Kutu II : Lady of Lice

Unlike the previous talk about kutus of the investment scheme sort, this post really is about lice. Nasty lil blood-sucking critters you'd find creepy-crawling all over the sad, abandoned vagrants on the mean streets. Just takes that one good-hearted samaritan to stumble over the poor fella and extend a hand to help.

And then we'll have homeless specimen #1213 dumped into our care. Otherwise known as the Lady of Lice.

Whereupon the nurses will come together as one.

Really. Whatever tragic consequences had led her to this point, this messy, dishevelled itinerant with lice in their midst seems to act as a rallying point to the starched-up matrons of nursing! It's an event all by itself. Each time the emergency alarm goes up and the sisterhood answers ( a couple of brothers these days! ), they all start marching along towards the insensible patient with shavers, scissors and soap.

Starting to suspect there has to be a Florence Nightingale Rulebook circulated amongst the older nurses ( probably handed through the generations in clandestine midnight meetings ), no doubt with the front page exhorting the golden rule that Thou shalt not suffer a Lice to Live! How else would you explain the senior nurses acting almost in tandem upon the unsuspecting soul as if in tacit agreement! As a dedicated team, they descend upon the hapless vagrant en masse, shut the curtains to prying eyes and precede with the relentless medical makeover.


Although I'd much prefer if this was the result of their work...
More hindrance than help, the curious doctors are adjured to stand clear as they attend to their work. I've seen their magic at work so I just stand by while the interns crowd around the rails trying to peek.

It's a hysterical scene shockingly reminiscent of the bath scene in My Fair Lady. The one where cooing flowergirl Eliza Doolittle is forced to shed her shabby genteel trappings at the behest of the redoubtable housekeeper amidst shrieks of horrified indignation! As the patient is liberally doused in a potent mixture of bleach, chemical solvents and industrial soap, torn clothes, bits of hair and lice are flung out at regular intervals along with suds and bubbles.

Then with a final copious dusting of minty talcum powder - rising like magic pixie dust to the air, the show's done. And then lo and behold, a new patient - the true Lady of Lice all cleaned and scrubbed with her hair fashionably styled - stands bemusedly in the place of the unbecoming hobo earlier.

Even her cheeks bloom rosy pink.

Now who says the nurses don't have magic of their own.

Dilberts of the World

Always enjoyed a spot of Dilbert with my morning coffee. That lil biweekly comic strip by Scott Adams offers me a peek into the compartmentalized corporate world of engineering drones, nasty assistants and management stiffs. A Kafkaesque world that would otherwise be completely alien to me.

Although I do have plenty of engineer buddies ( including Charming Calvin ) who actually punch in their 9-to-5 over in that bureaucratic cubicle-hell! Though they assure me repeatedly that the comic strip doesn't lie all that far from reality, they don't seem all that eager to share their humiliating Dilbert experiences. Unlike doctors who are willing to spill anytime over java. Starting to wonder whether there's a clause in their contracts forbidding them from talking about work.


Thinking about work...
But the more I delve into the Dilbert universe ( and the more I see of my complacent friends! ), the more I'm inclined to agree. Dilberts do exist. By and large, most of my friends seem happily content to remain unquestioning cubicle rats herded around by inane, pointy-eared bosses!

Like Alice, I'd have cheerfully given them the Fist of Death instead.


Bosses?
Look, I'm not particularly ambitious myself. Forget about job satisfaction. Hell, I'd probably prefer mending shirts and baking tarts at home to slaving it endlessly at the hospital.

But since the perky 1950s housewife option seems closed to me at the moment, I'll continue giving my very best at work. And every once in a while, I'll still have these crazy dreams. I want to be the head of the department. I want to be the prominent expert in my field. I want to make changes in the departmental policy.

I want to rule the world.

Yes just like the conniving Dogbert, I do have the occasional megalomaniacal delusion.

Which my friends apparently don't share. Odd. Don't they feel an irresistible urge to overthrow their bosses in a devastating coup? Don't they want to rise to the absolute pinnacle of their respective careers?

Or do the ubiquitous cubicles actually sap ambition?

I believe my friends might be Dilberts.

The Flycatcher

A friend of mine Salacious Sal has a problem that most of us wouldn't mind having.

A boyfriend far too attractive for his own good!

I know most of you would be wondering where's the problem in that - since a lil man-candy accessory just goes with everything, right? Well, that's all true but let's not forget everyone else seems to want a sample of the hot merchandise as well.

Paul : So what's the problem?
Sal : Well the boyfriend has all these flies around him!
Paul : Flies? Does he smell? Is he rotting?
Sal : No. Man-flies! 苍蝇!

His irresistible pheromones seem to draw folks from near and far hence the many persistent admirers flitting about the man. A fact which my friend Salacious Sal isn't terribly amused with - calls them pesky flies 苍蝇 to his honey. Swatting them off would be easy enough but fending off these unwanted pests starts to get difficult when you're dealing with raffish man-sized paramours who won't take no for an answer.


Maybe the flies are afraid of the light?
Just a spray of pesticide isn't gonna work on these bugs.

Despite the frequent assurances from the said cutie boyfriend, I can see why Sal would feel a tad threatened by the attention. So would I actually. Who could blame him? All you'd need to do is slip just once with one of the flies buzzing about eagerly for a taste of that sweetness.

Even I wouldn't mind a brief lick myself :)

I'd have considered weekly threesomes ( with a different fruitfly every week! ) but from the look on Sal's face, I doubt he'd like that salacious idea. Of course throwing jealous remonstrances wouldn't work either. Even a possessive Scorpio like me would know that. Crazed irrational hysterics would probably drive them farther apart!

But rather than ignore the looming threat, I'd keep the flies close at hand. Hell, I'd be best buds with the most persistent ones! A twist on the old adage of keeping your friends close but your enemies ( in this case, the buzzing flies ) closer. Then I'd work my hardest at getting the flies happily paired off to cut down the competition.

Going Australia

What if I were a cattle baron in the Australian outback during the initial years of the 20th century?

I think I'd have been quite as conniving as any villainous mogul, trying to squeeze out the rest of the landowners to maintain a monopoly on my goods and make as much profit as I possibly can. Lies, cheating and manipulation would be the name of the game. Even bumping off some of my closest competitors ( dropping them into billabongs for the crocs ) wouldn't be an anathema to me - though I'd leave it as a last resort.

I doubt the prim lily-white aristocrat Lady Sarah Ashley would approve of me.


You're looking to hire me?
Especially when I try to steal her hunky Drover - played by a suitably buffed Hugh Jackman - to man my fields. And maybe even my bed. Though as a notoriously wicked baron I'd probably have conned a couple of dozen local hunks into my bed already to satisfy my voracious sexual appetites.

Paul : I see you've been behind on the payments.
Hunky farmer : Swear I'll pay you back, sir. With the recent drought, the land's not been as hearty as it should be for quite a while.
Paul : How terrible. Maybe it's time to pack up and leave.
Hunky farmer : Don't foreclose on us. Everything I have is sunk into this land. I've got a sheila at home with a child to pay for as well.
Paul : Maybe we could work out an agreement. Meet me at the main house tonight.
Hunky farmer : Oh thank you! Yes, sir.
Paul : By the way, tell your wife you won't be coming back till tomorrow.

Bedding all the eligible men in town, surely I'll soon be the scourge of the territory in due time. Of course those who talk ill will soon serve as the main course for the pet crocs I mentioned.

Things happen differently in Australia however. Our Lady Ashley arrives fresh from England only to encounter the stifling heat of the Northern Territory to salvage the cattle station left by her recently deceased husband. Soon she finds that the only way to make Faraway Downs profitable is if she transfers a herd of cattle to Darwin to make a sale.

And to do so, she'd need the hunky Drover I mentioned earlier to herd them.

Of course to dispell any illusion that this is a plain romance, our lady also encounters numerous obstacles to her ambitious plans - from her main rivals, the conniving manager Mr Fletcher and the arrogant cattle baron King Carney to the pesky World War II raging in the horizon. Along the way our intrepid ( though childless ) heroine also finds the time to combat racism by mothering a young half-caste Aboriginal orphan called Nullah.

And muddle through the classic Over the Rainbow. Despite forgetting the lines to the song, her valiant singing still manages to win the heart of the Drover. Damn skinny lily-white blonds.



Did I mention the Drover takes a particularly salacious shower while at camp? Though it's barely five seconds, it's certainly worth every penny of the movie ticket.

( Twenty ) Seven Month Itch

Really. Has this show been going on that long?

Well maybe. Then again maybe not since we never actually set a debut date for our relationship.

They say all the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players. As little children, we grow up watching our parents. Almost subconsciously, we derive our cues from them on the future roles we play and how we work to maintain a relationship. So it's simple enough for the boys and girls out there with a visible heteronormative lifestle ready as a copy to emulate. Just get married, build a home, play the mommy and the daddy.

Like playing house, not everyone gets it right the first time around. But at least someone's done it before. Whether you're playing violent one-upmanship sex games like the Tudors or cooing nauseating lovey-dovey words like the Waltons, just tune in to an old rerun if you forget the lines.


Opening scene?
But for the lil boys busy imagining the GI Joes making out hot and heavy in their tents, what roles we play in the future isn't written in any script we know. Two macho guys playing house couldn't possibly fit into the stereotypical 1950s family model after all with the inevitable quarrel over who's wearing the pants ( or the frilly apron and dress ) in the family. There are no role models and stereotypes to play with so we're mostly coasting along ad-libbing and making up our own lines as we go along.

Hence the occasional mid-season cancellations. Also known as the inevitable breakups.

So despite the fact that there's the occasional hit and miss episode with bad acting on both sides, I'm pleased that my show is still going on strong. Although sometimes Charming Calvin and I seem to have been paired together by the worst casting directors possible, we seem to have found our own odd chemistry.

Although we both initially signed on the show with far different expectations. I wanted a partner and a co-star in my vehicle - not to play the supporting role forever pandering to the proverbial diva in perpetual search of adoration.

Calvin obviously had other terms on his contract. No doubt he wishes for a more appreciative lover instead of the rather unaffectionate cold fish ( who doesn't do mawkish sentimentalities ) he'd gotten as a co-star. And at heart, Calvin's a gregarious Leo always ready to seek pleasant company while I'm a somewhat antisocial Scorpio forever in need of solitude to brood over whatever nefarious plot I've concocted. I might seek out a select group of friends but endless crowds of acquaintances inevitably bore me.

But we've compromised, hashed out the differences and worked out new agreements. So in my opinion, this is one show that just keeps getting better.