4 Day Week
January 26th, 2010 byInteresting article on The Punch on the concept of the four day week to tie in with Australia Day – http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/four-day-weeks-forever/
The Joy of Skiving
January 26th, 2010 byThere are two categories of people when it comes to work: those who live to work and those who work to live (no prizes for guessing which category best describes an idler, just the warm glow of recognition). As a professional idler it can be very hard to get inside the head of someone who lives to work. It begs the obvious question: Why? For the love of god, WHY? This is a question I may never be able to answer, even if I’m reincarnated through several lifetimes.
With people today living longer than ever before, the working life has also been extended. I don’t want to alarm you but this means most of us, barring any unforseen accidents or a lottery win, have around 50 years of work to look forward to. Before you go and sit in the nearest corner and start rocking back and forward, there is another way to deal with this disturbing fact. A smarter way.
Please let me introduce you to the joy of skiving.
Have you ever woken up on a weekday to be greeted by a blue sky, a shining sun, a gentle breeze and an overwhelming urge to bypass work – at speed- and head straight for the coast? And have you then indulged that urge after making a faux croaky-voiced call to work? If you answered ‘yes’ then ‘no’, I have to ask, “What’s holding you back?” Firstly, Australia’s coastline stretches almost 50,000kms with over 10,000 beautiful beaches (more than any other country in the world). More than 85 per cent of the population lives within 50km of the coast. Our climate is pretty damn good for much of the year.
Secondly, will your workplace grind to a halt if you don’t show your face for the odd day here or there? I think you know the answer to that. You can finish that PowerPoint, wage that political war or tell your boss how smart and funny he/she is tomorrow, after you’ve made a miraculous recovery from your “illness”.
Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, “chucking a sickie” is as Australian as meat pies, lamingtons, kangaroos, koala bears, Speedos and Vegemite (even if the last two are now owned by American multi-nationals). If Australia had a constitution you can bet the right to chuck a sickie would be up there with other inalienable human rights like equal rights for all and the right to party like it’s 1999 even if it ain’t.
The Idler has already covered the joys of drinking, where nights of booze-fuelled hedonism open up a world of unknowable adventure. Oftentimes these adventures are followed by a day of lethargy, headache and dehydration (but the adventures are still worth every exquisite moment, it has to be said). If you have to then work the next day, any idler worth his or her salt knows exactly what must be done: call work with that faux croaky voice (it’s worth mastering this as soon as possible to facilitate easy skiving), rent a selection of trashy DVDs, and then lie on the couch where you will remain all day, only getting up to purchase a snack of greasy food from the nearest takeaway joint.
Sometimes it’s not the call of the beach or a debilitating hangover that makes work seem even less appealing than a root canal without anaesthetic. Sometimes you just couldn’t be bothered. It’s as simple as that. The siren song of your bed trumps all other considerations. This is being idle in its most pure, distilled form and is there a sweeter thing in all the world? Nay, and again I say nay. The hot tip for amateurs is to call work soon after you wake up because your voice will naturally be croaky – no acting required. Then roll over and allow the irresistible pull of sleep to transport you to a world where work doesn’t exist, every day is a beach day and booze never, ever gives you a hangover no matter how much you drink.
Perhaps the greatest enemy of skiving is guilt but I am here to tell you that guilt is a wasted emotion, my friends. Guilt is like a rusty chain wrapped tightly around your body and fixed to a wall in a damp cellar, holding you back from the life you should be leading. And what life is that? Why, that’s an idle life, of course where skiving is one of the many pleasurable activities you will enjoy.
So, pick up the phone, dial your boss’ digits and get set to skive.
Here’s another take on pulling a sickie from the blog “Things Australians Love” – http://thingsaustralianslove.com/index.php/things-australians-love/chucking-sickies/
The Art of The Stroll
November 29th, 2009 byThose less familiar with the intricacies of being a professional idler might initially question whether walking can truly be a part of an idle life. Surely lounging around, preferably with a (strong) cocktail in hand, more accurately reflects the spirit of the idler lifestyle. However, as with most things in life, it’s not what you do but the way that you do it that counts.
I’m not talking about the type of walking that is an affliction of modern life. The ‘I’m late for the train/work/an appointment/my court sentencing’ kind of walk. The kind of walk that sees its proponents run down anyone unlucky enough to be in the way – old ladies, children, unsuspecting tourists. No, the kind of walk I’m advocating to anyone prepared to embrace an idle way of living would more accurately be described as a “stroll”. The Oxford English dictionary defines ‘stroll’ as: walk in a leisurely way. Dictionary.com ups the ante with some sweet descriptive morsels like ramble and saunter.
A person’s regular walking speed is determined by many different factors like height, weight, terrain and fitness. Whatever your speed is, we have three very important words for you to absorb: Slow. It. Down. Don’t forget the keywords: leisurely, ramble, saunter. Indeed, let them become your mantra. You might also like to amble, drift, meander, promenade, wander, tarry or toddle. It’s entirely up to you what you call it because whichever way you slice it or dice it, it’s the benefits you gain from the art of the stroll that concern us. And it is an art.
Fortunately, it’s a very simple art to master. No training required. Comfortable shoes would probably help, so leave your 8” Manolos at home. Prepare yourself for the uptight pedestrians who you’ll be slowing down with your laidback gait. They may well be raging internally with thoughts like, “Hey you! Can you walk any slower?” or “If you don’t get out of my way I’m going to punch you in the back of the head.” But don’t panic. After a few short minutes strolling you’ll have zoned any negativity out and it’ll be all about the experience.
So what, exactly, will you experience? You will look at the world through fresh eyes. You will be born anew. Sound a little OTT? Don’t doubt the power of the stroll. The slower pace will allow you to take note of things that usually pass by in a blur. What’s that on the left? A plaque commemorating the opening of a building from a Prime Minister long dead. What’s that above? A sandstone gargoyle carved by convict hands. What’s that in front of you? The telegraph pole you’re about to walk into.
Wherever you live, by simply taking a stroll, by forgetting about getting from A to B (it’s totally overrated), you will discover a whole new world within a world. Your stress levels will plummet faster than the New York Stock Exchange when the global financial crisis kicked off. And lest anyone tell you you’re wasting your time or that, having left A, you really, really do need to get to B, take heart from the fact that the art of strolling has some historical muscle behind it.
The term ‘flâneur’ comes from the French masculine noun which means ‘stroller’ or ‘lounger’. This in turn comes from the French verb ‘flâner’ which means to stroll. Charles Baudelaire, the nineteenth century poet of some repute, developed a meaning for flâneur of “a person who walks the city in order to experience it.” He believed the flâneur had a key role in understanding, participating in and portraying the city. Ol’ Charlie was clearly a very switched on fellow. So you can see it’s almost your duty to take a stroll. You owe it to your city, town, village or sleepy backwater.
When you take the time to slow down, a seemingly non-descript landscape can be transformed into an art gallery or a classroom (but of the fun variety – unlike school there won’t be a test afterwards). What are you doing right now? Well, you’re obviously reading this. Let’s wrap things up immediately so you can get up from the computer, go outside and take a nice, long, leisurely stroll. Enjoy!
Bukowski – A Future Congressman
November 25th, 2009 byCharles Bukowski
“Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live” – Charles Bukowski.
Idlers, you owe it to yourself to become acquainted with the poetry of Mr Charles Bukowski. It’s late, I’m drunk and I have further drinking to do, so further discussion of this 20th century hero will have to wait for another time, but, for now, here is one of his razor sharp, honesty-as-a-weapon poems. The title says it all. Read it and weep. Or laugh. Then weep.
The poem is copyright Linda Lee Bukowski … read the poem, then buy the book….
A Future Congressman
in the men’s room at the
track
this boy of about
7 or 8 years old
came out of a stall
and the man
waiting for him
(probably his father)
asked,
“what did you do with the racing program?
I gave it to you
to keep.”
“no,” said the boy,
“I ain’t seen it! I don’t
have it!”
they walked off and
I went into the stall
because it was the only one
available
and there
in the toilet
was the
program.
I tried to flush
the program
away
but it just swam
sluggishly about
and remained.
I got out of
there and found
another
empty stall.
that boy was ready
for his life to come,
he would undoubtedly
be highly successful,
the lying little
prick.
-Charles Bukowski,
pp. 26 – 27 The Pleasures of the Damned, copyright Linda Lee Bukowski and HarperCollins, 2007
Drinking
November 22nd, 2009 by“I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.” – Frank Sinatra
It makes sense that the first subject we tackle on the Australian idler is that of drinking. Booze is the idler’s friend. It is, however, the enemy of the workplace and its joyless “manager”. It is the enemy of the puritanical, as is any other form of enjoyment that involves “letting go”. It is the enemy of the government, the members of which will, whilst swilling back the finest 20 year old single malt scotch whiskey, spend inordinate amounts of time and energy decrying the “booze culture” of the Australia they have inherited. It is, in short, the enemy of the killjoys and, as such, we should celebrate it.
Why do the “powers that be” seem to have to have such a dislike for alcohol? As a devout idler, I believe there two main reasons.
Firstly, and most obviously, it is a matter of control. Whilst we are tethered at our desks, working at our lathes, or plying our trade on-site, under the all-powerful gaze of our “bosses”, we are under their control. Everybody knows that power corrupts, and yet, in our daily lives, power is handed to the people least worthy of it. Invariably, the “boss” is the person that no one liked when they were “on the shop floor”. It is the person who made loud comments about your timekeeping whilst the boss was about. It is the person who never came out for a drink after work. The truth is, your boss is more than a little jealous of you and your lifeand they would like to cut down on the unseemly amount of booze-fuelled fun you are having whist beyond their supervision.
Secondly, and most of all, the killjoys, by character and name, despise joy. They wish to kill it. And how it must pain them to see the joy on our faces when we hit the pubs and bars on a Friday or Saturday night, devoid of responsibility, glad to see our friends and looking forward to a night of unknowable adventure. This is not part of their plan. We should be at home, watching TV, getting an early night, resting up after the hard week of work past and preparing for the productive week to come.
But not us, dear idlers. For, during this brief interlude of freedom, we are beyond their control. For, from Friday night until Monday morning, there is no control. There are no certainties. As Jim Morrison, booze soaked lead singer of The Doors, said, “It’s like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don’t know where you’re going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It’s like the throw of the dice.”.
The killjoys don’t like to throw the dice. Throwing the dice means letting go. And letting go means losing control. Despite this outward veneer of distaste for our tipsy antics we know that, truth be told, in their more honest moments, when they sit alone, late at night, in the comfort of their homes, they would rather be with us. No, not with us – they would rather be us. Running wild. Full of joy. Drunk. Idle. Free.
Welcome!
September 1st, 2009 byWelcome to the Australian Idler.
The Australian Idler is a site dedicated to the art of being idle. Idleness is not difficult, requires a minimum of effort and is highly rewarding, and yet it is a dying art. Look around, read the newspapers, and the signs are there to see.
Every morning in Sydney (where I live), you can see millions of tired, miserable souls being transported to their offices to spend 8, 9 even 10 hours dragging out tasks they could do in half the time if only they were allowed to duck off to the beach once they’d finished. Are the morning buses and trains full of happy, cheerful folk, looking forward to a fulfilling day’s work? They are not.
Compare this to the outpouring of joy when Friday evening arrives. Oh, the relief! The celebration! The joy at knowing there are two days of freedom at our disposal, to do with whatever we please. No boss! No alarm! No clock-watching as life seeps away second by second!
Australia, what has happened? We are now the hardest working nation in the Western world. How did this happen? Surely this is the proud home of pulling a sickie to hit the beach, of Saint Monday (or his medical equivalent, Mondayitis), of long lunches on a Friday (or any other day)?
Australia, we’re losing our culture to become a nation of workaholic drones. It’s time to wake up! It’s time to regain what’s ours – our time! Let’s be free! Let’s be merry! Let’s be idle!