Is this Serendipity?

Because sometimes I leave stuff around that should have been put away, I need to think on my feet.

Tonight my daughter asked me what this shiny plastic packet was?

So I told her it was a condom.

Next thing both kids are repeating the word 'condom' as if making sure they never forget that word. Before I could follow through imagining embarrassing scenarios where my 2 or 4 year old daughters could use that knowledge,

they ask me "Papi what is it used for?"

Thinking fast I told them it can also be a balloon. A clever evasion if I might say so. I ripped the packet open and continued to demonstrate the inflation of the balloon. "Oooh it's green!" Saffira shrieks gleefully. I stopped blowing when it was getting hard to blow air into it, knotted the end of it and released it.

To my surprise it didn't come down after I released it. I thought maybe the respired air is warm enough so that it's lighter than air (which is heavier 21% oxygen? or 21% CO2 combined with oxygen?). But what happens when the air cools down? I thought maybe the lightglobe might be keeping it warm, but it stayed up even after the light was switched off.


My best hypothesis is using my understanding of the Combined Gas Law (Boyle/Charles/Gay Lussac)  If you squeeze an amount of gas, its temperature increases. I think that somehow the pressure exerted by the stretched material at the correct volume maintains it's temperature. It just also happens that the mass of gas inside the condom plus the mass of the actual condom displaces a heavier amount of surrounding air.

I'm not sure I can replicate this feat. Started out as parenting agility leading into serendipity. What do you think?

  floating condom balloon with nothing but air video here

The Best Way to Eat Sinigang

So it turns out I've been eating sinigang the wrong way for most of my life, in fact I think we all are.

The way most people eat it is with a plate of rice where the broth, the vegetables and the meat are added. The rice is soaked in the broth because it tastes great that way, plus it changes the textural experience of eating rice from the usual dry or saucy. Using a spoon and fork to scrape a little bit of meat, veg and wet rice onto a mouthful of brothy goodness. That broth, indeed one must have more of it! So now everyone is served a tiny bowl or cup or mug for the 'sabaw' so we can add it to our mouthfuls of sinigang and rice to maintain that delicious soury and savoury note. Until finally you're at that wicked little end game of 'kanin vs ulam' - where you're left with too little rice to finish the sinigang on your plate so you add some rice and as you're down to the last two mouthfuls you realise you need more ulam, so you add more ulam and run out of rice and repeat the process until you say fuck it either just eat what's there or declare you're full leaving what's on the plate as leftovers. Sorry.

Instead I propose eating sinigang like a soup served on a shallow bowl, to which rice is added as required. Think about it. No need for that extra cup or bowl of sabaw. You can still spoon gobful after gobful of rice and sinigang but now you also get as much of that broth as you want with every mouthful. Similar to eating any asian noodle soup you can see when you are at the end of your rice so you can just finish up by eating it like a soup thus avoiding the kanin vs ulam game. You're welcome.

My Broken Cup

We are caught in a whirlwind of decluttering frenzy. Serious questions are asked, every item is in peril of answering why they deserve to be here. And very quickly we shed any material attachment to any object that is overstaying its welcome. The more difficult ones are those that we hang on to for sentimental reasons. So for me, if an item is broken and beyond repair, it's gotta go. I don't have room in my life for broken things. I believe like attracts like in the strange alchemy of life philosophy, and I don't want to attract more broken things.

Which brings me to my broken cup, well okay it's technically a mug. Catering quality white ceramic mug (you can use them to bake giant cupcakes if you like) part of a set of 3, and one day I dropped one resulting in the loss of its handle. If it had been smashed or cracked or leaking, it would go straight in the bin. But surely it can still serve a function, it can still hold liquids, uh no, but okay, we just grab a handful of pens and stick 'em all in and voila ! it's a pen caddy now. I have given it a token job just because it didn't deserve to be rubbish just yet. I feel kinda guilty because it was my fault it lost its handle.

So are there any broken cups in your life? Whether or not you are hanging on to them for the right or wrong reasons is less important than actually knowing the reason you keep them in your life.

Sadistic Mongrel

This is the hate part in the love/hate relationship I have with Zappa. I thought we were going down the valley, we kind of were. It was another new route that started in the middle and led to the creek, across it and uphill again. My lungs were burning, a sensation to be re-experienced several times more today. There was a short-cut, but Zappa ignored it and followed the road up the hill and round the bend. At which point he stopped to check some messages, finally I can catch my breath. The break didn't last long, Zappa led me down via the short-cut he ignored before. Back across the creek and up the hill following the road. We ducked in and out of streets, mostly trotting with occasional stops to sniff or pee at something. Of which I am grateful for as I hungrily suck in more air. Sometimes the lung burn is accompanied by stitches on my kidney. Zappa is happily trotting along while I try to keep up, my pride preventing me from admitting that I am not as fit as this damn dog! Meanwhile I start to recognise and remember houses. I imagine what it must be like to live there and how and when did it come to be. What do the occupants want us to think of them.

What happens when you let the dog walk you?

Let's face it, I'm in love with my personal trainer.  His name is Zappa. Zappa is a dog. We're looking after Zappa and his house, while his owners are on holidays. On the first day, I took him out for a walk with my [nearly] 3 year old daughter, we went up the street about 300m crossed to the other side and headed back home. I think to myself, hey I can do this, easy. Walking the dog is just another chore for the day. And then there was yesterday.

It was just Zappa and me. He looked at me, i looked at him. I said to him,  You know what? Why don't you take me for a walk, eh? Yeah, why not let the local show me around his neighbourhood?

We set off on a brisk walk which turned into a trot as I tried to keep up with him by maintaining slack on the leash. I recognised the challenge when he looked over his shoulder from time to time  checking on me. I'm still here buddy, is this the best you got? I would taunt him back.

He took me down pathways and alleyways and we crossed roads, I totally let him decide where he wanted to take me. He would occasionally stop at some random spot and sniff around for some secret coded message from other dogs, sometimes he would leave a reply in the form of a measured squirt of pee. Later on I would wonder how much pee does the dog hold back so he can use it to leave messages?

At some point, he led me down this track that wound up in the bushes  behind people's backyards. I realised I had no idea how I got here or how I was going to get home. I started to think that maybe, letting the dog pick the route was not my brightest idea today.

Oh but it's not so bad. I cheered myself up, even if things really were to get totally fucked up, we still got GPS on my phone.

My phone! I could take pictures along the route! So took a snap of where we were and continued to let Zappa lead me through this strange labyrinth of laneways, parks, and ovals,  I wondered how many times has he walked down this path and with whom and what they saw that day.

We reached a cul-de-sac where I refused to follow when Zappa wanted to go into the private driveway of one of the houses. I was pulling the leash but Zappa stood his ground. We were at a stalemate.

Very well, how about I take a photo of this house and then we can go home? He responded to the leash after I took the photo, and now we are trotting back the way we came. When we got back through the path, we came across a footbridge leading in another direction. Tomorrow, I said to myself, we can find out where that leads to, but for now it is time to come home.

We would trot up the hill, then wait as Zappa sniffed around and stop. Sometimes he wouldn't budge until after I take a photo of whatever it was he was showing me: a flower, a tree, a sea bird what looked like a heron, another house, a black limousine with a skull ornament. As I stood panting at the crest of the last hill close to home I thought: Bloody hell, Zappa's been giving me interval training! Brilliant!

Zappa, is officially my personal trainer. I was  already looking forward to our next session.

Today we headed out the same way as yesterday. I was eagerly anticipating exploring that footbridge from yesterday. But Zappa took me a different way, this time we ended up in front of the school rather than behind it like yesterday. I was better prepared today. I'm wearing sneakers instead of those hideous Crocs.

My personal trainer is stepping it up and I'm keeping up! Past the school and across a busy 4 lane road, round the back of a community hall and boom! An off-leash play park for dogs, the size of 4 football fields. I unleashed Zappa.

Well played amigo, well played. For a brief moment I wondered what would I do if Zappa ran away? Then I put that thought away and chose to trust my trainer. He didn't really run around the field, he sniffed around and then asked for his lead back. After reattaching the lead, he refused to go anywhere,

Okay, I remember this deal, I take a photo and then we can move on. I was looking at this mountain, okay it was a hill, but it was imposing! No. I muttered to Zappa, Are you crazy? No. We're not climbing up that hill today. N. O.   No.

Sure we are, Zappa pulled me along into the trees and up a path. Up up and up. Zappa was now my Guru. I ask why must we go up the hill now? Can't we go tomorrow? He laughs and in my head he says, Because sometimes, the master feels the urge to crap on top of a mountain, and so we are going up the mountain! Be ready with your plastic bags. In my head Zappa speaks with the voice of James Earl Jones, because when it comes to epic voices, he was the first I could think of.


Okay then, if the master wants to crap on top of a mountain, he can crap on top of a f-  Whoah. I was hit with the view of Manly headlands, beaches, and suburbs, from atop Beacon Hill.

wisdom of Zappa #1 : Sometimes one feels the urge to crap on top of a mountain, Pay heed.

I understand master. There is satisfaction in setting yourself a goal and achieving it.

Hold on a moment son, we ain't on top of the mountain yet, said the voice as the dog pulled me along further up the path. Oh this isn't the top after all. We plod along upward and wham! I've been here before, in fact I stood atop that big stone slab and took pictures of the view back in January 2010. We were on Governor Philip Lookout on Beacon Hill.

wisdom of Zappa #2 : Just when you think you've achieved your goal, the real  goal appears just a little bit more out of reach, this happens more often than people think.

I took some photos, he takes me to the edge of a large boulder, I look, I take some more photos. And then I took a few moments to appreciate the amazing gift of delight and   surprise that Zappa had handed me.

When it came time to come down, I noticed that he's leading me a different way than how we had got to the real top. I recognised it eventually, it lead us to the car park.

No no no. We're not going to walk along busy 6 lane Warringah Road, I insisted.

Trust me.

Okay fine.  We set a cracking pace, jogging up the hill. I needed to catch my breath, so I pretended to stop for a photo. Amazing shots by the way.

Anyway back through the oval, stop at someone's back fence so I took a photo of their pool;  then back to the front of the school and he stops. What? Another photo? He sat on his haunches and refused to move.

Ahh okay, as I see a young woman walking her black staffordshire on the other side of the road. We observed them walk further ahead of us and I looked at Zappa. You dirty dog! Zappa stood up and started following them after they crossed to our side of the street.

Admit it, haven't I just cleverly improved our view a little bit?

We followed their bouncing bottoms, up the street, caught up and overtook them so that we're not the creepy guy following them. We parted ways near the Anglican Church.

Well what do ya know?  Zappa had shown me the valley yesterday, and today the summit.

wisdom of Zappa #3 : The summit is  worthy a goal, but in the valleys  adventure beckons.

WTF could he possibly mean? Buggered if I know.  Maybe tomorrow's session will provide  some insights.

There's this guy

I like to play this game I call "There's this guy ..." It goes like this, every time I am enjoying myself in an activity say for example eating Nutella sandwiches, I would say "There's this guy out there who grew or picked the hazelnuts that went into the Nutella factory and got turned into this sandwich I am enjoying right now. Even though I've never met him and I will never meet him but in my heart I know he exists inspite of having no evidence. This my friend is called faith.

The Phoenix

Thus all my minions have been dispatched to scour the streets of Sydney in search of my beloved car named Xena. The police patrol cars that are equipped with OCR (decodes all number plates it sees) have downloaded the database update from the RTA and will trigger an alert should they encounter AJX83L.

After five days I receive a letter in the post issuing a fine for a speed camera offence on the Hume Highway about 20kms from my home. Really? My car gets stolen, and then the thieves get caught by a speed camera and then the Roads authority send me an infringement notice?  The phrase 'salt on the wound' comes to mind. I call them back and told them I was no longer in possession of the vehicle since the night it was stolen, I give them the police incident reference number and they send me back a letter saying no infringement. But wait a moment -We may have a photo of those bloody thieves.I log in to the Roads and Maritime Service website to view the picture. It was taken at night, from the back. I can barely make out the baby seat through the rear window. It was Xena being driven fast by criminals. It made me upset and angry. I regret viewing the picture. I'd use the phrase 'lemons squeezed onto the wound'.

After nearly two weeks have passed I received word that a car had been found that looks like my beloved Xena. The brother of my daughter's boyfriend calls in the location and attached mobile phone pictures of the burnt out green WRX. The front number plate didn't match, but the empty gap of the missing rear number plate seemed to show a familiar vertical crack on the rear bumper. My gut was telling me it was Xena, but my mind was holding on to hope that maybe -that barely recognizable charred hulk was NOT my former pride and joy. So I passed the data on to the police by calling the assistance line. A short version of the conversation went thus:

me: can you please get someone to confirm the burnt abandoned vehicle is or isn't my stolen car?
operator: where is the vehicle?
me: Campaspe Avenue, Wiley Park.
operator: is there a house number or a cross street?
me: I'm telling you ALL the information I have, coudln't  you just send someone to drive on the street and find it?
operator: it's a long street and they may drive up and down without spotting it. Is it on a property or in the bush?
me: It should be fairly easy to find a burnt out car parked on the street! How many burnt out green WRXs could there possibly be on Campaspe Avenue? Are you serious? I'm giving you a lead, information to help you find a stolen car and you're not sending anyone because they may not find it?
operator: (pause) Alright sir, we're dispatching a patrol to identify the vehicle. We will be in touch with you whether it is or isn't your car. Thank you.

So apparently the car was attended to by fire and police three nights before when it was alight. They noted down the number plate which happened to also be registered to a green Subaru and recorded it as such. The patrol that returned to identify it after I called checked the VIN (vehicle identification number) on the compliance plate.

Yes.It was Xena.

I notify my insurance company, who send out an assessor to process my claim. He calls me back and declares it is a write-off and that I will receive a call from AAMI to arrange the payout. Meanwhile they're putting Xena on the back of a truck for salvage. Surprisingly I feel better telling everyone that the old warrior princess just had a viking funeral.

The sad news I broadcast to my friends on Facebook, forum and Twitter. And after seeking much sage advice we had narrowed down Xena's replacement as first and foremost a family car. So it was either going to be a Subaru Forester, Outback or Liberty Wagon. I flirted with the idea of a Toyota Prius or even a Liberty GT, but when it came time to shop this is how it went down.

I found the ad on Carsales.com.au for a 2006 Outback, I asked Beatriz to arrange an inspection. We met the owner, we looked at the car, we haggled a bit, we bought the car. My critical side was asking why we didn't look at any other car? Well, we actually had teed up appointments for the rest of the week to inspect other cars. I just didn't see the point of traveling all over Sydney just to be certain that I had the best deal possible when I already knew in my gut that I was looking at it. We cancelled those appointments.

Beatriz tells me she's in love with the car, she thinks it's sex on wheels. After eliminating some contentious names for our new transport, we agreed to christen her Divina Black.

She's stylish and capable and she just rose from the fucking ashes of Xena.

*update 20 June 2024