Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Coughing up a dodgy idea

Crawling out from under my doona this morning, I note that from 6 December, licensed venues in the City of Churches will impose some new no-smoking regulations. Apparently these new regulations are the first in a staged approach to completely phasing out smoking on licensed premises. So let's have a quick view of what the first stage in this process looks like, shall we?
Under the first phase, venues must have:
  • ONE smoke-free bar in hotels with more than one bar;
  • 50 PER CENT smoke-free area in pubs with one bar;
  • NO smoking within 1m of any service counter; and
  • NO smoking within 1m of 25 per cent of gaming machines.

Does it strike anyone else as odd that hotels are going to have to control where the smoke blows? Isn't that tantamount to controlling the weather? Sounds a little tricky to me. I can just imagine the consequences of exhaling in the wrong direction...

Bar staff: Sir, get out of here. You're breathing in the wrong direction.
Smoker: Get bent.

Yes, friends, Adelaide is going to be one hostile city - people getting turfed out of pubs not for the routine weapons violations, but simply for breathing. And do we really think that packets of ciggies will now be sold with a bonus meter ruler (harking back to school days)? Otherwise how else will we confirm we are 1m away from 25% of gaming machines?

And how are we supposed to calculate 25% of gaming machines? If I am to have a cigarette, it's usually at the stage of a rather long evening, when all I'm capable of performing is a drinking motion (keeping one hand busy), and a button-pushing motion on the pokie machine. How am I supposed to keep my brain cells watchful for that one-metre buffer zone, PLUS ensure that I am safely surrounded by 25% of that venue's pokie machines. And will the 25% that I've surrounded myself with be the same 25% as someone else? Surely it's all relative. Or will venues seriously cordon off the requisite 25% and stuff it full of naughty smokers, so they can all breathe over each other?

Pedantic maybe, but I think it's all a joke until the law suits start.

Monday, November 29, 2004

The guinea pigs live to fight another day

I have decided not to go to Peru.

Reading the "Smart Traveller" website this morning, I was reminded of the grisly fate that has befallen foreign visitors in recent times - rapes, armed robberies, and a delightfully swift innovation knows as "express thefts" - where you are robbed whilst standing at an ATM. Well I guess it saves time for everyone, really. I rang the Peru's Challenge people today and apologised for any inconvience. Fortunately for me, I hadn't caused any inconvenience at all.

Now that I've made this decision, again I'm not sure what I should be feeling. Relieved? Actually I think I feel like a big chicken. Although the Peru's Challenge people understood my reasons for not wanting to be at risk, I can't help but think that rapes and robberies and such happen every day in first world cities like Rome, London, hell even Adelaide. So why does it scare me so much about Cuzco? I suppose it's the fact that if someone attacked me here, or even in Rome or London, at least I could be assured of first world health care, and a familiar standard of convalescence. I suppose over in Peru it would be in the laps of the gods. I was willing to entrust intestinal worms to Peruvian physicians, but that would be about it I think.

So the next stage in this debacle is to think seriously about what to do instead. And how to arrange a visit with the least about of psychological damage to my travel agent, who has been a paragon of patience and understanding throughout the entire planning process.

You'll have to forgive me for the inevitable carry-on that will ensue over the next few days while I try and adjust to my own self-induced setback. Please post a comment if you have any suggestions for a creative and exciting diversion!

Sunday, November 28, 2004

It feels good to be 35

Here I am, 35 days out from one of the scariest times of my life and I am actually feeling quite chipper about the whole thing.
People in the Office, whose paths don't often cross with mine, are aware of my holiday and asking me when and where I'm travelling. I suppose that continually going through my itinerary makes the trip feel all the more real, but at the same time it makes me freak out. I confess to having a bit of anxiety on Saturday night when I finally closed my eyes to sleep and the first thing I saw behind my eyes was the South American Andes. And I wondered, what happens if they make me hike? What if I can't climb? Do llamas really spit?
And then I saw a TV show late Sunday morning about vampirism, particularly in the insect world. And most of the blood-suckers live in, you guessed it, South America! So I will have to particularly be on my guard there - sleep with mouth closed, fists clenched, and fly swatter poised.
Aside from those 'minor' freak outs, I am doing pretty well in the lead-up to the trip. The good days I have at work make me sad at the thought of leaving, and the bad days at work make me skip down the street in delight that it's "not far now".
And for those readers old enough to appreciate the segueway here, I heard on the radio this morning that The Smurfs are coming back to TV. Surely that is a good omen for the week! Papa Smurf, Smurfette, all the gang will be back - hopefully not battling 21st Century evils like drugs or political corruption - I think they had their little hands full with Gargamel and Azriel, and that's just how I want to see it return.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

How about this heat?!

It is 9.15am on a Friday morning, my work email has decided it's just too hot to function, and I'm starting to think it's right.
Outside I am estimating that it's already about 32 degrees Celcius, which suggests that we are probably going to reach the projected 37 degrees, if not higher. I'm not usually so interested in the weather, but this current heatwave has come out of nowhere. And it has brought wardrobe issues with it.
For instance, what constitutes summer office wear? Bare arms? Bare shoulders? Bare legs? How bare do you dare? Then of course, my bare limbs create traffic mayhem because they are lily white and pretty well blinding. What can you expect after a winter's coverup? I suppose Adelaide motorists and the citizenry in general should just put up with my ghostly body and be grateful that my legs aren't hairy scary.
Today is the kind of day that is probably too hot to even be sitting down by the beach with a king-size gelato. But I would find it in myself to recline in a seaside cafe with a cold glass of rose or something.
That I could probably handle. Even at 9.15 in the morning!

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Don't tell ME it won't hurt!

I have been looking at health websites today, trying to work out what vaccinations I'll need for my upcoming trip. I paid a virtual visit to our friends at the World Health Organisation, and then I thought of the Smart Traveller site. But then I found my way to the Travel Doctor.

Whose idea was it to go to Peru anyway?! My poor arm hurts at the very thought of the vaccinations, and I haven't even heard of some of the diseases I'll be fighting off! I thought that dodgy water and questionable food from street vendors were going to require the majority of my vigilance, but apparently not. I need to also be aware of bugs, rabid dogs, parasitic kids, and feral mosquitoes. Oh and I need to have a relaxing holiday at the same time.


Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Houston, we have a problem!

I think I'm a blog-a-holic. I've become a two-a-day poster girl.

And while that is not a problem in itself, the scary thing is that I never have anything decent to say. And now I get a chance to say nothing TWICE.

Oh wait, I know what was bugging me. I was in a bookshop at lunch time today , and I was amused to watch "the dance" that two independent shoppers carried out in the aisle.

You've all seen "the dance". It's the thing that two people do when they are consciously aware of each other, but they try and pretend they aren't looking at each other peripherally-speaking. I was in the photography section and there was one woman, crouched down looking at the bottom shelf of books, COMPLETELY unaware of the people around her. She stood up to fend off crippling back spasms, only to nearly clean up the hapless individual standing just to her left, maybe in her blind spot. And then neither of them wanted to own up to the fact that they nearly had an incident. And then they tried to over-compensate by distancing themselves from each other which meant they had to look at books they weren't even interested in. Classic.

Okay it's boring, but it was still funny.

Traumatised by TV

Hark now hear, the ratings wars....

Christmas is normally my favourite time of year, but it's also a time of mixed emotions because the start of December also heralds the end of current season TV shows, and a summer full of re-runs or (worse), low budget American sitcoms.

I am quite tolerant when it comes to TV viewing, largely motivated by my lack of motivation to find the remote control and cease transmission of sub-quality TV shows. However, I do not enjoy the summer season of viewing.

Last night's television took the proverbial cake. Crazy Daz Somers is back on our screens, albeit shipped to Channel 7, commentating on a horror series called "Dancing With the Stars". There are several misnomers in that TV title, let me tell you. But what made me guffaw with mucho gusto was the realisation that Channel 7 has produced a "Dancing With the Stars" CD - just in time for stuffin' the Christmas stockin'. Pass.

So what can you buy me for Christmas, I hear you ask? Well, you'll be pleased to know I haven't even started considering it. I think sometimes it's easier to write a list of the things you DON'T want, and take it from there.

Ode to the weatherman

Ahhh 26 degrees celcius at 5.30pm - how I have missed you.

Three cheers for the summer weather - hooray, hooray, hooray (or something like it).

Break out the fake tan and Jackie O sunnies and bring it on!!

Monday, November 22, 2004

I'm not nuts, I'm just busy

I read somewhere that insanity is just the mark of 'an accurate mind that is overtasked'. So I have it independently verified that I'm not crazy, just very busy. And also very tired.

Last night, or more accurately 'this morning', I got my thesis done. It is a touch over 10,000 words long, which is the longest uninterrupted diatribe I've ever engaged in.

And I'm not sure what happens now. Am I supposed to feel immense satisfaction, or relief? Am I supposed to be apprehensive that perhaps my thesis will not hit the mark? I had a dream the other night that my lecturer gave me feedback that my paper was "boring". I woke up feeling relaxed about that - after all, she could have said "crap". I can live with my writing being considered "boring"; perhaps I will be appreciated posthumously like all literary geniuses.

So now I guess I'm facing the next stage. But what is that? The next challenge for me is to learn Spanish with the crazy Ms Brown. Now that the "thesis from hell" is over, and I've exhausted all I know about English communication and cultural development, perhaps it's time to consider the way it's done in sunny Spain. Ahhh now that's what I'm talking about.

I can hear you, loud and clear

I am up to my lobes in this damn communications thesis, to bring an end to my Graduate Diploma in Communications (PR). In the spirit of good communication, I am respecting my visually challenged readers by posting in larger text than normal.
My thesis is due by close of business tomorrow and I am currently perfoming quite drastic editing 'surgery' on it. Okay, I am taking a blogging break, and then I'll get back into it. I am not prepared to admit that I have enjoyed my thesis, or that I might be actually interested in the subject matter, so let me just admit that everything is OK and I emerged from the degree alive. I have done enough to pass the course, and that is alright by me.
I did not enjoy today at work, partly because I can't calculate how many days I've got left before my overseas sojourn. I've consulted calendars and diaries of various shapes and sizes in an attempt to plot my countdown. I even tried to consider Christmas/New Year public holidays, and then I lost count.
So if someone out there can PLEASE work out how many work days there are between now and Friday 21 January 2005, I'd love ya to bits.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Level-headed heroes

This entry goes out to Courtney, whose patience finally wore thin and she came to badger me for a posting.

Beyond writing my thesis this past week (aka creative writing), there hasn't been much going on in my world. So I'd like to join the chorus of voices to make comment on the recent tragic death of a Myer employee earlier in the week.

The circumstances of the tragedy don't warrant attention because they are so sad, so I'd instead like to focus on the admiration I feel for the paramedics and cops that swarmed on the crime scene to restore order. I can't imagine the situation that confronted them when they arrived the other day, but I figure "mayhem" and "panic" are two words that might feature.

How do they stay calm and, better still, engender calm in the witnesses of by-standers? My cousin is a paramedic and he's never spoken in much detail about the things he sees or deals with on the job. I wonder how it's possible to sleep at night with those images behind your eyes.

I sometimes think that if I was ever faced with what Myer staff and customers dealt with the other day, perhaps my inner ninja warrior would emerge and I'd be able to kick or help subdue the offender. Realistically, I'm sure I'd be frozen with fear and numb with shock. I would then like to hope that the brave police and emergency personnel would swoop in like they did the other day and make it all better.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Oh my aching chest

I've been having anxiety chest pains this week, brought on by the ever-present and looming reminder that my 9,000 word thesis for Uni is due next Tuesday.

I have actually started the paper, which is a relief. In fact, I'm nearly 3,000 words into it - which is a relief AND a miracle. But it's just a shame that the chest pains won't subside until next week. I'm quite fortunate in that I can make them go away by not thinking about my paper - but the more that the deadline creeps back into my consciousness, the more I feel like I'm going to keel over.

I can remember an episode of "The Simpsons" in which Miss Hoover (Lisa's teacher, for the heathens amongst you) escapes her crazy classroom on a particularly stressful day, massaging her temples in the hallway chanting "calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean". I don't have such a mantra, but I think I should get one. What would it be? Surely it has to be comprised of my favourite, most relaxing things....so, let's see:

  • Coffee in Paris, coffee in Paris
  • Pizza in Rome, pizza in Rome
  • Warm cosy doona, warm cosy doona
  • Shopping anywhere, shopping anywhere
  • Musty old bookshop, musty old bookshop

Okay well I've chanted and massaged my temples for a good 3 minutes and nothing. My paper is still there, and so are the chest pains. Maybe I should try the "this time next week it will all be over" mantra....a bit longer than the others, but arguably more effective!

Monday, November 15, 2004

I'm celibate again

Yep you heard it here first, kids - no more "sex".
Last night was the farewell episode of "Sex & The City", and much had been written in the Australian media about it. But for all the articles I read, and the websites I perused, no one said the word most befitting the season finale: CRAP.
Like many women my age, I invested a lot of emotional energy in the show, and I just felt that a 1/2 hour final episode did not do justice to this investment. How can you possibly seek to wrap up the complicated lives and storylines of 4 extreme characters in 30 meagre minutes (less, when you consider pesky ad breaks)?!
My father has never watched an episode of the show in his life (that's his story anyway), but even he was astute enough to conclude that last night's show was 4 snapshots of schmaltz. But do I really care? Was that what I was secretly hoping for all along? Or could the show have ended with the girls coming over to Paris (not Mr Big), and taking Carrie out for one last dinner/coffee shop excursion as an appropriate "au revoir"? I know that's what she desperately needed. When Carrie rambled to Petrovsky about needing real, cant-do-without-it love, did she know that she could get that from her friends back in NY too? And on that point, where was Stanford Blach for the final hurrah? I love Anthony of course, but Stanny would have given Carrie the emotional lift she needed too.
ARGH so many un-answered questions. But I have resolved to purchase Season 6 on DVD when it comes out, and set myself up on the sofa to watch the whole show from start to finish before I head overseas. That is my New Year's Resolution, and I am actually committed to keeping this one.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Bound for Botany Bay

Back in the days of Captain Cook, this wide brown land was the last resting place of many of the UK's hardened criminals - bread stealers, prostitutes, political activists etc. If you live in Australia none of this is new to you. But I would have thought that in the 200+ years since Federation, things might have changed. Sadly I have been mistaken.

Returning home on Saturday night after dinner and an early movie (about 9.30pm), we discovered our home had been robbed. And while none of my personal possessions had been taken, my parents lost expensive IT equipment and cash. My sister's jewellery was taken but, what I think was the biggest violation of all, our bedside tables had been ransacked and their contents spilled on the floor.

What is wrong with people? What is not connected in their brains that makes them think for a second that this sort of behaviour is okay? I know what it is - it's the fact that there is ZERO consequence for robbing people. You don't get your hands severed here, like you would in some other countries (though my father is willing to enact this punishment on whatever bastard(s) visited us on Saturday night!), and you certainly don't get a decent prison sentence to become some evil man's bitch for a time. Nope, you get off scott free to go and do it again and ruin some other family's weekend.

Well I'm sick of it. I am sick of the people that rob houses, and I'm sick of their skanky girlfiriends or famillies who receive stolen goods with open arms. My sister is hoping that her earrings will infect the lobes of the bitch that puts them on, knowing that they were acquired dishonestly. And I hope that the digital camera and computers they pinched from us crash repeatedly, or blow up in their faces.

So the next time someone wanders up to me in the mall asking for $2 for a bus ticket, forgive me for being callous and telling them to fuck off. I work hard and honestly for my belongings, so I'm going to derive as much personal pleasure from them as I can. Untill the next time they are ripped off me one night under a cowardly cover of darkness, when I'm out with my loved ones.

Thursday, November 11, 2004

Here's a loonie, there's a loonie

The funny thing about working in the City is the sheer number of lunatics that one encounters everyday. And I'm not (necessarily) talking about the workplace lunatic. I mean the REAL breed of loonie that lurk all around this fair City, to accost me at every turn.

Lunatics are those people ambling down the Mall yelling to themself, or those people who jump ahead of me in coffee shops, clearly misunderstanding a line-up when they see one. Come on people - there is a reason I am standing directly behind someone. It's called a queue, dummy. And while it is rather British of me to love the queue, it is also quite a civilised way to conduct business, don't you agree?

In terms of men, I am a weirdo magnet. Now a weirdo is quite different to a lunatic, in the sense that weirdos tend to be commitment-phobes; attracted to my friends; or interested in things like guns or collecting dolls.

So while the weirdos are annoying, the loonies can be mildly amusing. And I suppose the Bleeding Heart Society would ask me to embrace diversity, and adopt a fervent "Love Thy Loonie" philosophy. And I do love MY inner loonie - the one that falls over patterns on carpets, smacks people out with mad arm gesticulations in shops, and the one that can't remember anyone's name (ie. "hey you, woman with hat" or "pass me that thingy").

And no, I don't know what the point of this post is either. All I know is, keep the weirdos away from me, and have compassion for loonies - get behind them in the queue and just be patient. They are people too.

To loonies and weirdos everywhere - have a great weekend!

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

The damn space-time continuum

There were no words that could do justice to the epiphany I had this morning, other than GREAT SCOTT!!

I discovered that I actually have 50 work days left in this place, not the 47 I was bleating on about yesterday. And because I am the world's best arithmetist (!), surely I did not miscalculate. I can therefore only assume that the laws of physics have come down hard on me and I have been sucked into an evil vortex that is actually ADDING days to my departure, delaying the inevitable and keeping me in this 9-5 life.

To top it all off, today is raining, and has been doing so since before I woke up. Although I wasn't awake to know that it was raining before I woke up, I'm leaving the unsubstantiated 'fact' in for dramatic purposes.

On the upside, my coffee is good. Now if only I can get Rockin' Robyn off the (gulp) instant coffee....

47 (work) days to go

The title of this entry probably says enough. Can't wait to get out of this place for a multitude of reasons not suited to this format.
Have been suffering an amusing array of body complaints this week - angina, broken neck, palpitations, head trauma, the list goes on. I am convinced I'm getting glandular fever.
All of these ailments should take at least 46 days to recover from....

Monday, November 08, 2004

Success at last!

I did it - I finally purchased items on e-bay and no faceless moron from the other side of the galaxy outbid me woohoo!!
But what did I bid for, you may ask? Well my "Buy It Now" bid (okay I cheated) was two pots of Aveda Control Paste. If you're not familiar with the product, it's a herbal hair wax/paste stuff that contributes to eliminating actual bed hair, and substituting it for sculpted bed hair. Beeyoodiful. And I got a great deal on it, even with the $US. So that package should arrive from sunny California very soon and I will be well chuffed.
Oh but the piece de resistance is the black vintage skirt that should arrive by Friday. It's coming to me from another sunny place, this time the Northern Territory but the man that's selling it (yes, that's right), says I am a lovely lady. Good taste in skirts, good taste in women. Okay so I am just as concerned as you are. I know this skirt is 2nd hand, but has this Darwin male actually been the one to wear it? Do I care? Is there a stigma if a female dresses like a transexual? Or given that transexuals dress like women, should I just wear the skirt and shut up?
Don't even answer that.

Sunday, November 07, 2004

I did it my waaaaaaaay

Up until late last week, I had never done karaoke. But something happened on Friday night to change all that. It's called one bottle of wine and four beers.
And so it was that I ended up at the K-Box (fab venue let me just say) at a little after midnight, crooning very badly to some dodgy tunes. And loving every minute of it. Every phrase was emphatic, every sweep of the arm perfectly timed to the music. It was absolute poetry. But the problem I had is that the karaoke tv screen lists the main song lyrics plus all the backing vocals - so no wonder I was getting lost. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Saturday morning I felt like I'd been hit by a freight train, but while I lay in a catatonic state, I was quietly smiling to myself about the fun night I'd had, wondering why I'd waited so long to throw myself into the karaoke craze. As long as they keep the beers coming, I'll keep a-warblin' on.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

No more nuts for THAT man!

I don't normally read the newspaper, beyond the movies or comics pages, basically because I find the real world quite depressing these days. No one seems to report happy news anymore but I'm not sure whether that's because blood sells, or whether there just isn't anything good happening these days. So you can imagine how relieved I get when I log onto the www.abc.net.au/news site and check out their "off-beat" section for updates on the weird shenanigans of people across the world.

And today's edition was no exception. Check out this beautiful story.

Apparently a Canadian guy indignantly ran stark bollocks-naked across the tarmac at LA international airport because QANTAS wouldn't sell him a 1-way ticket to Australia. Can I just ask why he didn't write a stern letter to QANTAS management? Was it completely necessary to air his privates in public and then seek to scale a barbed wire fence in protest? (Editor's note: I don't believe he was naked at the time of the attempted purchase. The refusal to sell him a ticket probably had more to do with inadequate documentation, but not the point).

The amusing thing about this story for me was that this is the sort of guy I always get stuck next to on planes.

Given my short legs, I don't mind having the window seat and crawling over people to get to the loo isn't a problem for me. But the flipside of that is the high likelihood that a complete nutter will be sitting in the middle seat, and virtually pen me in. And that's happened a few times, thankfully only on domestic flights so far. Fortunately I've never had the problem of semi-naked (or even totally naked) people on my flights, but surely it's only a matter of time. I've had the "compulsive talkers", the "sing-a-long headphone-wearers", the "are we there yet?" people, and the "running commentary with the inflight movie" people, all of whom bother me to varying degrees. But nothing is worse than the "armrest hog". ARGH I hate that.

Up there in business class it's not a problem, I know, I know....a girl can dream.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004


I know "they" say that a hot, humid day is like walking through molasses, but that's what this week has been like for me in terms of my energy levels.
I've been house-sitting for a work friend this past week and looking after her "baby", Rupert. He is an adorable schnauzer and we actually got along quite well. He eyed me suspiciously the first few days (nothing new there), but by the end of my time living with him, he was sitting right on top of me and comfortable enough to lick himself quite intimately infront of me. Actually he was doing that last bit the whole time.
So I'm back in my own bed tonight, and I wonder whether a good night's sleep in familiar surrounds will fix me. Not that I wasn't sleeping well at my temporary home - the bed was soft, the shower was hot, and the couch was ahhhh just right. But I guess it's not the same.
It's weird living by yourself when the first person you talk to in the morning is someone in the Office. Okay I talked to the dog a bit at home, but I'm assured that's normal. I guess it will be nice to have my routine back - and my wardrobe! That is one thing I really missed. Living out of a suitcase, even for a week, was pretty horrible. I am so glad my work mates are polite enough not to comment on the recycling of my workwear - how many days in a row have I worn these black pants?!
I am not looking forward to the next few weeks at work. Three of my favourite people in the Office are leaving the Office in the space of two weeks and that makes me quite sad. I also know that the workload is about to pick up for me (partly as a result of their departure), and that isn't something I want to think about. I usually look forward to this time of year, what with the party season about to start and all, but something tells me this year is going to be different. I am going to have to do a bit of counting to ten in order to prevent a nervous breakdown or two I think.
But to turn to some GOOD counting, I have about 11 weeks before I leave for overseas myself. So perhaps rather than counting upwards to 10 when someone annoys me, I will start to count backwards from 56 days.....

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Lady Luck

Yesterday was "THE race that stops the nation" - the Melbourne Cup.
I acutally entered a workplace $2 sweep, which is not really "me". I am not a betting person, though (I kid you not), I was toying with the idea of backing Makybe Diva, who got across the line in spectacular fashion - and joining only a handful of racing "legends" to take home back-to-back Melbourne Cups.
I have such 20-20 hindsight when it comes to betting, and that's not funny. But the man at the coffee shop tells me that a lot of his customers have non-gambler's remorse, while others backed the winner given it's SA citizenship, and are happy little campers today. One of his customers actually backed the first 4 horses, which is probably taking it to the extreme somewhat.
Kate emailed pictures from her Parisian apartment this morning, and it just screams bohemian, I love it. Mattresses on the floor meets chandeleirs meets wood panelling. I have pictured a sweeping view out over the Paris landscape and the very idea of it is so charming to me. I can't wait to get there and see it in person.
I also wanted to pause and congratulate Groovy Gems for the brave decision she made yesterday. I received an email that Gems (a UK passport holder) is going to fly over to the UK in April/May next year to enjoy some time out from work and Aussie life in general. I understand your trepidation, Gems, but I stand by my belief that you've made the right decision. It has to be the right one, because at least you've decided and you can now start planning. And that is the most frustrating but exhilirating part.
Talk about frustrating... Yesterday I made some calls about Spanish lessons, to prepare me for travelling to Peru. Every place I look at is so expensive! The only options that appear to be left are two exclusive language tuition schools, who want to charge me $50 per hour. Now I accept that this is for one-on-one beginner conversation lessons (which I need), but $50 per hour?! So I'm putting the call out for a friend to come with me. Apparently if I do the lessons with a friend, the cost is $30 per hour each. Anyone want to learn Spanish with me? 10 weeks....come on, you know you've always wanted to!

Monday, November 01, 2004

1,2,3....kiss boys!

Several Christmases ago (it would be about 10 actually), my sister and I thought it would be one of those cockle-warming ideas to give our parents a studio portrait of ourselves as a gift. Okay so we were probably going through a vain phase, which culminated in me buying a brand new outfit when I arrived in the City, about a block away from the photography studio.

Anyway, we were posing, surrounded in white tulle with vaseline smeared on the lens to amateurish effect and attempting to flash our brightest Macleans smiles. And then the demented photographer started doing her "thing". She bounced around behind the camera, counting us into the photograph in old school-day fashion: "1,2,3...say cheese! 1,2,3....kiss boys! 1,2,3....spaghetti legs!". You know the drill.

So it was with some relief last night at the Awards Ceremony for the Environment Youth Art Prize 2004 that I was accosted by one Courtney Brooks to 'say cheese' to the photographer of the Adelaide Matters magazine - now it's not the Sunday Mail's 'Flair' who's-who of Adelaide section, but it's close. I don't want to know what Courts told this photographer, but hopefully we make it to print and don't get left behind. Kate and I had been trying for years to make the social pages, and now I am that much closer.

And there wasn't a stuffed teddy or draped tulle in sight!