All in all, the week’s been good. Work’s going okay, I’ve finally just about almost got a little bit of a grip on what we’re all meant to be doing.

I finally got the guided tour of the office, and was introduced to everybody - at least, everybody that the guy I’m working with could remember the names of. That’s okay though - a few seconds after I was introduced to most of the people, I had forgotten their names. That’s just me. I’m terrible at remembering names. I can usually recognise a face, but can’t remember the name that goes with it. At my last job it was easy - everybody wore security IDs, with their first name prominently displayed in capital letters.

Oh well. Just in case any of them are reading - to everybody except for Darren, Michael, Patrick, Annie, Judy, Ben and Vince - sorry.

I’ve dropped in on the people I used to work with a couple of times. And talking to some of the people in my area, it’s amazing how small the industry is, even in a big city like Melbourne. A lot of people you meet will have worked with the same people you have.

In fact, you know the Kevin Bacon Game? The one where every actor that ever was is linked back to Kevin Bacon by who else they’ve been in movies with? Someone should do an IT industry version of the Kevin Bacon game. In fact if anyone wants to have a bash at it, I’ll donate my name to the title. The Daniel Bowen Game. Rings a bell, doesn’t it. If this takes off, my name could be a talking point at geek parties all over town.

And yes, I think most of the people who work in the IT industry are geeks. I think I’m a geek. Sometimes I’ve tried to deny it, but there comes a point where you realise that it’s just something you are. The point I got to was when I realised how many of my friends only bother to ring me when they’ve got questions to ask me about computers. I’m probably in their address books under "G".

But that’s okay, because everyone’s a geek. We’re all geeks with something. If you know more about anything than someone else, you’re a geek.

It’s just that the G word is usually reserved for computer people and the like. We all laugh at trainspotters (I mean the people, not the movie), we all think "gee, what nerds. What complete geeks". But everyone’s geeky about something.

Fascinated by the intricacies of HTML? You’re a geek. Know all about hifi? You’re a geek. Got everything about cars, all that twin-cam ABS fuel-injection stuff all memorised? You’re a geek. Remember every footy game your club has played since you were born? Geek. Do you know without looking at the labels which clothes have to go in the wash on hot, which on warm, and which on cold? Geek. Can you tell the difference between all your drill bits without a second glance? Geek.

It doesn’t matter. It’s better to be interested in something than interested in nothing. But remember: It doesn’t matter how cool or butch it is. You’re still a geek.

Well, I got a key. No more hanging around the lifts at work waiting for other people to arrive and following them in trying not to look suspicious. But I lost my phone. Kinda ironic since I’m working at a phone company. But that’s okay, my mobile phone is close at hand, and it even works when I remember to charge it!

Meanwhile, on matters of greater importance, I have located the Coke machine. It’s down 27 floors, but at least it’s inside the building, so my emergency caffeine supply isn’t too far away.

And as far as the lunchtime shopping goes, the top ranking visited shop so far is JB Hifi. Normally it could be very dangerous only being a block away from there, but so far I’ve managed to be remarkably restrained, and have come out of there without an armful of CDs more often than not. It’s probably because I know full well that we’ve actually run out of space for them in the highly convenient CD stacking shelf of the bookshelf at home. So I don’t want to buy any (well, okay, many) more until we either find more shelf space or clear some out.

Somewhere up in the clouds, hundreds of feet above the ground, that’s where you’ll find me during working hours. My new job is up on the 27th floor. Although I don’t have a window seat, the view is terrific. But being so high up means getting used to express lifts.

It genuinely frightens me that a metal box that you’re standing in can travel so many floors up (or even worse, down) in such a short time. On Thursday I foolishly went down in the lift for lunch, eating a banana. Not a good idea. It almost leapt back up my throat.

And the job itself? It’s pretty good. I’m back at a company I used to work at (that big phone company that starts with T), and half the people I’m working with seem to know half the people I used to work with - who are only three floors below me anyway.

As with all computer jobs in the history of the universe, you spend the first day reading lots of documents so you try and get the remotest idea of what’s going on. Then on the second day you generally start delving gently into some actual work. This has been no exception.

So in general it’s going well. In fact, compared to my last job, it’s going exceedingly well:

Curses! About a month ago our PC at home had the monitor go in for repair. They replaced it with a nicer one, so I was really hoping they’d somehow forget about us and we’d get to keep it, instead of getting our old ratty one back again. Alas, it was not meant to be - the guy brought our old one back. Drat. Maybe it’s worth replacing it? Maybe I really should go on that consumer electronics shopping spree and buy a new monitor, new hard drive, amplifier…

Anyway when the guy dropped it off, we unplugged the loaner monitor and plugged in our one and booted the computer back up. Everything worked okay, including the current desktop wallpaper - Pythonline’s May Pet Of The Month - John Cleese in a bikini.

So now I’m wondering… did the computer repair guy notice this? And if so, did he get the joke? He seemed awfully keen to get to his next appointment… Did he run down to the car and jump on the phone to the office "you would not BELIEVE what that guy’s got on his computer!"

Isaac turned two last Thursday, and yesterday we had a whole bunch of kids over to celebrate his birthday. Large numbers of small kids descending on a house can sometimes be a daunting prospect, but we made sure that they would be outnumbered by adults, so we thought it’d be okay.

I’m sitting here, unable to write much more because the telly’s on and I’m distracted by the Logies. It’s all a bit pathetic, isn’t it? These people that get awarded them - how can they possibly be as surprised as they appear to be?

And how come on every awards show that has ever been, the presenters know they don’t have to bend down to speak into the microphones, but the people who accept the awards (who are often the same people!) always think they do have to bend down?

On the jobs front, last Friday I ended up faced with two job offers - one a permanent job where I used to work, and one a 6 month contract almost where I used to work. The permanent job was more the kind of work I’m after, but the contract is more money, and I’d rather keep contracting. So after agonising about it for several hours, I decided to be a greedy bastard and take the contract.

So late this week, I finally get back into doing some real work. And I’ll be back in the city, which craps all over working in the suburbs. Everything’s within five minutes’ walk at lunch time. Hopefully I’ve still got my knack of shopping without spending too much.

I think I need to get fit. This afternoon on the way home from dropping off the auxiliary VCR for one of its occasional services (this being the occasion of it ceasing to work), I did the 150 Metre Across Huntingdale Station Carpark Down The Ramp Through The Underpass Up The Ramp And Onto The Train Sprint. Okay, so I didn’t have to do it, but I had seen the train coming, and who wants to wait an extra fifteen minutes if you don’t have to?

So I only just made it. I mean, apart from only just making it onto the train, I think physically I only just made it. I was still breathing heavily five minutes later. And my legs felt distinctly wobbly.

It’s not that I’m particularly unfit. But I don’t think this carcass of mine is used to sudden bursts of strenuous exercise. Maybe it should be.

Okay, okay, I admit it, I’ve been feeling a little unfit and inadequate since I saw that guy in the park who strolled up and used the top of the swings like a bar to jump onto and hang upside down off doing exercises.

On the work front, still looking. A few pots on the boil, so to speak. In the meantime I’m building a home page for a friend’s company, so I’m wrestling with domain name registration and HTML again.

Maybe once I’m assured of having a job it’ll be time to go on a short spending spree. Hopefully the VCR will be mended, but the hi-fi amplifier’s had it, the computer’s hard disk is full (buying Office 97 didn’t exactly help) and the home-office chair is beginning to disintegrate.

• The VCR never properly recovered. It was disposed of, in spectacular fashion, in August 2001 - click for a full report.

Yesterday I went on a mission deep inside enemy territory - and I’m not going back. It was a dangerous seek and retrieve mission into the unknown… into… the fabric shop.

Most men don’t even notice fabric shops when they’re single. Once attached, most hang around the doorway waiting for their partner - or if they’re really brave, follow their partner around, with a dazed bewildered look on their face.

But I had a specific mission, a coveted prize to bring back: a metre of fusible webbing.

I should point out right now that I had no idea what fusible webbing is. I was going down the street to the post office to pay some bills and my wife had requested it. I wouldn’t have even been paying the bills at the post office but the marvellous new NetBank service that WhichBank
has decided to offer the world costs business accounts $15 a month - so I’d rather do it the inconvenient way than let the bank have any more dosh.

So first I went to pay my tax bill at the post office. I handed over the form and cheque and got back a receipt. Glancing down at the receipt, I noticed it had an extra zero on the amount… Should I say anything? Should I keep shtum? Oh bugger it, they’d only find out anyway, I may as well point it out.

Afterwards, I could’ve easily forgotten about the mission. "Forgetting" is a long treasured art men have mastered whereby they "forget" about something if it’s too difficult. But I didn’t. I went into the fabric shop, my head held high. I boldly approached the counter and asked for the metre of fusible webbing, reading from the bit of paper I’d scribbled it on, holding it up so the shop assistant could see it and wouldn’t get any delusions that I had any idea what I was talking about.

"A metre of fusible webbing please". Despite the bit of paper I said it with force, determined not to get talked into anything else, not to be convinced that I needed a single other product. I’d just get the fusible webbing and go. Nothing would divert me from my cause.

"What thickness?"

Huh?

"What thickness? Light, medium or heavy? And would you like black or white?"

Oh bugger.

Okay, well, this is where the phone companies should take note. Mobile phones may have a lot of uses, but quite frankly if they can’t convince every man in the world to buy one for using in this precise situation, then they’re just not trying. Because this, more than any other time, is when a man needs his phone. I had no idea what thickness. I didn’t know what the stuff was or what it was used for, let alone whether black or white would be better. Tumours or no tumours from mobile phones, I was going to call home and find out.

And so the answer came back from the Principal Webbing Authority. White, medium thickness. I paid my money, got the webbing, and then I was out of there quicker than… well, quicker than anything.

On the way home I peeked in the bag. So now I know what fusible webbing looks like. Even if I still don’t know what it’s for.

The hunt for jobs continues. The fax/modem and phone haven’t been as busy in ages. And of course it’s a very good time to catch up with old friends and colleagues and see how they’re doing, what they’re up to, and most importantly, if they have any jobs!

So last night we had drinkies with a few of the crowd from my old job. I and one or two others had to lay off the alcohol for queasiness and/or other reasons. Maybe it was just me feeling queasy, but I get the feeling the atmosphere of the pub somehow induces tipsy behaviour, even if you’re not drinking. I’d swear that I almost fell off my stool a couple of times, and nearly knocked a straw out of a glass.