landy then attended the centenary dinner of the Bird Observers Club of Australia at the University of Melbourne.
On Saturday, Mr Landy attended the Collingwood Football Club president’s dinner and presented the Peter Mac Cup at the MCG.
On Sunday, Mr and Mrs Landy visited Mildura where Mr Landy attended the dedication of an Avenue of Honour for the Fallen, and opened the 2005 Masters Games.”

One thing that bemuses me is the fact that I have never noticed this section of The Age. I thought that maybe it was a once off, so I quickly pulled out some editions from last week and was met with this from page 21 in the 10/8/05 edition:

“The Governor, John Landy, presided at a meeting of the Executive Council at the Old Treasury Building and later received the call of the Ambassador of the Slovak Republic, Dr. Peter Prochaka.”

August 12th:

“The Governor, John Landy, and Mrs Landy hosted a reception at Government House for the 2005 Victoria Prize and Fellowships for Innovation in Science, Technology or Engineering, and the Anne and Eric Smorgon Memorial Award. During the morning, Mrs Landy visited the Abbotsford Convent Foundation.”

I was blown away to say the least, knowing that I am able to know exactly what our Governor does with himself everyday. Even his wife gets a mention, which I’m sure she’s happy about.
We’ll assume her name is Anne. A friend may ask a routine question one day over coffee and assorted biscuits like, “So Anne, how’s your week been so far?” With a knowing smugness and an air of class, Anne Landy would reply, “Oh June, if you read The Age everyday, you’d know wouldn’t you.”
Maybe our Governor can dodge being suspected of losing his memory/mind by cutting out the ‘minutes’ of his days and keeping them in his pocket for quick reference when someone asks him where he was, say, the day before.

Here’s a small excerpt from my day today, which doesn’t appear anywhere, and may not be entirely accurate:

On Monday, Mr Hutton awoke from his slumber and arrived for an early breakfast in his kitchen. He unveiled a new box of tea, and presented himself with a freshly brewed cup.
During the afternoon, he visited the University of Melbourne, where he attended a number of lectures, and then in front of fellow students, purchased a medium cappuccino with two sugars. There is no Mrs Hutton, but if there was she would have opened a door at some point, and taken a brisk walk to visit the household toilet.
Mr Hutton then arrived at home where he opened a recently purchased beer and then retired to bed. Mrs Hutton, being non-existent, didn’t follow him up to bed later, nor feigned a headache when pestered for sex, as she doesn’t exist.

I rest my case.

I'm a staunch supporter of adhering to road safety rules, specifically those concerning pedestrians. Pressing the button to walk, and waiting until the 'little green man' flashes up, is just so important.
I'm lying, I don't really give a crap at all, but the one thing I love about pedestrian crossings is pressing the button. There isn't just one way to do it, there are heaps.
Most people like to adopt the orthodox walk up and press the button, although some then proceed to hit it about twenty times, thus revealing to the world that they can't relax. I've noticed that a few older people do this too, and I would have thought that by now they would realise that repeated button pressing does shit all, but I guess it does allow some steam to be let off.
I've found that even if I walk up and press the button, then proceed to lean on the pole, that people will still come up and press it, not realising that by leaning on it, I've probably pressed it too. This is I find annoying, plus their hand goes dangerously close to my bum, which I find exhilarating.
I've digressed a bit here, so I'll go back to my main topic, which is the various ways in which one can press the pedestrian crossing button.

1. I like a technique I call 'the knee,' which involves me lifting my knee, and connecting it with the button. This doesn't require any hands, and can look cool, but slightly try-hardish at the same time.
2. The Rock Star. This is one of my faves, especially on dates where I'm trying to look a bit carefree and original. It involves walking up normally, then extending out the leg in a kind of rock star kick. This technique is a bit risky because a mis-hit, or non-hit, can turn this potentially cool moment into sheer embarassment, so be careful. Maybe practice at home with a small target blu-tacked to the wall.
3. Variations on the Kick. A hacky-sack kind of round-the-back heel technique, where you pretend that the button is a hacky-sack, and contact here makes you and look geeky and cool at the same time. The creme de-la creme of button hitting. More like curdled creme de-la creme.
4. Actually, I've found that the use of foreign objects is ok too, such as the pointy end of an umbrella. A bike pump or a box of pringles (lid on) could work too, especially if you're going for the 'I'm trying to be weird, and I feel a bit self-conscious doing it but I don't want people to know that' look.

Enjoy these tips and soon you'll be turning heads and all that sort of thing when you transform from pedestrian crossing loser to totally rad crossing cool guy.

I'm off to cross some roads, and win some admirers on the way.

It doesn’t get talked about much, good-old social awkwardness. I actually have no idea what other ‘awkward’ people experience, and what, if anything, they would lump under this heading. Here are a few of my socially awkward moments and others that I think I may have recognised other people experience.
For some reason, when I’m walking down the street, in the park, or whatever, and someone is approaching from the opposite direction, the awkward feeling starts to kick in. I sort of look up, and make eye contact, then quickly look away. They may or may not do the same thing eg keep looking towards me, or away, but eventually I realise that I then don’t really know where to look all of a sudden.
I sort of pick out something around me and focus on it then proceed to pretend that I’m rather interested in it. It could be anything really, a tree, a dog tied up in the street, or a bloody spot on the wall. It doesn’t really matter, but it solves the problem of where to look. Other people look down at their feet as they walk past, or pull out their mobile phone and pretend their doing something on it. I like it when we both feel awkward, as it makes the situation so much easier to deal with as eye contact is eliminated altogether.
I recently started playing a game to amuse myself when I was walking somewhere, and that is to actually try to unnerve someone as they walk past. It was hard to start off with, as it meant breaking down these pre-conceived ideas of the ‘walking past a stranger phenomenon.’ It’s fun though; I hold eye contact until they have to turn away, and it feels like a small victory. I mean I don’t go to the pub to celebrate, but it’s still satisfying.
When I recognise someone on the street and they are say, a good 5 – 10 seconds of walking towards each other distance from me, the following encounter usually occurs: You recognise each other, smile and say hi, realising straight away that they can’t hear you, then find it impossible to maintain eye contact and look down, or around (see focus on a spot tip from before). Then, when the distance between me and the friend is conducive to actually being able to hear each other, that’s when I resume eye contact and the conversation is then allowed to start. This is so commonplace for me, especially down the street or at uni.

I find talking about to be a huge help, and if anyone has any contact details for an “I am walking past someone and don’t know where to look” support group, then that would be much appreciated. Don’t give me the details in person, where I have to meet you somewhere, as I’m sure I’ll feel awkward.