Sunday, November 24. 12:23PM
Ah, Sunday morning and another log. My mother has imposed a strict regime of job searching on me this week, so I spent most of it going to the city and hanging around, telling her that I'd spent the day handing in resumes. It was fairly all right, I guess. Spent a fair bit of it at uni and got to see some truly useless sites (totally unlike this site, naturally). It was Wednesday before I really accomplished anything, and what I accomplished was to go to this place in Prahan I go to occasionally, who like to take my parent's money. I've been there four times now - that's eight trips there and back from Prahan station, and I don't reckon I've ever taken the same route twice. On the way there I can never seem to find the damn place - on the way back, I can never find Prahan station. I don't get it. I've spent the greater part of my schooling life in either South Yarra or Prahan, and I know the area pretty well, but this place I can never find.
On Thursday my father returned from China, where he's been for the last three weeks. He brought me shoes, which were of little consequence, and more importantly, a gift from my sister. Essentially what it is is a small metal box, on a key chain. Down one side is a strip of something different to the rest of it. There is a knob coming out of the center which unscrews to reveal a cylindrical thing with a small metal blade sticking out of the top. The whole thing has an odor of fuel to it. Now I spent a while trying to figure it out. My first conclusion, based on the smell was that it was some kind of lighter, however, damned if I could figure out how it lit. I next translated the writing on the side, which turned out to be a brand name, followed by Superior Attached Rum. Now I don't know all that much about rum (my taste in quite toxic alcohol runs more to Vodka, or occasionally Uzo, or some fine sipping whisky), but I don't think that attached has any relevance to it. I though it of little conscience, however, as the translators are often fairly dodgie, and maybe it was referring to the clip on the box. Either way, this drew me to the thought that perhaps it was some form of small flask, for holding a shot or so of said rum. Later that day I showed it to my parents, and my mother concluded that it was some form of stabber, which could be sharpened on the different surface, which she concluded was a whetstone. She also said it could be a screwdriver. The next day me and Marcus were messing around with it, and we struck the cylinder against the different bit, and created a spark. This led me to propound that it was a reusable match, however, no matter how much lighter fluid we drenched it in, we couldn't get it to hold a flame. Lap later concluded that it was a tinderbox, and since it's only purpose seems to be the creation of sparks I'm inclined to agree. Why, however, a Spanish rum company is making tinderboxes (which sure have had little or no use in the last hundred years or so) for sale in China, I really cannot fathom.
All this, however, sparked an idea in me. Surely, I thought, a slight modification could put a wick inside the cylinder, which would, if properly soaked in lighter fluid, ignite when the match was struck. The container could be filled with an absorbent substance (like cotton wool), and filled and refilled by the owner with lighter fluid, the wick, when inside the box, would therefore refuel itself from the fluid in the box when not in use. What we have created is a reusable match. Matches have a certain effect when struck that lighters do not have. They create sparks, involve a sudden movement, and look as though they require some skill (although, in fact, I know very few people who can't light a match, and quite a few who have never mastered the art of the Bic lighter). Either way, the act of striking a match can draw attention to you in a crowded room, which a lighter does not do so readily. Also, where matches get wet and ruined, reusable match does not. Reusable match is smaller then a matchbox, and providing you refill the lighter fluid, will not run out. Where matches look cheap and crap, a reusable match looks silver, cool, and may be embossed with your company logo, just like a Zippo, the coolest of the lighters. Where lighters, practically Zippo lighters cannot light down, reusable match can, enabling you to light fires, candles, and any other non easily liftable thing. So there you have it. The first thing I've ever invented that's cool, practical, and easily marketable, and what do I do with it? Put it on the Internet where anyone can steal it. Damn I'm dumb. I should have mocked up a prototype last night, and be a the patent office right now (well, it's Sunday afternoon, so I should probably wait till tomorrow).
There was another adventure on Thursday. I walked into Academic and General in Ascot Vale, and told them I was looking for a job. The woman glanced at my resume, and had someone take me around the store. Then she spend an hour or so having me find books, and stick the stickers on the back of books and so on. After that she explained the job to me a bit, and asked me if I thought I could do it. I said yes, she said come in Monday. It's weird - it would seem I have a job, but really I don't. We've not discussed payment, regular shifts, my tax file number, the staff entrance, or any of the practicalities of having a job. I don't really care though. It'll be nice to finally have some money (providing I actually get paid, of course). There's a lot worse places you could work then Academic and General too - it's not food, it's not that repetitive, you don't have to wear a uniform, you don't have to try and up-sell people and there's this chick there that I've only seen once but boy oh boy do I what to give her the stiff one eye.
I notice last week that ever since I left my girlfriend these logs have become increasingly more and more about me perving at women. I mentioned this to Will, and he said he'd noticed that they'd been a lot less personal since I realised that him, Allan, and a few others were actually reading them. Well, this log has only mentioned girls once (actually, I spent the other day with a bunch of guys, some of whom regularly read my log, and at several points in the day we were like..."so and so, damn is that girl hot") and I don't know why it's less personal. It's not deliberate, it just happens like that. Not so much personal stuff in my life right now, or something. I'm single, and get to spend a lot less time delicately balancing relationships, and more time being the happy-go-lucky swinger that deep inside I know I am.
Let the good times roll!