The saddest thing I can imagine is to get used to luxury.

If I could bottle a wave… Opossum Bay, January 2011.

I sometimes wonder about people. For example, I know somebody who expends an awful lot of time and energy ‘pretending’ to do their job. They sweat at it. It seems to trouble them no end. Elaborate and exaggerated flourishes are performed to ensure that everybody around is aware that they’re ‘hard at work’.

It does seem like hard work. I think that it could well be bringing on an ulcer.

What I don’t understand is if such effort, such exertion is required, and it’s carried like a huge weight upon the shoulders, why not actually do the job?

It’s a novel thought, I know. Radical, even.

I wish that I could overcome the (mutual) embarrassment and suggest it. I suspect that truly ‘doing the job’ would be far easier than the task of ‘pretending’ to do the job.

Comments

Dianne said…

Well said ~ I think if I ever got used to luxury I would fear the loosing of it~ I'd fear I would loose my coping skills, my props - I would become soft and lazy and unchallenged and dare I say it boring!!
"Adelaide and Beyond'

15 February 2011 at 09:43

Kris McCracken said…

Dianne, there are actually a few I see who seem to suffer from this.

Then there are those who simply no longer to bother trying to look busy.

15 February 2011 at 11:07

Roddy said…

You know, I have worked with people who spend an inordinate amount of time dodging work and then spend the rest of the day telling you how hard they have done it.
Me, I have made an art of looking busy no matter how little I have to do.

15 February 2011 at 21:08

Carola said…

Great photo and this titel is realy good.

16 February 2011 at 07:22

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, then you're as bad as they are!

Carola, that was Charlie Chaplin. The quote, not the photo. The photo is mine.

16 February 2011 at 08:20

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

This will hurt me...

Search This Blog