12/7/2002

The Secret Life of Notebook Girl

Nobody in the office suspects anything about my secret project. In the last five days I've had about 2 ½ hours of work, but I keep typing, printing, going through what they probably assume are important documents. Little do they know that while I appear to be a sup-par secretary who occasionally hangs up on callers instead of properly transferring them *zow!*, I'm really writing an editing an entire website. I should get a cape with a little pocket for my highlighters.

I slyly type the articles up and code them during the day, then after work I find an Internet café or borrow my flatmate's computer and *blam!* email them to my trusty webchic. (Some applause please for my lovely assistant/sidekick, Kerry.) You'd think I was plotting a major jewel heist as sneaky as I feel. Too bad the site has such good intentions, because I would love to say I was doing something dastardly. Mwa ha ha.

When I'm not typing, I'm reading. In the past week and a half I've finished off two Vonneguts and an Atwood. Lady Oracle wasn't bad, but it was no Blind Assasin. Galapagos, on the other hand, was divine. I hit a local second-hand book store and picked up I Am the Cheese for next week. I read it when I was maybe 14 and have been wanting to take another look at it, since I don't think I really got it the first time around. I might hunt around for The Chocolate War next, to keep the whole Robert Cormier theme going.

There's a new boy in the office! Not that there was an old boy. I guess I should just say a first boy. His name is Oliver, as in, "please sir, can I have some more?" I've been biting my tongue not to say that to him because I'm sure it's really old by now. Like telling a really tall person, 'Hey, you're really tall!" or telling Crystal Gayle, "You have really long hair!" or telling an annoying person, "Get away from me, Kevin." Yep, just like that.

Anyway, Oliver seems very nice and he has a kick-ass British accent so that I want him to say stuff like "Bou-eh-foo" all the time. It's very Naked Chef. Maybe I can trick him into saying, "Just whack it in the oven and happy days mate!" Maybe not. At least he's better than the Canadian girl who had the job before him. She was always very smiley, but I got the feeling she didn't like me very much.

I've had several encounters with Canadians here, and while nothing bad or even slightly unpleasant has happened with them, I get the feeling that underneath it all, they just really really detest Americans. In fact, most Australians will ask if you're Canadian first, because they think we'll be less offended than if they mistakenly ask a Canadian if they're American. One girl at work said she's never heard a Canadian say anything bad about Americans, but she can understand their dilemma.

"The only thing you can really say about Canadians, as far as their culture, is that they aren't American," she said. So I told her about mullets and Alex Trebec.

Movie of the week: Bend it Like Beckam. Funny, quick-paced, entertaining, and you don't have to know anything about soccer to enjoy it. Absolutely one of the best things I've seen this year, right up there with Y Tu Mama. Oh, and for rentals, Withnail and I. My roomies picked it up and although a few of the more British jokes went 'whoosh' over my head, I still thought it was brilliant. Gasp! Am I becoming an Anglophile? Drat.

Oh, as for this week's title, I was inspired by this show, The Secret Life of Us. It's one of the few Australian shows that I've seen here and enjoyed. It's Dawson for the post-grad crowd, Friends minus the laughtrack. This week's episode had one of the main characters, Evan, realising that he treats women like crap, never calling when he says he will, playing games, and cheating on girlfriends just so they'll break up with him and save him the trouble. It's good to know that those aren't just traits of the American male.

Ah, 5:00. Happy Friday everyone. Go make nice with a Mountie.