Monday, October 30, 2006

Paul the Chameleon

Last Monday morning I shaved off my moustache and goatee, and of course my hair has been growing for some time now. So I get to Perth airport this morning, and the lady refuses to give me my boarding pass. Because, according to her, I do not look anything like my passport photo.

Asks me if I have my driver's licence handy. Yes, and I present it. Inwardly laughing, as it will not help. I have had the same short hair and moustache for the last seven years. Eventually she decides that it is me, and I get my boarding pass.

Had a good chuckle about it in the lounge, and eventually arrived at Shanghai Pudong airport tonight. And lo and behold, they would not let me in to the country. Looked at me, looked at my passport, looked at me, looked at my passport. Asked how old the passport photograph was. Asked for some Australian ID. So I presented my driver's licence again. ANd both officers burst out laughing, as the licence and the passport look the same. But both look different to me.

Eventually they did let me in.

So, here's the deal: I decided to grow my hair into a pony tail again, which will be a three year project. And I decided that I will not care what the customers think or say about my hair. But having all this hassle getting in and out of countries is another story.

So, as my colleague said today, grow the moustache again...

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

2007 Lamborghini MurciƩlago LP640: More Horsepower on the Hoof

The following exerpt from the New York Times: "The LP designation refers to the engine’s mounting position (“longitudinale posteriore”) behind the two seats; 640 is the horsepower it makes in European specification. Because of slight changes to meet American emissions rules, the output in this country is slightly less, at 632 horsepower — akin to the difference between getting hit by a .44-caliber bullet or a .45; the wounds are pretty much the same size."


Friday, October 06, 2006

Metrosexuals and Mark Latham

I am at a resort in Phuket, and had my first facial today, at the ripe old age of 37. I was mildly disappointed. Unlike a massage, I did not feel the earth move for me. Then again, it has taken many years to find out what type of massage I enjoy (very hard, try to make me scream in agony), so I guess I should not judge by a single experience.

Does my skin feel any softer and more radiant? No, not really.

So I might do it again, but I would much rather have a massage. Mark Latham would be proud. I am not a metrosexual. Now where did I leave my gel and mousse? Ahh, there it is. Next to my Gucci sunglasses.