Rockhampton

One of these days I'm going to have to visit Rockhampton, as opposed to stopping overnight as I pass through.

I mean, you've got to love a town with large public botanical gardens that include a free zoo and a Japanese garden.

Even if it doesn't have much else, that's a huge selling point as far as I'm concerned. I expect it has a few more things to offer, which I would discover if I just stayed for more than a handful of hours on my way between X and Y.

By the way, for those of you who are keeping track of such things, the Trevelodge "Motel" in Rockhampton is a) not a motel, and b) not worth the price. Plus, the restaurant takes forever to give people food.

We got in shortly after 7:30 and were fed by about 8:45. Having not eaten anything since about 1pm that afternoon, we were rather hungry and rather dismayed that it could take them so long to provide a piece of grilled fish and some pasta. Especially since the reason I chose that place was because it had a restaurant, so we could be sure of getting food shortly after we arrived...

Neat and Tidy

So, my mother has been 'tidying' things lately, and yesterday she took it upon herself to tidy my desk.

When I noticed, I pointed out to her that it wasn't the most appropriate thing she could have done, but she generally refuses to take on-board those sorts of messages.

This has been the central bane of my existence for a large part of my life (which makes me pretty darn lucky, when you think of it):

My mother
a) refuses to believe that the mess I create has any real meaning or order,
b) refuses to believe I could possibly have any objection to her 'tidying' it away,
c) refuses to admit she's moved anything and gets defensive if I ask her where something might be after she has 'tidied' it.

"I haven't thrown anything out!"
"I just want to know where it is."
"Why would you assume I have anything to do with it?"
"The cat isn't a viable suspect."

At least this time she happily admitted to tidying my desk: "I've just put everything back into one pile."

Ah, yes, that's okay then. The fact that I was in the middle of sorting those papers into three different piles is completely irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, I suppose.

I've tried suggesting that one day I might rearrange her filing system to make it more aesthetically pleasing to me, but she doesn't see the analogy.

The central problem, I believe, is that she sees A Mess, while I see several messes that are touching at the edges. I know it's messy, but there is an order involved. I remember which mess contains the thing I'm looking for. I can be wrong, and it's actually in the mess that's two messes over, but I have a fighting chance of finding it. When it has been 'put away' by someone other than myself, I'm less capable of locating it.

I thought we were making progress with this, though. She seemed to have worked out that I tidy up my own mess(es) roughly every week or so, so she doesn't actually have to do it herself whenever she feels the urge. And, at the very least, she has restrained herself to 'public' spaces, like family rooms.

Now, suddenly, she tidies my desk.

Granted, the study was not a controlled mess. It was more of a controlled explosion. There were a number of moves involving furniture and items being shifted from room to room to room, and most of it ended up in the study without any real order. I have spent the last couple of months chipping away at the edges of that mess and having very little success in the "putting-things-somewhere-decent" stakes.

There's an element in which I was beginning to think it might be easier to burn down the house than tidy the study, so I'm not greatly upset that someone else made it look half decent...

But, still, she tidied my desk.

Normal people don't do that.

Hide and Seek

Do you suppose they're looking for the drummer?

Actual New Plan

Okay, this new plan is actually useful, and does not involve a lack of permanent address (or bathing):

I'm going to put off starting the Masters in Applied Linguistics until 2013. I just kept going over the maths and logistics of it all and realised that I'd probably only be shaving a semester off the grand total if I started in 2012, and that hardly seemed worth the effort. In fact, depending on how the subjects fell, there was a good chance I'd be finishing at exactly the same time whether I started in 2013 or 2012.

Given that I really want to spend six weeks in Europe next year (two of them in an Estonian intensive course) and four of those weeks would be cutting into my second trimester anyway (so I'd be studying and travelling at the same time), it made sense to only be juggling one degree and a European adventure, rather than two - especially if I wasn't going to get any real time benefit out of it.

So I won't be the crazy person next year. I'll be the crazy person the year after.

16 Inch Wheels

Well, it looked like it might rain today, so I took my old, normal bike to work.

I'm sure I'll get to the point where I don't care about shielding the Brompton from bad weather and just take it everywhere, but it's still kind of new and shiny and I'm happy for it to be a "fair weather" bike at present.

I have to say, riding my old bike for the first time since I got the Brompton has brought home how thoroughly I've fallen for the Brommie (which I've started to call "Babs" - short for "yeah, baby!". And, yes, I know how sad that is).

I am definitely a convert to the 16 inch, foldable life.

My old bike just seems ridiculously huge. Why would you need such ginormous wheels? Why do they take so long to get rolling? What's the point of that top bar? Why is everything so high off the ground? Why is it so cumbersome to move? And why can't all bikes have an internal gear hub?

It doesn't help that the old bike was a size too small as well. Things are ridiculously large, and yet not quite large enough. Everything is just a little too close and at the wrong angle, so that even though the seat is uncomfortably high off the ground and set far back on the seat post, it's still a little too close to the pedals and the handlebars.

That's my own stupid fault, of course. I didn't have a model of that bike to look at, and I was used to women's step-through bikes previously, so when I ordered it I was working with a mixture of ignorance and nervousness. It's one of the reasons why I was determined to try the Brommie before buying it.

So, I think I can safely say I'm a foldie fan now. Riding my old bike has brought home how much the new bike has changed the game.

Plus, I had to leave it outside, which is boring. I much prefer having my bike under my desk - it's a great conversation starter.

Legs, etc.

So my uncle has hurt his leg. Not the uncle who's converting the bus, but the one who's married to the aunt who managed to break her ankle taking the rubbish bins down her own driveway.

From what I've heard, he bought a block of land on Wednesday and fell off it on Sunday.

I'm still not sure how one goes about falling off a block of land, but he managed to do it with such skill and aplomb they kept him in hospital overnight to make sure he hadn't given himself a serious crush injury.

The uncle who's converting the bus hasn't seriously hurt himself since he dropped a flight of stairs onto his foot. My other uncle has managed to keep both of this thumbs attached for quite a number of years, now, and we're very proud of him. My other aunt has also managed to avoid breaking any limbs recently, although she is still getting regular surgery to help correct the last lot of breakages...

So, for all of you people who still like rubbing in the whole fell-over-hit-her-head-and-knocked-herself-out incident, I'd just like to point out one little fact:

In my family, this sort of thing is perfectly normal.

New Plan

Okay, new plan. I've got a touring tent, a swag, a station wagon and a folding bike. I'm going to turn into a hippy for a year or so.

I'll split my time between free camp sites at places where I can fish for my supper (must remember to learn how to fish), and the fruit picking circuit where I can earn money to pay for fuel and non-fish related food.

I'm going to by cheap second-hand paperbacks from book exchange stores and occasionally be one of those smelly people who sit in a public library for a couple of hours. Between the books and the banjo, I should be able to entertain myself.

Once in a while I'll book into a real caravan park so I can have a proper shower, but by and large I'll be completely unfit for human society - except perhaps other hippies.

Oh, wait, I just remembered. This is an old plan. I find myself wanting to do this roughly every two or so years. This is just the first year when I've had pretty much all the stuff I could want for this plan right at my fingertips...

Tolerance

Due to an undeniably Australian childhood, I'm probably going to end up trying to say this at some point anyway - so I may as well get it over and done with now: "suffer in your jocks!"

Okay, now that that's out of the way, I want to talk about tolerance.

My uncle has decided to name his mobile home "Tolerance" as it is the symbol of his retirement, which came much earlier than he originally intended due to his lack of tolerance.

My uncle has never been one to suffer fools gladly, but after a serious illness and a few successive economic downturns he came to realise he was no longer suffering them willingly. In fact, he was barely suffering them at all. He decided that putting up with morons for little or no pay wasn't the way he wanted to spend the next five years of his life, so he called it quits earlier than he planned in order to get to work on his dream retirement: converting a second-hand school bus into a mobile home.

His fervent hope is that, after a few years of not dealing with people who are variously morons or selfish gits trying to get things for free, he might regrow some of his tolerance for humanity.

Personally, we're not sure how becoming a nomadic hermit with only dogs for company is going to help him like humanity more, but he seems to think it's a good plan.

The other day I was flicking through my diary when I noticed some-day-or-other was set aside as the International Day of Tolerance. I didn't actually take much note of the date (I can't even remember if it's in the past or the future), but I do remember thinking: "What's the point of that? Am I supposed to find someone I usually avoid and put up with them for a while?"

It wasn't until today that I remembered the word "tolerance" is used as one of those New-Agey, P.C. buzzwords trying to encourage us to be more beige in our attitudes to the people around us. It's to do with things like "religious tolerance" and "cultural tolerance" and things like that. Somewhere along the line I'm sure it also has something to do with gay people getting married and adopting children from other races. Or something like that.

It's a strange thing, when you think about it: "tolerance". It's not acceptance, but people seem to forget that. There seems to be this strange sense that, when you show tolerance to your fellow human, you are somehow accepting them for what they are.

It's not true, of course. To tolerate something is to "put up with" it. You don't have to like it, you don't have to accept it - heck, you could still passionately hate it, if you wanted to. But you tolerate it. You let it be. You "suffer" it.

I used the phrase "suffer fools gladly" above. It uses an older meaning of the word "suffer" that really only exists in set phrases these days - like the famous Biblical quote "suffer the little children to come unto me". It means "put up with it". Sure, you would rather this thing that upsets you didn't exist or happen or be in your space, but put it up with it. Tolerating this thing may cause you to suffer from annoyance or other unpleasant emotions, but that's something you'll just have to deal with.

Tolerance is the indifference you show when you're not feeling love, but can't permit obvious hatred.

If you actually said that to someone: "I tolerate you", they would probably be highly offended. Deep down, we don't want to be tolerated, we want to be accepted and loved.

But tolerance is surprisingly useful for creating one of those things we charmingly refer to as "civilisations". By tolerating each other even if we don't like each other - by being civil even if we can't be friendly - we build and maintain societies.

Imagine how quickly our society would fall apart if we started treating "us" with the same intolerance we treat "others". It's actually not that hard to imagine - we're doing it a lot more now than we did before. It's become fashionable to blatantly hate the people who are supposed to be on the same team (and I'm going to try to avoid blaming 'reality' TV for this, but it's very hard).

Now, imagine how much stronger, better and richer we would all be if we starting treating "others" with the same tolerance we treat "us". Or if, (radical thought, I know) we treated other people the way we would like to be treated...

Tolerance is not as nice as love and acceptance, but the world is much better with it than without it.

So three cheers for tolerance! Here's to a bright and shining future where we put up with each other in a reasonably civil manner.

Moving forward

So, it's that time of year when fledgling adults are being released from their scholarly internment (at least, it is here in Australia).

After what basically amounts to twelve years of incarceration, our young folk are given a pat on the back, a piece of paper and a friendly wave as they go off to encounter the "real world".

I've long been of the opinion that school should only be compulsory up until that phase in the teens when a child ceases to be a child and becomes a poorly trained monkey. You know what I'm talking about - the age level we usually stick in Year 8 or 9. At that point I think we need to send them off to work on a farm somewhere, then when they come back from a year of physical labour we give them the option of going back to school or taking up a trade.

Anyway, putting that to one side, we have a whole cohort of ex-students who are setting off on the greatest adventure of their life (loosely translated as: "what do I do now?"), and a whole pile of people giving them advice for the future.

Thinking about what advice I might give to someone today, having almost fifteen years between my own release into the wild and my current state, I keep coming back to two songs that have lyrics that really resonate with the twists and turns I've observed in my own life over the past decade and a bit.

The first is "The Lucky One", by Robert Lee Castleman. While most of the song is just an enjoyable country number, I've always loved the following phrase:

The next best thing to playing and winning is playing and losing.

My first piece of advice to the high school graduate: Don't be afraid of falling. Don't be afraid of failing. Just try something, and if it doesn't work then at least you've had the experience of playing the game. You only lose if you let it stop you. Keep moving forward.

The second song is "Watershed" by Emily Saliers. The whole song is about the way life is full of choices, and we don't always know what choices we should be making. But:

When you're learning to face your path at your pace, every choice is worth your while

Life doesn't travel in a straight line. We often find ourselves in places we didn't expect, and sometimes we find ourselves back where we started. That's not necessarily a bad thing. The important thing is to grow as a person along the way. If you come back to the same place as a different person, then it really is a "new" step along the way, and we can grow from there and move onto something else.

Just don't let something unexpected or undesired stop you from moving forward.

You need to have a star to sail by, but should you be blown off course (or the world should tilt on it's axis), just get your bearings and pick a new star.

Whatever happens, "trust in God and do the right". You'll find yourself on stable ground sooner or later - just keep moving forward.

When life becomes a jigsaw puzzle

So, I have two degrees I want to work on over the course of the next three years (one of which I've already started).

Each gives me four "core" subjects that I kind of have to do (unless I can show a good reason to suggest otherwise) and offers a number of options for the other four subjects I need to do for the degree.

This gives me a grand total of eight free spaces to fill... sadly there are 12 subjects I'd like to do. They fall into a mix of "subjects I probably should do because they would be advantageous in the future, should I go with Future A", "subjects I should probably do because they would be useful for the future, should I go with Future B", and "subjects I just want to do because they sound really interesting."

I also have to balance this out with the fact that certain subjects are only available in certain trimesters on even or odd years. So, while it would be nice to leave the decision about whether or not I take Subject X until the year after next, Subject X isn't offered in that year. Theoretically I could could it the year after that, but the year after that I was hoping to be finished with Degree Y and be focusing on a project for Degree Z...

For the German degree: I read the description for the language subjects and thought they all sounded useful for different reasons, and I think you are meant to be able to take them all, so it's not a case of taking 3A and 3B OR 3C and 3D, but one could do either or both. All I know is that you can't take 3B unless you've done 3A, and you can't take 3D unless you've done 3C - so you can't try to mix and match - if you pick one, you have to pick the partner that goes with it.

I also want to do literature subjects, though. Literature is kind of my thing. Or, at least, it used to be and I miss it terribly. I love reading things that people have selected for me. I never pick some of this stuff for myself, and it's good to have someone say "Hey, you know that book you would just ignore if you saw it on a library shelf? Well you have to read it now because there's going to be a test."

There are two literature subjects that I would like to do (well, one that I would really like to do, and one that looks okay-I-guess), but they are not offered in the same year. One is offered this coming year, and if I don't take it in semester one, I lose the chance to see it again until 2014. Fortunately the one I really want to do is available in 2013, which is perfect. Unfortunately, there's no poetry, otherwise my mind would already be made up.

I could try doing only one literature subject and see what I can do about taking three of the language subjects, but seeing as I still want to veer towards further studies in comparative literature, it would be good for me to take both the literature subjects. Which means I have to pick which language stream I want to go with: the one that seems to focus more evenly on speaking and writing, or the one that goes into writing in more depth.

For the Linguistics degree: I want to gear this degree towards producing learning materials, which would indicate that three of my electives are kind of already taken, and then there's a subject on Phonetics, which I would love to do. Sounds like I've got my four electives sorted, right?

Except that there are two TESOL subjects that would be exceptionally handy if I decide I want to go overseas and teach English as a Foreign Language for a living - which seems like a logical career option for someone who has a Bachelor of Education and used to teach English to native speakers.

Writing books and making learning packages is the dream, TESOL is highly likely and hard to turn down.

It's like being offered either a spoon or a fork, and trying to predict what meals you intend to eat for the foreseeable future so you can make an appropriate choice.

I could always do a Graduate Certificate in Education for the TESOL qualifications, but even I think that's starting to get ridiculous. Then again, I'll have two Bachelors and two Masters, so why not have two GradCerts in Education?

Anyway, just coming back to focus on the current degrees in front of me, the main reason why this jigsaw puzzle is annoying the Dickens out of me at present is because I have to work out what I want to do for the next three years in order to figure out which single subject I'm going to enrol in next trimester.

I want to do three subjects next Trimester while I should definitely have the extra day off work (more on that another day), and the way the schedule works out there are only two required subjects that I can do during that time. So I have to pick an elective.

The only German subject I can do as the elective for that trimester just happens to be the literature subject I'm not entirely sure about. If I take it, I'm pretty much definitely going to lose two language subjects, because if I'm doing literature then I'm definitely doing the Short Stories unit in 2013. If I don't do it this trimester, I might not do it at all - which may or may not be a tragedy.

However, if I take one of the Linguistics subjects, I can actually fit four subjects for that degree into the one year, which would be a big bonus in terms of Not Taking Forever to finish the two degrees - but that also means I'd have to make up my mind concerning the TESOL-now-or-later question...

Or maybe I wouldn't need to make up my mind because I could, in theory, take the two TESOL subjects and two of the three learning materials subjects and balance out both possible futures - but that would mean I couldn't take the phonetics subject and I love phonetics - and why am I doing these degrees anyway, if not for my own personal amusement, considering I'm perfectly happy being a librarian - so shouldn't I just chose subjects base on my personal interests? - but, then again, I am interested in having degrees that are useful for teaching overseas because that's why I'm doing this stupid GradCert in tertiary teaching anyway...

...and that's right, I'm also still doing the last subject for the GradCert in that same Trimester because I just want to get it over with.

And why is only one of my subjects available in the Third Trimester? What's the point of having three trimesters if you have to make everything fit into two anyway? It would be much easier to do three degrees at the same time if people would just be a little more flexible with when they offer the darn subjects.

It feels like I have to map out exactly where I want to be in five years' time simply to figure out where I'm going for the next three months.

I knew trying to do multiple degrees at the same time wouldn't be easy, but I didn't realise how hard it would be to "simply" pick my subjects for next trimester.

As Charlie Brown might say: "Good grief!"

Scoot

There is an extent to which Peter-from-NYCewheels can sell me anything, but I can't help but feel I'll be comparing all kick-scooters to this one:



And no, the scooter thing isn't a new obsession now that I've got the folding bike thing and need a new toy over which to drool. I'm still drooling over my own bike - it's unbelievably cool, although I'm still trying to find the sweet spot for the saddle. At the moment I can get my knees happy or my shoulders happy. Why they can't just agree is beyond me.

I've been looking at scooters ever since I saw this a couple of years back:


The way you propel this thing (carving) both intrigues me and makes me reluctant to commit. Sure, the fact that you would build mad levels of core strength propelling yourself with only the sinuous movements of your body sound great, but it looks like you need a fair amount of space for that. I am rather fond of being able to move in a straight line when desired...

Anyway, back to scooters. When I was in Sydney last year I found myself really wanting a scooter. I just wasn't there long enough to be motivated to seek out one that was suitable for adults but not ridiculously cumbersome (as the only adult scooters I've seen in shops always seem to be). The NYCewheels one looks pretty cool. I think the board could be a little more spacious and it doesn't look like you can adjust the handlebar height, which may be problematic if you were using it for more than ten or so minutes at a time...

But, hey, Peter-from-NYCewheels does make it look good, and we all need a benchmark to start with.

Further to the last (8 syllables)

What do you mean, you don't get it? It's so obviously a spoof of the first few stanzas of the Song of Hiawatha! Heck, that poem has been ripped off so often even Lewis Carroll complained that it was too easy and decidedly derivative (it didn't stop him from doing it, though). Sheesh, doesn't anyone read Longfellow anymore?

Why you shouldn't leave me alone with eight syllables

Screaming Hairy Armadillos

     Should you ask me "whence this screaming?
Whence this noise and such kerfuffle?
With the sense of senseless shrieking,
With the odd unearthly grunting,
With the sound of pain and torture
And a tone of great displeasure,
With its ceaseless high-pitched keening
And its awful oscillations
Just like children playing chasey?"
     I should answer, I should tell you:
"Over there by yonder burrow
Where the grass and dirt seem farrowed,
Where the shade and sun are dappled,
There doth live the armadillos,
Live the hairy armadillos,
Screaming hairy armadillos.
Those called 'screaming' for they scream much,
Those called 'hairy' for they have hair,
Hair in all their nooks and crannies,
More than normal armadillos”
     Should you ask why they are screaming
Why they raise a noise so horrid
Why they sound like bloody murder
I should answer, I should tell you,
“They do scream at all discomfort,
Scream and scream at such a volume,
With a sound like broken banshees
Or a hedgehog in a foul mood.
     “Though their skin is hard and hairy
Still they have so few defences
That they scream to ward off strangers,
Scream to save themselves from danger,
Scream like children fond of screaming,
Scream like raptors in a movie,
Or a baby feeling cranky.”
     If still further you should ask me,
Saying, “Why, though, are they screaming?
Tell us what has happened to them,”
I should answer your inquiries
Straightway in such words as follow:
     “In the zoo are vets and keepers
People dressed in green and khaki,
People paid to care for critters,
And they often need to touch them,
Need to touch the beast they care for,
Need to pick them up and hold them,
Need to poke them with a needle,
Need to look in ears and noses.
They do poke and prod the critters
Just to check if they are healthy.
     “And the hairy armadillos,
Screaming hairy armadillos,
Do not like the pokes and prodding
Do not like to be collected
By a man with khaki trousers
Who would pick them up and hold them
And inspect their nooks and crannies
And administer the needles
To their soft and squishy bellies.
     “So they scream, the armadillos,
Scream like hairy armadillos
Scream because a man in trousers –
Khaki trousers with green trimming –
Has picked up an armadillo
And is looking at its soft-bits,
And it really does not like that.”

ASECS and PLMA

Okay, someone needs to apply for the job of Editor for the Journal of the American Society for Eighteenth Century Studies.

No, seriously, one of you people out there go and do it. I'd do it myself, but I'm not qualified and I haven't subscribed to that journal for years (I'm just a ghost in their mailing list).

I have a tendency to hang around libraries, and in doing so I have a tendency to notice journals that look interesting. One of the strange occupational hazards of being a librarian, though, is the fact that you rarely ever read anything in a library.

Other people come into libraries to read stuff, librarians don't. If we can't take it out of the library to read it at home, we tend to not read it at all. Or, if we do, it will be a quick skimming whenever we can remember the thing exists.

So, as a result, if a journal catches my eye on more than one occasion, and I think I want to have a good look at the articles in that journal, I will often consider subscribing to it for a year, just to see if I want to keep subscribing to it.

It has to be said, the answer is usually "no". Turns out having things to read come to your house on a regular basis is actually a bit of a burden. The new issue turns up just in time to remind you that you haven't yet read more than a few paragraphs of the old one...

Anyway, the ASECS journal was one of the ones I subscribed to for one year. The situational irony of it all is that I was always more interested in the articles in ASECS than I am in the articles in the PMLA (which I've been getting for a few years) - which are oddly boring for a journal covering comparative literature.

My membership in the MLA is up for renewal, and I don't know whether I should keep up my membership because it sounds good ("I'm a member of the Modern Languages Association"), or if I should let it lapse because the journal is something I've come to dread.

"Oh, the next issue of the PMLA is here. It appears to have articles about the use of dogs as a metaphor in Marlow's early plays. And then there's this article about how the colour red seems to be of significance to some Spanish author who wrote depressing novels only lecturers in Spanish Literature have ever read. Oh, and someone is once again talking about Beowulf - because there is no other text."

And, you know, the dog thing might be interesting if the dude wasn't harping on about it for almost 4000 words - or if any of these people could write a decent essay. It's like they've forgotten the primary point of an essay is convey ideas to an audience (rather than to sound incredibly well-read and highly educated), so a reader can easily find herself three pages in and still have no idea what the deuce the blighter is talking about.

And (and I mean this in the nicest possible way) SHUT UP ABOUT BEOWULF.

Every time I think I might actually be interested in reading Beowulf, I remember that it seems to turn people into fusty old academics who can't read a good story for the sake of it and need to write reams and reams of papers about whether or not the incestuous characters are more significant to the deeper interpretation of the text than the sexually repressed baby-eaters - keeping in mind that the evidence that any given character might be either sexually repressed or a baby-eater hinges entirely on four words spoken by a serving wench in a bar scene that only appears in one copy of the source texts.

And those words are usually something along the lines of: "like a sweet babe".

So, I look at the PMLA and think "Oh, good grief, it's another one. Do I need to pretend I actually want to read this thing, or can I just throw it directly into the bin? I suppose I should take the plastic wrapping off it first so that I can stick it in the recycling section..." Which does seem like a bit of a waste of money.

I mainly joined the MLA as part of the grand plan of eventually doing a PhD in Comparative Literature, thinking that I'd try to get a few articles published in the journal to go towards my "portfolio". But quite frankly I'm not sure I could actually write for the PLMA. You can't write what you never read, and I struggle to read most articles in the thing.

Someone needs to create a PMLA for the MTV Generation - something where the articles a shorter, sweeter, clearer and sound less like you've been trapped in a lift with a 60 year old academic.

And where articles on Beowulf are rationed to one really good one per year. It can be like a competition - "My article on Beowulf was so good it managed to make it into the 2012 PMLA-X spot!"

A spot of homework

I'm just doing this for the practice. If you translate it into English, you will be bored. Feel free to offer corrections, if it amuses you.


Ich habe um 7 Uhr aufgestanden. Ich habe um 7.15 Uhr Frühstück gegessen. Um 8.20 Uhr ist ich nach Arbeit gefahren. Ich habe bis 5 Uhr gearbeitet. Jetzt bin ich meine Hausaufgaben machen. Gestern, habe ich meine Hausaufgaben nicht gemacht.

Na, wirklich, das stimmt nicht. Ich habe meine Hausaufgaben gestern auch gemacht.

Ich habe lange studiert, aber nicht gut. Ich weißt nicht viel. Ich mache viel Fehler. Ich habe das Perfekt nicht gut erinnert, und meine Sätze sind schrecklich.

Heute, habe ich der Study Plan endlich gefunden. Zu spät, natürlich. Ich sollte er seit drei Monate gefunden (das ist sehr schrecklich, Entschuldigung).

Ich bin müde, und habe diese Sätze nicht gut geschrieben. Das ist Leben.

Bursting Into Song

I always wanted to get a T-Shirt made which said:

"Life is a musical. Please excuse me while I burst into song." *

I'm mildly convinced I must have suffered some sort of acquired brain injury at some point, as it's the most obvious reason for the funny accent, my difficulty with recognising faces, the problem I have with linear time and the fact that I often don't notice I'm singing.

People seem to think the constant whistling, humming, tapping and singing is something I do on purpose because I'm annoying (which is partially true - I am actually quite annoying), but the fact of the matter is it just happens. One minute the tune is safely locked in my head, the next thing I know it's spilling out of my mouth. Usually it takes me a moment or so to realise it's now on the outside of my brain.

Often it's a word association thing, as well. Someone will say something, which will lead to me thinking about something else, which will lead to a song...

My cell mate recently made the observation that I'll have to stop singing so much when we move to the new office and share space with the 'downstairs people'. The 'downstairs people' are a notoriously dour lot who seem to enjoy working in a quiet environment.

Sadly, the terms "quiet environment" and "Sharon works here" are mutually exclusive. Even if I'm not singing, I'm probably talking. I talk to myself when there's no one around. When people are around, I'll talk to them (whether they like it or not).

I've worked out over the years that the only way I can shut myself up is to listen to music. I still sing along (even when I don't speak the language or there are no words), but I do it at a reduced volume - and sometimes I even managed to get through entire songs without joining in. It depends on the music and my mood.

I have a feeling I may be working my way through the entire library CD collection when we move downstairs...



*Other things I'd like to put on T-Shirts: "Kas keegi siin raagib inglise keelt?" and "peut contenir des traces de noix"

Oh, yes - the *third* option...

One of the problems with growing up in a evangelical Pentecostal denomination with tickets on itself (then again, don't all denominations have tickets on themselves?) is that, when you get over that and want a break from the "crazy intense" side of Christianity, you tend to ignore everything that even smells like superspirituality...

Which can lead to ignoring spirituality it general. Not a good move. One's health is, after all, based on three points: physical, mental/emotional and spiritual.

I've been thinking my antsiness must be based on a physical or emotional thing that I'm not addressing properly, but what I haven't been addressing properly is the third part of the triangle.

Once I noticed that last night I started feeling a bit more settled, so I think I'm onto something.

Time to start paying a bit more attention to things I've been dismissing of late, methinks.

Heebie Jeebies

I've been having a case of the heebie jeebies lately.

I don't know why, I can't pin-point a real reason for it, but I've just been expecting to be frightened lately.

I've been expecting to have bad dreams and see scary things in shadows. I've been expecting to turn corners and bump into strangers in unexpected places.

I get this every now and then - usually with years between "episodes", and it's usually shortly after I've seen something that creeps me out... which in this case would probably be some stills from the John Carpenter version of The Thing.

But I can't really blame it on the stimuli, because I'll go for years being able to occasionally look at things like that while having no reaction, and then one day a single photograph will have me so out-of-sorts that I'll be wanting a night light.

When I get into this sort of zone I usually can't even glance in the direction of the horror section at the video store, because any given picture may have my skin crawling for the next few days. It's clearly not the picture itself, but just the theme of the picture - the promise of something unpleasant.

The weird thing is - I don't usually have the bad dreams. I don't usually see the scary shapes in the shadows. I'm expecting them, I'm dreading them - I try to avoid looking at shadows in case I see them... But the shadows are perfectly tame, and my sleep seems devoid of nightmares. When I do bump into strangers in unexpected places, I'm mildly startled, but not frightened.

I'm afraid that I'll be frightened - I'm not actually frightened. I'm afraid I'll see something that will scare me - I'm not actually scared of the things I see.

It's a very odd sensation, this lurking dread that comes from expecting to be scared. And I don't know if it's because the creepy thing I see is the origin of it, or if it's because there's something else going on in the back of my head that's making me feel vulnerable, and the creepy thing is just a trigger.

It doesn't always get me when I'm stressed, so I don't know if I can blame it on stress. I suspect there's something out-of-place that I'm not seeing, and instead of processing it properly I'm just feeling a general sense of "something is not right", which translates on trigger into this phobophobia.

I've been trying to see if I can pick what it is - because then I might be able to address it, but the way I usually tell that something is bothering me (I'm actively avoiding thinking about it), isn't helping. I can't figure out what I'm avoiding.

All I know is that something is amiss - and as a result I'm feeling antsy and skittish. I just wish I knew what it was.

"Wait a minute, did you say 'Robin'?"

"Oh, no, sire. 'Robert', sire. 'Robert the Incredible Chicken'."

I've just been informed I should be getting my complete Maid Marian and Her Merry Men disc set sometime next week.

So you can all expect me to be making even more comments along the lines of:

"Guard it with your life? What a ridiculous thing to say. Guard it with your big stick!"

"Would you mind not bursting into song every time I talk to you? This is the Worksop highway, not Sesame Street."

"I will cut you into a rather easy two-piece jigsaw"

"You're about as useful as a cheeseburger to a drowning elephant"

"Oh, don't ask me - I'm just a girlie. Has anyone seen my blusher?"

And the like.

All About Sting...

Lessons to be learned

Last semester my German subject came with a study plan, which I followed reasonably well, and I did reasonably well.

The lesson plan gave five "lessons" a week which combined a few pages each of the textbook, workbook and lab book. I would often complete these out of sinc and do a few more pages of one on one day, and a few more pages of the other on the next, or do two or three lessons on the same night... but I did them.

This semester they didn't give us one of those plans, and I haven't summoned the discipline to make my own. I've fallen quite behind on the workbook and lab book in particular, and I haven't been keeping up with the audio exercises in the text book.

As a result, I'm not doing so well.

For some reason, I could keep up with what I had to do when I was checking things of a list, but without the list I'm not doing much at all.

Here's hoping I actually learn from this and try to do up a proper "Learnplan" for next semester.

Robin

There are some people who, when you say "Robin Hood", think, "Robin Hood."

Then there are some who might think "Robin of Sherwood", and some who might think "Robin of Locksley".

Then there are those of us who think "Robin of Kensington" and then have to resist the urge to shout "See - I set fire to your underpants!" and giggle uncontrollably.

The complete series of Maid Marian and her Merry Men is available as a boxed set - and it includes the Christmas special.

I bought the first season when it looked like that was all we were ever going to get, but now I want the whole thing. It's not yet available in this region coding, but I know I can watch the UK version quite easily on my cheap DVD player...

Does the phrase "heck yeah!" mean anything to anyone?

Time travelling

On the list of things people probably shouldn't do when they have assignments due and an exam coming up, I expect this item should be written:

Spend entire afternoon as an extra on a movie.

If you manage to see a telemovie on the life of Eddie Koiki Mabo next year (in June in Australia, and most likely available on DVD after that), there is a brief moment where a handful of librarians from the year 2011 are visiting a conference in 1981.

We're all in the last two or three rows of the conference, so you'll probably only get to see an ear or something, but we're still there. That's one life-experience we can now tick off the bucket list.

How to waste a day

Well, I had a whole day to work on my assignment, and did not write down one single word. Not even when I had a blank Word document open in front of me, ready to assist me in my rather humble goal of writing at least two hundred words.

I've done research, though.

That's the thing about being a librarian. We'll distract ourselves from working on a project by doing a little more research. Research is easy. Research is simple. Research doesn't require quite so much engagement with the topic as you may, at first, think.

"Oh, I don't want to think about what I want to say about this topic. I'll do some more research..."

Cussin'

I've noticed I've developed a strange habit of cussing in science fiction.

I try to avoid swearing insofar as is humanly possible, in that I don't voluntarily use words I consider to be "swearwords" and take pains to replace them with euphemisms when I have to describe them to other people. I've managed to successfully keep "real" swearwords out of my vocabulary in this way by simply refusing to say them and by asking people to limit saying them around me.

That doesn't really work all that well, by the way. I have worked out, over the years, that when you ask someone who swears a lot to swear less around you, they tend to still swear a lot, but then apologise more often. It defeats the purpose, really, because I'm not after more apologies in my life, just less swearing.

I just don't like the words. I don't like what they mean, I don't like what they represent and I don't like the way people use them when they could just as easily use something less offensive. So, I try to keep them out of my own vocabulary - which is hard when you hear them everywhere.

Of course, I cannot say I don't use expletives. I use unnecessary, non-literal and grammatically incorrect (and semantically impractical) words all the time. I just think it's far more amusing to say words like "darn", "gosh", "heck" and "flipping", rather than the words that seem to be circulating more often these days. For the sake of my own amusement, I'll often use a euphemism even to replace words I only consider to be mild cusswords, rather than offensive swearwords. Like "darn it all to Heck!" and the like.

I mean, really, why would you say "arse" when you could say "hoo-ha"?

But I have noticed a tendency to say words like "Frell" and "Gorram it!" on occasions when I'm not paying attention, which I find fascinating. I have no idea why I would start using fake swearwords from science fiction programmes, but there you have it.

I also find these last few days I've been making an effort to avoid use phrases like "Munsell in a canoe!" and "get knotted" from Shades of Grey (as referenced in my last post), which is riddled with euphemisms. The book revels in euphemisms in a way I find highly appealing - all the references to "you know" and "thingy"...

Euphemisms make things amusing. Sci-fi cusswords make things intertextual and slightly obscure. Actual swearing is simply obnoxious and boring. That is, when it isn't straight out-and-out offensive.

And if you think that's a load of dren, well you can go and get knotted for all I care.

Brown, Gold, Grey and Yungaburra

Just some random stuff for a Tuesday:

Yungaburra is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to eat there.

I just spent a week in a Yungaburra as a cross between a holiday and a swot-vac. Didn't do as much swotting as I'd have liked, but did some - which was better than nothing. I have to say I was not impressed with the food on offer. It's a sad state of affairs when a perfectly normal, ordinary cafe is the best place to get food in a town.

I didn't try every eating establishment, it must be said, but I did hit all of the major contenders (except the one I was told to avoid). The words "over priced" and "not that great" are the only ways I can describe the food on offer. Some were better than others. None were really cheap. And never get the pies from that place across the road from Nicks. It may be their advertised "speciality", but the pie I had was rubbish.

I had my hair cut while I was there and decided to dye it brown. I have been threatening to dye my hair since I was a teenager, but have always chickened out. It doesn't help that every time I've walked into a hairdressers' establishment, the first thing they do is comment on the natural colour of my hair. This time I just decided to go for it.

May as well take my most interesting feature and get rid of it for a while. See what happens when I'm no longer the girl with "all that red hair". It's short, it's brown and it's actually pretty good. The eating in Yungaburra isn't too flash, but the hairdresser knows what she's doing (her name is Jane and she works at Jools).

Before I left for Yungaburra, Condorman visited Brownsville and gave me a T-Shirt that he'd found in one of his scavanging expeditions. It's a "Booster Gold Fan Club" T-Shirt, and the fact that a) it exists, and b) I own one just makes me inordinately happy. Due to washing schedules I couldn't wear it before I left on holidays, so I wore it to work today. Originally it was under a more suitable work shirt, but the fluctuating climate in the library has lead me to abandon any attempt to look professional and I've just been wearing the T-Shirt "openly" for the afternoon.

Probably won't be doing that again. I already barely look professional with my normal wardrobe, which is something I think I should work on. Wearing a "Booster Gold Fan Club" T-Shirt is kind of killing whatever professional cred I might have had.

I finished listening to the Isis Audiobooks edition of Jasper Fforde's Shades of Grey on the drive back from Yungaburra. After spending a good six hours in the company of Eddie Russet and co, it seems very strange to inhabit a world where people don't live in a society obsessed with colour and organised along lines similar to a Scout camp. That, and I have to remind myself that "Munsell's hoo-ha!" is not a real cuss word and people probably wouldn't be on the same page if I started using it.

I have to say I think it's my favourite Fforde book so far, and I thought Gareth Armstrong did a fantastic reading. I do believe he's now my favourite reader, and I honestly don't know whether I want to buy the book or the audiobook (I had borrowed my copy from the local library, and must sadly return it). Mind you, the ending was a bit of a downer. They are, I believe, expecting to continue the story in later books, so it will be interesting to see where Fforde takes it.

Just don't be too surprised if I start expressing shock and/or surprise with sayings like "Munsell in a canoe!"

To the New Boss

Our new manager is starting on Monday, but I'm going to be away for that week. I thought I might leave her a note like this to welcome her:

Hello, and welcome to John Chefton University*. I hope you enjoy a challenge.

John Chefton is something of a chaotic entity. On its good days, it's kind of like a Catholic mother in the depression era: Trying valliantely to make ends meet with 12 kids, a nogoodnik bum of a husband and not enough food vouchers to go around.

On its bad days, it's more like a cross between the "Poseidon Adventure" and "Towering Inferno" - upside-down, sinking and on fire.

Nothing will ever be easy - nothing will ever be simple or straightforward. Nothing will ever be even remotely logical. The sooner you make your peace with this, the better.

However, you have managed to land yourself one of the finest groups of people with whom I have ever had the privilege of working.

These people are problem solvers, miracle workers and damn fine librarians. They are, to put it mildly, brilliant.

And I mean "brilliant" in multiple senses of the word. They are intelligent. They are ingenious. They are creative. They are very good at what they do - and there isn't a single one of them who doesn't "do" more than you would justifiably expect. They don't just "make do" with what they have - they make something so good you wouldn't believe they were practically working with nothing.

And they are "bright" - like points of light in the gloom. If you were going to be trapped in a disaster movie, this is the group of people you want to be trapped with. You might just make it out alive.

Oh, and don't worry about that weird habit they have of swearing and throwing things at the walls. I've worked out it's they way they avoid getting so frustrated with the way things "work" that they set fire to the buildings themselves. You may also develop this habit. It's only going to become a problem if we move to an open plan office...


*Names have been changed to protect the innocent

How old are you?

This is the kind of inappropriate question I'd like to be able to ask people before they cut my hair.

I try to avoid making it too obvious that I am decidedly ageist when it comes to hairdressers, but sometimes it's hard.

The simple fact of the matter is that I want my hairdresser to be old enough to at least remember the 70s. I need them to be able to understand my pop-culture references, and sadly people born after 1985 often have difficulty remembering that TV existed before the 90s.

I don't know how or why this happened, but for some reason people born before 1985 have no problems with watching and appreciating programmes and movies from before they were born, but people born after that date seem reluctant to believe that the world existed before they were around to observe it.

You go to someone in their twenties and say: "I'd like a style kind of like Diana Rigg in the Avengers" and they'll say "yeah, sure" and give you something different. They haven't got a clue what you're talking about, but they aren't going to admit it - they'll just cut your hair. And probably cut it like Uma Thurman's hair in the movie (if they are in their late 20s - the kids in their early 20s probably wouldn't even manage that).

Go to someone in their forties (or, better yet, older) and make the same request, and they'll say "the long version or the short version?"

That's what I want from a hairdresser - someone who understands that some of us would rather be in the past when it comes to our personal style, and is capable of helping us achieve that.

Burn your pants.

I'm thinking of getting a utility kilt.

There are two basic reasons for why I don't wear a skirt very often:

1. Whenever I wear a skirt, people insist on pointing it out to me: "Oh my god! You're wearing a skirt!", "Hey, you're wearing a skirt!", "Hey, nice skirt!" (it's not - it's a boring brown skirt that wouldn't get a mention at all if I wore skirts more often)

2. Skirts just aren't as practical as pants. Wear a good pair of pants and you can do all sorts of things in them. Wear a skirt and suddenly you have to change the way you move - not for the better, either. You can't tackle obstacles as easily, you have to walk around things you would otherwise step over and you need to think carefully about the way you sit and stand. It's restrictive, and doesn't usually involve decent pockets. We all know how important pockets are in my universe.

Which is why I find this appealing:


Yes, that's right, it's a kilt with cargo pockets.

Also, a retractable tool loop, which I'm sure will come in very handy at some point. You know, when I start carrying around hammers as part of my duties... Oooh! - I could start carrying a mallet when going to help people with the public computers. That would be entirely appropriate.

I used to work for a guy who wore kilts as his normal day wear (and, for that matter, as his fancy evening wear). He would really only switch to pants of some description if he had to be up a ladder on a school ground. He always maintained that unbifurcated garments were superior in every way - especially for men (for reasons I won't elaborate). He also always maintained that kilts were for men - women wore "pleated skirts".

Which is just typical of the strangle hold men have on useful garments, frankly. Even when it comes to skirts, men get to claim the most practical garments for themselves.

Anyone who has ever worn a kilt knows it provides the greatest flexibility of movement with the lowest likelihood of flashing - add a sporran and you could jump over any obstacle you wanted without fear. There's a reason why highland laddies go running through the hills in their kilts, and the fellows at the highland games wear kilts for every sport (actually, there's a second reason for that: nudity is frowned upon for such events these days).

By the way, if you've ever taken a close look at a sporran, you would notice something instantly - it's just like a purse, only it's designed to stay out of the way and never be accidentally put down and forgotten - no matter what you do, it stays neatly in your lap. In other words: purses intended for men are more useful than purses designed for women.

I am tempted by these "utility kilts" for a number of reasons. For one thing, you get the practicability and freedom of a kilt without actually needing to commit to tartan - the plain colour could pass for a skirt, making it less obvious that I am (once again) resorting to menswear in order to avoid useless clothes. For another, it has pockets - thereby precluding the need for a sporran, which would draw attention to the fact that my "skirt" is actually a kilt. Thirdly, they are machine washable. If there is one thing I love more than pockets on a garment, it's the words "machine washable".

And, living in the Tropics, hemp seems like a better option than wool or synthetic blends.

The problem with this, though, is that if I actually bought and wore one of these things, I would eventually become a kilt wearing, banjo playing, juggling, bike collecting, multilingual Australian-Estonian librarian... and something tells me that's not normal.

I'm sure it will wear off at some point

Have I mentioned that I have a bike under my desk?

Vikings, part 2

So, I've been corrected: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Estonian_pirates

Apparently Estonians were quite the piratical villains. This makes me not only very happy, but now perfectly comfortable with the idea of buying Viking themed stuff.



Not that people would actually make such stuff in women's wear*. That would be far too, I don't know, non-gender-stereotyped. We must confirm to standard expectations, mustn't we? Boys can be interested in Vikings, girls can be interested in flowers.

If girls want to be interested in Vikings we will have to make them suitably girly. Maybe make them pink and put flowers in their hair, or something. If boys want to be interested in flowers, they can just go over and sit in the gay corner, thank you, and remove themselves from the regular male spectrum. It might otherwise damage the balance of the universe, if people don't sit neatly in their prescribed gender boxes.

Having said that, though, I like their flower design, too:



*Mind you, I still maintain that T-Shirts are, and always have been unisex. Except for women's specific T-Shirts which are terribly uncomfortable for anyone who has shoulders and likes moving his or her arms.

Daylight Savings, pt 2

Actually, the thing that worries me most is that no one ever corrects me.

I must have told at leas four people that my class had been pushed forward an hour because of Daylight Savings, and not one of them said "don't you mean backwards?"

Daylight Savings

Okay, it's time I admitted it:

I do not understand Daylight Savings.

I get it wrong every single year - I always forget who is an hour ahead of whom. Then I make an assumption about the timing of this, that or the other, and find myself sitting around feeling like a moron an hour after everyone else has gone home.

I live in a place where Daylight Savings has never been needed or welcome, you see, so it's something that other people do. Those other people possibly understand how it's all supposed to work.

Me? I turn up at 6.30pm for a lesson that started at 4.30pm.

Or something very much like that.

Every year.

Without fail.

Vikings

So, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm reasonably sure Estonians were invaded by Vikings, rather than being one of the origins of everyone's favourite invading hoards...

http://www.estowear.com/shop/collections/viking-collection/mens-crew-neck-sweatshirt-estonian-viking-ship-white#

There's a Bike Under My Desk...

...and it makes me very happy.

I knocked off work early yesterday to do some work on an assignment, and twenty minutes after I got home the truck with my bike turned up.

Let's just say I didn't do as much work on my assignment as I planned.

I mean, I totally would have worked on my assignment all afternoon, but there was a bike in my kitchen:



I've been grinning like a loon since yesterday afternoon, and trying really hard to avoid dancing around singing "New bike! New bike! New biiiiiike!" more often than is seemly. Impossible to avoid doing it entirely, but one should try to keep things at a moderate and respectable level.

That colour is "turkish green", which looks like a pale blue to me. If I'd quite computed how pale blue the bike was going to look I would have gone for the black and white bag not the green and honey one:



Which, to be honest, clashes a little and isn't the most convenient thing to have on a Brompton, but it ended up working more or less the way I thought it would. I'm just going to have to remove the rack before packing the bike, which is more convenient that dismantling the whole bike.

Right now we're just getting to know each other, and I'm trying to work out the logistics of things like putting lights on the thing.

That, and trying to avoid patting it like a new puppy. It's just under my desk, you see...

The Saga Continues

This is a summary of how my attempts to buy a bicycle have gone so far:

Late June

Me: I want to buy a bike I can travel with. I've been trying to make up my mind between the Brompton and the Bike Friday. Could I come to your shop to try them both?

Them: Of course. We'll have one of each for you.

Me: Please keep in mind that I will be flying into town specifically to see your bike shop and these two bikes.

Them: We understand, that's not a problem. We should even have a Brompton that specifically matches what you want in stock.

Me: (Later) Remember, I'm flying into town later this week to look at the bikes.

Them: (Nothing).

I pay over $200 in travel fees and take up two days of my annual leave to see bikes. I make luggage allowances to return with a bicycle. It is currently August.

Me: I'm here to look at the bikes.

Them: We have a Brompton, but not the exact model you wanted.

Me: What about the Bike Friday?

Them: Not a model worth comparing with a Brompton.

Me: I flew in specifically to look at them both!

Them: Well, you know, they've just been flying out the door.

The Brompton was the one I was most interested in anyway, and having seen enough to know that I like it and I want one, I decide to just go ahead and buy it.

Me: That Brompton you said would be in by now, is it far away?

Them: No, it should be here in two weeks at the most.

Me: Can I put a firm order in for it so that I get it when it comes?

Them: Of course! We'll take all of your details and when the bike is in we'll get in contact so we can organise to have it sent to you (they happily take my money).

Almost four weeks pass and I don't hear a word from them

Me: What's the status of my bicycle?

Them: We don't really know. We'll get back to you.

Me: (One Week Later) What's the status of my bicycle? And could you start telling me things? I'm starting to get annoyed by the fact that you never honestly tell me what I can expect from you. After the Bike Friday stuff, I'm feeling less than thrilled with your communication techniques.

Them: Oh, yeah. It's in the country and in customs. We should have it soon. Sorry about the Bike Friday thing, it just slipped through the cracks. We're sure it will never happen again.

Me: Okay, well I'm going on holidays in October and wanted to take the bike with me. Is this going to be possible?

Them: Oh, for sure. Go ahead and make plans and book things, you should definitely have the bike before October.

One week later I'm about to email them again when:

Them: Good news! Your bike is in the shop. You can pick it up whenever you like.

Me: That is good news, but I don't live in town. You said you would get in contact with me to organise a way to send it to me by freight, remember?

Them: (Nothing).

Me: (Two days later) So, I'm kind of expecting to take the bike with me when I leave *really* soon...

Them: Good news! You should have the bike by Tuesday.

October starts tomorrow...


My main beef is that I can't shake the feeling they are telling me what they think I want to hear, when what I want to hear is a true, honest and reliable indication of what I can expect.

I'm less concerned about it taking six weeks to get a bike than I am by being told it will take two, when realistically it might take six. I want to be able to make plans - I need to know, honestly, what I can expect.

They say "Tuesday", and I hope they are right, but why tell me I would definitely have the bike by October if there was a chance I wouldn't? Why not just say "we hope to have it before October, but it might not get there until the first week or so." Would that kill them?

Gatherers

I was reading yet another article discussing the benefits of a high protein, low carbohydrate diet today, and once again the comment was made that we need to eat "the way we evolved to eat" - that being the famous Hunter-Gatherer diet.

I don't know what these people are actually thinking when they make this comment, but my guess is they aren't thinking through what is involved in a Hunter-Gatherer diet. For some unfathomable reason, they seem to think that a Hunter-Gatherer diet is high in meat and low in fruit, which makes no sense at all.

In an H-G society you have two primary ways of procuring food. One involves high adrenaline, high risk, high energy activities in which one is just as likely to be killed by a boar as one is to successfully kill a boar and bring it back to the "tribe" (which, according to some theorists, is a group of about 50 or so people for a nomadic tribe, about 150 people for a more stationary settlement).

The other involves seemingly safe, boring and repetitive tasks that require patience, concentration, a good eye for detail, decent levels of dexterity and the ability to remember that Rita said her cousin Sam ate those red berries last spring and they made him really sick.

One involves going for an adventure and hopefully bringing back something you've managed to kill. The other involves going for a walk and finding whatever happens to be lying around.

Now, think for a moment about three things: a) the kinds of people who are likely to engage in each method, b) the likely success rate of each method when it comes to actually supplying food, c) the kind of food most likely to be procured over all.

Would you eat the meat whenever you could get it? Of course! But say a hunting party successfully returns with a couple of deer (or goannas). How wonderful! How exciting! How manly! How the heck are you going to feed 50 or so people with two deer?

And, you know, the hunting party most probably consists of growing teenage boys and the kinds of men who can only bring themselves to provide food if it involves some kind of danger (in this day and age, they'd be the men who only cook if it involves a barbecue). I've just described people who like to eat meat. They've just been running around all day trying to kill things and have worked up an appetite (and earned it - you just ask them and they'll tell you)...

So, really, the majority of the meat brought home by the Hunters is probably going to go towards feeding the Hunters. What little is left for the rest of the community isn't going to be the major source of anything in their diet - not even protein.

What is going to be the major part of their diet? Things the Gatherers found when they went out gathering, that's what.

Obviously fruit, vegetables and fungi are going to be high on that list, but you'll also get sources of protein like snails, slugs, frogs, sundry other creepy-crawlies and the "fruits of the sea" if they have a watercourse to access (muscles, oysters, shellfish).

I would also expect the Gatherers would be the ones trapping small critters like rabbits - and possibly even fishing, although I wouldn't at all be surprised if the H-G societies that lived near fish would actually split off into three groups, Hunters, Gatherers and Fishers.

So, really, if we went for a Hunter-Gatherer diet, we'd split into two groups. One group would be eating lots of meat and feeling very proud about hardly ever eating vegetable matter. The rest of us would be eating a lot of nuts, berries, fruit and mushrooms, a fair amount of other vegetables and a lot more snails than we realise. Occasionally, we'd augment that with a bit of casserole, using up the meat that the first group generously left for us after they had eaten all of the good bits (because they earned it - you just ask them and they'll tell you).

Now, you can tell the proponents of these high-protein diets are thinking of the diet of a typical Hunter when they talk about H-G diets. Something that would probably be entirely appropriate if we lived the lifestyle of a typical Hunter. So let's do that.

Let's all go out and spend all day chasing after our food and carrying it back to our homes using our own arms and legs. Then we can happily eat the kind of diet that goes with that activity.

You know what, though? I've never heard anyone say that Hunters enjoyed long life spans...

"Dúirt mé leat go raibh mé breoite..."

Spike Milligan kind of rocks. Just thought I'd put that out there.

It's such a brilliant thing to have on your tombstone. Many people are vaguely aware that he had "I told you I was ill" written on his headstone, fewer people are aware (I wasn't, until recently), that it's in Irish.

I've often said I wanted a Lewis Carroll quote on my tombstone/plaque/whatever, but I can't quite make up my mind which one. I'm always sorely tempted to go with "For the Snark was a Boojum, you see", but then it might be more fun to move further up the poem and just have "It's a Boo--!"

Not that it really matters, the odds are that I'll probably outlive anyone who could be bothered burying me.

For years now I've been a self-diagnosed hypochondriac. It's so much easier than actually believing you might be sick.

"On the one hand, if you put all of these 'niggling problems' together, they could add up to the symptoms of some kind of cardiomyopathy/bleeding ulcer/[insert ridiculously unlikely disease here]. On the other hand, I could be a delusional, attention-seeking whiner. If I have a cardiomyopathy/etc, I'll probably need to do things involving doctors, medications and life-style changes. If I'm just a hypochondriac, I can keep on as normal. Let's go with that option."

Saves loads of time, and I'm not dead yet, so it must be working well enough.

It does have a downside, though - I have, over the years, developed a relationship of mutual non-disclosure with my doctor. I never tell him anything unless it's been bothering me for a few months (like, say, 18). He says "how long has this been going on?" I say "a few months", he indicates that no one would have actually ignored something serious for several months and it's probably nothing. I then give him money. It's a bit daft, really, so I avoid it as much as possible.

Much easier to assume it's nothing in the first place and skip the bit where I pay someone to tell me as much.

So, I expect I'll either live to 106 (because I'm right about everything being nothing), or drop dead from some sort of complication due to ignoring pneumonia, or something.

Having said that, the next time I collapse for no apparent reason, ask them if my heart is beating normally for me, will you? If not, float the word "cardiomyopathy" around and see what happens. Just don't ask me, because I'll probably say it's nothing.

And, should I actually drop dead as a result of ignoring something I shouldn't have, let's go with the following epitaph: "Ma arvan, et ma peaks näinud seda tulemas"

(Or whatever the correct version of that might be).

Bike!! (Almost)

The Brommie is out of customs and at the store in Brisbane. Now I just need them to send it to me.

Will it make it here before October?

Since I have to pay for the freight, and I'm not paying for express delivery, I have doubts.

Mucking about

Playing with Garage Band and playing with iMovie:

Released into the wild - Home Away From Home Schooling

So, here's something I've been thinking of trying ever since I realised just how much I hate classroom teaching:

Home schooling other people's children.

I think there must be people out there who would like their kids homeschooled, but can't do it themselves. Surely it would be possible for an enterprising person to establish their home as a "private school", which is really more of a daycare centre for school-aged children? The "house parent" can then act as the tutor, guiding the kids through their distance-education programme, just like an actual parent would in a normal home schooling environment.

It would be perfect for a retired teacher or someone with an education background who isn't interested in working in a school environment any more, and I think a small class of ten or fifteen kids from various ages would make for an interesting "family" environment - one that might help some students more than being in a cage with fellow rabid monkeys... er, sorry... a class with twenty-or-so of their peers.

Plus, if the "teacher" is actually a tutor - helping the students impress the markers, rather than marking the students, it would make the learning process more of a team effort.

And as long as everyone is on-track, curriculum wise, the school day can be augmented by all sorts of activities you can do with a small "family" group, but can't do with a "normal" class in a "normal" school - things like everyone getting together in the kitchen to make a meal for lunch, or everyone going down to the park for some afternoon exercise.

If you had a class of about 15, and all of those private school fees were going into paying the wage of one teacher (or a class of 20-25 supporting two teachers - one for primary and one for secondary, or one for humanities and one for sciences), then the vast bulk of the fees would be funnelled back into providing resources directly for those children. Your child's school fees aren't going towards the upkeep of the soccer pitch regardless of whether or not he or she plays soccer - they are going into whatever your kid is actually doing.

I don't rightly know what you'd call this, though. I'm leaning towards "Pod Schooling" - largely because I like playing with collective nouns, but also because it's not exactly "home schooling" if it's at someone else's home, but it's not exactly a school, either.

Someone out there go and try it, and then tell me how it works out.

Update on the Bicycle saga

Well, it turns out my bike is in the country, and making it's way through customs. It took a little effort on my part to get this information, as the shop didn't seem to be in a hurry to supply it, but I just *might* have it in my possession by October - which means I might be able to take it with me on holidays after all.

I don't mind the odd bit of delayed gratification - it's nice to be able to "look forward" to something, and can be a bit of a bonus when you have to "look forward" to it for longer than expected...

But I have to admit I'll be much happier once the Brommie is folded neatly under my desk at work (just because I can, that's why - I know of a guy who stores his in a bookcase!).

The Perils of Being a "Right Hand Man"...

That's Richard Hunt with his head in Jim Henson's armpit. He's probably best known as the performer behind Scooter and Statler, but I will best remember him as Sweetums.

Muppet trivia: In the first season of the Muppet Show, Richard Hunt shared the role of Miss Piggy with Frank Oz. He was also, for a time, the back end of Mr Snuggleupagus.

I recently learnt he was also Gladys the Cow, which just makes him extra cool, and Captain Vegetable, which puts him beyond cool. He's just a legend.

This is why I love Estonia

Folk Society Seeks Dance Festival Grounds

"We need a whole stadium built specifically for a dance festival"

"Sounds fair enough."

Favourite Quote of the Week

I was sent a list of language learning tips this morning that included the following Estonian proverb:

A language requires neither a skirt, nor pants.

Neither does a chair. I just want to point that out to all those Germans and Italians who seem convinced a chair is either a he or a she.

Cabin Mode

I have this strange fantasy in which I own a cabin some where up in "the hills". Don't ask me which hills, I haven't figured that bit out yet. I have a vague impression of the kind of place I want, but I suspect it's loosely based on Disney films I would have seen as a child and is probably a mish-mash of locations in Wisconsin and Minnesota.

Maybe also a little bit of New Brunswick.

Anyway, this cabin would be travelling distance from a small township (so I could by supplies), but would be far enough out from civilisation that it does not have electricity or running water. When staying at this cabin, I will need to use basic living skills that have been largely lost to my kind.

I will fetch water in buckets and heat things with wood. I will amuse myself with acoustic instruments (yes, probably a banjo), walks in the fresh air and reading by day light. I will till a vegetable patch and hunt for rabbits - which I will turn into stew and other rabbity-type dishes. I will also tan the rabbit hides and use them to make things like jackets and shoes. And I will make my own clothes by sewing things together with my own hands.

I will take all day to make dinner, chop firewood and bake bread. And when it gets dark, I will probably go to bed because I won't have the electric lights to encourage me to stay up reading all night.

I won't waste water because I will have to fetch it myself, using buckets. I won't waste electricity because I won't have any. I won't waste "power" because I have to chop my own firewood. I won't waste food because getting more takes considerable time and effort.

I won't be trying to find things to fill my day, or filling up my "free time" devoting energy and thought to things that don't matter, because I'll be using my energy to complete the daily tasks associated with living.

And every couple of days or so I'll ride into the township to by some little niceties, like flour, sugar, tea and toilet paper, and I'll stop at all the little local shops and chat with the local people for a while. And every Sunday or so I'll ride into town for the morning Church service. And every couple of weeks or so I'll go to a bingo night or play bowls at the club so I can remain sociable and friendly, even though I live in a cabin in the woods and heat the water for my bath with a wood stove.

And I'll make my own jam and vinegar to sell at the local markets. And maybe cider, too. And I will make this jam, vinegar and cider out of seasonal fruit that grows in the woods - which I will gather, along with wild herbs and other things I know are definitely not poisonous, in a basket that I can repair myself, because I will know how to do useful things, like gather non-poisonous food and fix baskets.

I quite like this fantasy.

I am, however, concerned about whether or not I'd survive in this cabin.

My current life-style is so "on tap", that I realise I have no idea how to do the simplest things that are part of a fetch-it-yourself existence. For example, where do you put the water, after you have fetched it from the well or creek? Surely you wouldn't store it in the buckets indefinitely, you'd have to transfer it into some sort basin or something...

How much wood do you need to power a wooden stove long enough to cook your bread and stews and boil the water for your bath? How do you skin a rabbit, anyway, and what is the most humane way to kill it in the first place? And how does that whole preserving-food-without-a-fridge thing work?

I feel like I need to be apprenticed to a cabin dweller for a while before I can consider the cabin fantasy to be anything more than a complete pipe-dream.

I have to admit, I have often thought of going "cabin mode" in my own home, just to see if I can grow some life skills: no electric lights or appliances and fetching all of my water from one external tap. I think I would have to ease into it, though. Start by switching to "natural" light and fetched water, and then cut out the appliances one by one. Get to the point where I'm only using the freezer and the flushing toilet as my "mod cons".

Will it ever work?

Will I ever bother trying?

Now I am the Master...

Piece of paper in the mail!

Slightly buff piece of paper with an embossed 'seal' of some description (which isn't a real seal because it wouldn't seal anything, but at least it shouldn't crack and disintegrate like actual sealing wax) down the bottom!

It has my name on it!

My name, and the words "Master of Information Management"!

Woo, and also, hoo.

Apple

And here we have Hellzapoppin, talking on her Apple phone...



Must remember to ask her what kind of reception she gets.

Taking a Punt

Several years ago, for some reason I still can't quite explain - even to myself - I became fascinated with the idea of punting. As in, the technique for propelling a boat through shallow water with a pole:



It started shortly after I saw an episode of Dr Who in which the Doctor took Romana punting down some river or other (can't recall which), and said something about how great punting was. It was the first time I had noticed there was a difference between the way people propelled a punt to the way they propelled a gondola, and I thought it was most intriguing.

That concept sat, stewing in my brain for a few years, until I took up unicycling. I started by buying a 24 inch unicycle from a local shop, but then went and built my own 20 inch unicycle from parts bought from the Australian and New Zealand shops tied into unicycle.com. While I was poking around their shop, I discovered the concept of an impossible wheel:



Now, most people would look at that thing and say: "that's one of the stupidest ideas ever".

They would be right, of course, except for using the word "stupidest". It should be "most stupid".

Me? I looked at it and thought: "I wonder if you can punt with that thing?"

The answer to the question turns out to be "no". I bought the platforms and attached them to a good quality BMX wheel I bought specifically for the purpose, and promptly discovered that you can't actually mount and propel an impossible wheel while it is stationary.

Turns out the only real way to get one of the things moving is to get it going while you aren't standing on it, and then jump on the moving death-trap and hope for the best. If your balance is excellent, you can pull it off. Mine isn't, and while I may be stupid I'm not suicidal.

Ever since then I've been looking at that wheel and wondering if I can do something else with it. I keep coming up with all sorts of ideas for bicycle related contraptions, which may be entirely possible if not for the fact that I don't have to ability to build new things, only assemble existing things according to instructions.

In the back of my mind, though, I still want to punt with it. The main reason why you can't get it going from a stationary position is because the wheel itself leans against your leg when you try to brace for balance. I maintain that, if you designed some sort of cage to keep the wheel free while still bracing, you would be able to use a pole to mount and propel the wheel...

I also think "land punting" might work better if you were on at least two wheels and a platform, so part of me wants to buy a matching wheel and try sticking them into a board of some description, or creating something like this:



Only with the wheel-board relationship altered so that the wheels go in the center line and the board splits on either side...

Or maybe it would make more sense to just get a real longboard and us it as is. Then I'd still have a spare wheel lying around the place, but I've enjoyed dreaming about what I could do with the wheel, so I guess I can keep dreaming about it.

And, no, I don't have a good reason for wanting to punt on solid land. I don't have a good reason for most of the things I want to do.

The Merry Spinster

Here's a question: Why are widows merry, but spinsters bitter?

The clichés mention merry widows and gay divorcees, but spinsters are always depicted as being bitter. And wives? Well, brides tend to be blushing or radiant, but wives are usually worn or nagging.

It's as though, in order to be happy, a woman must have a husband, keep him for a little while, but then get rid of him.

I regard myself as a spinster, but I keep getting the bit about being bitter wrong. I think I'm supposed to be all "woe is me, for I am past my prime and still single", but instead I keep thinking about all the things I can do while I'm young(ish) and unburdened by things like husbands, children and mortgages.

I'm not supposed to, I know that. When I was younger I went to the kind of church were young folk were usually married off by the time they hit 22, so I've been dumped squarely in the "old maid" camp for quite a number of years now, and I'm reasonably comfortable here. But, over these past many years, many people around me have made it clear that I'm meant to be trying harder to do the whole getting-married-and-having-kids thing, and I shouldn't feel happy about my life until I've managed to achieve that.

Strangely, I only feel dissatisfied with my "lot" when enough external sources build up. An accumulation of books, television shows, movies and people saying "so, any news on the romantic front?" can make me feel as if I'm doing something wrong and perhaps I really can't be happy...

And, then, the concept of the spinster is so out-of-date that the "patterns" for it don't seem to exist any more. I keep thinking I should do X or Y, and it takes a while before I remember that I don't actually have to. As a spinster I could to T or W instead.

Like buying a house. Every now and then a little voice in the back of my mind will say: "Good Lord, girl! You're 31 and you don't own anything! You need to buy a house, or unit, or something ASAP!" And I'll go through a period of looking for something I can buy to fulfil the "you must own a dwelling place" urge.

Then I remember that I'm the childless spinster daughter of an endowed widow - and an only child at that. Buying houses and owning stuff is part of the expected pattern for people with things like spouses, children and siblings. Me? I'm eventually going to sell whatever I might own so I can move back in with my mother and take care of her in her dotage. Then I'm going to inherit her stuff.

So I don't need to own my own things. Instead of saddling myself with a mountain of debt, I can spend my money on things like study and travel and a ridiculous assortment of bicycles.

I think that's part of my "problem" really. I'm perfectly fine with the idea of gallivanting around the world and amusing myself for as long as I can before fulfilling the spinsterly "obligations" of providing companionship and support for my widowed mother (whom I like, so it's not exactly an onerous obligation - I'm actually looking forward to it), so I'm not in a hurry to find a husband.

I read books, watch TV and talk to people who all adhere to the "you are incomplete, and therefore miserable until you find the Right One" theory, so I know I'm not supposed to be happy. I'm supposed to want to get married and have children, and always feel bitterly disappointed that I haven't done that. I'm supposed to not want to be "stuck" taking care of my parents, and be bitterly disappointed that I'm going to "end up" doing that.

I just can't quite seem to do it. I can pull off being disappointed for an hour, maybe, and then I'm back to looking forward to all the things I can do as a single woman with a secure future. And bitter? Well, maybe I can grow into that when I get old and grumpy. Right now I'm just to phlegmatic to be bitter.

It's not like I'd turn down a husband if I found one I wanted, but not being in a hurry means I don't have to hunt one down at all costs. Besides, according to the same clichés that say I can't be happy as a spinster, apparently I'd have to divorce him or have him killed off before I could really enjoy myself...

In the meantime, I guess I'll keep being the spinster who forgot to be bitter.