Something beginning with 'C'

Getting there is half the fun. Playing ‘I spy’ is 67% of the fun of getting there, thus making it 33.5% of the total fun. Why cut yourself off from so much pleasure just because you’re stuck at home?

Come on: when was the last time you had a ripping round of ‘I spy’ at the office? With so much to spy, why wait another day? If you feel like movement is integral to the game’s success, whip up a game on the train to work: that first response may take a while to come, but once your fellow commuters get started they won’t be able to stop.

If ‘I spy’ just isn’t your speed, perhaps you could get your work team, tutorial group or knitting circle into a feverish bout of ‘I went to market and I bought a…’. Shirkers might be brought into line with a stern warning that memory games are a proven (and fun!) way to ward off Alzheimer’s.

More photos than you’ve had hot dinners

Where do people get this idea that their photos are in any way interesting or important? Who decided that blurry pictures of drunken bridesmaids, dripping babies in long white frocks, fat cousins on beaches or off-kilter European churches should be shown to all and sundry? It’s a conspiracy, and it’s time it was stopped.

Your life is worthy of photographic documentation. Don’t be bullied by your vacationing, event-loving acquaintances: Just because you’re stuck at home with no plans to get married or born again, doesn’t mean you’re not special. You’re life is, in fact, endlessly fascinating. All you need are the photos to prove it.

What’s your favourite thing? Shoes? Dinner? Reading? Watching DVDs and TV? Your dog? Every day, for one month, photograph it. Photograph the shoes you wear each day. Photograph, every day, your dinner, or the last page you read before bed, or the screen of whatever you’re watching or your dog when he gets up in the morning. At the end of the month you’ll have 30 pictures of shoes (or dinner, or books, or…) that your workmates will be just dying to see. (If you’re really the vindictive type, host an old-fashioned slide show.)

And don’t forget: commentary is the most important part of any viewing. ‘Oh yes, I remember this dinner! Oh, it was fabulous! See that cheese sauce? Well, there was a part over near the left-hand corner of the dish that got quite coagulated during cooking, and I was worried for a while it wouldn’t come off in the dishwasher. So I said to Derek, ‘perhaps you should put your plate in the sink to soak for a while’ and he said…’

Historical brain transplant

Maybe it’s not your home town you’re sick of. Maybe you’re sick of you. While the science of brain transplantation is not entirely perfected, there are other options for escaping the prison that is your skull (and no, we’re not talking about a ride on the peyote highway).

Instead of asking such vague questions as ‘What would Jesus do?’, try asking ‘What would Jesus do if he got to Kmart and the advertised special on fleece throw rugs was all sold out and the woman on the desk wouldn’t give him a raincheck and he was late for a meeting with his CEO?’. Or, for example, what would Genghis Khan do if he'd forgotten it was his four-year-old daughter's birthday this weekend and he had only two days to organise a children's party?

First, write the names of famous people on slips of paper. Second, write the names of places around town on other slips of paper. Randomly pull a slip from each bunch. What do you know: you’re Cleopatra, and you’re trying to buy a used car.

It might be pushing it to show up to the used car lot and pretend to be Cleopatra (but if you’re keen, hey, go for it!). But you might enjoy the exercise of doing everyday things while imagining you’re someone entirely different. For example, browse cupcake recipes online while imagining you’re Genghis Khan, then write up your experiences (as Genghis, of course) on your blog. Want more? Have all your friends choose a slip each from the ‘famous person’ pile, all visit the same spot from the ‘places in town’ pile, and each write up your experiences.

‘Note the physiognomy of the line, representative of an overarching symbolism…’

String these phrases together: ‘great historical significance’; ‘a sublime expression of the creator’s philosophy’; ‘archetypical, yet ahead of its time’. Got it? OK, you are now a tour guide.

Get a group of friends together and hit your town’s cultural hotspot: a museum, a gallery, a stately home, an architectural wonder, the seat of government. If you don’t have anything approaching a cultural hotspot, go to Safeway or a car yard instead. (In fact, that’s an even better idea…)

Take turns playing tour guide: use your imagination, speak loudly, and whatever you do don’t include a single accurate fact. Talk, talk, talk! Hold up an umbrella so no one gets lost. You know you’re really doing well when strangers start joining in (if you’re feeling very ambitious, you could advertise your free tour in the local paper). Points are awarded for style and plausibility.

Taking care of business

You’ve just flown in and already the deliverables you’re enhancing are hung on a skyhook or outright left in the parking lot. You’ve got to ramp this baby up! You’ve got to get these offerings on the freeway! You’ve got plenty to envisage going forward, and all you want is some takeup of the best-of-breed product set. Let’s call a meeting!

The only thing cooler than a guy in a suit, sitting in a hotel bar, yelling on a cell phone, is eight guys in suits, sitting in a hotel bar, all simultaneously yelling on cell phones. Don’t you want to be one of those guys who flies into town to give a PowerPoint presentation? Well, don’t you?

Synchronise watches. You and your friends are going to put on your best suits (don’t have one? Try an op shop) and hit some downtown hotel for a breakfast meeting. The more upscale the hotel, the better: a Hilton or a Hyatt is just the ticket. Don’t forget your props: laptops if you have them, some kind of portable whiteboard, and your cell phones (extra points if you have a Bluetooth headset). If your own importance isn’t inspiration enough to get you diagramming, scoping future directions and visioning, then try giving yourselves a few tasks. You could have a prize for the first person who uses a sentence including functionality, user-defined, straw man, leading provider, monetise, robust and scalable, or give an award for best use of a noun as a verb, or verb as a noun (‘how are we matrixing this, Jeff?’ 'Well, Leon, that depends on how you action the learnings you've been tasked with').

Whatever you do, don’t forget: you are a Master of the Universe.

Miro, Miro on the wall

You’ve probably played the old surrealist game where you fold a piece of paper and someone draws the head, folds it and passes it on to someone who draws the body, and they fold it and pass it on to someone who draws the legs, then you unfold it and have a laugh at the results. This is a travel version of that game.

You’ll need at least four people for this excursion, so bribe your friends. Get them all together and fold a piece of paper in four. On the first section, secretly write a destination you’re going to visit (this could be Afghanistan or the mall or the future, whatever takes your fancy, and depending on the kind of resources you and your friends have). Fold the paper over and pass it to one of your friends, who secretly writes an activity (street theatre, knitting, a running race, fishing...).

They fold the paper over and pass it to the next person, who secretly writes a dress code (black tie, dress as clowns, ballerina outfits, diapers...). They fold it over and pass to the fourth person, who chooses an item you all have to bring (a potted plant, a champagne glass, the complete works of Mark Twain...).

Unfold the paper, and there’s your expedition. Depending on how tricky it’s going to be to execute, give yourselves a set amount of time to get together the things you need, then meet up and have your surrealist experience.

If you have more friends willing to join in, you could add other items such as budget, a manner of speaking (only using thee and thou, no swearing, no first names...), a mode of transport (hop everywhere, go by bike, use public transport...), or make up some of your own.

Make sure you take lots of photos so you can embarrass yourself in front of anyone who wasn’t silly enough to come along.

Performance art

Everyone has some skill, some talent, that makes them stand out from the crowd. Even you. Perhaps you can really capture a likeness with charcoal. Maybe you play guitar like Slava Grigoryan. Perhaps you have an amazing way with kids. Whatever your talent is, it’s time you took to the street to do something completely different.

There are far too many street performers who are good at what they do. No one needs to hear another beautifully finger-picked cover of Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish you were here’ or see their child lovingly rendered in cheeky pastel colors. What we need more of is inadequacy.

Get down to your local shopping strip and strut your stuff. Dress as a clown, blow up a couple of balloons and tout yourself as a master of the balloon animal (‘But Mr Clown, what is it?’ ‘It’s a jellyfish, poppet. Would you like a paramecium to go with that?’). Can’t even draw a stick figure? You need to set up an easel and churn out some caricatures. Won't mummy smile when she sees how you've drawn her little treasure? Borrow your brother’s guitar and make up some chords, loudly. Spray yourself silver and stand around fidgeting. Whatever you do, do it poorly, and do it with great enthusiasm. Then get out of town.

The drifter

Maybe you’re on the run from the law or your old man; maybe you just had to leave that deadbeat town behind and hit the road, get yourself a piece of whatever’s out there. Maybe your wife (or husband) doesn’t understand you, so you and your hot little piece on the side are making the most of every moment you’ve got.

Whatever seamy reason brought you here, you’re checking into a down-on-its-luck motel on the edge of town.

Dress the part, act the part; if you have to, catch a Greyhound into town to get yourself in the mood. Hole up with a bottle of bourbon and a Raymond Chandler novel, put some Tom Waits on your Discman, tell your girl they don’t make dames like her anymore, and wonder how your life ever came to this. If you have to ask the receptionist what time they put out the breakfast bagels, don’t forget to call her little lady, and always avert your face: you don’t want her to be able to describe you to the cops.

In the morning, check out, iron your shirt and head back to the office.

Meet the locals

If you’re like most people, you go out to the same few places every weekend. You consider yourself a certain type of person, so you go to a certain type of club, bar or pub.

It’s time for a change.

Where’s the drinking hole you’re least likely to visit? (If it’s because it’s incredibly dangerous, cross it off your list and choose the second-least likely.) This Saturday night, you’re going there.

On your visit, keep in mind the most important tenet of travel: respect the local customs and learn from them.

How do the locals dress? Dress similarly, so as not to offend them (if they wear striped shirts and lots of hair product, don’t show up in your torn Dead Kennedys t-shirt; if they like retro handbags and liquid eyeliner, don’t wear your old tracksuit). Observe their customs and ways of behaving and try to fit in (drink complicated cocktails if that’s what they’re drinking; if they prefer Carlton Draught, so do you). Try to talk to the regulars – you never know what you might learn about horse racing, construction work, snagging a rich husband, beach volleyball or what that guy from Pavement is up to these days.

Be open-minded and tolerant. Just because they do things differently, doesn’t mean they’re wrong. And enjoy your cultural experience.