I really wonder how much you can possibly learn about someone by looking at where they live. I mean, the Hollywood opinion on this is that all smart detectives can immediately deduce the favourite holiday destination of any crook they get a partial thumb print from, but of course reality is never so grand.
I ask this to myself because I just spent twenty minutes or so looking around one of my housemates room (just from the doorway; didn’t touch anything). I mean, I know him pretty well, yet I still don’t know what most of the contents of his room are for or from, or what they really say about him. You can gleam some themes – he’s got an interest in fantasy stuff (orcs & goblins style… nothing else 😉 )… but all these hand drawn sketches and so forth he has on his walls – I know most of them are gifts from friends, but what’s the story there? Is the sketch of a woman in lingerie from an ex-girlfriend? From a wannabe-girlfriend? Was it even drawn with him in mind? Perhaps he just happened upon the artist as it was finished, and as a gift it was entirely symbolic, not … what’s the word? Subjective?
I guess it’s really hard to ever know anyone, even if you hang around them a lot and know all those little “in” stories that come and go. I guess the ancestral question is why you need to…
I’m becoming rather fond of the ditsy blonde hair twirling motion. I seem to be using it a lot. I think the people I’m meeting are getting stupider.
Well, actually mostly I use it in reference to Laura. Hypothesis confirmed.
Beyond the details of my current dispute with the DOI, what really pisses me off is the irregularity with which they pursue such matters. Just today on the tram two inspectors (in normal clothes, not the henchmen) were doing the rounds, and one guy didn’t have a valid ticket – he had a zone 1 ticket, but was travelling along the zone 2 stretch from La Trobe Uni up to at least my stop (68). He probably knew he was in trouble, because when the inspector offered to let him buy a valid ticket now, he was briefly confused – in my mind he was clearly expecting to be cited. So he went to try and buy a ticket – or at least go through the paces. Littering, I might add, as I did so – apparently it was a convenient time to clean out his pockets. Anyway, apparently he didn’t have change, so he went back to the inspector and made some brief conversation. The inspector apparently didn’t have a problem, and then ignored the offender until the next stop, where the two inspectors departed.
So, this shady guy who doesn’t have any intention of buying a valid ticket, gets off, but I’m screwed. And this is far from the first time I’ve seen this – many times the inspectors (even the henchmen in their goon squad) have ignored people without tickets simply because they look like too much trouble. Poverty women decked in torn Adidas gear, people who don’t speak English (or at least pretend not to), and so on. Curse may bland Anglo-saxon appearance and mild, helpful temperament.
I guess I should learn from this – next time the inspectors around I should just be a prick, and make it clear they’re going to get nothing but trouble out of me. Interesting, the morale’s of these stories.