Island Life: There is no depression in the spa pool
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Usually just our flat- 2 guys, 3 girls, the occasional hanger on. We were shy & naive & wouldn't have set foot in the place otherwise :)
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Ah, it would be this one, which one of my Flickr pals thinks was called the Pink Palace.
The weird thing for me is that I can only ever think of that place as one of the only Greek restaurants to ever grace Auckland. I went there a number of times in the 90s and it didn't have any kind of spa pool. But I heard it became a (really bad, apparently) brothel.
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Many years ago, in the changing rooms at the Freyberg Pool, I was astonished to look up and see a certain National Party MP scoping my junk with a lecherous grin.
I'd hazard a guess as to who was checking out your sugarlumps, but I suspect it's (ahem) academic...
And why "astonished"? You've mentioned your overendowment in the appendage department in these pages before. Don't be shy now!
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But I heard it became a (really bad, apparently) brothel.
Bad brothels are a dime a dozen. Anyone can run a bad brothel. We need to celebrate good brothels more. What is/was the best little whorehouse in NZ?
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What is/was the best little whorehouse in NZ?
I have never left Lone Star without feeling I have been royally screwed.
Don't be shy now!
Yes, that's my big problem.
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Isn't Lone Star a restaurant?
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trying to maintain face alongside Rob Waddell on the rowing machine;
You kept face? Do murmuring hearts attract?
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I thought the Lone Star was a steak house.
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I thought the Lone Star was a steak house.
You should see the "sides" menu.
Actually, that reminds me of what you got when you ordered "Big Chicken" from this place I came across in Thailand. (Not steak, nor women).
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I thought the Lone Star was a steak house.
You've never asked for the special, clearly.
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Nor chicken.
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Zippy and Ben: yes, it is.
Don: you looked past the word 'trying'. He makes 1.35 look effortless.
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Why shrink (fnaar!) from spelling it out? I'm guessing: making unwelcome sexual advances, taking a long lingering look around the changing room, taking snapshots and, perhaps, if you're not too tired after all that Pilates, having sex
I learnt from Heather Champ in the communities workshop at Webstock that posting specific rules can be much more troublesome than posting vague ones, because people will deliberately try to get as close to breaking the rules as possible. So perhaps there would be sexual advances they thought would be welcome, many short looks, easels for painting of naked people, and different interpretations of what "sex" constitutes.
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Good point, that, Joanna. It's amplified in the TED talk by Schwartz that Monitor links to elsewhere on this page.
Perhaps one of the great challenges of drafting good law is finding the point at which you strike strike the ideal balance between generality and specificity.
I think what irks me about the way people use the word 'inappropriate' is that they can't be bothered to to articulate their concerns in any detail. They also seem to imply that whatever they object to is, by common understanding, unacceptable. That may or may not be the case, and yet they seem to assume it to be so, which suggests arrogance or at least complacency.
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I have to say that of the entire post the thing that stood out for me* was that David referred to his "junk"
*(boom boom)
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The term inappropriate covers a wider range of self-censorship than sexual proclivities. Perhaps the sign could be a more generic No hawkers or solicitors.
That said, I was a bit of a gym bunny at Les Mills Wellington in the early nineties. Never went back after some kind of proposition in the shower one time. Might be different now, but gyms by definition are narcissist magnets.
And I tend to keep away from any menu item featuring the chef's special sauce.
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Quite. You never know what kind of junk might have gone into it.
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fnaar!
And here was me thinking, fnord!
That sign is rather like something the MGT would write in the Illuminatus Trilogy.
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That said, I was a bit of a gym bunny at Les Mills Wellington in the early nineties. Never went back after some kind of proposition in the shower one time. Might be different now, but gyms by definition are narcissist magnets.
When I told a workmate about I was going to (not Les Mills) he said, "Oh there, I remember having sex in the showers there with a guy who offered to 'wash my back'"
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And I tend to keep away from any menu item featuring the chef's special sauce.
Here's something serendipitously apposite... today I was idly perusing a 1914 New Haven city directory, which contains a full-page ad for The Semon Ice Cream Co., the "finest ice cream plant in America." I cannot imagine why it is no longer in business:
"If you could see the different departments where SEMON'S ICE CREAM IS MADE. If you could follow the process of making from beginning to end. If you could note the great care devoted to every detail in every department. If you could watch the workmen and realize how seriously they take themselves and their tasks, you would then know that in THE SEMON PLANT was made something in ICE CREAM very choice, very delicious, very palatable to the taste..."
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Often licked, seldom beaten....
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Ooh, that Frosty Boy. You just know he was doing it with the Milky Bar Kid, that not-so-crypto-racist "cowboy."
(I hasten to add that the capitalisation was in the original. I'm not one to wink wink nudge nudge a subtext into the foreground when it's doing perfectly well on its own.)
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3410,
Why shrink (fnaar!) from spelling it out? [...] I wouldn't feel troubled to read such things on a sign, and frankly, I think it would not hurt for modern business to grow a pair.
A pair of what?
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Well, I must admit when I saw the "Please keep cell phone conversations, brief, quiet and child appropriate" sign that had sprouted on the door of Bank Street Books (a truly excellent children's bookstore on the Upper West Side) this weekend, I was forced to wonder precisely WHAT incident had caused the staff to print this up and attach it to their door.
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A pair of what?
Clearly I need to rediscover my cajones. I used to be able to reel this stuff off.
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