Neenish Tarts

It's about this time of year that I start having strange discussions with people regarding neenish tarts.

For one thing, there's something about the name "neenish tarts" that just lends itself to strange discussions. It seems vaguely nonsensical in a quaint, nostalgic kind of way - almost like you'd expect it to turn up in a verse by Edward Lear or Lewis Carroll:

The Queen of Hearts ate Neenish Tarts
While the fimble-bamp played the bamzoo
And down by the sea danced the quirrelly-quee
With a snake and a grey kangaroo

For another thing, it seems the country can be sharply divided into those who know what a neenish tart is, and those who don't.

People who know what a neenish tart is (usually from the southern states) regard them as a fairly boring, run-of-the-mill bakery item which can be found in any average bakery or cake display. The tarts are so ubiquitous and "standard" in certain states that these people don't even notice that they can't be found north of certain parts of New South Wales. When travelling north it doesn't even occur to them to look for neenish tarts in, say, Queensland, so they are always rather surprised if you point out that we don't usually have them. In fact, we don't usually know what they are.

The people who don't know what a neenish tart is (usually from the northern states) are the most peculiar part of this dichotomy, because they often refuse to believe that such a thing exists. I have had many a dubious Queenslander look at me as if I had flown off my rocker when I try to explain what neenish tarts are. I think it might have something to do with the name sounding so quaint and odd, something to do with the contents of the tarts (why would anyone want a tart filled with mock cream?) and something to do with the fact that I often start my explanation with the phrase "it's a classic Australian pastry..."

People who have lived in Australia all their lives find it difficult to accept that something can be a "classic Australian" anything if they've never heard of it. Because the contents of our grocery stores is so surprisingly uniform across such a vast space, it occasionally misses our attention that we do have regional variations. For example, if you went to a deli in Queensland you would find cocktail sausages are referred to as "Cheerios", while the same meat product in South Australia would be called "little boys" (something I personally find a bit disturbing).

So I have to explain to the disbelieving northerners that neenish tarts are, in fact, unique to Australia. There are two legends about how they came to be. The first is that a humble housewife invented them for a Country Women's Association do some-time back in the 1950s. The other is that they were created by a woman who owned a bakery and tried to remember some of the recipes her family used to make back in Germany, but ended up producing something with a uniquely Australian twist.

(I love the phrase "uniquely Australian twist" - it implies we have enough of a widely applicable culture to be able to recognise when something is particularly "us", when we all know Australia hasn't had anything resembling a unifying cultural identity since we noticed the White Australia Policy was a bad idea, our cultural cringe kicked into overdrive and we started making a conscious effort to forget anything ever done by British descendants between the years 1770 and 1980. The joy of modern Australian culture is that it isn't really any thing at all - a multiculture is not, and really cannot ever be, a single culture. Unless we use it to hunt marsupials, I'm not sure how "uniquely Australian" a pastry can be).

So, what is a neenish tart? Well, it's a small tart, lined with jam and filled with mock cream, then topped with duo-tone icing - one half is chocolate, the other half is either vanilla or white chocolate. What does it taste like? Fairly unimpressive, actually. The problem with mock cream is that it can be good, but most of the time it's pretty average. Thus a tart which consists of mock cream and jam can have some drawbacks.

If anyone's interested, you can find a fairly decent recipe for neenish tarts here. The recipe forgets to add the jam, though, so for a true neenish tart experience you'll have to remember to drop about a teaspoon of pink jam into each tart case before adding the mock cream.

Why do I find myself having conversations about neenish tarts at this time of year? Because it's Australia Day this weekend, and every Australia Day the conversation turns to typically Aussie cuisine. Neenish tarts may be pretty average, but they're also ours, and belong on any dessert table at an Australia Day function.

So, this weekend, if you can, find or make some neenish tarts, revel in the pointless sugar of it all, and imagine you're "uniquely Australian".

Strange Dreams

I had a really odd dream on the weekend. I dreamt that I had two tattoos on my back.

One was this huge thing that went almost halfway across my back and almost down to my waist depicting the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. It was done in the style of those old line drawings that used to be really popular in the 1920s - especially for illustrating light novels - and the scenery was building structures from early 20th Century New York, so I guess it was more West Side Story than Romeo and Juliet.

On the opposite side of my back, high up in the corner, was a Japanese kanji. It was one of those things that every Tess, Dee and Harriet have on the back of their shoulder - just a small, simple tattoo of a Japanese character. Really run-of-the-mill in this day and age. Only I didn't know what it meant. In the dream I had this feeling that it was something almost random that I had chosen on a whim, and someone had once told me (or I had once read) what the kanji meant, but I had forgotten.

Everyone (and I mean everyone) asked me what that stupid kanji meant. It was like every single person I met had only one "small talk" question when they met me, and that was "what does your tattoo say", to which I could only reply: "No idea. I did know once, but I've forgotten. I haven't bothered looking it up again". No one (not one person) asked about the huge, honking depiction of the balcony scene I had taking up about a third of my back.

This could have been because it was self-evident, while symbols written in another language need explanation. This could have been because large tattoos on women are still considered a bit odd and no one wanted to draw attention to it. It could have been because it was a dream, and dreams are weird. What I can't figure out is - what the heck was I wearing? I don't make a habit of backless garments...

Seriously, though, I think I know what some of the pieces to that particular puzzle might have been:

1. A friend of mine at work has a small, simple Japanese kanji on her ankle (she actually does know what it means and how to pronounce it), and that type of tattoo is exceptionally common. I see them all the time - it almost seems as though one out of every six twenty-something-year-olds have them. Of course, the first thing you can think of saying to them in "small talk" is "what does your tattoo say"?

2. I was working with another librarian on Friday (a woman born in the first half of the 20th Century, and therefore of a demographic that considers tattoos to be distasteful - especially on women) when she pointed out one of the twenty-something female students had this large, decorative tattoo that took up the outer-half of her calf. This particular librarian thought it was terrible, and made a point of mentioning that the young woman would have to live with it for the rest of her life. More on this later.

3. I've reached this wonderful point in my efforts to learn Estonian where I recognise a word as something I think I should know - but I can't remember what it is. The other day I couldn't remember how to say "goodbye" ("head aega"), and I'm still looking up the same words in the dictionary, even though I know I've looked them up many a time before, and I have previously remembered them without needing to look them up. Very frustrating.

4. Probably some latent fear common to all humans involving people reading something on your back that you can't quite see. Probably stems from that wonderful childhood game that involves putting signs on people's backs that they can't quite see. I've never understood why anyone would want a tattoo on their back. a) You can't see it, and if you were going to go to that much effort to have a piece of art follow you around for the rest of your life, wouldn't you want to be able to see it without a mirror? And, b) Eventually it's gotta be like one of those "honk if you..." bumper stickers. You more or less forget it's there, but people are still honking at you for no apparent reason.

Resistance is Futile

I've often commented that I should at a "yet" to end of every sentence I utter that begins with "I don't". Particularly sentences that start with "I don't like".

It seems as though I'm steadily talking myself into liking everything. I get into these strange modes where I have to try something, even though I've tried it several times before and I didn't like it. After a while, I start to appreciate it, even if I still don't like it, and then I start to actually enjoy the very things I didn't like about it in the first place.

Take mangoes, for an example. Couldn't stand them. Couldn't even stand the smell of them. But, felt strangely compelled to try them, over and over again, and now I quite enjoy them and look forward to mango season. I'm slowly starting to do the same thing with capsicum and zucchini. And beer. I never particularly liked beer, but I'm beginning to gain an appreciation for it - to the extent that I'll spend good money on the stuff.

It's not just food, either. I have a tendency to default to the intellectual snobbery side of things and refuse to engage in certain behaviours because everyman and his dog does them. Then I'll start dabbling in them, realise why they were so popular and jump in feet first.

Like blogging. I always thought blogging was a bit sad, really. Everyone posting their thoughts on the net without benefit of editor or publisher to sort out the people who really shouldn't be writing. Now I'm one of the blogging masses. And not just one blog in which I dabble. Oh, no. I have two personal blogs, two blogs I contribute to as part of my job and no less than four blogs I run as a "professional librarian" that are separate from the ones that belong to my library (so I can keep contributing to them regardless of who I work for, and use them to help sell myself to other organisations). Fortunately, I can "talk" under water, so I have little trouble in supplying enough dribble to keep 8 blogs ticking over.

Oh, and then there's the sports pages. Now, I have a very poor opinion of the print media in general (especially at the local level), and I've always felt that the reporting of sport was particularly obnoxious. I mean, sports reporters seem incapable of writing an article without padding their sentences out with ghastly mixed metaphors and other such atrocities. Now, along with the comics and the TV guide, it's one of the first things I look at when I pick up a newspaper. Heck, with the Townsville Bulletin, it's often the *only* thing I'll look at when I pick up the newspaper.

It's not because of the writing (that's still terrible) but - dare I say it - because of the *sport*. I'm actually interested in finding out who won last night's game, and whether the Roar will make it to the playoffs. The other day I actually bought a ticket to a basketball game. I don't know why. It makes no sense to me at all. Sport bores me. It always has. But, come next Friday, I'll be watching the Crocodiles take on the Taipans.

Pity me.

I seem to be the victim of strange whims and fancies - but, since I invariably end up having more things in the world I enjoy and appreciate, I have great difficulty steeling my will against these temptations. It's not like I loose anything that was worth keeping. I might gain things I didn't originally think were worth having, but then I'm glad that they're a part of my life.

So maybe you shouldn't pity me after all.

But you should read my blogs. I need to know they are getting some sort of audience.

My personal blogs are:

"Sharon's Rambles" - This one. You seem to be reading it already. Well done.

"Circus Geek" - More or less my "proto-blog" where I was working out the kinks, this charts my current obsessions with circus related things - including my progress in juggling and unicycling. I don't update it as often as I should.

My work blogs are:

"SoCA Highlights and New Discoveries" - A current awareness service I run for the School of Creative Arts that points out websites I think would be interesting to Creative Arts students and practitioners.

"Social Sciences & Humanities@JCU Library" - A blog run by another librarian which I contribute to occasionally.

And then, my showcases - "Sharon's Electronic Research Blogs"

"Information Literacy and Other Research Skills" - One of the only blogs I run that's sort of a "teaching" blog. All of the others are current awareness blogs just like the one for SoCA

"Resources for Creative Arts Students" - Actually, at the moment this is a carbon copy of the SoCA blog. I gave myself permission to copy myself verbatim while I was writing about the same things for the same crowd.

"Resources for Education Students"
"Resources for Humanities Students" - both more of the current awareness stuff, but for Education and Humanities students, obviously.

"Environmental Activists"

Ah, "environmental activists".

You know, people like those morons from the Steve Irwin are the reason I left The Wilderness Society. The way they parlay indignant self-righteousness into behaviour that is both illegal and, face it, stupid made me want to disassociate myself with anyone "campaigning" for the environment.

I mean, "Let's board a vessel in the high seas and then accuse them of kidnapping and/or assaulting us if they dare do anything about it"? Please.

I don't care if the Japanese whaling vessel was, at that particular moment, engaged in an illegal whale hunt in protected Australian waters (well, actually, I do, but that happens to be irrelevant to this rant). You don't get to do something stupid and illegal and then take the moral high-ground.

Were they the Coast Guard? No. The Australian Navy? No. The Australian Federal Police? No. Anyone with any kind of legitimate authority or jurisdiction? No. So they don't get to board other vessels without permission. If they do, that's an act of piracy.

Oh, so you had an important message to give them and they weren't returning your calls? Bully for you. Stay on your own boat until given permission to board. We have Federal Police and a Navy, and both of them can do their jobs better without worrying about your illegal behaviour at the same time.

If someone breaks into your house, you have every right to tie them to a chair and wait for the police to arrive. If someone boards your ship, you have the same rights. I don't care if the "chair" in this situation was a mast and the weather was bad. If you engage in piratical behaviour you shouldn't expect to be treated like welcome guests.

When Greenpeace starts acting less like a bunch of piratical villains, I'll start to gain some sort of respect for them. Right now, though? Not much respect. Just a big helping of annoyance.

Baltic Times

Hmm...

It seems the Baltic Times have changed their online policy.

Used to be that you could read the entire main-article for every section of the "paper" for free, plus the "In Brief" sections for each country.

Now, even though the link still says "full story", you don't get the full story. If you want to read more than the first paragraph you have to pay for it.

This is, in it's own way, fair enough. I've been content to read the free bits for over a year, so I've essentially been sponging off the paper without paying a cent for some time now. If I still want to read the paper I should be willing to pony up some cash for the privilege.

What urks me, though, is the way they don't give you the complete first paragraph of the story. They cut halfway through a sentence, resulting in things like...

Very annoying. Okay, sure it's a way to prick the readers' interest so that they'll want to subsribe to the paper and read the whole thing, but I think it's only fair that, if they are no longer going to let you have any full articles for free, they should at least make sure they parts they give you have complete sentences.

Sadly, reading the free version for a year hasn't convinced me I'd get my money's worth out of a subscription, so I may have to content myself with half-finished sentences in order to stay appraised of the news in my "other" country. Either that, or find another online English language newspaper focusing on the Baltics...

Prayer for the Print Media

Lord, grant us Editors
Who understand that "journalism"
should have honour, and not just an audience.
Who have the courage to stand for quality
and not sacrifice what is "good"
for what will sell.
Who will know that the truth
is more important than deadlines.
Who understand the importance of copy editors.
Who know that there are such things as "standards",
and standards should always be high.

Lord, grant us Copy Editors
who know their job and know it well.
Who believe that it does matter
if a sentence is well written.
Who believe that someone will notice
- will care -
if a word is spelt incorrectly,
And who will encourage our journalists
to believe it as well.
Who understand and appreciate
the value of being right,
and encourage our journalists
to appreciate it and understand it as well.
Who know that there are such things as "standards",
and standards should always be high.

Lord, grant us Journalists
Who take pride in their work
and strive to create work they can take pride in.
Who believe that the news
should serve a higher purpose than gossip.
Who long for rewards for a job well done,
and so do their jobs well.
Who seek correction and confirmation.
Who strive for truth and justice.
Who believe they are accountable for what they write.
Who respect their readers,
and assume the highest and best about their
intelligence, attention spans and tastes.
Who know that there are such things as "standards",
and standards should always be high.

Lord, grant us Readers
Who have enough respect for their own intelligence
to demand their media show respect as well.
Who know the difference between news and gossip
and insist on different outlets for each.
Who will reward journalists and newspapers
for making the effort to get things right,
and punish them if they do not.
Who will realise that "quality" starts at home,
and they must demand it from themselves
before they can expect it from their media.
Who care about their own language enough
to insist that others use it well.
Who know that there are such things as "standards",
and standards should always be high.

Been thinking about...

Penny-farthings.

I often think about penny-farthings. I don't know why, I guess they just appeal to me.

Maybe it's the old-timey-ness of them. Maybe it's the incongruity of the wheel size. Maybe it's the obvious and inherent danger.

Many years ago, I used to wonder about getting on a penny-farthing - the how-tos of it all. Then I discovered that most models have this little step-thingy above the little wheel, so you just step on the step and swing up. Kind of like using the stirrups to get onto a horse. (Mind you, getting onto a horse is something else I've never tried doing, and doesn't strike me as a particularly easy thing to do).

Lately, though, I've been more interested in how one would get off a penny-farthing without causing one's self serious harm.

The easiest thing to do on a unicycle is get off it. You either drop forwards or backwards and you just land on your feet. There's nothing fore or aft to impede your progress (excepting, of course, whatever might be in the environment surrounding you).

However, it occurred to me that Penny-farthings would not permit such methods of dismounting. One cannot drop to the rear as there is another wheel in the way. One cannot drop forwards as there are handlebars that would trap one's legs. Attempting to dismount in either direction would cause serious pain.

Now, you would think that one should get off a Penny-farthing the same way one dismounts a bicycle (seeing as a Penny-farthing is, in fact, a bicycle - what with the two wheels, and all). This makes much more sense than attempting to treat it like a unicycle, but you're much further up on a Penny-farthing which would, I would think, make dismounting to the side a) rather uncomfortable and b) more likely to involve falling over.

Upon reflection, I begin to see why Penny-farthings only lasted a few years before being replaced with the smaller, more evenly wheeled "safety bicycles".

New photo

People have been whinging that I look glum in the photo I had as my "mug shot". They say I should submit a photo where I'm smiling.

Fine. Look down the side bar and you'll see a photo in which I am smiling.

The fact that I'm being lit from behind so you really can't see any details aside from my clothes and sunglasses is irrelevant.

It's a shot from my cousin's wedding. My uncle insisted I should be in at least one of them.

Ironically (not in the literary sense), it turned out to be a photo of me I don't hate. Very rare.

Keyboards!

So, I'm currently staying at my aunt's house for my cousin's wedding, and I was hoping to spend a little time catching up on some of my blog entries (I officially have too many blogs), but this keyboard is shot to pieces.

Sometimes it won't register a keystroke at all and I have to press it multiple times to get one letttter. Sometimes it looks like that's what it is doing, but the second time I hit the ky it spits out at least three of them (always more lettttters tan I actualy hit). Then, when i hit backspace, it deltes a word nd a half. A third of the time it doesn't believe I've presed the shft key.

It took me about as long to write tat frst paragraph correctly as it usally tkes me to write half of one of my marathon entries. After I switchd to only corrrecting the mistakes that interfered with the word beingreadable, i picked up some speed, but not much.

For someone who touch-types and has a high wpm rate, having to take about five seconds for each word is killing me. No more entries on this computer, dammmmmmmmit!