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...