Commander Keno

If nothing else were to surface from a self-analysis, this much I'm certain on - I suck at Keno.

I studied statistics at high school, so I know all about probability, combinations, permutations etc...

But there's no equation for the amount of times I've come up empty handed.

Now before you call the helpline, I assure you I've never put any money on it - and with good reason.

That's because I don't do it for the money, I do it for the love of the game.

Also because the live Keno draw happens during dinner time television hour.

This is how it works. Every time the Keno draw comes up I choose one number between 1 and 80, as does my wife. Obviously you have to choose different numbers.

Whoever gets their number called out wins.

If we both get our numbers right then whoever's number got called second wins.
Unless your number gets called on the very first ball, in which case you automatically win.

Very simple stuff.

Now I'm no mathematician, but the odds of getting it right, based on the fact that there are 20 numbers called out of a pool of 80, is 1 in 4 numbers will be right.

This means that every night there will be 20 numbers which are right, and 60 numbers that are wrong.

Based on this maths I have come to the conclusion that I exist outside of formulas. Because I can't remember the last time I got a number right.

At least I know if I ever hit rock bottom, gambling is not going to be my first port of call. In fact if we go by my track record, I'm more likely to find a safe on the side of the road with the combination code written on a post-it note stuck to the door.

Maybe if I'd paid more attention in stats classes my Keno prowess would be leaps and bounds ahead of where it is today. Alternatively, I could have ended up working for Colmar Brunton.

Either way, the beauty of it all is when theirs no money involved the odds are always in my favour.

Let's put our heads together

I head-butted my wife last night.

Not in a friendly affectionate way, but in a brutal, headache incurring way. Plain, simple, full force, gravity assisted head to head contact.

Now, it's not in my nature to be violent or aggressive. Nor did my wife deserve to be punished in anyway, shape or form.
So I cling to my one and only excuse for such irrational behaviour - We were asleep.

Yup, don't know how it happened, or why it happened. All I remember is bringing my head down and being cushioned not by my danish feather pillow, but by my dutch wifes forehead.

Deep sleep now shattered, we both held our heads and asked 'what happened?' Still in a sleepy state, and no doubt slightly concussed all I could offer is "I don't really know."

Now the morning after, I still feel as though I've walked into a wall. Or at least what I imagine I'd feel like after I had walked into a wall.

All in all, I don't recommend head butts as a combat weapon. They look cool on the movies and seem to be quite effective, but just pause for a second next time you go to administer a butt and think about the consequences.

Are you talking to me?

It's not uncommon for people in my office to randomly explode into conversation.

Not to another human being, but simply a thin-air and out-loud conversation.

It still catches me by surprise, I simply can't predict when it's going to happen next.

They could be standing, they could be sitting, they may be typing or they maybe sipping on a coffee, when all of a sudden- "HELLO!, How are you? Good good. "

I react the same every time, with a confused semi-sideways glance of "are you talking to me? Or Should I leave you to it?"

Usually the eyes are the giveaway. If I'm being looked at, there is a good chance they are actually talking to me. However, if they're looking glazy and staring off into space then I know somethings up.

I couldn't quite put my finger on the inexplicable behavior until one morning when one of these spontaneous exploders 'turned the other cheek' and it all became crystal clear.

Something that looked like a prop from Star Trek was attached to my colleagues ear. But this was no intergalactic communication device, this was a bluetooth headset.

Now in my world 'bluetooth headsets' fall into the category of 'not very cool'.

I could understand if you were at a dress up party, or if you had the full sci-fi outfit on, but not if you are a balding business man or a woman of any description.

Regardless, these stealthy devices are causing me untold amount of social confusion. I can no longer tell if people are talking to me, or simply having a yarn to their flashy earrings.

Yes I'm talking to you.

A Chilly Forecast

Yesterday was a huge day in the world of homegrown chili's. Four months of blood sweat and tears culminated in a bountiful harvest of red hot chili peppers.

This may or may not be actual size, depending on the size of your screen.

It all started at Kings plant barn where by chance (or divine intervention) my paths crossed with a punnett of cayenne pepper plants. It was love at first sight, I knew that I was about to embark on a journey of love and devotion, watching these small, green shoots transform into tree-sized chili bearing machines.

With outstanding foresight I instinctively knew that these shoots would soon outgrow the humble punnets that currently upheld them.

So I invested in pots. Just like a father searches for a place for their children to live, so I found the right pots for my chili's.

And again, the soil that held the frail foliage would soon be inadequate for the massive chili bearing trunks. Two bags of Garden mix later, I knew I had all that I needed.

Over the next four months, I watered, I potted, I observed, I waited....

And waited...

And waited...until yesterday.

The Chili's were red, and I was ready.

It's like true love, theres no formula for it, you just know.

And I knew that it was time to harvest.

I had three chili plants to harvest so I made sure that I had time to get through all of them.

I started with the first one until I was finished, then moved onto the next then onto the next.

After some time of serious reaping, I paused to count the fruits of my labour.

Three.

Three chilli's.

Thankfully I did first year Calculus at Uni, so I didn't take me long to work out that for every plant I faithfully attended to, I received 1 chili.

Some may call this a failure.

I call it a roaring success. Not only that, I can honestly say it's the most fruitful chili harvest I've ever had.

Hello Stranger!

Every Saturday morning at 7am I go for a run.

The world is a lot quieter in the morning, slower moving and gentle. The air is cool and fresh, the sun is just waking up and sounds of birds and the breeze are the only thing disturbing the peace.
It's these conditions that bring out a certain kind of creature - the slow-pace racers, the rolly strollers, the talking walkers, - basically all the old people going for a walk.

I must run past about 20 couples and motivated individuals every morning.
It's these moments of intersection that I find so interesting.
I have made it my custom to offer up a "good morning", or in more breathless moments the simple eyebrow flick.

The reactions vary:
Some are so stoked and offer back an enthusiastic "Morning!" and a smile. This is what I live for.
But others are not so sure. Giving me a look of "what do you want from me..?"
Some are so stone cold you don't even know if they register human contact.
I sometimes wonder if my friendly eyebrow flicks get misinterpreted? Coming across as not "Good Morning", but as "I'm interested in you in a romantic way".

Either way it makes me realise that talking to people you don't know has become such an unnatural thing in our society, in fact even acknowledging they exist has become awkward.
How many times have we been in a lift with work colleagues saturated in silence? Or on the bus sitting next to someone for 40 minutes without even uttering a hello.
Social norms? Or social isolation?

I hate the forced conversation no less than the next person, but I think I can manage to at least extend a "good morning" from time to time.

I realise we were all told as children never to talk to strangers, but I can't help but think -
Maybe strangers would be seem less strange if you simply knew them...

Destiny Unfolding

As a general rule I try to see the good in every situation - Life is better that way.

But for no lack of trying, some stories or events are harder to see through.

Like, lets say... Destiny Church.

I'm torn at the moment between my distrust of the news media and what seems to be the unavoidable reality.

I don't know why, but deep down I want to give Destiny a chance. I want to think that maybe, just maybe the media has twisted the story and that Brian is actually a good guy trying to do good things.

But for the life of me - I can't see it.

Excessive hair gel - tolerable, but a little bit gross.

Self appointed bishop status - at least its entertaining.

Covenant Rings - Okay, starting to get a bit weird.

Telling people to stop drinking coffee to raise money - Now the line has been officially crossed.

I guess at the end of the day, it's not for me to judge.

But I can't help but think that a Church should be more concerned with providing love and support for it's members rather than jewelry.

Apathetic Mind or A Pathetic Mind?

I'm going to be honest, when I saw there were Tsunami warnings issued for the entire country I didn't really care.
I flicked past the news as quickly as I flick through the meaningless dribble on Facebook.

The news of earthquakes in Haiti were found folded under the sports and entertainment section.
Stories of poverty and famine in Africa rarely get any 'eye-time'.
Not to mention wars... "Unrest in the Middle-East" as a headline plays second fiddle to Sudoku.

Where have I gone wrong?

These stories of desperation, injustice, poverty, disaster and warning don't even evoke so much as a raised eyebrow as I peruse the daily news.

So am I just a victim of a media driven society? Or have I simply been given a very convenient pillow to hide behind.

Whatever the reason, I'd like to think if I were the one being reported about, whether I be up to my ears in water, or down on my knees in grief, that my story wouldn't be glanced over because the headline didn't include a clever pun.

I might not be signing up to don a high-vis red cross jacket, but at least I can attempt to put myself in the shoes of those in need.

Because if simply caring about what's going on is one step closer to becoming a useful human being, then its a step worth taking.