How funny!?

I’ve been told I’m funny.  Maybe it’s because I can’t contain all that I am in a tiny body I have had to over compensate my whole life but making people laugh.
 
‘She’s got a great personality’.
 
I sure this has been used to describe me when friends have told potential suitors about my pear shape.  In the words of the great Ricky Gervais, ‘I consume more calories than I burn off’, but not massively so, I like to say I’m buxom or cuddly.   This had lead me though, to be reliant on my bubbly self to get ahead in life when it comes to friendships and love.
 
A few years ago, I was working in North Sydney and on a whim, I decided to do a short course under the disguise of ‘continuing professional development’.  Stand-up Comedy.
 
For two Saturdays, I went along and I learnt to write material, then I performed seven minutes of stand-up.  I think it well.  But I didn’t do it again.
 
A couple of years passed.  A friend that had attended my first and only performance, was still so fired up about it that she went off to do a course in Melbourne.  She spent a whole week in Melbourne.  I say she deserve kudos, just for that.  Anyway, she came back and started signing up for open mics and badgering me to start again. 
 
‘Be my comedy buddy!’
 
I caved.  My first (or second if you count the one in 2009) open-mic is on 29th February.  A day that happens only once in every four years.  Unfortunately for you lot, my comedy isn’t something that is a rare occurrence.
 

Use by Date

This year I’ll be 40. The big four ohh.

It’s still a few months away, but some seem to think this is my last year to do the things I set my sights on earlier in life. I actually had someone I considered to be a friend tell me, ‘you need to find yourself a man this year, or you’ll never get one.’ I haven’t spoken to her for a while. I never have and never will define my self worth by my relationship status.

In an article I read the other day, the author thought 35 was her ‘cut off’ date. Her article annoyed me a bit.

As I was reading it I realised I have achieved many things in the last five years, post 35, some that were never on my ‘to-do-list’ of life. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the first 34 years were uneventful, but the last five have been a rollercoaster when you condense the thing I’ve done.

I’m thankful for my age and I have no problem with the clicking over of the time piece into the forth decade. I shall continue along my current path of near crimpling debt, having adventure when I can and towards a change of career. Age is a mere number to be ignored. Apart from mild stiffness in the joints when I get up in the morning I feel better now than I did when I was 18.

I’ve actually matured, rather than behave in a manner I believed a mature would behave in. I was falsely mature.

I tut tutted at the idea of Muv smoking a joint.
I never drank to excess, except by accident at Jan’s birthday party when I ate a whole Vodka jelly
I never wore belts masquerading as skirts because I thought I didn’t have the body for it, now I really don’t have the body for it and I accept that.
I refused to jump walls when I could use the gate, not the gate is just a bit too far away

Make the judgement call. Are you not doing something because you think ‘I’m too old to behave like or do that.’ Or are you not doing the things you want to do because you are physically unable to do them.

I’m not too old to a photographer at music concerts...with ear plugs, I’m making that happen
I’m not too old to start stand-up comedy again (done it once before)... I’m going to start again (thanks CP)
I’m not too old get out of an office environment...I’ve got the qualification, so I’m working on making that happen

I say bring on the next decade. Bring on the challenges. I’m not a yoghurt, no use by date here.

Moggies and Mongrels

Yesterday I went to the Opera House with Cara to take part in a photo opportunity for Oscar’s Law. The founder Debra Tranter was visiting from her home in Melbourne, so it was a great chance to meet her and little Oscar, the dog that started it all.

It was lovely to meet a woman so passionate about her dog that she endured a little hard time to save him. (You can read more about Oscar and his Law, here).

Debra Tranter and Oscar

I’ve always been a fan of animals. I have a few myself, that I consider to be my family. This week when I didn’t get paid due to an office snafu, I brought food for them, before myself. Some may say this was daft, but then those people don’t know me very well, and it’s unlikely they ever will because they clearly aren’t ‘my sort of people’. Everyone of the people I met yesterday would buy food for the pets before themselves in a pinch.

The premise behind Oscar’s Law is stopping the sale of live companion animals (puppy and kittens) in pet shops and ban puppy farms. This in turn will reduce the amount of impulse buys and animals being put down in shelters. It will stop unethical and cruel breeding practices of breeders out to make a buck or several.

Reducing the number of animals bred, could also, have an impact of problems such as the kidnap and murder of little Lilly. Without impulse buying people would be able to do their research between choosing a puppy after seeing it with its mother and picking it up, and therefore know exactly what they are getting into. Up to twenty years with a family member that never matures beyond that of a six year old human. You can’t leave them alone with no stimulus, and they need exercise.

In Australia, 250,000 companion animals are put to sleep per annum in a country with a population of 22 million people. Compare that with the UK that has a population of 59 million people that enthuses about 36,000 per annum. In Australia, you are nine times more likely to know an animal that is put down than those in the UK (any statisticians or maths whizzes out there, I’m happy for you to check my sums ;-). It’s a horrifying number.

I’m not unrealistic, I know that this will never disappear. I acknowledge there will always be a place in society for pounds, but the volume of our four legged friends passing through them can surely be reduced significantly.

This time of year is the busiest for pounds. Those Christmas presents are starting to grow. With children and parents away from home most of the day, now they’ve gone back to school and work, the bored pets are starting to chew shoes, walls and sofas. They are pooping where they shouldn’t because they haven’t been out of the back yard for a week and energy levels have soared to the point where they’re jumping out of the poorly secured garden. They are barking all night because they are alone and frightened. These pets end up in the pound where they are enthused, because they are unwanted.

What you can do to help out our furry friends:
· Visit Oscar’s Laws and sign the petition
· Foster an animal if you can, it gives them a better chance of finding a new home.
· If you can’t foster donate to those that can. It doesn’t have to be cash, put a couple of cans of food in your shopping trolley each week and give that.
· If you plan on adding a pet to your household; Adopt. Don’t Shop. There are always plenty of animals just crying out for a loving home in the pounds and they aren’t all moggies and mongrels. My Cara is a pure bred Chihuahua, with a little time and effort you can find exactly what you’re looking for and help to save a live.

Read and be outraged. Word of mouth is the best way to pass the message that it isn’t ‘just’ an animal, that they are sentient beings that feel pain, love and abandon.

Bring it on!

Reading the paper today I came across a story about an App (Grindr) being hacked for all it's user data.

I didn't get past that the part were it mentioned the hetro equivalent. Awesome!

Now commences the year of me. five minutes after signing up I had 12 emails :-)

Law Abiding Citizen

There’s an article in the paper today about a riot in a Victorian (http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/toothbrush-fury-triggers-prison-riot-20120119-1q73i.html)(as in, in Victoria, rather than in the 1800s) prison.  The article states that the reason is the switch from hard toothbrushes to flexible toothbrushes.  How would a flexible toothbrush work? I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty miffed about have to use something akin to an odourless haddock to clean my teeth. 
 
I’m not sure it would drive me to sit on a roof for 12 hours but I know something that would.  Over-crowded living conditions.  The article touches briefly on this in the 14th out of 16 paragraphs.  Maybe, it isn’t a soon enough mention of population explosion.
 
Of course the comments raise a few eyebrows; broad sweeping statements with no facts to back them up, judgements on the types of people in prison and compassions of prison live verses the great outdoors. Of course this, and the fact my local shops were closed last night because there had been a stabbing, led me to think about how I would reform the prison system in a manner that made people think twice about committing a crime where they could end up there, thereby end population growth.
 
I would reinstate chain-gangs.  Make them work for their supper and toothbrushes.  After all, most of this country was built off the back of convict labour, it worked then, why wouldn’t it work now?
 
Why not get the prisoners working for society it has let down with their unruly behaviour.  Can you image the network of roads that would crisscross this wide brown land it we didn’t have to pay for anything except the materials.  And the surface of the existing roads would be awesome.  It would give them a skill and they’d be so tuckered out at the end of the day they’d be too tired to fight in the food hall and cells.
 
It wouldn’t just be the roads.  Railways, storm drains and parklands would get a much needed boost in maintenance.  For good behaviour and well performed duties they could then be rewarded with the good jobs about the prison (laundry, cooking etc.), then television and education.  I think anyone would tow the line with the promise of a good steak and a beer.
 
I understand the logistics of guarding them would be a pain, but we have GPS tracking these days, why not microchip them? Civil liberties be damned, they lost that right when they broke the law.  I know they could remove a microchip themselves if they ran away, but put it somewhere they wouldn’t want to dig at with a shiv.  It could be removed properly when they are released after serving their term.  Or they could just wear one of those tracking ankle bracelets when out working.
 
Of course I have absolutely no research to back up the feasibility of my ideas.  They are just pie in the sky ideas from a person with an over active imagination and a desire to smack someone naughty, why couldn’t they work?

Name Calling

I was appalled this morning when I heard a man call a woman a 'retard'.

On my way to the platform after I'd purchased my train ticket from the ticket office I was walking passed the automated machines. There are two, side by side. Man had just completed his transaction when Woman, who'd just started hers, dropped some coins. There wasn't a queue behind either of them. As he walked passed her, he spat out 'retard' at her. She flinched. Pick up the coin and put it in the machine.

This exchange took part in the blink of an eye. If I'd been closer to the ticket office or platform stair I would have missed the schoolboy comment. But I didn't. I was in a perfect position to witness the entire thing.

A 40+ year old man bullying a woman in her 30s.

As you'll see from the photo below he's less than a perfect specimen of manhood. You can't see the top of his head, but it is somewhat devoid of shagpile. And yet he felt the need to call someone, a stranger, an inappropriate name. What effect would that one word from a stranger have on her day? Did she already have fragile self esteem; did that word shatter what was left of hers? How would he like it if someone called him baldy or Kojack?

The charming specimen of manhood

I'd rather be called a 'f*cker' than a 'retard'. It true for starters, but it isn't an insult to all those that do have learning difficulties.

I find the whole idea of name calling so unnecessary and cruel. Why did he have to say anything to her, let alone call her names? Clearly they did not know each other. Wouldn't it have been a nicer, more humane gesture to assist with the coin collection? No, he called her names and then sat on the platform for 10 minutes; he was clearly in a hurry to catch his train.

This brings me to my next point about name calling. Said with love name calling, is there really such a thing? I have a group of friends that call each other names. A couple of them call one guy a retard all the time, he doesn't seem to mind, but have they ever asked how it makes him feel? I know that when one was called a 'bogan', she got most upset and pouted for a week. in this case it's deemed to be 'affectionate' name calling, but really, when is name calling ever affectionate? Clearly bogan didn't think it was all that affectionate and yet she continues to call others names.

I was called names when I was at school. Specy, four eyes, teacher's pet, swot, banger (I was into metal music), dumbo (I was in remedial Maths class) and boarder. I went to a school that had day and boarding students. Muv, after my parents separated was the cook, then house mistress in the school. Day/Boarder rivalry was rampant and it was considered a massive stinger to get in a boarder shot, even though I didn't board. Kids hah!?

Having been on the receiving end in my time I'm very reluctant to engage in such behaviour now and this morning I found myself holding back from the man. I imagined the scenario would have gone something like this:

'Morning fat so'

'Excuse me?'

'Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were greeting people by insulting them now'

At that point I see myself lying on the ground with a black eye; after all, bullies will invariably lash out when challenged or confused.

A sense of belonging

For many years now I have been a contractor. This means, while I get up and go to a job on a daily basis, mostly, I’m not a full time employee. I don’t get paid leave, sick or any kind of benefits for turning up at the office each day, each week, each month.

Yes, I get paid heartily, but when I’m unemployed between contracts, which has been nearly a year out of the last three, the cash dwindles very quickly. Agent ask me why I only have contracts on my CV, my response is that a contract never gives you three months notice that it isn’t going to be renewed, so the next contract is the one I take. I’d love a permanent position.

Never more so than now. There are staff movements around the office. Supply Management are moving here, HR are going there. I’m being booted out of the desk I have and I won’t have a permanent home in either Head Office or out West. This disturbs me. One squat to another.

I’ve always had a desk before. Somewhere to keep my teabags, somewhere leave my hand cream and giant mug. Somewhere to lock my laptop so I don’t have to carry it home every night. From Friday I won’t have anywhere. I’ll have to ‘hotdesk’ at all times.

A few years ago I did some sums, around work hours and home hours taking into account travel time as work time etcetera and it looks something like this (i resurrected it and edited for today’s lesson);

Over the course of seven days or 168 hours, you send 62 hours at home awake, and 56 asleep (if you get 8 hours a night). You’re at work 50 hours if you travel one hour each way and do a five day week. This all adds up to:

37% of your week you’re awake at home
33% you’re asleep
30% you’re at work

That’s only 7% less time spent at work than at home, awake, doing things. At home you are surrounded by your stuff. Cups, plates, saucers, food, telly, family, pets, interesting things to do.

At work, with a desk, you can have a small piece of your personal life with you. A family photo, a nice mug instead of the manky grey thing from the cupboard, hand cream and a nice neat pile of files for important work stuff.

No desk, no life. No reminder that you have a life, not even a chair that is set up to the optimum seating position for you. Nowhere to keep the paperwork pertaining to you job, your work planning. Just a empty micro desk and a sore back and hip from carrying the laptop with you for that two hours of travel.

Most companies don’t allow for project contractors when arranging seating or when renting/buying office space, they count FTE (full time employees). I’ve been lucky so far I guess. If I can’t join the Sports and Social Club, can I at least have somewhere to put my box of tissues? If I’m going to spend nearly half my waking life in an office, I need a desk

Let the hunt commence.

Proficient

com·pe·tent (adjective)
 
having suitable or sufficient skill, knowledge, experience, etc., for some purpose; properly qualified: He is perfectly competent to manage the bank branch.
 
It’s a nice word.  It has a positive meaning unless it proceeded by ‘in’.
 
In recent times I’ve seen this word many times and today for the first time I have seen 50 occurrences of it in a single column.  This column shows that I am now competent in all aspect of being a Marriage Celebrant. 
 
I think I’ll pat myself on the back now, it’s been a long painful road, to get to the roundabout.
 
Next stop the Attorney General’s Office to register.  More hoops I’m sure.

The Christmas Card

While queuing in the post office today I eavesdropped on the conversation of the two ladies behind me.  I couldn’t help it.  They had encroached in to my personal space and they weren’t using indoor voices.
 
They discussed two things during the ten minute wait; the first was how one didn’t have a television (that was weird), the second thing was about how many Christmas Cards each had sent and received.   The two women known as L because she was on my left and R because she was, yeap you guessed it, on my right, started talking about it because R, was posting belated cards.
 
L had sent 78 cards and received 11.  A rate of return of 14%
 
R had already sent 93 cards and received only four. A rate of return of 4%
 
I had the same issue this year (and years before).  I sent 53 cards in the end and nine came to me.  Four of those were addressed to my dog.  If you add those to me and Cara together we got 16% back.  In relation to L and R I got the better end of the stick and I’d been feeling hard done by.
 
What does this say about the tradition of sending cards at Christmas?  Clearly some people are still doing it, some aren’t.  Maybe they intend to send them, but just don’t get around to writing them out before mid December.  I’m with R, send them anyway.  It’s the thought that counts regardless of when they arrive.
 
There is something nice about receiving that hand written envelope in the mail box.  You know it’s a card from some far flung place, is it a friend or family member that though of you at one of the loneliest times of the year (seconded only be Valentines for singles).  Is it from a new friend that you randomly added on Facebook so you could play games?  Is it from someone that you only really hear from at Christmas?  Is it from a company you did business with at some time in the past and now they are reaching out to remind you they exist? 

Is it from a relative that has been estranged?
 
It doesn’t really matter.  It’s something for you without anything required in return except a little love.  No bill to pay, no insurance to renew, no reminder that you’ve been slack.
 
Unless of course you haven’t sent any cards...then the person that sent the card you now hold in your hand is wondering...’where’s mine?’
 
There’s still time to post them for this year :-)

Just Wondering

I was in the ladies today, washing my hands, when I noticed the sprinkler head poking it’s nose out from the ceiling.  As this is my first day back at work after a two break and I’m feeling less than enamoured with being in the office my mind drifted into another realm ;
 
What would happen if I put flame to a scrunched up piece paper under it?
 
The image of water spraying out of it like a upside-down sprinkler: The sound of squeals from the office outside; as women in high heels, men in ties, scatter like roaches towards the fire escapes. 
 
I would casually stroll out of the ladies, ask. ‘what’s going on?’ Before joining the exodus down the stairs.
 
We’d gather in the mustering point in Hyde Park and wait. 
 
 Fire Wardens, ‘highly trained’ office workers acting out childhood fantasies rush around attempting to take roll call, but flat feet and bulging waistlines put a stop to that dream years ago. They became desk jockeys instead and try to exert their power now with a clipboard and pen.  The missing people have gone for coffee.
 
Fire engine, men in uniform, the ones that realised the dream of saving lives and property from the ravages of flame. Rush into the building.  Only our floor and the ones above and below have been evacuated as only the middle one has smoke.
 
My fellow workers speculate ‘what could be wrong?’  I sit on the wall and wait, playing my iPhone and absorbing some vitamin D from the dampled sunlight.
 
After the real deal has extinguished the flame in the bathroom caused by  ‘Paper Towel Inferno’, I can see the headline in The Telegraph (it wouldn’t even rate a sidebar in the SMH or Australian) we are free to return to work.  We’ve lost two hours of productivity and the use of the ladies bathroom on 11.
 
 
It’s amazing where the human mind can take you down a path of thinking that is completely out of character.  I would never set fire to anything, except a BBQn for food and logs for heating.  Maybe this just shows the degree of satisfaction I derive from my job. 

Maybe, I need help.

OuttaTowner

I have had a week of visitors. First my mate WM came to visit from Canberra. We spent a couple of days drinking wine, eating fine food and Dorising* about the place. We took a drive up into the Blue Mountains for a Cream Tea at ‘The Pie in the Sky’ in Bilpin and a bit of sightseeing.

I like to take people up the mountains for a cream tea because it’s by far and away the best cream tea I have ever found outside of Devon. The guy there, makes the scones and jam on site and he uses the best King Island cream. None of that squirty cream out of a can. Real thick luscious cream. I always have a cup of Earl Grey with it and it’s just about as perfect as you can get. WM enjoyed it, and the beef, bacon and cheese pie too.

After lunch we drove along Bells End Line of Road towards Lithgow while WM looked at scenery. After a bit we came across some lovely scenery over to the left and soon pulled of the road into a small gravel car park. It was the car park for Rock Hill View Point.

As neither WM or I were dressed for a bush walk, we both had on flip flops we asked the little old lady who had just returned, ‘Is it very rough?’

‘Oh no,’ she replied, ‘just a little up and down’.

After we’d bee walking across rocks and gravel for about 10 minutes the path took a detour down. The path suddenly was at a 45 degree angle. We very carefully clambered down.

‘That must be the up and down bit’. We said.

It wasn’t. The path did this several times, before we both became convinced that e were going to break something while attempting the path in our Aussie work boots. So we turned around and head back to the car.

We had Cara with us and we decided to video her running up half the hill we climbed up and down.

It was, frankly hilarious, but I think you needed to be there.

We got back to the car, and downed a bottle of water each. It was after all a perfect Mountains day at 28 degrees with about 70% humidity.

We very nearly stopped in for a refuel at the ‘Pie in the Sky’ on the way but resisted.

Cara's YouTube Video

*Dorising = going out and about with no particular purpose except to get out of the house. Just like the oldies, Stan and Doris.

Spore Harbingers

I have been referring the kittens, as a collective, as my spore harbingers. Three people have now asked me what that means, so I figure there must be others out there not game to ask, so I shall explain.

The name came about as they have ringworm.

Ringworm is a fungal skin infection, rather than an intestinal worm that sucks nutrition from the body from the inside. Being a fungus, just like mushrooms, to propagate it releases spores (seeds) into the air. They need warm, moist conditions or damage to the affected area to thrive.

spore |spôr|
noun Biology
a minute, typically one-celled, reproductive unit capable of giving rise to a new individual without sexual fusion, characteristic of lower plants, fungi, and protozoans.


harbinger |ˈhärbənjər|
noun
a person or thing that announces or signals the approach of another :
witch hazels are the harbingers of spring.
the kittens are the harbingers of ringworm because they carry the spores.

Are we good now?

Picture: Cat Health Guide
Reference: Definitions from Apple Dictionary

Trolls

As a child I was told a fairytale about three goats crossing a bridge to get to the lush green meadow on the other side. It's called The Three Billy Goats Gruff.

The first goat was small and as he crossed a big, fat, hairy troll jumps up from under the bridge and stopped him.

‘This is my bridge Goat you dare to cross, for your insolence I shall gobble you up.’

‘Troll, I am but a small, skinny goat, I will make a poor meal for you. There will be another goat along soon that shall make a much better feast’.

Being hungry, the Troll decided to wait and let the small goat pass.

Moments after the kid crossed, another goat came along. This one was bigger than the first, but still quite small. He’d seen what the first goat had done and decided to try the same thing if the Troll were to appear.

Once again the Troll jumped out and stopped the goat in his tracks.

‘Goat, this is my bridge, how dare you cross?’

‘I am but a medium sized goat, Troll. I know that a much larger, meater goat than I shall be crossing very soon, he’d make a much bigger meal for you.’

Being greedy and famished, the Troll decided to wait for the next goat and let the goat cross into the clover filled meadow.

After a few minutes had passed the Troll tummy was rumbling, he was very much looking forward to this large meal he had been promised.

The clippity clop of hooves let him know another goat was trying to cross his bridge. He jumped out from underneath the bridge with a growl. There, standing before him was the biggest, plumpest goat he ever did see. He was a beauty. A lovely long beard and shining curved horns.

‘You dare to step on my bridge Goat!?’

‘I do, Troll. Who are to stop me?’

‘This is my bridge, and I say who goes and I say you cannot pass. You are to be my dinner, for you are nice and fat.

The goat was not happy about this, so he put his head down and charged at the Troll. The goat butted the Troll in the belly with his horns and tossed him in the air. As the Troll came down, the goat caught him again and threw him off the bridge.

The goat looked over the rail of the bridge and couldn’t see the Troll. He was gone.

The goat crossed into the meadow and ate the grass with his friends.

They never heard from or saw the Troll again. Maybe he had died, or maybe he was just too ashamed at being bested by smartest beasts than he, to show his face again.

Thanks to http://www.nydamprints.com/goatsgruff.html

New Years Day

I started my year with music and photography. I went to Field Day at the Domain.

Of the 31 acts playing I’d heard of three. Moby, Calvin Harris and Gotye. As I was lucky enough to have a photo pass I was able to take photos while wandering around amongst the crowd.

I took advantage of this and decided to do a Street Fashion shoot for Fashion Studio. It was fun, because by 1.30pm most of the 20 something crowd where already a little or lot drunk. Most of the girls were in short shorts and even shorter tops and the boys were wearing much the same.
These Guys support Oscar's Law, so they can't be all bad

I saw two acts that I haven’t seen before New Navy and Spank Rock. New Navy was more to my taste.
Calvin Harris on Stage

I tested the waters with the photo pass and got into the Pit for Calvin Harris. I got a couple of good shots, but the set up of the stage made it hard for me to get the perfect shot. It was fun and so loud I could feel my glasses vibrating on the bridge of my nose. It was awesome, but I really must remember earplugs the next time I do this.

I got taken backstage about 5pm. I hung out with a few friends and met a few new ones…I love meeting new people. At 5.40 I went into the pit again and photographed the Goyte set. Being the type of festival that Field Day is, he played his more upbeat, drum heavy, toe tapping songs. Again my glasses got to jumping, and one of the girls in the front row laughed because I knew all the songs. She’s asked, ‘How do get a job like that?’

I replied, ‘persistence, practice and a little talent’.
'In your Light' by Gotye
I came away from the day sunburnt, but very happy and I got some great photos