Articles in “Strange Conversations”

(I think that title might end up being longer than the actual blog post).

SCENE: Inside JB Hi-Fi, just after my impassioned rant about the selfishness of people who leave their adorable West Highland Whites locked up in the car, even on a winter’s day, when the poor thing was clearly highly distressed and barking non-stop, which I won’t repeat here.

NICE, WELL-INFORMED SALESMAN: Can I help you?
ME: Yes, Do you have any 400 to 800 firewire cables?
NICE, WELL-INFORMED SALESMAN: No. We’re getting them in, but we haven’t been stocking them because [brief explanation that showed that he, unlike the stoner we subsequently talked to in Harvey Norman, knew what he was talking about.]
NICK: Oh, dear.
ME: Never mind. Didn’t we see that they’re having a sale on Doctor Who DVDs? Let’s go and look at those!
NICK: Okay!

So, while we might not have a 400 to 800 firewire cable, we do have shiny new copies of “City of Death” (“What a wonderful butler: he’s so violent!”) and the E-space trilogy.

What do you normally do when you complete a scary job application?

NICK: Well, are we going shopping? Oh: are you updating your Facebook status?
ME: Of course I am! I’ve just done something!

The longer I work on this job application, the more sarcastic I become:

ME: That poster for Halloween costumes is creepy.
NICK: I wonder where it is. It’s probably an actual location in the game.
ME: Gasp! How exciting!
NICK: Well, I’m excited.
ME: I can tell.
NICK: I don’t know about you.
ME: I’m not excited at all.
NICK: No, I didn’t think so. You seem not to be excited about things any more.
(Pause)
ME: Excuse me?
NICK: Sorry, that was a bit rude.
ME: And pointless. I’ve never been excited by Fallout 3.
NICK: Yeah, good point.

As Nick watches the trailer for Tales of Monkey Island, in light of the news that the franchise will be revived:

NICK: Sigh. It fills me with a deep sense of joy, Treena.
ME: I remember last time you played Monkey Island. You started getting really cranky and then chucked a massive hissy fit and refused to play any more because you couldn’t win the diving competition.
NICK: That’s right!
(Pause for me to laugh)
NICK: There better not be anything like that in the new game.
(Continued laughter)
NICK: But that wasn’t in the spirit of Monkey Island at all!
(Pause for further laughter)
NICK: I mean, a sodding diving competition!

Alas, into each life a little rain must fall, no?

ME: Hello?
MAM: Hi, Treen. Are you doing anything?
ME: Watching a movie, but I can pause it. What’s up?
MAM: Your dad wants to know if you can tell him how to record the World Cup final tonight. Your brother’s gone out and we don’t know how to work the machine.
ME: The World Cup final?
MAM: Well, whatever. The football. At midnight.
ME: The F.A. Cup final?
MAM: Yes. Can you tell him how to record it?
ME: Mam, I don’t even know what brand your DVR is!
MAM: Well, can you just give us some ideas?
ME: I can suggest that you should have bought a TiVo.
MAM: Can you at least tell us which channel SBS is on?
ME: Pardon?
MAM: Your dad can’t find SBS. He’s on channel 90 now.
ME: Do you have my brother’s mobile number?
MAM: Yes.
ME: Can you send him an SMS, asking him if he’ll be home before midnight?
MAM: We don’t know how to send an SMS!
DAD: (excited but muffled shouts from off-phone)
MAM: He’s found SBS.
ME: Well, that’s a start. Can you not just pick a programme and press “record”?
MAM: I don’t think so. Can’t you tell us how to record it?
ME: Mam, I moved out of home before you bought that machine.
MAM: Can Nick tell us how to do it?
ME: I don’t think so. But he could send my brother an SMS for you.
NICK: What do I say?
ME: ‘Are you coming home before midnight? Dad can’t record the F.A. Cup final and he’s bullying me. Love, Treen.’
DAD: (vague muttering off-phone)
MAM: What’s ‘EPG’?
ME: I don’t know. Oh, Nick says it’s the Electronic Programme Guide. That’s probably what you want.
DAD: (vague muttering off-phone)
MAM: Your dad says that probably won’t work.
ME: Mam, that’s the best I can suggest. Try picking a programme and hitting “record.”
MAM: I don’t think we can do that.
ME: Well, my brother just sent an SMS saying he won’t be home tonight. So just try it.
DAD: (excited but muffled shouts from off-phone)
MAM: He’s found the F.A. Cup Final. What do we do now?
ME: Press “record”?
MAM (shouting to Dad): Treen says to press record. (To me) Dad says there’s only an “OK” button.
ME: Try hitting the “OK” button, then.
DAD (excited shouts from off-phone)
ME: I take it that worked?
MAM: (shouting to Dad) Tell Treen what? (Pause) I’m not telling her that! (To me) Dad says he’s very disappointed in you.
ME: He’s what?
MAM (shouting to Dad): You’re not very disappointed in her!
DAD (off phone): I am!
MAM (shouting to Dad): You’re not! (To me) Oh, there’s a call coming in. It’s probably your brother ringing to tell us how to record the F.A. Cup final. Bye!

ME: Did you say you were making me a cup of coffee?
NICK: Yes. For you are deserving of coffee!
ME: Oh, god.
NICK: What? What now?
ME: But now I’m going to be worrying about whether or not I’m deserving of things. What if I eat some yoghurt but I’m not deserving of it? What if one day I’m not deserving of dinner?
NICK: Treena, this is crazy talk.
ME: I know! See what a pass you have brought us to.
NICK: You started it.
ME: I did not!
NICK: Yes, you did. You invaded Poland.
(Pause)
NICK: Running away now!

A strange conversation between two extremely distracted people:

ME (looking at baby pictures on the Internet): I’d like to have twins. It’s a shame you can’t arrange it.
NICK: Yeah. Ahead of time.
ME: Yeah.
(Pause)
ME: No, wait. You can’t arrange it after the fact, either.
NICK: No. That’s . . . right.

Yet another conversation centred on Nick’s iPhone:

NICK: You know, now I have proper data connectivity on this thing, it can actually function as a GPS. See?
ME (refusing to look up from my Rex Stout novel): You mean, next time we get lost while driving, you can make the subsequent argument significantly worse by insisting on pulling out your iPhone?
NICK: Somehow I knew you were going to look at it like that.

Women: we’re just so damn unreasonable!

After an unnecessarily complicated conversation over instant messaging about whether or not the latest issue in The Great Fables Crossover came out today:

ME: I don’t know how I’ll go back to only one comic a month after this!
NICK: You’ll have to follow a few other comics then!
ME: Nah. Anyway . . .
NICK: You need to get back to work . . .
ME: Yep. Or, you know, play Peggle. One or the other.
NICK: It’s all grist for the Mills.
(Pause)
ME: I’m going to ignore that.
NICK: I’m very grateful for that.

It’s been a long day, so I’m sure you’ll understand when I say this started from a discussion about whether the TiVo icon in the top left-hand corner of the television screen was sentient and, if so, if it became bored:

NICK: Treena, it’s connected to the Internet constantly. I’m sure it’s fine.
ME: Oh, no! What if it’s downloading pornography?
NICK: Computer pornography?
ME: Yeah!
NICK: Oh, yes: like, ZX81s in compromising positions?
ME: Honey, no. ZX81s are ancient!
NICK: True. Oooh—late ’90s Macs! With their translucent covers. Yeah.
(Pause)
NICK: What? Why are you looking at me like that?!

ME: In what Defamer calls [paraphrased, because I’m forgetful] Defiling Your Childhood’s Grave Part 27 . . .
NICK: Yes?
ME: They’re remaking Flight of the Navigator.
NICK: Hmm. Well, I’m torn on that. One the one hand, it was just a little ahead of its time, visually. But on the other hand, no one knows how to make children’s movies these days.
ME: It’s the same exec. producer. And the writer was a writer-producer for Arrested Development.
NICK: Really? Which one?
ME: I want to say Jon Osterman, but I don’t think that’s right.
NICK: No. Because that’s Doctor Manhattan.
ME: Oh. I don’t think it’s being written by Doctor Manhattan, no.

The first object lesson to be taken from this post is never blog when you’re tipsy.

ME: I’m bringing my computer out to the living room, because I secretly like to tweet Rage.
NICK: Me, too!
ME: That’s how we know we’re the perfect couple.
NICK: Really?
ME: No, not really.
NICK: Pardon?
ME: Well, I secretly don’t like you very much.
NICK: I’m making you coffee, if that makes a difference.
ME: No, not so much.
NICK: I thought as much.
ME: Then why make me coffee, if you didn’t think it made a difference?
NICK: Treena, everyone needs their own form of incentivisation.

The second object lesson is never enter into an argument with a man who is so steeped in bureaucratese that he can not only make nouns from verbs (as we all can) but can actually make nouns from other nouns.

ME: Are we going to have breakfast in the same cafe as last time?
NICK: I think so. Where was that?
ME (turning and pointing): It’s back here.
NICK: I feel like . . .
ME: . . . an explorer in the wilderness?
NICK: . . . . pancakes.
(Pause)
NICK: “An explorer in the wilderness”?
ME: I’m just trying to finish the simile, honey. I thought, “It’s a bit of a cliche, but that’s Nick for you.”

While Nick and I discuss Duke Nuken Forever, the video game that was in development for ten years, until the company collapsed last week:

NICK: It won Wired magazine’s Vapourware aware something like seven years in a row.
ME (With accompanying sound effects and hand gestures): Vapourware being things things that go pouf!
NICK: Products that are announced but that never appear.
ME (With accompanying sound effects and hand gestures): As in, they go pouf!
NICK: Yes.
(Pause)
NICK: What is it now?
ME: Well, “things that go pouf!” is essentially the same as “products that are announced and never appear.”
NICK: And?
ME: You could have just said, “That’s right, Treen. Nice sound effects!”
NICK: I suppose they were quite good sound effects.

(Normal programming to resume tomorrow (now my marking is finished) with a Eurovision-inspired “Cheesiest Items on my Bookshelf” post.)

After accusing Nick of running off with my good black pen:

NICK: Here it is.
ME: You did run off with it!
NICK: No, I didn’t!
ME: Well, where did you find it?
NICK: I can’t tell you that.
ME: Why not?
NICK: I can’t tell you that, either.
ME: And why can’t you tell me?
NICK: I’ve been sworn to secrecy.
ME: By whom?
NICK: Myself.
(Pause)
ME: You’ve been sworn to secrecy by yourself?
NICK: Yes.
ME: Well, could you let yourself out of your oath of secrecy?
NICK: Oh, I don’t think so, Treen. That would be highly inappropriate.

And all that to avoid telling me what he’d done with my pen.