Yuletide Verbosity

When Kate turned 21 not too many years ago (!!), I was given the dubious privilege of delivering a congratulatory speech in front of her friends and family.

I found it quite tricky because although I love to talk, presenting a structured, coherent series of engaging thoughts is not usually in my repertoire (something this blog is designed to address I suppose).

So I remember I spoke about the "Guide to Verbosity" that Kate and I had been informally compiling that year. The book was a A-Z guide of the biggest words we could think of to sound as wanky as we possibly could. The speech wasn't funny on reflection, and actually made me and the birthday girl sound kind of sad, but at least it was painless.

At this time of year, I found it amusing to find a collection of rather verbose wannabe Christmas carols on the net that I'd like to share with you:

Oh, member of the round table with missing areas or Oh Holy Night
Wanted in December: top forward incisors or All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth
The lad is a diminutive percussionist or Little Drummer Boy
Cup-shaped instruments fashioned of a whitish metallic element or Silver Bells
Far off in a haybin or Away in a Manger
We are Kong, Lear, and Nat Cole or We Three Kings
Duodecimal enumeration of the passage of the yuletide season or The Twelve Days of Christmas
Our fervent hope is that you thoroughly enjoy your yuletide season or We Wish You a Merry Christmas
Listen, the winged heavenly messengers are proclaiming tunefully or Hark the Herald Angels Sing
As the guardians of the woolly animals protected their charges in the dark hours or Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night
I beheld a trio of nautical vessels moving in this direction or I Saw Three Ships
Jubilation to the entire terrestrial globe or Joy to the World
Do you perceive the same vibrations which stimulate my auditory sense organ? or Do You Hear What I Hear?
Parent was observed osculating a red-coated unshaven teamster or I Saw Mummy Kissing Santa Claus
May the Deity bestow an absence of fatigue to mild male humans or God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Now that's what I'm talking about!!

I'm in the wrong business

You know those times when you have something repaired, or you need to order something in, you start to realise that you're in the wrong business?

Well I went to the Travel Doctor today and got charged a stack of cash for what was, for all intents and purposes, a routine vaccination. Coupla injections here, a signature on the dotted line there, and I walked out $210 worse off. In my drug-addled haze, I was given some sort of info like "bla bla Medicare, bla bla health insurance" and at the end of it, the kind lady at the Medicare office acutally GAVE me money, but not as much as I gave the hacks at the travel doctor place. Damn.

Okay so I understand you shouldn't cut corners where your health is concerned, and with the HepA coverage even 0.00000000004ml of infected blood will pose no threat, but come on! I didn't even get a lollipop.

So in my next life, I want to come back as a Travel Doctor - a cushy office right next door to a fab Cafe with top espresso coffee, and I get to poke people with syringes and rob them blind.

What a golden career aspiration.

Sleighbells Ring

I have the Christmas spirit, and I'm lettin' the world know about it. I was even humming Hark the Hairy Angels Sing earlier today, and there was no reason for it.

I even tolerated the sticky-fingered little kids lining up to see Santa, jostling and huffing around the wannabe Magic Cave in Harris Scarfe's. And I visited a toystore today...just because I wanted to. Going into a toy store at Christmas time is suicide, man, and yet I did it. Voluntarily. Whoa I am brave. And the brat in the pusher in front of me at the checkout was carrying on like a porkchop, and I didn't flinch. Inspired.

So I'm puttin' it out there, people - I'm looking forward to Christmas. I have bought some kickass presents for the loved ones, and I can't wait until the big reveal on the 25th.

And for you bah-humbuggers out there, no, I am not drunk.

All you can do is, step back in time

If you could go back in time to relive a particular event, what would it be?


I've been thinking about this very perplexing issue since yesterday (a long time for me), and I don't think I'm any closer to an answer. On the one hand, I'd be noble and say that I'd like to relive a particular family function I enjoyed, or a dinner with friends bla bla but let's get real here.

• Who wouldn't want to be a fly on the wall at the assassination of JFK?
  To know who did it, silly - not to watch it!!
  
• Why wouldn't you want to know just how Marilyn died?
  It wasn't suicide, people!
  
• Who wouldn't want to dance down the street in celebration of the end of WW2?
  There's something about dancing in the streets that just appeals to me, and you can't do it just anywhere
  
• How could you not want to be a part of the maiden voyage of the Titanic (okay, without that sinking feeling at the end, of course)
  Something about the glitz and glamour on the open seas sounds neat
  

See how hard it is? I'd be keen to hear what you think you'd go back to in life, if you could.

Nerd Alert!

Second (and hopefully last) posting of the day, to alert readers to some news I just received. I passed my Uni Graduate Project! Results were published today and, while I got a P1, the key aspect of that is PASS - so that means I get to travel overseas with the Graduate Diploma tucked neatly into my luggage. In with the good, out with the bad (exhale and relax).

Mental State: Questionable

I have gone to bed at 9pm the last two nights running - what is wrong with me? I don't sleep until 11.30pm, same as always, so why do I feel compelled to retire so early?

I think it's the weather. There is something wiggy going on outside in the early stages of December - first it's hot, then it rains, then I flake out. Beautiful. If I wanted this weather, I would live in Queensland, okay?

And then there's the anxiety that comes with not knowing the results of my Uni thesis. It nearly undid me mentally a few weeks ago, but I was able to forget about it for a few weeks. Now I'm starting to think that results will come out soon and my future will be known, more or less. And it's the same old thing - never sure how I went, even though at the time of submitting the document I was feeling alright. ARGH such indecision.

But on the upside, I started Christmas shopping for my friends and family yesterday. I braved the department stores with the blue haired women, and the demonic children with sticky fingers and Santa balloons. I even put some goods on lay-by, the first time I've done that since I was about 17.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, la la la.....

(My) precious little bookworm

People who know me well are aware of my book fetish. Lately I have been devouring any book that decides to invade my bedroom for any length of time (no one to blame but itself really). I suppose I can consider myself a bookophile (book fan, book worm, take your pick). And I also know that I'm not alone in this passion. There are a lot of bookies out there, and they don't hide it either. On public transport, on the beach, on a plane- they put it right out there.


So why couldn't the ABC round up 6 like-minded bookfans for last night's horrific "My Favourite Book"?! Jennifer Byrne (and all her bloody teeth) was out in full force fronting up the abysmal show, where they sought to count down the top books in Australia.


I'm not carrying on about the results because my two favourite books were in the Top 5 (To Kill a Mockingbird and Pride and Prejudice) but come on people - give a panel that can at least discuss these works credibly, objectively and LIKE ADULTS.


Even that giant knob from CNNNN was on form last night, crapping on about shit the whole time, dumping on anything remotely literary, in a vain attempt at securing laughter. He got a whole heap of sympathethic tittering from the crowd, and me leaping around my lounge room calling him a giant knob for an hour.


How hard would it have been for Channel 2 to find 6 'celebrities' to talk honestly about their favourite book (was that not the premise of the damn show)?! I've not read the Tolkien trilogy that ended up taking top honours, but I can at least recognise its brilliance, as well as understand its appeal to generations of readers.


So why dump on it? Why not just accept it for what it is and be happy to discuss its merits? Why did that giant knob have to piss on all the Tolkien fans for being deranged? They're fans, dumbass - of course they're going to be slightly off kilter but they love something - what are YOU a fan of?! Let's see....yourself?! Bah.

Okay sorry - that was a short tirade atop a soapbox, just for Stoney xox

Don't take the piss

A strange but true story from the UK today, where artwork by a French artist (naturally) was voted the most influential of the 20th century, beating Picasso and Andy Warhol for the honour.

My problem with this? His artwork was an upside-down urinal.

And my other problem? The urinal was considered "art" simply because the artist said so.

Say it with me, peeps: Ewwwwwww

The funny old land of Oz

I have an issue worthy of some time on the soap box. I am Australian, I support Australian people; I love Australian products; and I join my fellow countrymen to rejoice when we do well in all sorts of endeavour.

But I am also convinced that accolades should be handed out to the truly deserving. All too often we see award shows and benefits where shiny trophies are handed out to the untalented, inarticulate, and the all-round moronic (think The Oscars, The Grammys, the list goes on).

So it is with some disappointment that I hear that Nicole Kidman is hot tip for the Australian of the Year 2005. Can anyone tell me why? Don't get me wrong, I like her. I think she is attractive, talented, articulate. But are these the new criteria for Australian of the Year? If so, give me a break. Let me consider the blurb from the relevant website:

Since 1960 our nation has celebrated the achievement and contribution of eminent citizens through the Australian of the Year Awards. The awards profile leading Australians who are role models for us all. The list of former award winners is a "who's who" of Australian achievers, including:

• Professor Graeme Clark - pioneered the multi-channel cochlear ear implant, allowing young Aussie kids to hear for the first time;
• Sir Gustav Nossal - who discovered why our immune systems don't attack our bodies own systems, which has led to pioneering research in HIV/AIDS;
• Lieutenant-General Peter Cosgrove - Aussie military leader and someone you wouldn't want to mess with;
• Slim Dusty - champion country music star, whose yearly appearance at Tamworth music festival demonstrated a real commitment to his craft;
• Cathy Freeman - a medal-winning athlete who proudly donned a body stocking to take our 400m gold on home soil at the Sydney Olympics - not happy she's going out with Joel Edgerton, but I'll overlook it;
• Dr John Yu - a paediatrician, Dr John opened the Children's Hospital in Westmead as a place where kids can be kids, even if they are sick - bright colours, bouncy couches, loud music;
• Ian Kiernan - recycling guru - King of Clean Up Australia;
• Mandawuy Yunupingu - a former teacher turned lead singer of Yothu Yindi, blending rock and traditional Aboriginal music;
• Ian Thorpe - underwear king, oh and a pretty good swimmer too;
• Poppy King - lipstick guru, failed businesswoman, but rose again like a phoenix from the ashes;
• Kieran Perkins - another good swimmer - confirmed that Aussies should be feared in the pool; milk drinker; and TV commentator;
• Professor Fiona Stanley - cares about the health of Aussie kids, and researches how to prevent major birth defects; and
• Steve Waugh - cricketing legend, fundraiser against childhood poverty.

So it's not uncommon for 'celebrities' to be crowned Australian of the Year, but look at the ones I've cited above - look what they've done. What exactly has Nicole done? We have to pay to see her movies, which she gets paid squillions for - and then consider the media hype around the Chanel No5 TV commercial - what a waste of money for that arthouse piece of crap. Poor Coco Chanel must be spinning in her grave.

Let me reiterate that I like Nicole Kidman, and as an Aussie I'm proud of her success. She has worked hard to get where she is and no one (least of all me) can dispute that. But come on Australia, is it worthy of our national award?!

All I can say is, if I were a military leader, or a pioneering researcher into child healthcare, or an Aussie committed to the health of our environment, I might be a little irritated...

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

Eek.

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!!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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....

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.

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.

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.

Must...get...through...week

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.....

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!

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!

Pretty in Pink

I spent Saturday night with Daz, J, and Courtney at the Flinders Medical Centre Foundation's annual breast cancer fundraiser, the Pink Ribbon Ball.

I started the night as an usher, greeting guests on arrival, and advising them where they were seated. That was the fun part, because I got to see some of the flashiest and trashiest fashions around. Actually, in some cases, I am using the word "fashion" quite loosely. And it always makes me laugh how older ladies think they can get away with newer fashions. But there were a few ladies there who looked elegant, and dressed their age. Phew.

And finally I've broken the no-cosmopolitan drought, having consumed 2 at the Hyatt afterwards (plus the margarita, which was not my fault - that was all Daz and J). Needless to say, I found it very difficult to stand up until about 3.30pm on Sunday, my head was absolutely splitting and I felt like I was going to throw up. But I kept it all in, and managed to drag myself to the supermarket to get a cold Coke and some decent headache pills from the blessed pharmacist (who I stopped short of embracing in gratitude).

And so here I am today, feeling quite nervous for tonight's Award Ceremony for the Environment Youth Art Prize. The paparazzi have been invited, so I may yet make the Adelaide social pages. I thought I would have to set myself on fire in order to make it there, but perhaps not...

Quiet on the set...

There are a three things in life that really annoy me:

1. People (except doctors) who leave their mobile phones on at the movies or a show;
   
2. People who answer their mobile phones at the abovementioned functions, and then keep talking; and
   
3. People who sniff incessantly when it becomes clear they have forgotten a tissue or hanky.
   

So imagine the fragile state I found my nerves in today at the launch of the Clipsal 500, commencing in Adelaide in March 2005 when I found myself in the midst of people who did all 3 of these taboo actions. Now given the size and girth of the people committing these social atrocities today, it goes without saying that I suffered in silence.

And quite often, I find there is always someone as socially conscious (though perhaps not as discrete....or chicken) as myself, who will "AHEM" loudly at the ringing of a mobile phone, leading to a "turn the phone off, ya jackass" when it turns out the person starts chatting. So I tend to leave mobile phone abusers alone. But it's the absence of a good Kleenex or clean hanky that really kills me.

So I ask you, is it polite at times like that to whip around and donate an unused Kleenex to the offending (nay, offensive) individual? Or are they likely to punch my lights out?

Wiggy dreamin'

Last night's dream took the proverbial cake for weirdness.

You might remember I expressed significant reluctance for attending my 10-year high school reunion. So I was somewhat liberated when I tendered my "thanks but no thanks" letter in the post the other day. My subconscious has clearly not let go, however, because last night I had a horrible dream that I actually turned up at the function. I was filled with apprehension when I walked through the doors, not sure who I would meet, and whether I would remember a single person after all. But imagine my shock and horror when I discovered that all my old school chums had joined some sort of gymnastic or ballet academy. As a result they were all stick-thin and fabulous, and (perhaps the worst of all), they were all best buddies!! I was completely on the outer and the fact that I turned up alone made it even worse. The girls remembered me but they were more concerned with catching up with each other and talking about the next gymnastic/ballet performance. Weird, huh?

On the upside, I woke up.

I arrived at work this morning to discover that Kate's sister Alix has entered blogland, and I've linked her site here. If you've got the travel bug, but not the finances to get you over there, visit Al's site and marvel at her travels around Scandinavia, given her recent fabulous promotion to that corner of the galaxy. Congrats on getting started Al, I look forward to reading about all your adventures!

Oh la la

Friends will know that Katie has left Aussie shores for fab Paris, and has scored a fantastic 3-year contract and will no doubt shake things up a bit.

The fact that her office (and her residence to boot) is in spitting distance from the Champs-Elysees (my shopping mecca) is just a bonus that I can't bring myself to think about without shaking.

So I introduce you to Kate's travel blog, guaranteed to make even the most avid armchair-traveller consider making a bee line for the nearest Flight Centre!!

Here's a llama

For a bit of silliness this morning, I have Miss Brooks from work to thank...(I hope this link works).

Put the sound up and settle back, all comfy-like...

http://www.angrymonkey.net/putfileshere/thellamasong.swf

You lose

I almost forgot to share the awful news...I was heinously outbid for several vintage items on ebay this week.

Readers of this column might remember I had wanted to bid on some "outrageous to glamorous" couture for the Environment Youth Art Prize award ceremony that we're having on Monday 1 November. On a browse through the ebay archive, I had found a terrifyingly bad (yet strangely appealing) purple velvet dress which I was going to buy for a whole $8.00 but was pipped at the post yesterday by some sad and callous creature with a taste for velvet dresses.

But I could deal with that. It's when I was also outbid for an emerald green Lisa Ho outfit ($25) AND the vintage embroidered blue skirt ($20) that my blood really started to boil. Why are there people out there who like what I like? Why can't people have their own taste and let me just win a bid once in a while?!

So I'm going to take goldie's advice and head to Harbour Town Adelaide, where the clothes are inexpensive, and where the fights for bargains are a little more fair.

Throw another one on the barbie

The ultra employable Hellraiser emailed me this morning, attaching an interesting article for my consideration. I like cooking, and I like experimenting with my cooking. But I don't know whether I'm really ready for the Peruvian national dish of...wait for it....guinea pigs.

Particularly not since Joshua's pets, Chad (the stud) and Bonnie (his long-suffering and exhausted missus), had several litters of guinea piglets in recent months. I mean, I've held those piglets, and didn't want to put any of them on skewers once.

Okay perhaps I'm being silly. Maybe when I'm in Peru, I will be presented with a bowl of guinea pig stew, or stir fried guinea pig, and it will taste like chicken. After all, everything else does, right? "The Age" article suggests that they taste like rabbit, so a bit more gamey than the taste sensation I might be expecting.

But I think it's hard to expect Western audiences to embrace this new food movement eagerly. I mean, eating guinea pig when you're in Peru is one thing, but when your'e dining out in London it's not really what you'd expect, is it? Still, if I enjoy a shiskebab of guinea pig while I'm sunning it up in Cuzco next year, by the time I get to London it will be such old news, I'll be ready to move on to the next food fad.

Murphy is the patron saint of all things

Yesterday was one of those days when the only antidote was to either drink heavily, or go home early and pull the covers over my head. Fortunately in the interests of liver health I chose the latter option.

Nothing has really worked for me since Saturday night. Let me preface this with the fact that I am a drama queen, and I know that. When I drop something on the floor, I blame it on the Parkinson's disease (that I don't have), rather than the simple clumsiness (that I do have).

But my tendency to overreact does not explain the string of balls-ups that peppered my weekend and oozed into yesterday. I'd hesistate to call it a "comedy of errors", but that would imply that some of it was funny. And it was not.

I've decided to get a new passport so I went on Saturday to have my pictures taken at K-Mart, where I learned that the obliging 15 year old behind the counter would take and re-take digital pictures until I was 100% happy with the result. But every single picture he took made me look like I'd been arrested at 3am for a range of unsavoury offences. They were positively horrible. So then I did the typical female "thing" (I'm so ugly, my hair is beyond help bla bla) and felt generally awful for a few hours. But I flipped out and then recovered sufficiently to realise that if I took some time doing my hair, slapped some mascara on, maybe I could have them done again. So I trotted off yesterday to the Polaroid place and had more taken. Hair was better, mascara was on, earrings were fab, but I still looked awful.

The poor girl at the photography place tried to tell me that "no one looks nice in passport pics because you can't smile" but I look positively ropable. And the only thing that calms me down is that the picture looks like I've been on a plane for 24 hours - so at least when the immigration people check my passport at the various airports, at least I'll look like my picture!

You think too much!

I woke up this morning still unsure about whether I enjoyed “Vanity Fair”. I think I am resolved to stick it in the “wait until DVD” category, despite the beautiful costumes and stunning Reese Witherspoon. It was a rather long movie, and didn’t move too quickly but I got home last night and looked at the book, and I was actually impressed someone could condense those million pages into a 2 hour-plus cinematic event. No wonder I abandoned the book after about 10 chapters; it seems quite an undertaking even now.

Reese’s character of Becky Sharp in last night’s movie was determined to rise up in society, because she believed she belonged there. So she approached this social climbing with determination, almost to the exclusion of human relationships. She had her eyes fixed on one goal, and did whatever she could to reach it. And I suppose the ultimate lesson of the movie was that such ruthless determination always costs dearly.

So on the back of that reflection, I am left wondering what it takes to get what you want in life. If you’re content with your situation, have you settled? Should you give up on a life goal, if what it takes to achieve it seems like a lot of hard work? I guess I’m pursuing my travel plans with the same determination that Becky showed in the film. I have that timeline set for myself, and can’t let any unexpected life events get in the way of that.
But then there is Gem’s easygoing nature that makes me wonder whether loosening the reins a bit and easing pressure on myself wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Gem lets life move her along, and doesn’t live her life by deadlines. I envy that free spiritedness, and I would like to think that once I’ve got the travel “thing” out of my system, maybe then I can be carefree to that extent. Okay, can you plan to be carefree? Isn’t that just a beautiful contradiction?! Oh man….

Oh, fair vanity!

Am looking forward to tonight's social adventure. I'm going to see "Vanity Fair" with my friend Groovy Gem, whose new home at the Adelaide Festival Centre is a source of great professional advancement (and free theatre tickets, do you mind).

Last night I actually found a dress to wear to the Environment Youth Art Prize award ceremony on 1 November hurray. I bid a whole $8 for it on ebay, so I am clearly the last of the big spenders. It is made of "shot velvet", which i think is a synonym for crushed velvet (which I normally hate), but who cares? The dress code for this affair is "outrageous to glamorous" so I am going to do something serious with crushed velvet and a feather boa. Silly.

Chris had a haircut. It is spikey. He is eating a milk coffee biscuit. This is how exciting our life is. About as bland as the biscuit, I'm afraid.

"Vintage" does not mean "crap", people!

Trawling through ebay last night, I was searching the vintage clothing pages in the hope of finding an inexpensive yet fabulous dress to wear to my cousin's wedding in February.

But I think some online sellers need to be reminded that just because something was manufactured in the 80s, is covered in sequins, or has the word "glomesh" in the title, does not make it "vintage". Nine times out of ten, though, it will make it "ugly". But I guess "ugly" doesn't sell as well...

And I was equally perplexed at the number of items badged as "very Carrie" or "tres Sex & the City". Give me a break. I've been devoted to the last 6 seasons of the Carrie show, as everyone knows. And I feel quite sure that Carrie would never slip inside some of those foul creations. She's worn some nutty outfits over time but these things were just misleading. I have an isssssue about this, as you can tell.

So I am without a vintage dress for the wedding, but I am not giving up. I will find a sparkly little number that won't cost me the earth, which will help me justify the Carrie-ism I have adopted as my own: "Wearing a $10 dress means I can buy $700 shoes". Makes sense to me.

Old-fashioned romance

So I settled in (finally) to get my fix of Carrie & Co last night, having missed the last episode and fearing I'd be entirely out of it. But it didn't take me long to realise that Carrie & Petrovsky have started to get hot & heavy. I knew that was going to happen (being addicted to www.hbo.com as I was throughout the US screening of Season 6.

But when Petrovsky read Carrie poetry last night, and then bought her the Oscar De La Renta number she had been salivating over in the pages of Vogue, I had to cringe. Why was she letting him do that? I don't think I could bear it if my new boyfriend (underline NEW) bought me haute couture just because I said I liked it. Particuarly if I also knew that him reading me poetry made me feel icky. Where are her scruples? Okay I'll slide the soap box back into the cupboard and get over it.

Our beloved Hellraiser commenced a brave new chapter in her life yesterday and tendered her resignation. Bravo to you, darl, for the exciting decision and willingness to get out there and take the next challenge by the proverbial stones! I wish you all the very best for this new stage of life - and I know that your courageous dismount will see you landing on your feet, and being given a perfect 10.0 even from the tough Romanian judges :)

3 months and 2 days till I finish in this place myself - commencing countdown. 13 weeks of work left to go. COME ON YOU GOOD THING!!

Unrequited Love

Okay I did something slightly batty on Saturday night. I called my uni friend and asked her how long it had been since she bawled her eyes out at the movies. After a highly drunken night on Friday, and the subsequent punishment on Saturday morning, all I felt like doing was sitting in a dark room shovelling popcorn in my face.

And so it was that we found ourselves at the 9.10pm session of "The Notebook", two girls, a big bucket of popcorn, and a fistful of Kleenex.

Now I usually have a problem with books that I've read (and loved) being made into movies. But the film version of "The Notebook" just pulled out all the stops and did everything it could to be an ultimate tear-jerker. Superb casting (Ryan Golding plus beard, where have you been all my life?!) made the romantic characters a great joy to watch for a few hours. But when the film-makers changed the books ending, as viewers scrambled for the last crusty tissue at the bottom of the handbag, I was disappointed. For where the book ended hopefully, simply, and beautifully, the movie just did the abrupt bawl-fest ending and my poor Uni friend was left blubbering like a baby.

Still, I had promised her a tear-jerker, and in that way I delivered. She has promised to get me back though, so that's something to worry about.

It takes a bit for me to cry in movies. I did cry in the ABC's episode of "Australian Story" on Saturday, but I think that's because the walloping hangover made my eyelids hurt. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

It IS a big, weird world after all

Did you know that Madras and Chennai are the same place, or that Bombay and Mumbai are the same place? I am going to ace the next quiz night with THOSE new pieces of intelligence. I am basking in the glow of my own smartness right now, so let's leave the geography there.

In between attacks of the irrites here at work over the last few days, I have been browsing GREAT web journals maintained by other Aussies both here and abroad, and thinking about what they write and how they manage to sound so cool. Will I ever sound like anything other than a whinger, when my life really isn't that bad at all? So the "New Week Resolution" (can't wait for 31 December) is to write about thought-provoking things and engender in everyone the confidence that I am, in fact, cool.

But in the event that this resolution is never actually realised, let me give you some guidance as to why I might not (or might never) be cool. I have received an invitation to my 10 year school reunion. I don't think it's hit me just how long 10 years is. But yes dear friends, it has been 10 years since I donned the uniform and therapeutic footwear AND THE BERET (move on, nothing to see here) to patrol the Catholic school corridors and hand out pink detention cards like they were going out of fashion. And isn't it ironic, as Alannis would say, that it takes 10 years to forget your geeky school experience, and just when you thought you'd drunk enough beer to wipe out those brain cells that were holding on to evil school memories, the invitation arrives and WHAMMO, you're back there again.

I have nothing against the girls who are organising our reunion. They were always very pleasant and perfectly polite. Which is why they are organising the reunion. They clearly don't have the cultural intelligence to consider how much torture high school was for the vast majority of their school 'chums'. But faced with the remonstrations of at least one of my parents, I have to wonder whether 10 years is actually enough time to move on from those bad experiences. After all, I'm not the same person I was 10 years ago - so can I really assume that the girls are the same people they were? Do I really want to go there to find out?!

Me vs TV

Late yesterday afternoon I received an email telling me I'd been accepted for the Peru trip in March 2005. This gives me the chance to confirm all my travel details and start counting down properly.

There isn't much more I can add in this post, except to wonder why the gods of Sunday TV are asking me to make the judgement call between Network 10 and Channel 9. After all, the CSI gang and my new favourite Cold Case will be taking up permanent (?) residence in Channel 9's Sunday line-up; while Channel 10 is still devoting itself to Law & Order: Criminal Intent. Now I ask you, how am I possibly supposed to decide when faced with such a dilemma. But just say I do decide, in this DVD age, do I even remember how to program my VCR?!

It's me versus the TV...

PDAs....WTF?!

I ended up scoring a free Personal Data Assistant (PDA) a few months ago, from a generous benefactor (aka Dad), who assured me that the little device would marvellously streamline my hectic life. The damn thing hasn't worked since about a fortnight after I got it, leading me to believe either a) the device is crap; or b) I have no life to program into it. I think I know which is the more likely....I'll take what's behind curtain B, Larry!

Actually that's not really true. I am going out for a rich Indian dinner this Thursday - yummm rogan josh bring it on! And then on Friday it's a friend's birthday so I'm going to the Hyatt to drink cocktails and see a band. One of my previous posts commented on the long time between cosmos, so I think I have a stellar opportunity to remedy that this Friday. Can't wait. They are $15 but they are pretty darn good.

Oh that reminds me, I missed the most recent exploits of Carrie Bradshaw & Co last night, instead subjecting myself to the final episode of "The 4400". That is 3 hours of my life I won't get back. I hate it when the second night is worse than the first night - and why is it that I just know it's going to be average TV and yet I still watch it? There is something perverted about that. But I can't wait until Season 6 of "Sex" is available on DVD so that I can reprise my role on the couch, wine in hand, living vicariously through the girls in the designer duds. Those will be the days...

Fly me to the moon...

Friday was one of the best days I've had in some time. I went to the travel agent, buoyed by the notion that in just over 3 months I will finish work and be ready to zoom zoom fly outta here. I have only had a few mini panic attacks about it too, which is pretty good. Last night's panic was the most recent, and stemmed from a fear that Spanish terrorists would hijack my plane as I flew into Madrid. I need to read up on Spanish militancy and brush up on the appropriate hostage negotiation vocabulary just in case.

Okay so I say all of that only half in jest. There is a bit of me, deep down inside (past the usual layers of crap) that wonders just what this overseas jaunt will bring. Here is a fleeting overview of the itinerary so far. Hold on to your hats - the first few months are a whirlwind...(dates aren't confirmed yet so just roll with me here)

February 14 - leave behind the cuckoo lovers in Adelaide and jet out to LA, and do a Contiki tour of California for just over 10 days
Feburary 28 - LA to Lima, Peru with a transfer to Cuzco to commence 4 weeks' with Peru Challenge
April 12 - Lima to Madrid, spend a few days in sunny Spain, conversing with the locals in my brilliant Spanish skills garnered in Peru naturally (no terrorists need apply here)
April 15 - jet into Charles de Gaulle in Paris and stay with best friend for just over a week
April 22 - land in Istanbul to commence 14 day Turkey tour, which includes beautiful ANZAC Day dawn service (which I, ironically, won't drag my a$$ out of bed for here - go figure)
May 2 - go back to Paris and stay with Kate for 3 weekends, going out and meeting French men awww yay
??? - somehow finding gainful employment in Scotland? London? Can't quite decide....suggestions welcome
late January 06 - Singapore for 2 weeks
February 06 - return to Adelaide via Perth

Now that's a pretty loose idea of an itinerary, but the ideas are there. Now I need to do sums and see whether I can afford such extravagance. I spent the better part of yesterday diving behind the couch searching for spare change. Nuthin'.

Worms are no laughing matter

Okay heard some interesting news today about intestinal worms. Apparently they live in Peru.

I was so pleased to hear from Meghan this morning (GO CANUCKS!), but was alarmed to read that her Aussie man's travelling buddy has picked up some hitch-hiker worms in her intestines. Now that is not a pleasant image, and I'm sure they're not a joy to have either.

But I am resolved to stay on course, and travel to Peru and live in Cuzco and climb Macchu Pichu (at least from the bus carpark). I think I will forgo some of the pleasures of life like make-up or (gulp) expensive perfume, and instead load my suitcase up with an elaborate array of over-the-counter pharmeceuticals designed to fend off nasty, wriggly pests. They will NOT inhabit my person. I will not eat anything from dodgy street vendors with big smiles and large vats full of unidentified muck. No matter how yummy it smells. I will not eat guinea pig either, national dish or not. Okay perhaps I might revise that last one - after all, when in Peru....

Happy as a piggy...

I don't know what it is, but I've been in a really good mood all week. And it's not that everything's going my way, but I am finding myself more resilient than usual.

I think it's contentment. Foreign feeling for me, but nevertheless there you go.

Stressful occurrence in traffic this morning - nearly got run off the road by a bitchy double-bus along Main North Road and the stupid driver had no idea. A wrinkly gran on the bus seemed slightly alarmed when she saw my expression and Mum's attempt to swerve into the gutter to avoid a disaster. Or perhaps she could lip-read and discerned the stream of obscenities I hurled at Evil Kanevil of our public transportation system.

<> I have a date with my travel agent tomorrow...THAT'S why I'm so happy right now. I can almost smell the REAL Italian coffee, and hear the Vespas whooshing by. And I can't wait to visit Paris again, after Mags returned to work the other day raving about la belle ville and the equally gorgeous men. Bring it on.

Ola magaritas

I have come to a fairly interesting decision about my upcoming trip, and that is the inclusion of Peru as a destination.

I have been fascinated by ancient cultures for as long as I can remember, and the Egyptians, Romans, and Incans particularly have always been a real curiosity. So when I saw a spot on "The Great Outdoors" on TV about a fortnight ago, it was the clincher.

Called "The Serpent Challenge" (let's hope for a spiritual, not reptilian, reason), Perus Challenge is a great 4-week introduction to beautiful Cuzco. And let's face it, if you've seen "The Emperor's New Groove", you'll understand the appeal of that place. So the four weeks is a volunteering opportunity to work with the young kids of Cuzco, helping them build a school and basically the surrounding community too. I have asked to help the kids read and write English, because I'm not much of a gardener or artist or musician (some of the other vocations). The website also asks you to bring things for the kids with you - the sorts of supplies they'll need to be most effective in the activities you'll be doing with them. But the real coup for me is the chance to learn Spanish during the days, when I'm not with the kids. The price of the tour includes four weeks of Spanish lessons AND trips up to Macchu Pichu and other Incan sites - what fun!

Now I have done some readings and I'm well aware of the delightful array of innoculations I have to endure in the lead-up to this adventure, but I can do it. I can be brave and let them use my arm for target practice, right? I am not sure what japanese encephalitis does to you, but I'd rather not find out....

Make mine a Reisling...or is it "i" before "e"?

As I sit here listening to the dulcet tones of the Finn brothers (Nick and Tim, in case you're wondering), I reflect on "the week that was".

I actually achieved a lot this week, having personally catalogued 63 entries in our Environment Youth Art Prize. I was so pleased that we managed to get so many entries, and they are all so interesting and different. It's great that we can at least have a decent competition, in terms of near equal representation between the age categories, and people have explored different environmental themes. It's been great that not everyone focussed on marine issues (which is where things were headed for a while). And I think about it now, and we only had 6 entries this time last week. How did it get to 63?! And I catalogued them all. No wonder I'm tired.

There's not much else to say for this week, it really has just been about 'head down, bum up' stuff - working solidly on boring stuff that just needs to get done. I had some lovely lunches to break up the boring days though. And I finished the week successfully, with a delicious happy hour with an equally delicious drinking partner. Now THAT's the way to do things :)