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

Resolutions

I didn’t make any resolutions last year because I was in such a bad place I couldn’t see the point. At that point in my life I was having issues even seeing myself seeing the year out.

Clearly I’m in a better place this year (despite still being broke) that I have decided to make some resolutions that stand a chance of being seen through.

1. Exercise more.
I’ve been fairly sedentary in 2011. My clothes are shrinking and that isn’t a good thing. SO I hoping to walk more and maybe start swimming again.

2. Photograph more
With three photography gigs for others in 2011, I figure four or more in 2012 will see my record improved. I’m going to offer my services in order to improve my portfolio.


3. Go out and see people
I’ve been out rarely in 2011, so I intend to attend more pub gigs, dine out a little more and go to more cultural events.

4. Pay down my debts
In an attempt to make my goal of working from home come true…I will be ploughing cash into my debts. At least 10% more than each monthly payment is required.

5. Write more
While I really enjoy writing I find it’s often the first thing that goes when other ‘bright shiny objects’ divert my attention. In 2011 I have written just over 110 entries andthat averages out at one every three days. I’m going to aim for once every two days (on average) and that’s about 240 entries. These entries may be in the form of articles, opinion pieces and reviews, plus, in the news round-ups.

I think that will do me for the year. I like to be busy, but any more and I’d have no time for actually doing any of them.

I wish you all a very Happy New Year and that it a great year for you all.

(Anonymous, even though you’re trolling my comments, you have a good 2012 too, it may give you something better to do)

2011: Au revoir

I’m thankful for few things in 2011.

It’s been an all round shitty year that started with nearly eight weeks of unemployment with a scattering of tour bus trips. While these trips keep the wolf from the door, the black dog crept in through the side door and stayed around for the year. I’m still in the process of vacating him, but at least I’ve moved him stuff out onto the lawn.

Cara. A white dog. She came into my life in mid February and while she was supposed to be a temporary tenant, the little thing got under my skin and become a fully fledged member of the family when I officially adopted her in April. Who knew a one-eyed Chihuahua would have such a big character and influence on my life for the positive.

I learnt how to bake bread and wrote a book of recipes in memory of Muv

I expanded my experience in the photography of events. I worked at the Jurassic Lounge evenings at the Australian Museum and I got to take pictures at a music festival of a prominent Australian artist. These have been unpaid gigs, but very must who you know, rather that what. To those who’s. Thanks :-)

I commenced studying for a Certificate IV in Celebrancy in an attempt to take control of my life and working hours. I’m hoping to get out of the office environment in the next couple of years, so I’m grateful that I’ve been able to identify in myself, despite the need to repay debt, the need for more time at home.

Employment has been fairly consistent since early in the year. There was the mail order place, the construction firm, the government dept and the electricity provider. A bevy of varied contracts, that have offered me a variety of experiences, both good and bad, and a few good friends.

Thank you to my friends for being there when I needed you and still being there when I needed you to give me space (you know who you are, so I won’t name names).

All in all, 2011, I shall not be sad to see you go, but I shall remember the few things that have been good.

Goodbye 2011…bring on 2012, it can only get better.

Never...

'Never a good deed goes unpunished'

In 1980, Clare Booth Luce, wrote those words in the book 'The Book of Laws'. What do you think caused her to have such a pessimistic outlook on life? She was voted into Congress in the 40s, a pretty good achievement in those times. She was the editor of Vogue and Vanity Fair in the 30s. She was 84 when she passed away in 1987.

A pharmacist quoted her at me today. After she'd sold me anti fungal cream to apply to the ringworm that has sprouted on my left side.

A few weeks I fostered some cats. They would have surely died if I hadn't have done this. The only problem is they brought fungal disease into the house. I've been treating them with shampoo washes, iodine cream and regular hoovering (those that know me will know this is the hardest of the treatments). It takes time to get rid of it and it has a two week incubation period.

This is it for me. I'm done, all tapped out. Once this intake is gone I'm never helping again unless it's throwing money at a problem.

Not-so-much-help desk

IT guys are generally considered to be smart.  They will often have the words, geek, nerd, or egg head banded about next to their names.  So you can imagine my surprise when I met one who was clearly smart, but acted in a dumb way.

Yesterday my laptop screen went wibbley.  In that it pixalited and the overriding colour changed to pink.  I’m not a big fan of pink, but it was the fuzziness that was caused the problem.  It made it difficult to read anything on the screen.  So I called the ‘Service Desk’ after performing a couple of standard first line support tests.  I rebooted it twice and tried resetting the display.

The local Onsite guy came to see me.  Apart from being kinda hot, he was useful. He accepted that I had done the first line stuff and went straight to having a look at the guts.  Turns out the cable between the guts and screen was damaged, so I had to take it away and see the ‘Acer’ guy, but in the meantime I needed to be given a monitor so I could do some work.

Today I’m working out of a different office.  When I got in this morning I had to call James (name changed to protect the idiot) to get a workstation on my desk.  I rag him, gave him directions to my desk, twice, and waited.  At 10.30 he turned up with a monitor.  He plugged it all in and when I suggested that it may be hard to see the screen if I needed to have the laptop in front of me.

‘So you need a keyboard?’  He asked.

‘Yes, please. That and a mouse would be most helpful.’

Half an hour later he turned up with a keyboard.  I’m still waiting for the mouse and it’s gone 1pm.

I’m having to use the track-pad.  I’ve got back ache now.

People are strange

The weather is somewhat inclement at the moment for the time of year. This is having a negative effect on the population of Sydney and surrounds. The storm drains are flowing like winterbournes and the temperature gage is barely touching 20 degrees Celsius. With only two weeks to Christmas everyone expects to be sweating in light chiffons, not snuggling into overcoats.

Last night I was woken by heavy rainfall on the roof and three cats and a dog trying to hide under the covers when the thunder rocked the house at 3am. I woke this morning in no mood to play the commuter game. But a meeting in the city at 10am meant I to, and win.

I find myself hyper observant when I'm tired and testy. I notice small thing that wouldn't normally confuse or annoy, today, I'm in uber form. I'd win the gold if observance of human oddity was an Olympic sport.

Why did the woman squeeze herself into the second of two seats when a three seater remained unoccupied?

Why did the three seater remain unoccupied until every other seat in the carriage was taken?

When two people did sit in the unoccupied seats, why did the guy who was clearly not travelling with the girl sit so close to her?

Why did the guy stand next to the spare seat looking at it like it had the lurgy?

This seat was just in front of me. When I had boarded the train the seat I was sat on and lurgy seat had formed a sixer until I flipped the back. There was nothing wrong with the seat, it was clean, there were nothing nasty on the floor and there wasn't even any marker pen graffiti tags on the seat back. It was an inoffensive seat, just waiting to be squished by damp bottoms (from the rain, wow you're disgusting!).

Being of a curious and questioning nature this behaviour led me to hypothesise why people would behave in such a way. I would have liked to have put together a brief survey called 'why are you avoiding that seat', but I don't think it would have been well received. For forty minutes to tossed over various reasons in my head and I finally came up with this theory.

Here's my theory.

People are weird and we'll never be able to guess at what makes them tick because most of the time they don't know why they do things.

End of theory. Damn, another PhD idea blown out the water.


A storm drain in full flood

Helping who

I may have written about this before, if so and you can remember it, sorry. For everyone else, something new :-)

I'm a sucker. I try to do my bit by being a good person and helping those in need. Whether it be buying the homeless lunch, or looking after animals in need.

My latest helping hand has been extended to four cats. Three kittens and a mum. They are lovely and energetic, but last week they were all diagnosed with cat flu and one of them had ringworm. I was sent away with antibiotics for the flu, twice daily treatments and cream for the ring worm. I have been dutifully administering the treatments.

Today, I took one of the kittens to a vet clinic for rehoming. They couldn't take him because he has now too has ringworm. I was told by the vet the all the cats have to shampooed to kill the ringworm. Not just once either, but three times, a week apart. The cream I was given is of no use and I've been wasting my time. In the mean time she has more than likely infected the other cats and me too.


Giles and Willow, cute but infested

Once again I get royally f**ked for trying to help out. The two affected kittens have to be segregated for the others and treated, the others have to shampooed, 'just in case'.

I've ben told by people (you know who you are) not to help. Why won't I learn? Do I call the rescue organisation and tell them to collect the foster cats, so I then only have to deal with my animals. Look after my own family first and myself? I'm torn into the good vs bad person cycle again.

I had a good day yesterday, I was feeling upbeat, despite my calve muscle still hurting from last weekends activities, I felt like doing things. After today news I feel like taking to my bed again.

But before I do that I have to wrestle at least five cats and dress the ensuing lacerations on my arms and body.

Cinderella Story

I realized something the other day when I was talking to a friend in the UK over Skype.

I'm lonely and the black dog is waiting in the back garden, just waiting for his chance to get inside; a crack in the door, an open window.

There has been a sequence of events that have led me to this conclusion.

The first being; the embracement of the animal welfare movement. While I've always been pro-animal rights, I've not felt strongly enough about anything to get involved, to march or protest. Once I'd got involved I met some lovely people with a healthy need to help our four legged friends, others with a not so healthy need to help bordering on obsessive. This led my Facebook wall being inundated with invitations, calls to foster, videos that made me ball my eyes out and mild abuse for sharing and consequently, not sharing. I culled my friends list.

Not before the Millie incident though.

I came to the conclusion from that, that one small dog with very few needs (except snuggles) is all I need and can handle on the canine front. Going out to work five day a week leaves little room for a dog with separation anxiety issues.

Knowing this, I found I could help dogs find homes by taking pictures for the rescue groups, but this meant going to the pound. And they don't just have dogs at the pound.

I find myself poopy scooping for five cats at the moment. I fostered four, adopted one. because I went to the pound. Don't get me wrong I'm glad to do my bit to help these creatures find worthy homes but I now know, I acknowledge, I did it because I'm lonely and I was looking to fill that void in my heart.

I’m lacking the companionship that comes with being in a relationship. While a little nookie would be nice, it’s the other more mundane activities that it would nice to share. Digging the garden, having someone hold the ladder while i change the light bulbs, going to the movies, wandering around, going for a drive or sharing a meal. The simple everyday things.

Most of my friends are loved up, in relationships with kids. The one person I’d dearly love to spend that quality everyday time with lives on a different continent and shows no signs of moving back to Australia anytime soon. I’ve been hanging out for that to happen for a couple of years now, unable to move on due the feelings I have. Deep feelings that go to the very core of me. The other day I felt those feelings lessen. I’m not sure what was said, what’s been done or not done that has caused this, but the heart strings are being tugged just a little less.

I’ve tried to date over that time in an attempt not to wait, but I always find myself looking across the table, looking at my date and thinking, ‘but you’re not Mr. Right’. I had thought I’d found Mr Right, but maybe I was wrong. I find dating hard as most of my friends are attached and rarely go out, internet dating has proved to be a bust (do I smell, even online) and I find as soon as Aussie men find out I’m well educated and reasonably successful in my chosen field they run as far as their tatty trainers will carry them.

Maybe I have found Mr. Right, but the human desire for companionship is getting the better of me. Driving me forward after not seeing him for nearly a year. Driving me into the arms of another (when I find another). But would it be unfair to the other? I’ve never found anyone that fills the shoes of Mr. Right in quite the same way. They just don’t fit.

This is my dilemma. I’m lonely beyond belief but I find myself snuggling at home amongst the furkids hoping that one day, my prince will turn up and slip his foot into a perfect fitting shoe.

Dallas Flight

This is a very nasty accident. It's a tragedy that should never have happened and I really hope she recovers with her sight intact.

But I curious. Why has this made the front page of the newspaper in Australia?

Is it because she's a model/beauty? If it had been me, would it have been reported? Just wondering.

Viral Veronica

There is a debate today in the paper about whether the recipe for a bird flu virus should be published. This flu has a 60% mortality rate and spreads in the air as easily as the common cold. While, based on recent shock stories of a growing world population and the problem that will cause, it would seem killing off 4.2 billion people seems like a good idea, the thing that concerns me most is in the second line of the story.

‘The question gripping scientists after virologists said they had developed a bird flu virus’

The key word here is developed. The buggers made this killer bug...what were they thinking!?

Littering

I picked up an empty can, off the street, the other day after seeing three people kick it. It was crumpled and torn and only a few feet away from a rubbish bin. It seemed the sensible thing to do although one woman was heard to exclaim, ‘Eww...that’s dirty!’

It brought to mind two recent interactions.

The first was with a snooty lady in a dog park. I was there with Cara and Millie. Cara being the massive trouble maker that she is was off the lead and following behind Millie, who was on lead, and I. About half way across the pack I noticed that Cara had stopped to go to the loo, so I slowed my pace but kept walking, with the intention of cleaning it up once she was done. A large woman was walking towards me, smoking a cigarette but without a dog, and as she got closer, she inhaled deeply and asked in a very terse tone, ‘Are you aware that your dog is doing a poop?’ Yes, I kid you not, she used the word ‘poop’.

‘Yes, I am’.

‘Are. You. Going. To. Clean. It. Up?’

‘Yes, I am’. I nodded and smiled as I spoke.

‘Then why aren’t you watching?’ Another massive inhale saw a third of the cigarette length turn to ash.

‘Do you like to be watched while you have a poo?’ It seemed a fair question, I know I don’t and I know Cara doesn’t. She gets performance anxiety and tries to walk away from it. It doesn’t work and you end up with a trail of bunny balls. Millie didn’t care who watched, she was quite proud of the massive piles she produced.

The woman took exception at my question, and huffed and puffed away from me, her arms beating the air, no doubt imagining it was me. Then she threw her cigarette butt to the ground before stomping on it. I pulled a small blue bag from my pocket and scooped up the tiny dropping Cara had deposited.

She didn’t hear my say. ‘Are you going to pick up that piece of litter that can take up to ten years to break down, whereas this tiny poo will be gone in about three days if I left it?’.

The second conversation was with the fruit seller guy outside my office in the city. I don’t know how we got away from bruised cherries, and how to squeeze peaches in just the right way, to rubbish, but he said to me, ‘if every person picked up just one piece of litter a day, can you imagine how quickly the streets would be clear?’

I’m not completely innocent of dropping litter, but I will say that I try never to drop something that will not decompose or been take by nature. I had it drummed into me by Muv from a very young age, Don’t litter. I’ll happily chuck an apple core into the bushes, although I mostly eat them down to the woody bit anyway. I’ll pour excess fluid onto the grass or into the gutter and I had no hesitation throwing New Moon out of the car window (it’s paper, it’ll mulch, it’s half-way there already), but plastics go in the pocket or bag until I find a bin. I’ll often turn down bags when shopping, which confuses check-out folks, because putting items in a bag is part of the training.

There have been anti-littering campaigns, signs and fines all around the world for decades. No matter what the powers that be do or say, people are essentially a lazy bunch that expects someone else to clean up after them; ever been in a cinema or theatre after the performance has ended, a sports arena at the end of the game, a picnic ground at the end of the day? Take that packet, drinks carton, pie case and pop it in the bin on the way out. At the very least put it next to the bin as I saw happening after a Rugby Tri Nations game in South Africa. The bins were full, so rather than leaving bottles on walls, by flag poles, smashed on the ground, etc., they made it easy to clean up by gathering it all in one place. Of course, they could have as easily taken it home.

Please don’t litter, but don’t judge those who you think are, you may just find you’re just as guilty in their eyes. Littering is a dirty issue and only we can fix it by taking our rubbish home with us.


An example of littering in Lagos, Nigeria

Landlords

I’m slightly confused by how dumb people can be. When I say people I mean my landlord.

I’ve lived in the house I’m in for just over a year. When I moved in the fireplace and ceiling fan in the dining room were marked as working. Neither were and I ended up paying $330 to have the ceiling fan replaced and waiting nearly six months for the landlords to pay-up to have the fireplace fixed. We were already nearly two months into cold weather by the time they got around to it.

Now summer is rapidly approaching and the house with no cooling is heating up. So I posed a question to my landlord. Would you consider installing ceiling fans if I paid 50% of the cost? I provided them with three quotes.

I wasn't asking for anything fancy like this little beauty

They came back with the reply of ‘You may install the ceiling fans at your own cost’. Sounds like a bargain to me. Not!

Shorty after this exchange, I discovered that due the landlords having the bills sent here directly I had over paid the water bill by over $520. So I went back with the following suggestion.

‘Please install the ceiling fans by Christmas and you don’t need to reimburse me for the overpaid water bills.’

I’m pretty sure this reads as I’ll pay for the ceiling fans and improve your property with my own money.

Last night at half past midnight I received an email from the landlord asking for my bank details.

Is it just me that thinks these people are clearly idiots to refuse this offer? (Yes, I understand I’m a bit strange for offering, but I really need some cool air this summer) Meanwhile, I plan on buying a kickarse big fan and taking it with me when I move out.

Doing my bit

I always been a cat lover. Well, not a cat Lover, but a lover of cats...let me start again.

I have always had cats in my life and I adore having them in it. That’s better. I grew up with cats (Jodie and Sorrell, then came Percy), for a few years when I was married I couldn’t have cats, hubby was allergic, but I eventually got them back into my life (Puss and Newk, then later Oren). I enjoy have cats around as they bring me great joy. Of course there have been moments of heartbreak when the dear ones have passed away.

Recently, due to my involvement with animal cruelty awareness (www.oscarslaw.org) and various other rescue groups I have found myself with more cats in my house than planned. After Millie Dogdog came and went from my life in a whirlwind of destruction, I realised that I couldn’t have any dog larger than Cara. I am just not set up for it and despite living a reasonably solitary life, I still have to go to work, so cats it is.

First I adopted a couple of pussy cats that had been in foster care for nearly a year. Jack and Danni. Now I’ve fostered a few myself. I currently have nine cats in my house, four of them kittens between six and nine weeks old.

All the fosters are on behalf of Sydney Pet Rescue and Adoption and are from Renbury Farm Shelter. There is an eighteen month old mum and nine week old kitten. They were surrendered by their owners because, ‘she had a kitten.’ My response was, well, that wouldn’t have happened if you’d been responsible and got her desexed. Mum is called Polly (stoopid name for a cat) and bub is Charley (pictured). Both mainly black with white bibs and socks.

The kittens were dumped by the gate of the shelter in a box. A silver tabby and a tabby are brother and sister are six or seven weeks old. The tabby is less active than the silver, but still mischievous, and the longer I have him, the more he develops. The silver, she’s a little minx. By day they are in large runs, but at night all hell breaks loose...bedlam, but they have a cute factor off any scale that has been devised, so they could pretty much burn down the house and they’d be forgiven.

They tumble, jump, climb, do the sideways fuzzed up crab at anything strange things and at each other, they try to nick Cara’s dinner, they do nick Puss’ dinner, they accept the hisses of the grown up cats un-phased and they make me laugh.

Because they are rarely still it’s not easy getting photos, but I’m working on it in between cleaning up an extraordinary amount of poo. Seriously, for such small creatures they create an awful lot of waste matter. It’s really quite remarkable. If I was a science type person, I’d bet there was some sort of study that could be done on the ratios of waste to body mass.

In the meantime, I shall keep playing and cleaning up after them until they find their furever home (that’s the new cute animalcentric term), and laughing heartily and sharing their antics :-)

Rules Sux

I’m friends with a random add on Facebook called Piggie VonEspie. Piggie is a corgi that lives in San Clemente, California with her pet hoomans. She likes to spend her time sleeping, window snozzling, going on corgi hill hikes and car rides and hoarding socks. What I love about Piggie (apart for her mischievous nature and playful barking) is that she often has intelligent words games as her status.

Today’s game was this:

‘Let’s play WORD SCRAMBLE – just change one letter of the word before. Today’s word is: SLEEP’

Being based in the US, the word game has often been going for a few hours by the time my small piece of Sydney wakes up. So, SLEEP went to Steep, went to Leapt and so on until I added Realm after Cream. The next word was ‘Please’

Now, I may have spent a small amount of time studying the English language, and I’m pretty sure that Please, could in no way come after realm. For starters it has six letters rather than five, I’d rather not go too deeply into what’s wrong with this...but I’m sure you can see a few things too.

Anyway...my point on this is all about following instructions and rules.

Why is it so hard for people to do so? Of course I speak generally here, but as I drove into work this morning in the pouring rain and low visibility, so many were ignoring the road rule that says turn on your lights in adverse weather...of course you can guarantee that these same people have their fog lights on when there is a clear sky.

Why is it that I always get pulled over by the RBT (Random Breath Tests) because I follow the rules; slow down give room, when I see flashing lights. I get stopped because this is classed as suspicious. If I powered through without a pause, I’d be fine.

There seems to be confusion caused by rules and instructions. We’re told they are there for our own good, to help us live a safe and productive life. Most of the time I would agree that they are. It’s safer to drive with lights on. It’s safer not to smoke in an enclosed space, whiles it’s undoubtedly safer not to smoke at all. It easier if you follow the instructions provided with the flat pack. It’s easier for the next person to place the next word in the sequence if you don’t completely stuff it up. Sometimes however, confusion, frustration and danger is caused because there are simply so many rules and instructions to follow that we forget.

It was so much easier when there were only ten.

Lost Productivity

I tried to access a website today while at work. When I typed in the name of the site I was rewarded with a red screen and the words Prohibited, contravenes and blocked.

When I couldn’t access the site from my work computer (I just wanted to confirm something that would have taken no more than a couple of minutes) I referred to Safari on my iPhone. Reception of 3G isn’t what it could be when I’m out west working in the demountable building, what would have taken two or three minutes tops on the desktop connected to the network, took getting on for twenty minutes as I waited for pages to load. Then the looking the map up on whereis.com for directions.

I understand this blocking is preserve productivity of employees, so they don’t spend all day surfing the web, but sometimes you just need to check something when you thinking about it, rather than write a note to remind you to look later. I don’t understand how such a tight policy preserve that productivity. After all, I could spend the entire day reading the SMH or chatting with friends on LinkedIn, isn’t that worse than a quick check of the local doggie parks?

Did I mention all webmail is also blocked? Yet when I try to save an external contact (i.e. my agent) to my outlook contacts, it gets deleted each week. So I have to type in three addresses each week to send off my time sheet. Oh...and I can’t extract files onto a USB stick.

I know that companies need to have policies and procedures for the things that they do and do not allow, but it would seem that the company I am currently working for are a tad more paranoid about internet use than they should be. Afterall, we’re not making systems for the countries defence or planning security for the upcoming Obama visit. We are a private company mostly owned by the NSW Government (whom incidentally allow access to Facebook, I haven’t even tried to access that, I think my computer would implode) that has an average tenure of 23.8 years. This is not your regular, everyday internet surfer dude.

I know one senior employee that brings an iPad to work with outside internet access so he can effectually do his job. It’s the only way he can access some sites for research purposes.

I would say this, while it not my place to review your internet policies, I would say, it’s time for a change.

Street Walker

I’ve come to the conclusion that the human race can be a pretty unhelpful bunch, but I also like that they can be nice too.

I know this, because I have days the same, but I have recognised this in myself and have developed ways to say, ‘Thanks, but bugger off’, without actually saying it.

As a way to develop my photography skills I do unpaid work for a website called Fashion Studio. This involves me going out onto the streets of Sydney and looking at fashion trends. Unfortunately, due to privacy laws, I have to seek permission before taking pictures. This is a shame for a few reasons;

1. Often the best fashionista is having a bad hair/bad handbag/bad ‘breakout’ day. This usually means they look fabulous and to mere mortals they appear to have nothing wrong or out of place on their perfectly quaffed head.
2. They are in a hurry. This is usually a the person mentioned above who has until the moment you approach them been gliding along with ethereal grace, clearly in no hurry to get to their destination.
3. They completely ignore you. Politely, you say, ‘excuse me.’ They pretend they haven’t heard, I like being ignored, it’s gives me such a happy joy-joy feeling.
4. They tell you to ‘f*** off’. This is always very pleasant and will often issue before I’ve even said ‘Excus...
5. They say, ‘would you mind if I said no?’ Pretty hard to argue with. I tried once, I replied with, ‘Yes, I would, terribly.’ She was a number 1, she looked stunning, but she still said no, I let her go.
6. They try to pose, it never looks natural.

This is how I approach.

‘Excuse me, my name if is Jodie and I’m a fashion photographer.’ If this get one of the responses from above, I start looking for the next desirable. If they stop, I know I’m in with a 70/30 chance of getting a picture.

I go on to explain. ‘I work for Fashion Studio, an online magazine that looks at how catwalk fashion translate to street wear. Today we’re looking at xyz and I could help but notice your stunning/fabulous/amazing xyz’.

A lot are flattered, as they should be, some not so, and decline in a variety of ways

They will then ask, ‘Do I just stand here?’ So I’ll suggest a twist of the hip and look at the camera. They like that it slims them down, I like that it naturally get them putting their best foot forward (good for nice shoes) and get them to relax and maybe giggle a bit. Occasionally this doesn’t work and the full length shot looks awful, in that case I’ll take a waist up shot.

After the picture has been taken I give them a sheet that contains details of the site, my name and a URL of the site and tell them they can view their picture in the next couple of days. They go away smiling, enjoying the moment of spontaneity.

Personally if I was approached by a ‘fashion photographer’ and told what I was wearing was the height of fashion, I’d be happy to pose. The whole process that about 3 minutes. I’m not selling anything and not getting you sign up to support a charity with a regular monthly withdrawal of funds. What I notice is, that a lot of people will not even take the time to find out.

If I have the info sheet visible at ‘Excuse me’ I get a higher rate of Number 4, than if I highlight the camera, then bring out the info. Paper = selling in people’s minds.

This is not the first time I have had to solicit. I’ve done market research, I canvassed for the Alpaca Association and recently I’ve started doing voluntary work for an animal welfare group. Never selling, always offering information or offering something for free. So I’ve been on the receiving end of the general public’s wrath for a number of causes, so while I expect abuse of varying degrees, I’m still not used to it. I have learnt not to behave in a rude manner, I either do not make eye contact (the first rule of selling stuff) or I politely decline. If it’s charity, I explain I have my list of five each year and I review at Christmas. Happy to take a leaflet. Of course I do donate to charity, but it’s an ad-hoc thing and it’s rarely the big charities that spend hundreds of thousands on paying backpackers in Martin Place. Often, it’ll just be someone asking directions.

So please give this some thought next time you are approached by a stranger on a busy street.

Ask not what you can do for them, but what they can do for you.

In my case, you might just get a few minutes of fame.

PS. Thank you to the 16 lovely ladies that said 'Yes, I'd love too' today, two of whom are about.

Sharing and caring

I was taught as a child that ‘sharing was caring’.

In the days of sharing involving a tube of Fruit Pastilles or Rolos, I would completely agree, sharing did indeed indicate you cared.

In these days of social media where sharing with a simple click, can trigger a flaming, is it really caring to share?

There are a few things I am passionate about. One of them is Animal Rights. I do what I can to help, I volunteer with Oscar’s Law NSW and I have a healthy family of cats, a dog and half a dozen chooks (chickens). I also, don’t kill anything that lives outside, such as spiders or cockroaches (I’ll be honest and say they don’t always fair so well if they stray inside, unless it’s a Huntman, they always got put outside).

A few weeks ago I shared an image and a news story about a cat that lost her kittens to what can only be described as a vicious act of cruelty perpetrated by someone that deserves to be thrown in prison with thugs that will do the same to him. The image was disturbing, but small, you could just make out the wounds on the kittens but the look on the mother cats face was undeniable grief and confusion about what had happened to her babies. Cats tend to be extremely attentive and good mothers.

The share caused an outrage amongst my ‘friends’. Mostly my ‘animal loving’ ‘friends’, most of whom I've never met.

I was told to take down the share because it was too disturbing.
I was told it was unnecessary to share such a horrific image and story.
I was told, in a private message, that I was glorifying the act of cruelty.

I was doing none of these things in my eyes. I shared the story because it touched me in a heartfelt way and I believed people needed to know that people still do horrible thing to animals and getaway with it, mainly because people turn a blind eye to the horrific acts.

If the image had been of a human mother and her baby, outrage would have united the people into finding the perpetrator. The police would have been scrambled to the four winds until the guilty party had been found. The story would have been posted on every newsfeed and in every paper around the nation, no stone would have remained unturned. But it was just a cat, so I don’t need to see it’s pain.

I find this double standard unacceptable.

Since then I have chosen not to share stories of distress, cute doe-eye puppies in need of a home or kittens playing with string to entice. And now I find myself being reprimanded for not sharing.
I shall continue to not share out of respect for the friends that ASKED me not too as it was too distressing and they wanted to adopt everything they saw. My true friends who know that with respect for my beliefs comes a respect for theirs.

I shall continue to do my bit for animal right, but I’ll warn you now, I’ve been dicked about by volunteers before and I don’t take kindly to it. You want my help to make a difference…show me a little respect too; it’s not just about the animals there are humans with feelings in this too.

I’m happy to take my ball and Rolos and play in someone else’s garden, anytime, just say the word.

I thought you wanted a short answer?

Here’s the thing. I’m studying to be a wedding celebrant. I’ve attended the face-to-face part of the course and now I’m about half-way through the assignments.

Today I worked on a few, one about risk management., one about insurances and the other was a 20 point short answer recap on all the other elements of module…stuff about copyright, ongoing professional development and the role of a celebrant in the 21st century.

What is the role of the celebrant in Australian culture in 21st century?

That was easy to answer; My role is to assist people celebrate their special day in a way that is most fitting for them. In the case of weddings I am also there to facilitate the legal aspect of the ceremony.

That about sums it up I think.

Then there were some questions about how many hours of ongoing professional development is required each calendar year (five, in case you’re interested), then this one popped up:

What has been the historical evolution of the role of a Celebrant in both religious and spiritual contexts?

I immediate response was, ‘I don’t care, when did this become a certificate four in philosophy?’

While I believe there is a place for marriage in modern society, I do not believe there a place for God in every marriage ceremony. I also believe that same sex couples have a right to be married (after all why should they be spared the pain of divorce ;-). What I don’t get is how being able to answer this question has any bearing on my being a celebrant, good or otherwise.

I answered it and submitted the following answer:

'I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why this has bearing on my being a good celebrant. Although I would say the evolution has been to take the religious rigor out of wedding ceremonies for those who do not believe in God or are have inter-faith relationships.'

We can only wait to see what the Marker has to say, and I shall be raising this question as inappropriate and unnecessary when it come to course feedback time.

*thanks to Bunbury Marriage Celebrant for the picture