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?
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
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...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
"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).
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).
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, September 26, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
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!).
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.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
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."
"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.
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.
Monday, September 19, 2011
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?
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?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Apple
And here we have Hellzapoppin, talking on her Apple phone...
Must remember to ask her what kind of reception she gets.
Must remember to ask her what kind of reception she gets.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Pavlova is "Bar"
I just want to clarify something I said to people earlier today, and make my meaning absolutely clear:
Pavlova is "bar" (not "bark", "bar").
By that I mean that it's always "safe" no matter what crazy diet game you might be playing at the moment.
Sure, it's a large chunk of sugar suspended in eggwhite, covered with cream - which, ordinarily, wouldn't sound like something dieters should be eating, but it also has fruit on the top of it, so it's kind of good for you, and...
...And some things just need to be "bar". Some things need to be above the cut-and-thrust of the game, where you can just relax and not care about whether or not you are in danger of anything (except, maybe, a diabetic coma, but that's beside the point).
Pavlova is one of the finest desserts on the face of the earth, and it should be "bar".
Not neenish tarts, though. That's more of a once-in-a-year-when-you-want-to-play-with-death kind of thing.
I had a really good neenish tart from Jacob's Bakery in Brendale when I went to Brisbane last month. It was really quite excellent, but I think I might wait another six months or so before attempting anything like that again.
There's something about neenish tarts - they manage to be really good and yet thoroughly disgusting at the same time. Hmm, actually, now I want a neenish tart...
Anyway, I just wanted to say that pavlova is always safe - not because it actually is safe, but just because there are some things that should be "safe" by agreement, and I believe pavlova is one of them.
Pavlova is "bar" (not "bark", "bar").
By that I mean that it's always "safe" no matter what crazy diet game you might be playing at the moment.
Sure, it's a large chunk of sugar suspended in eggwhite, covered with cream - which, ordinarily, wouldn't sound like something dieters should be eating, but it also has fruit on the top of it, so it's kind of good for you, and...
...And some things just need to be "bar". Some things need to be above the cut-and-thrust of the game, where you can just relax and not care about whether or not you are in danger of anything (except, maybe, a diabetic coma, but that's beside the point).
Pavlova is one of the finest desserts on the face of the earth, and it should be "bar".
Not neenish tarts, though. That's more of a once-in-a-year-when-you-want-to-play-with-death kind of thing.
I had a really good neenish tart from Jacob's Bakery in Brendale when I went to Brisbane last month. It was really quite excellent, but I think I might wait another six months or so before attempting anything like that again.
There's something about neenish tarts - they manage to be really good and yet thoroughly disgusting at the same time. Hmm, actually, now I want a neenish tart...
Anyway, I just wanted to say that pavlova is always safe - not because it actually is safe, but just because there are some things that should be "safe" by agreement, and I believe pavlova is one of them.
12th September, 2001
A lot of people have been writing about the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the US. I don't want to write about that.
The 11th of September, 2001 was a day of shock and tragedy. People lost loved ones, they lost friends and family, and they lost a whole range of other things that can't quite be defined. That day is the day to remember who was lost and offer support to those who were left behind.
September 12th, 2001, is a different date, though. That was the date when America missed the point. The troll in the playground had walked up to the USA, slapped the country in the face and said "fight me". The right answer to that, of course, was "not on your ground, and not by your rules." But, instead, the country simply responded with the battle cry of the little boy: "I'll get you for that! You're dead!".
I remember being really angry with the way the world responded to the attacks on America. There were countries all over the world who had dealt with much, much worse. No one suddenly rose to arms to defend their honour. Why did America feel they had a God given right to go through history untouched, when no one else on earth had? Why was a single attack on three buildings in America worth more than leveling half of Sarajevo? Why was one spectacular statement worth more than all of the strife and turmoil happening in the Gaza Strip? Or the continuing pain of African countries tearing themselves, and each other, apart?
With so much terror and violence happening all over the world, why did a relatively small attack on the USA require such a massive response? What had happened to perspective?
And how could a country that was so proud of its ideals of freedom and equality justify responding to this single event by becoming so restrictive and controlling - and demanding that everyone else follow their commands or suffer consequences? America had built a mythology of being the bastion of all things noble, shining and good. Over the last ten years, since 12th September, 2001, it has steadily lost its claim to any of those things.
The ends do not justify the means, because the means will eventually become the ends. If you torture, you do not become heroes, you become torturers. If you kill indiscriminately, you do not "save the day", you become indiscriminate killers. There is no such thing as "collateral damage", only avoidable deaths. If you dictate to people what they can and cannot say, you do not become "patriots", you become dictators. You can call it what you want, but then you become just like every other malevolent force in the history of mankind which has tried to use language and ideology to cover up failures.
And that is what has, ultimately, happened to America. No matter what else it has done, no matter what else it might have achieved, it has failed. It has failed to live up to its own reputation and idealism. It has become just like all of the other countries who have convinced themselves over the years that it is okay to do the wrong things if it's for the right reasons.
On September 12th, 2001, America missed the point. It was given the opportunity to show that it really was the land of the brave and the home of the free. It was given the opportunity to take the high road and respond with dignity and determination. It was given the opportunity to be the America it always thought it was. Instead, it allowed a bully to provoke it into behaving in a way that should have been beneath such a proud country. And it took us down with it.
The 11th of September, 2001 was a day of shock and tragedy. People lost loved ones, they lost friends and family, and they lost a whole range of other things that can't quite be defined. That day is the day to remember who was lost and offer support to those who were left behind.
September 12th, 2001, is a different date, though. That was the date when America missed the point. The troll in the playground had walked up to the USA, slapped the country in the face and said "fight me". The right answer to that, of course, was "not on your ground, and not by your rules." But, instead, the country simply responded with the battle cry of the little boy: "I'll get you for that! You're dead!".
I remember being really angry with the way the world responded to the attacks on America. There were countries all over the world who had dealt with much, much worse. No one suddenly rose to arms to defend their honour. Why did America feel they had a God given right to go through history untouched, when no one else on earth had? Why was a single attack on three buildings in America worth more than leveling half of Sarajevo? Why was one spectacular statement worth more than all of the strife and turmoil happening in the Gaza Strip? Or the continuing pain of African countries tearing themselves, and each other, apart?
With so much terror and violence happening all over the world, why did a relatively small attack on the USA require such a massive response? What had happened to perspective?
And how could a country that was so proud of its ideals of freedom and equality justify responding to this single event by becoming so restrictive and controlling - and demanding that everyone else follow their commands or suffer consequences? America had built a mythology of being the bastion of all things noble, shining and good. Over the last ten years, since 12th September, 2001, it has steadily lost its claim to any of those things.
The ends do not justify the means, because the means will eventually become the ends. If you torture, you do not become heroes, you become torturers. If you kill indiscriminately, you do not "save the day", you become indiscriminate killers. There is no such thing as "collateral damage", only avoidable deaths. If you dictate to people what they can and cannot say, you do not become "patriots", you become dictators. You can call it what you want, but then you become just like every other malevolent force in the history of mankind which has tried to use language and ideology to cover up failures.
And that is what has, ultimately, happened to America. No matter what else it has done, no matter what else it might have achieved, it has failed. It has failed to live up to its own reputation and idealism. It has become just like all of the other countries who have convinced themselves over the years that it is okay to do the wrong things if it's for the right reasons.
On September 12th, 2001, America missed the point. It was given the opportunity to show that it really was the land of the brave and the home of the free. It was given the opportunity to take the high road and respond with dignity and determination. It was given the opportunity to be the America it always thought it was. Instead, it allowed a bully to provoke it into behaving in a way that should have been beneath such a proud country. And it took us down with it.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
I think I want a cavaquinho
Which is stupid, of course, because no one in this country sells them.
I should just get a decent uke and be done with it.
But...
I think I want a cavaquinho.
I should just get a decent uke and be done with it.
But...
I think I want a cavaquinho.
Stonehenge, QLD
I visited Stonehenge today, through the magic of Google Maps.
Stonehenge is an extremely small town in the middle of Queensland, more or less. It's so remote, you actually have to go off the road that goes there in order to get there. I have no idea how that is supposed to work. Somehow, there's just this extra bit of the road that branches off to Stonehenge and then (according to the map) doesn't actually connect back to the real road.
You don't go to a place like Stonehenge by accident.
Anyway, I've often used Stonehenge as a token example of a remote town: "You never know, you might be sent on prac to a place like Stonehenge". For some reason, today I decided to see if the Google people had taken photos of the place. Turns out they have.
And, I have to say, it has completely cured my curiosity about the place. I now know exactly what Stonehenge is like: Sparse. Very, very sparse.
I'm not sure it's a place you go to on purpose, either.
Stonehenge is an extremely small town in the middle of Queensland, more or less. It's so remote, you actually have to go off the road that goes there in order to get there. I have no idea how that is supposed to work. Somehow, there's just this extra bit of the road that branches off to Stonehenge and then (according to the map) doesn't actually connect back to the real road.
You don't go to a place like Stonehenge by accident.
Anyway, I've often used Stonehenge as a token example of a remote town: "You never know, you might be sent on prac to a place like Stonehenge". For some reason, today I decided to see if the Google people had taken photos of the place. Turns out they have.
And, I have to say, it has completely cured my curiosity about the place. I now know exactly what Stonehenge is like: Sparse. Very, very sparse.
I'm not sure it's a place you go to on purpose, either.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Beggars can't be choosers
Okay, so I was very fortunate that she agreed to let me resit my oral test tonight, given that I was ill last night and could not string a sentence together to save myself.
When people are accommodating me, I can accommodate them without too much bother.
So, when she tells me she's running late, and asks me if she can call me back in twenty or so minutes, I readily agree to such things.
When an hour-and-a-half has passed and she has seen several people who were scheduled after me, and I haven't heard a word from her, then I feel less accommodating.
And, yet, when I hop in the room the minute it's free, and someone else pops in at the same time (the sixth person after me on the list, I think), she asks me if I'd mind waiting another ten minutes.
I hope I didn't seem too rude when I said I'd rather do it now or reschedule.
When people are accommodating me, I can accommodate them without too much bother.
So, when she tells me she's running late, and asks me if she can call me back in twenty or so minutes, I readily agree to such things.
When an hour-and-a-half has passed and she has seen several people who were scheduled after me, and I haven't heard a word from her, then I feel less accommodating.
And, yet, when I hop in the room the minute it's free, and someone else pops in at the same time (the sixth person after me on the list, I think), she asks me if I'd mind waiting another ten minutes.
I hope I didn't seem too rude when I said I'd rather do it now or reschedule.
Zweibelrostbraten
Hallo, Kellnerin?
Ich habe Fragen über die Speisekarte.
Haben Sie keine Fisch? Ich will nicht rot Fleisch.
Keine Fisch? Das ist sehr seltsam.
Und vegetarier Gerichte? Nein?
Nur Salat. Klar...
Hat die Salat Zweibeln? Ich kann nicht Zweibeln essen.
Keine Salat ohne Zweibeln. Das stimmt?
Also...
Alles klar.
Ich möchte bestellen der Zweibelrostbraten mit Bratkartoffeln, bitte.
Ich habe Fragen über die Speisekarte.
Haben Sie keine Fisch? Ich will nicht rot Fleisch.
Keine Fisch? Das ist sehr seltsam.
Und vegetarier Gerichte? Nein?
Nur Salat. Klar...
Hat die Salat Zweibeln? Ich kann nicht Zweibeln essen.
Keine Salat ohne Zweibeln. Das stimmt?
Also...
Alles klar.
Ich möchte bestellen der Zweibelrostbraten mit Bratkartoffeln, bitte.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Simon's Cat
I may have fallen in love, just slightly, with Simon's Cat:
http://www.simonscat.com/Films/
The more you see, the more you like.
http://www.simonscat.com/Films/
The more you see, the more you like.
Friday, September 2, 2011
I used to dance
I've been in a bit of a weird mood ever since I had a conversation with Prettyboy a couple of weeks ago. We were talking about soccer, and he asked me if I played. Of course, my answer was no. It's not that I haven't thought about it in the past, it's just that I have only recently become interested in sport, and between work and study I've been avoiding taking on too many other commitments.
Especially things involving “teams”. I'm not the most reliable person in the universe, and I tend to try something for a few weeks before deciding whether or not I want to continue (usually not), and I don't like letting people down. I have a history of joining bands, never playing at the “gigs” (because I'm not good enough yet), and then getting myself into a situation where something “has to go”, and of course it's the band I haven't fully committed myself to, isn't it?
And, yes, I do have a history of this. I've done it at least twice - once with a pipe band in Tasmania, and most recently with a brass band. I kind of miss the brass band, but the rehearsals are on at a bad time on a bad night, and I never practised as much as I should have - even when I had time for such shenanigans. Okay, not really a sport, but I don't have a good track record with sport, either.
I almost took up baseball, once, but as an adult beginner, baseball kind of hurts. Most of the other adults playing are men who have played before. They can aim and they can throw really hard. Me? Well, I can barely catch and I bruise.
I've often enquired about taking up track cycling. I've tried several martial arts classes for the free “introductory lesson”. I've flirted with taking up fencing. I've tried taking up Capoeira Brazil on at least two separate occasions, and both times never made it past the third week...
My problem is that I don't want to commit to a team in case I end up letting them down, but the sports that are more individual in nature are too easy to drop when the going gets tough.
So when Prettyboy asked me if I have any “extracurricular activities at all” I could not answer in the affirmative. I have work and study, and that's all I can really keep myself committed to...
...Except...
I used to dance.
I joined the local Scottish Country Dancing group when I was 19, and managed to stick with that pretty much every week during my undergraduate degree and first teaching job. When I moved to Tasmania, I joined the club in Burnie, and attended more or less religiously. I can safely say I went dancing more often than I went to church, and I managed to get to church fairly regularly in those days. The club in Burnie was a wonderful, relaxed, casual, friendly affair, and I think one of the reasons I stayed in Tasmania after I quit teaching was because I loved the group I danced with. My best friends were a couple of people from church and most of the people I danced with, and eventually I managed to convince one of my church friends to take up dancing as well.
I think I danced solidly and regularly for six or seven years. I went to dance camps. I performed in displays in cultural festivals. I seriously considered going to a Winter School (but couldn't afford it at the time). Then when I came back to Queensland, for some reason I just petered out.
I started trying to go regularly, but it just became more and more convenient to not go. It seemed so much harder to drag myself out of the house again on a Monday night (Tuesdays, in Tasmania, were easier, somehow). Then I started the Masters, and a night course in German, and followed it with the Diploma/Graduate Certificate combo, and Monday nights became one of my primary study nights (or a night when I had classes to attend)...
And it just got to the stage where it's been about three years since I used to dance. At least five years since I danced regularly.
And that sounds like such a sad thing, really, that phrase: “I used to dance”.
I've been thinking about it a lot since that conversation, and every time I think about it I just feel a little bit deflated.
“I used to dance.”
I really should try to go back, but Monday night is so central to my study patterns now that I can't really give it up. Plus, my family are getting sick of never seeing me. I wonder if I could talk someone into starting up a club on Thursdays. I could easily make every second Thursday...
Especially things involving “teams”. I'm not the most reliable person in the universe, and I tend to try something for a few weeks before deciding whether or not I want to continue (usually not), and I don't like letting people down. I have a history of joining bands, never playing at the “gigs” (because I'm not good enough yet), and then getting myself into a situation where something “has to go”, and of course it's the band I haven't fully committed myself to, isn't it?
And, yes, I do have a history of this. I've done it at least twice - once with a pipe band in Tasmania, and most recently with a brass band. I kind of miss the brass band, but the rehearsals are on at a bad time on a bad night, and I never practised as much as I should have - even when I had time for such shenanigans. Okay, not really a sport, but I don't have a good track record with sport, either.
I almost took up baseball, once, but as an adult beginner, baseball kind of hurts. Most of the other adults playing are men who have played before. They can aim and they can throw really hard. Me? Well, I can barely catch and I bruise.
I've often enquired about taking up track cycling. I've tried several martial arts classes for the free “introductory lesson”. I've flirted with taking up fencing. I've tried taking up Capoeira Brazil on at least two separate occasions, and both times never made it past the third week...
My problem is that I don't want to commit to a team in case I end up letting them down, but the sports that are more individual in nature are too easy to drop when the going gets tough.
So when Prettyboy asked me if I have any “extracurricular activities at all” I could not answer in the affirmative. I have work and study, and that's all I can really keep myself committed to...
...Except...
I used to dance.
I joined the local Scottish Country Dancing group when I was 19, and managed to stick with that pretty much every week during my undergraduate degree and first teaching job. When I moved to Tasmania, I joined the club in Burnie, and attended more or less religiously. I can safely say I went dancing more often than I went to church, and I managed to get to church fairly regularly in those days. The club in Burnie was a wonderful, relaxed, casual, friendly affair, and I think one of the reasons I stayed in Tasmania after I quit teaching was because I loved the group I danced with. My best friends were a couple of people from church and most of the people I danced with, and eventually I managed to convince one of my church friends to take up dancing as well.
I think I danced solidly and regularly for six or seven years. I went to dance camps. I performed in displays in cultural festivals. I seriously considered going to a Winter School (but couldn't afford it at the time). Then when I came back to Queensland, for some reason I just petered out.
I started trying to go regularly, but it just became more and more convenient to not go. It seemed so much harder to drag myself out of the house again on a Monday night (Tuesdays, in Tasmania, were easier, somehow). Then I started the Masters, and a night course in German, and followed it with the Diploma/Graduate Certificate combo, and Monday nights became one of my primary study nights (or a night when I had classes to attend)...
And it just got to the stage where it's been about three years since I used to dance. At least five years since I danced regularly.
And that sounds like such a sad thing, really, that phrase: “I used to dance”.
I've been thinking about it a lot since that conversation, and every time I think about it I just feel a little bit deflated.
“I used to dance.”
I really should try to go back, but Monday night is so central to my study patterns now that I can't really give it up. Plus, my family are getting sick of never seeing me. I wonder if I could talk someone into starting up a club on Thursdays. I could easily make every second Thursday...
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Autumn Toad
Welcome to our park
You will find the Spanish Storm
Like the Autumn Toad
Your cabin is the one with the roof made of a single radish. Please ignore the raccoon dog in the bath tub. He is there simply to avoid the flying porcupines.
May I spit on your luggage before handing it to the chef to prepare for dinner?
I hope you refrigerate your stay with us. We accept only roubles from 1959 as payment for our rooms.
Surreal Hospitality
I read the most interesting advertisement in a magazine today. It was a caravan park that claimed to offer "surreal hospitality".
I'm not sure exactly what "surreal hospitality" involves.
Do they greet you with a haiku comparing the weather to an Autumn toad? Do they serve flowers in a skull for breakfast, presented on a dish made from ironed-out cuckoo clocks? Do they leave a bowl of whipped cream and a curling iron under your pillow when they make your bed?
I wonder if they are aware that "surreal" is not a synonym for "good"?
I'm not sure exactly what "surreal hospitality" involves.
Do they greet you with a haiku comparing the weather to an Autumn toad? Do they serve flowers in a skull for breakfast, presented on a dish made from ironed-out cuckoo clocks? Do they leave a bowl of whipped cream and a curling iron under your pillow when they make your bed?
I wonder if they are aware that "surreal" is not a synonym for "good"?
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