Consumer is King
In an age where consumers demand, inter alia, choice and supreme customer service, I have discovered that these 2 concepts can be mutually exclusive.

Every morning as I plod into work, I stop off at my usual coffee shop and without muttering a breath my fave coffee-men will deliver my skim mocha and stamp my loyalty card. HOWEVER what IF I didn't want a skim mocha? Could I possibly interrupt the now etched-in-concrete process and request a large flat white instead? Answer is NO. They are always so busy thus finding a moment to change my usual order is practically impossible and by the time I get their attention, my skim mocha is ready to make my stomach brew (eeeeeew).

How about exercising the choice to not have coffee (heaven forbid) and indeed having coffee somewhere else? My fave coffee-men have a birdseye view of every person that walks out of Town Hall station. This being the case, escaping their vision is out of the question. How can you ignore and offend such an established vendor-customer relationship? Answer is you CANNOT. The few times that I have walked pass the shop without stopping for coffee have been filled with pangs of guilt and remorse. So much so that I try and hide behind some random stranger or look down at my feet.

But perhaps not having choice is not such a bad thing. Look at IKEA, they've made a business out of restricting choice to their customers.

Went to the 'Caravaggio and His World' exhibition the other day. I was thoroughly engaged with his artwork. This was my 1st time on a guided tour and if you can spare $25, it's well worth it. Lucky for me, it was freeeeeee. Wholistically, Caravaggio's works are amazing - the form, the symmetry, the precision, the beauty. However what adds that extra dimension are the themes, the innuendos, the undertones. Together this makes Caravaggio not just a painter but an artist. I mean he managed to turn a painting of fruits into pornography packed with sexual connotations.

Monday gripes include: crappy CityRail and their crappy crappy crappy service (we are talking 2 hour home journeys!); not getting any exercise on the weekend (though my butt pads probably got a good work out from sitting in front of my compy all weekend); cleaning the house in preparation for the return of the parentals (they've finally decided to come home); getting indigestion every time I consume pasta and egg noodles (but I love my chicken noodle soup).

On a completely different note, here is a very interesting read about love (thanks Gregan ... you are all-knowing!)