More Kidstalk

My son, Jack, turned 4 last week.

The other day as we watched TV (I think The Simpsons was on -nothing to do with anything) Jack cheerily said “sure we’ll never get dead?”

I don’t think he was waiting for an answer. He was happy to leave it at that.

Lucy (aged 7) turned to me with a knowing smile and said “Daddy, will you tell him or will I?”

I didn’t ask her to expand on what she might tell him.

It was a funny and sad moment. An excellent combination I find. 🙂

– – – – – – – – – – –

Last night as I was dressing Jack for bed, he hung his head and quietly asked “Sure fuck off boyo isn’t a nice thing to say?”

I shook my head and told him no it’s not. He seemed happy to know it.

Somewhere in Time

Somewhere in Time

A number of years ago a team of medical experts placed a camera in my anus to search for the source of my intense abdominal pain. They didn’t find anything.

A few years later they were back to search again. Afterward, the main doc was coming around to each of the examinees in turn, telling people they’ll have to come back for more tests, etc.. When he came to me he said “we didn’t find the possible source to your symptoms,” before adding lest I feel dejected, “…we found a polyp!” in an almost cheery manner.

It reminded me of that scene in Life Of Brian when a group of ‘terrorists’ hid in a small house and a full garrison of Roman soldiers marched in to search for them. They didn’t find anything, then left. A little while later they returned because there was some place they forgot to check. Following the lengthy entrance and exit, the garrison leader was expecting a positive find, but instead was informed “we found this spoon, sir!”

I do enjoy it when often totally unrelated events or circumstances remind me of something from a movie or book or painting or whatever.

Continue reading Somewhere in Time

A Sitty Choice

This is the seating layout for the NCT (National Car Test) Centre I previously mentioned. Fellow attendees marked by letters. Females in pink. Males red.

Seating

The TV is blaring, showing Sky News broadcasting live from the UK house of commons where half a dozen half asleep politicians are trying hard not to be disturbed by the animated speaker.

I enter and stand in the place marked ‘IN’ and find myself at a loss… Where do I sit?


Continue reading A Sitty Choice

NCT Sweat

My car (the one Mrs. Rumm usually drives) was due for the National Car Test the other week at 11 am.. I should have brought this up sooner on here because it is a good tale, but to be honest it has taken until now for me to calm down enough to be able to recount it:

The test was to be conducted in Blarney, which meant I would have to leave by 10:15 at the very latest if I was to be on time.

If you’re like me this proffers an immediate dilemma: What to do for the morning beforehand? I realise some amongst you (usually women with five kids, three jobs and a law degree) would have no problem working through half a dozen tasks or more, but I’m a procrastinating idiot so none of that was really an option.

Continue reading NCT Sweat

Working with elastics

OK I admit it. I flipped. I spent time photographing elastics in various poses. There -I’ve said it!

In my defence, I did them years ago, but I do think they’re kinda nice. I just thought to add them here. And why not?

virginlastic

These are part of my “Stretch Out of the Office” series. I think if there was any justice these images (framed) would be as de riguer in offices as, say, those classy poker playing dogs pieces.

Be sure to check out the rest!

Continue reading Working with elastics

Gift Pricing -How much is yours?

Speaking of Two Lovers the other day reminded me of an unrelated event from a few years ago…

I asked Mrs. Rumm what she would like for Christmas. She told me a plain white gold wedding band. The one she already had was the standard gold type. She wanted a white one to go with different outfits. Or something. Who am I to question such things?

I recall buying the wedding rings with her first time around. Both of us wanted nothing other than “a plain ring”. Nothing fancy. As a result, the two rings we bought were each in the region of £40 (Irish punts). Our taste in jewellery hasn’t changed.

Now it was maybe six or seven years later… 2004ish. We had a new currency (the Euro). We had gone through an economic boom. Prices were higher. So adjusting for currencies (bring it to, say 55 euros), inflation (80ish?), a bit of greed (90ish), some more greediness (100ish), gold price fluctuations (….?) ..and a bit more on top, I estimated the absolute maximum cost such an item could possibly be would be 130 – 150 euros.

“OK,” I said. “No problem.”

Next day I entered a Jewellery Store (this sentence seems odd to me, but if I said “entered a Jewellers” it’d have a whole different connotation to my dirty mind).

“Can I help you?” enquired a pleasant-looking, well-presented male assistant in a calm voice that sounded like melted chocolate flowing over a lush carpet.

“I’m looking for a plain white gold ring for my wife,” I informed him, “Nothing fancy.”

“OK,” he smiled softly and lead me to the counter. He pulled a tray of rings from underneath. The first thing I noticed was the lack of prices.
The second thing was all these rings had something fancy about them -diamond studs, ridges, fancy engravings, etc..

Instead of jumping immediately to the vulgar issue of price, I hummed and hawed and finally asked if he had anything plainer.
“I’m really just looking for plain white gold -no decorations or anything.”

He considered this quietly and carefully before selecting one of the more plain bands from the same tray. It had only a few small indents here and there.

“Yeah, it’s not too fancy, I suppose,” I had to concede. “How much is it?”

“That one is 600 Euros,” he said as though his voice was massaging my temples.

Shocked, I couldn’t help myself.

“Six hundred!!?” I gasped.
“I told you it was for my wife,” I said, “not my girlfriend!”

Without batting an eyelid, the assistant creased his brow and nodded as though this made complete sense to him.
“I think we may have something more plain in our other store,” he confided. “I can ring them and have it here by tomorrow.”

“A simple, plain white gold ring?” I enquired, slowly turning towards the door.

“Yes yes,” he nodded.

“And how much roughly would that cost?”

He waved in the air and shook his head as though conjuring a nominal amount between old friends.

“Pah -no more than three-fifty,” he informed me, his voice having lost some of the chocolate softness.
“Come back tomorrow I’ll have it for you,” he smiled.

In truth, I almost felt bad not going back there the following day. It seemed a breach of trust somehow that instead I went down the road and bought the first one I spotted for less than two hundred -and that was difficult to find too let me tell you!

I still don’t see how it could be possible for something like that to jump to more than four-times its price in a few years. Madness I tells ya!

– – – – – – – –

Full disclosure: I can’t say for certain if the “I said wife, not girlfriend” line is truly original. It’s possible I heard it somewhere before. It sounds like something Rodney Dangerfield might have said. Either way it was fun using it. …A little disconcerting that the guy didn’t even flinch, but fun nonetheless. 🙂


Two Lovers Please

I like movies. I like non-formulaic movies with at least a little thought in them.

I’ve heard good things about the movie Two Lovers -at least enough to make me think I might like to see it. I’m sure it is a good movie, but I won’t be going to see it.

I generally go to the cinema alone. I prefer it that way, but anyway my wife has little interest in movies even if we did get time off together.
So the thought of walking up to the ticket office alone and saying “Two Lovers please” is just too much. I could buy online and collect at the door, but I despise the idea of extra charges for such things -THEY’RE SAVING MONEY BY HAVING NOBODY THERE why should we pay more??

Another film I felt awkward buying a ticket for was “Michael Clayton”. Thankfully I hadn’t realised how awkward it was to say it until I was standing there with cash in hand saying it. It just felt wrong somehow. Not entirely sure why with that one.

Are movies with people’s names harder to say at the ticket desk?

I recall having a similar dilemma paying for Amelie. I think that might have a longer name in some countries (?) but around here it’s just called Amelie. The problem for me there though was the young couple who paid before me asked for two tickets to “Ay-muh-lee-uh”.

Even though I knew it to be wrong I had a sudden burst of …FEAR, is the only word I can think of, that I was about to say it wrong.
It induced a kind of mental stutter that heard me purchasing “One for the same please”.

Have you ever felt awkward saying something or someone’s name?

[By the way, this post was first made (by me)  in a reply to a Jett Loe post in The Film Talk]

DEAD RAT

A little while ago my next door neighbour called to the door and asked if he could take some snips from flowers in our garden. I said of course, work away.

Long story, shortened: The previous owners of our house planted hundreds of flowers and plants all over the place. During the past 9 years of our tenure the garden has been forced to stand on its own two feet and fend for itself for the main part. If I’ve done nothing else, I like to think I’ve taught it some independence. Deirdre next door does some flower arranging every now & again. Her husband Con helps her gather what’s needed.

So Con went off and allowed me return to Series 1 of Damages (which incidentally is both awfully compelling and often just awful -a trend I’ve noticed in other TV shows such as The Tudors -it’s like they know they could be great, but are afraid to commit to being really great in case they lose the mass appeal. So every now & again they liberally apply Dumbdown (TM) and sprinkle it with an over-supply of Obviousness and pop it back in for a few minutes of crispy Crassness -a little something to please everyone, which results in nobody being happy with the end product.)

Glenn Close was being nasty and was about to make a nasty phonecall to another nasty lawyer when Con tapped on the window once again. It turned out he had made a discovery which can be summed up in two words: Dead Rat.

Yuck.

Continue reading DEAD RAT