Power's out

Last night the neighbourhood I live in experienced a power outage. I live in a suburban area with plenty of houses and apartments wedged into an area the size of your average English country manor.

After a week of scorching heat and bush fire danger across the whole of New South Wales, the rains arrived. It started with drizzle just after lunch, but 4pm the thunder had started to roll through the clouds. About 5pm, there was a loud bang from the back of the house, the power went off for a moment then flickered back to life. Another loud bang, and the power died once more. Investigation, me standing the back garden looking over the fence, revealed nothing. Once out the front, Beryl, the old lady that misses, nothing told me she’d seen flashes at the main road. She also had no power.

I rang the power company to report it. They were already aware and had ‘dispatched a crew’.

What now?

My plan of making tomato sauce from the kilos of Roma tomatoes I harvested was out the window because my cooker and oven run on electric.

I’ll send some emails and catch up with my communications. No good, my wireless comes from a box that is plugged in.

I’ll play Farnville2. Harvest a few virtual crops and make virtual tomato soup and milk virtual cows. Not to be, the internet is powered by the electrical pulses no longer accesses my abode.

I got out the candles and lit a few. I even found some lamp oil and got the glass lamp I have going. It gives of great light. Even though it wasn’t dark outside, inside it was.

What should I do now?

I’ll read. I sat out the back and read for a bit until the mozzies started biting. I moved inside. Sent a few tweets, updated Facebook, but because my phone had been off charge all day I was down to 20% juice. How to charge it? I needed power for that. After an hour sitting in the car I had managed to get my phone back to 80% charge. I switched to Airplane mode and wondered what else I could do.

I lit the barbeque and grilled a lamb chop for dinner.  I sat and watched the flames die to create the lingering red that cooks the food.  That entertainment lasted about 15 minutes.  Lamb cooks really quickly.

The light levels in my house, despite having the entire stock of a small Dusk store burning, was low. It was, romantic. That’s all well and good for a nice night with a lover and a glass of wine, but I needed to do something. After nearly four hours of no power I was frustrated. I rang the power company again for an eta on supply.

A prerecorded message informed me, ‘We are aware of a problem in your area but have no idea what the cause it. We estimate that power will be restored by eleven PM.’

If you don’t know the cause how can you estimate the return?

It was 9.30pm. Pitch dark outside and in. Reading was out, I don’t have the sight of an owl. Crochet had been tried by this point too and I kept dropping stitches and missing them, repairing the damage done to the project would take ages. So, to bed.

I cleaned my teeth by candlelight. Changed into my bed clothes and carried the glass lantern into my bedroom. The dogs looked confused. Surely this wasn’t it for the evening, it was far too early.

I tried reading again, just in case I’d made a mistake about the light levels, but it just wasn’t possible without straining my eyes.

So I laid back, closed my eyes and pictured how the world would have looked in the days before power to every house. It was bleak.

What’s bleaker though is that the developed world is entirely reliant on electricity. The games we play, our cooking (yes, I prefer gas myself, but don’t have that luxury in my house), our washing machines, water heating, our communications devices. I have an oil lamp because I like old things. I have candles for scent, not light. I took advantage of a forced early night.

What would happen if we lost the ability to make power completely? I fear many would cease to exist because they simply would not know what to do.

Assume

In 2010 I spent much of the year working in Africa.


From this statement, what assumption did you make, if you didn’t know that about me already?

That I worked for an aid agency doing good works for the poor, hungry and homeless? Maybe you thought I volunteered my time working in a field hospital. You almost certainly asked yourself, ‘Ohh, I wonder which agency?’ Thinking Doctors without Borders, Unicef, Oxfam etc.

Alas, it was nothing so noble. I work for a bank, doing office stuff, and I was paid, well. Few people find that out.

My point is that people make assumptions about everything you say and unless they ask for specifics, which they rarely do, that’s the impression they keep about you. It can lead to all sorts of problems, in the workforce and in person. I’m as guilty as anyone.

I do do good works. I volunteer my time, mostly with animal charities. I figure enough people focus on people (an assumption). Animals can’t speak for themselves, so need twice as many voices raised for them.

Currently I’m crocheting blankets. Basically, massive granny squares, but blankets none the less. I was asked on the train this morning what I was doing. The fact the 20 something had no idea what crochet is, is a topic for a whole other blog entry. Having established the lack of knowledge regarding the gentle arts, I said ‘it’s going to be a blanket for charity’.

I’ve been here before, so when asked what charity I simply said, ‘the homeless’.

Last time I specified and said, ‘for animal shelters’, I was treated to a tirade of words and spit that went along the lines of ‘people are far more important’. I didn’t wish to risk going to work and sitting in someone else’s sputum all day, so decided to be vague, based on the prior experience.

She surprised me. ‘Ahhh…the doggies and pussy cats with love that. They’ll be able to make a nest to snuggle into’.

I did my best impression of a guppie, and when recovered I confirmed her assumption.

We proceeded to chat about animals in shelters and how her three dogs had all been adopted for shelters. I’d made assumptions about her, based on the station she got on at, her style of dress, even her immensely coiffed hair. I was wrong. She was remarkably normal and without the pictures stick.

She voiced her assumption. As we were departing the train she said, ‘Thank you for talking to me. I’m new in Sydney and I was afraid you’d ignore or be rude to me, people on public transport here can be so strange.’

I left her with this and, ultimately, a smile on her face, ‘Yeah, but that because I’m weird’.

Remember, to assume, you make an Ass of U and Me.

2012

So another year has passed.  Another year of struggling, trials and the odd moment of joy and hilarity.  I go into 2013 still single with a menagerie of animals that ensure I get out of bed each morning (sometime afternoon). 

Let’s get into this:

January

I started the year at Field Day, a music festival, where I photographed Gotye, Kimbra and Calvin Harris.  This pretty much set the scene for my photography projects for the year. 

I had a garage sale which was a disaster, I made $160. 

I sold Cap’n Hank

Cara turned seven.

February

After a three day hospital stay for a kidney stone I felt it was time to restart my comedy career.    Helen came over from the UK for a few days.

March

A busy month I photographed Jurassic Lounge, Renbury Cats and some street fashion.   Having been unemployed for a while I tried to keep my Funeral Celebrant career off by visiting loads of funeral homes. 

I also started my short lived ‘extras’ career when I spent several hours sitting around and pretending to be a barrister.  It was an interesting experience to see just how long it take to make a TV program.

April
The day known for fools turned into a tragic day for me.  My darling Cara went missing when I went out without her for the first time in weeks.  A storm spooked her, someone picked her up and stole her.
I held my first Tupperware party as a demonstrator.

I started working at FaCS.

May

I found myself lacking a creative outlet so I picked up a crochet hook and some wool.  My first Granny square in about 10 years was a disaster, but it soon came flooding back.
I had seven comedy gigs this month.

I spent a weekend in Melbourne with Sally

June

I went to the theatre, I saw 'When Dad Married Fury'.  It was a lot of fun.

I photographed The Sydney Film Festival Hub and Renbury cats again.  Comedy was good with six gigs.

I started to learn how to play the recorder.

July

This month I learnt that trying to perform comedy on the anniversary of your mother’s death isn’t ideal.  It’s hard to get into ‘the zone’.

I fostered, then adopted FeFe.  After months of looking and several false alarms, my heart, still breaking for Cara, cried out for a Chihuahua companion.

August

A quiet month I volunteered for Oscar’s Law.

Jon visited for two and half days.

Jurassic Lounge started it’s winter season, I photographed it.

September

After being qualified for nearly a year, I finally got around to being a wedding celebrant. 

Agent interviews started again as my contract with FaCS drew to an end

I started studying for a Graduate Diploma in Counselling

October

I fostered Harry.  A Chihuahua/mini foxy that had been left for dead on the roadside.  He and FeFe got on so well, that he ended up getting himself adopted.  Silly boy!
It was my 40^th birthday.  I got two cards and one pressy.  To say it was underwhelming is an overstatement.

Unemployed, still.

November

I kept my head down after the disappointment of October.  I handed in my uni assignments, performed comedy and delivered Toastmasters speeches.

Went the theatre and saw ‘Sex with Strangers’ on 14^th.  Struggling financially as I have all year, I was unable to join everyone for dinner.

Started a three a week contract, because it was all I could get.

December

Photographed Goyte in Melbourne and Sydney.

Went to Perth for work.

Declared a pt 9 debt agreement, but still struggling financially because I’m only working three days a week.

Low on seasonal spirit and cash I've done nothing except walk the dogs the entire Christmas new year season.  forgive for being a tad Bah humbug.

Maybe 2013 will bring better times

Late

You’re not sorry, you’re rude.

If you were sorry, you’d have allowed more time and not been late in the first place.

I’m one of those people that tries to be earlier or on-time for everything I do. If I have an interview at 2.30, I’ll be there at 2.15. I’d rather be sat in reception twiddling my thumbs wondering if everyone that walks passed is the interviewer than have the interviewer think I don’t care enough to be on time.

I had a meeting this morning for 10.30. They turned up 10.35. I’d been waiting in the room for them since just before the meeting start time. They seemed surprised when I closed the meeting on time even though they still had thing to say, but I had another meeting to get too.

During the early months of 2010 I worked in Nigeria. It was an interesting environment to work in for me because always having had the ‘be on time’ mentality I had trouble adjusting to the normalcy of people turning up for meeting half an hour late; without a batt of an eyelid. Often people would wander in at various times during the meeting, make a fuss about the seating or play with their phones and never really have much interest in what the meeting was all about. After four months we finally had a meeting were no one was more than 10 minutes late. It was a compromise.

I was hosting a party at the weekend for a group of ladies and it was due to start at 2pm. I was cooking them lunch and giving a simple cooking lesson. Four of the five ladies arrived at 1.45. They caught up, helped themselves to a drink and settled down. One turned up at ten passed two, decided now was an appropriate time to catch up with every one, help herself to food and drink and wake up the baby. I smiled my way through it with my silent mantra of ‘calm blue ocean’ and carried on. The late comer than refused the lunch I had prepared because she was full. I could handle the late, if she hadn’t have disrupted everything putting me about 30 minutes behind on the demo. Meaning her friends who had come for lunch had to wait longer to eat, while she stuffed her face with leftovers from the fridge. The host said, ‘good job we’re related’.

It seems to have become acceptable to be late. Something starts at 8pm, people don’t turn up until nine when ‘all the interesting people have arrived’.

I dabble in stand-up comedy and I like to see more of the sort of treatment that late comers to comedy shows get. If you wend your way to you seat after the lights have down and a comedian is on the stage expect to be pointed out to the rest of the audience.

‘Hello, welcome, I’m glad you felt like joining us.’

‘I’m sorry our well publicised start time inconvenienced you in any way, would you like me to start again, just for you?’

I’d love to be able to do this when meeting start late because they didn’t allow for that extra time to get their coffee. Or even when someone turns up late for my cooking demos. Out of context though, that doesn’t work. Shame.

Years ago when training I used to make a point of making people who came back from the break tell an embarrassing story, and have the other participants vote if it was embarrassing enough. People were only late back at the first break. So in context it does work.

***

If you factor in time to a financial cost, my time, your time and everyone’s time has a value. When you keep someone waiting for half an hour and they normally earn $50 an hour, that has cost the $25. Imagine eight in a room waiting for a ninth, that’s $200 dollars plus the extra for having to reschedule etc.. It can have a massive knock-on effect.

When you turn up late to a party, you’re disrespecting the host and guest that have bothered to arrive on time. You’re telling them you’re too important to bother with such silly things as a start time or you just don’t care, which is worse, neither sheds a positive light on you.

As a wanna-be stand-up I don’t get paid, but your lateness may put me off and could potentially cost me that entire five minute gig because I lost my flow. That in turn may mean I never get booked at that venue again. It hasn’t happened to me but I know some that it has happened to.

There really is no excuse for lateness just as there is no excuse for rudeness.

I’m not saying I’m never late, that would be a lie. I was three minutes late for a doctors appointment the other day because I failed to keep track of my lunch date. I was mortified. I then waited another 25 minutes for three other people to go in before because the doctor was running a bit behind.

‘He terribly busy and a patient had taken more time than expected’. 25 minutes is not a bit behind, it’s a lot behind.

Spread the appointments out a bit more, see less patients. The three minutes I was late could have been made up by my 10 minute appointment being seven (in fact it was only five because ‘you’re skin is amazing’). Would he have been bothered if I’d have walked out of his surgery, saying I’m also very busy? You bet ya bloomers he would have been, he may have even charged me for failure to cancel.


I hate being late.

I knew it!

I’ve always had a general loathing for a particular fruit that Muv tried to get me to eat. She’d cut it in half, sprinkle sugar on it and grill it. It was too bitter for me, even with copious amounts of sweetness. Muv however, would eat it and make the sounds of a person really enjoying her food.  She loved it.


I try to have fruit every day and often I’ll buy a fruit salad on the walk to work. My regular place know my order and I’m often greeted with, ‘The usual?’

One day I spied something out of place in the lovely, brightly coloured bowl of lushness in the cooler cabinet.

I asked, ‘Have you boobie trapped the fruit salad?’

They had…and it’s no use picking out the offending citrus because it pollutes all that it touches.



Today the newspapers confirm my thoughts on grapefruit. I’m glad I’m right about somethings, this is one of them.

Grapefruit can kill you!

    PS.  My regular supplier never tried to poison me again :)

Cancelled

The job market at the moment is an interesting one to be looking for a job in.

In the last three weeks, three jobs that I have been submitted for have been cancelled due to 'Budgetary issues'.

You'd think that budget would be sorted and finalised before putting a job out into the market place?  Clearly not, or it's just the soft, fluffy stuff, change management, that is no longer being included or taken out of project briefs.

I have five days.

ABC Meme

A - Are you single?         Yes

B - Because?         I am

C - Crush? Yes

D - Drink you last had?    A bottle of dessert wine

E - Easiest to talk to? Men

F - Favourite Song?         Oh Very Young by Cat Stevens

G - Greatest Memory?      Camping on the the Isle of Wight

H - Hometown?        Guildford, Surrey UK

I - In love? Yes

J - Jealous? No

K - Known longest?         Janneke

L - Last Text?         to JH

M - Middle Name?         Elizabeth

N - Number of Siblings? Loads if you count steps and halves

O - One Wish:        Never have to worry about money again

P - Person you last called? Job agent

Q - Question I'm always asked.  Why?

R - Reason to smile?         Many and varied

S - Song I last heard? Can't remember 

T - Time I woke up?         Today, 10.30

U - Umbrella Colour? Black with cloud on the inside

V - Violent Moment?         Ripping up the grass vines today

W - Worst Moment?         Muv dying

X - Person I'll never stop loving? Muv

Y - Your last hug?         GB

Z - Zodiac Sign? Libra

Pigs

I saw a story in the Sydney Morning Herald this morning and all I could think was surely the police aren't going to rule out foul play without any further investigation?  They have so far suggested he had a medical emergency, such as a heart attack.  You think? 

Have they not seen or read Hannibal where Mason Verger is planning on feeding Doctor Lecter to the piggies in the barn?

The perfect murder or just a tragic accident?

La Laa Laa!

Picture borrowed from here, I had absolutely nothing to do with taking it or making it and credit belong to the originator. 

Mr. Boots

A friend died today.


I use the word friend because of the effect this news has had on me is unexpected, tear producing and a general feeling of overwhelming grief.

The thing is I have never met this friend or even spoken to this friend. We’ve exchanged a few postcards and until this morning I only knew his parents as ‘the fatties’. Their names where only revealed to me through messages of condolence on Facebook. Yes, this is a Facebook friend.

The power of social media has revealed it more bonding side.  The power to make friends from those you are yet to meet.

I know this is going to sounds daft, but I’m devastated that Barney Boots has passed away after an accident on the farm a few days ago. I know he was a dog on the other side of the planet, from a town I’ve never been too (and unlikely to go to). I know that the character I looked forward to posts from was the human in his life, his adoring Mum, Deb. I really like that woman’s sense of humour.

No matter how down I was, a post of ‘I’ll be outside now’ or I’m up now’ brought a smile to me face.

And those damned giant pumpkins!

I can’t explain to you why this has upset me so much, it’s irrational and some, I’m sure will think ridiculous, but you know what, I cannot control my emotions over this, when I do try snot starts pouring from my nose and water leaks from my eyes.  I feel for the man and woman behind the dog we loved.  Really, I'm having this outpouring of emotion for them.

Has the death of a small brown dog remained me of Muv, John and Cara. All I have lost in the last few years. I know Cara isn’t dead, but the mystery of her disappearance remains. I like to be able to mourn her, but I can’t, I know she’s out there still.

I feel for the Boots family at this time, the devastation of having to make such a hard decision and then having to tell the world, his nearly 5000 online followers.

Deb and Paul, while we didn’t know each other, my thoughts are with you at this terrible time. Grieve your boy Barney and don’t let anyone tell you ‘he was just a dog’.*  We know that isn't true and anyone who says it doesn't understand the unconditional love a dog can give. 

Barney Boots, corgi and farmer, Rest In Peace, in your astral vegetable patch, and may you enjoy an endless supply of bacon, cheese curd and gravy.

*Yes, I’ve been told that many times and I’m sure they will get the same.

 

Picture from here and here...I had nothing to do with it's creation, but it's very pretty don't you think?

Daydreaming

From my desk I can see the planes flying over the Star Casino, and I often think to myself, which far flung place are you going to?


Then I think where would I be if I could be anywhere but here? The first, quick answer is usually, anywhere but here.

This morning was no exception, after a hideous Monday morning trip to work. I had a twelve minute walk to the station because the parking situation is so bad at my local station, but I had to go there this morning because I needed to buy a ticket. The walk and queue for ticket caused to me miss my train by about 30 seconds. A fifteen minute wait for the next one stretched in 30 when the 9:01 was cancelled.

If I'd known that the train was cancelled sooner I could have walked back to my car to to get my phone from the front seat, which I noticed was missing from my bag when I got my purse out to pay for my ticket.

Once on the train, it was packed. That's what happens when a train gets cancelled. A big bottomed Indian man sat next to and his friend across the aisle. Not having my phone I was unable to block them out with noise cancelling headphones, so had to focus on the sprayed artwork of hyena, soup and wayward. They are very naughty boys with a passion for purple, yellow and silver, but they do help the time pass as you figure out what's new on the canvas' of walls, signal boxes and fine wire mesh.

I got to work at 10.

Some days it's better if you don't have to get out of bed.

URGENT!

What does the word URGENT mean to you?

To me it means some thing that requires a rapid response and quick solution.


Once again I find myself frustrated by the behaviour of others. I know I can not control the actions of others, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to shout, ‘Come on, get your act together!’

Over three weeks ago (in August) my CV was submitted for a job and then two days later I was asked to provide more detailed information about a particular time period. The advert said the person selected was required to start ASAP as it was an urgent requirement.

I’m still waiting to receive any further feedback on my CV or be asked to attend an interview.

I am going through an agent and I have followed up a couple of times. Today I was told it can take up to four week to receive feedback.

I would like to clarify my understanding of the word is correct and it is:  Dictionary.com defines the adjective, urgent, in three ways, but the most relevant one to this is use is;  'compelling or requiring immediate action or attention; imperative; pressing: an urgent matter.'


Considering the nature of the business that I have applied for; it worries me that urgent doesn’t seem to mean to them what it means to everyone else in the world.

If I had an emergency and I called these people for assistance, I would expect a rapid response, as would anyone else calling them. It’s likely that I would get one too; depending on want other emergency situations there were happening at the same time as mine.

Clearly filling the civilian roles they have advertised have now fallen from the top of the to-do-list due to drive by shootings, robberies, traffic control and kittens stuck up trees.

I understand these things are important, but it’s either urgent or its not?

Please say what you mean and mean what you say.

Picture borrowed from here, I had nothing to do with creating it!

Black Beard

It be International Talk Like Pirate Day today me hearties, yarrr, and as Cap'n of this ship, I feel the day has sailed well for a lily livered scoundrel.

The sun will soon set fer ya all in Aussie and I'll walk the plank to a better place (home). The land lubbers that we office dwellers are, we'll scatter to the four winds until the morrow.

So drink up me hearties, for another 364 days we must wait, before we can don our eye patches, dress in threads of the ocean and doff our tricorns to sea going scallywags of days of yore.

Yarrr, barrel of rum, me hearty?






Picture borrowed from here, I had nothing to do with creating it!

World gone mad

Do you remember when you were a child? Playing on your scooter, push-bike or strap-on roller skates outside the house? Round and round you'd go for hours. Mum and Dad had told you where you could go to and you daren't go beyond those limits.

My brother and I were allowed to go over to the woods. A small crop of trees on the edge of a playing field across the road from our house. He was allowed to go into the field with his friends and play football while I was to stay in the woods, climb trees (yes, I climbed tress) or made Mud Pies.

We would be out of sight of Muv and/or Dad for hours. Muv would be inside cooking up a storm or out in the back garden tending the veggies, while Dad would be servicing the taxi.

Just to prove how crazy the world has become a woman, Tammy Cooper, has been arrested for letting her children (aged 6 and 9) play in the cul-de-sac outside her house unsupervised. Shock horror!

I wouldn't want to be the neighbour that reported her to the police for abandonment.

Is the world really such an awful place now that a mother can't watch her children from the kitchen or the comfort of a lawn chair? Do we really have stand over our children 24/7?

I'm so glad I was given the chance:

- to play in the mud without being told, 'get out.'

- to learn the hard way that sticks do not make good imitation cigarettes. I fell over and landed on the stick injuring the back of my throat.

- to learn, never borrow a bike from a kid you just met and ride it really fast down a hill, because the brakes may not work. Cue fat lip, grazed knuckles and scabs covering the right side of the face.

- Stinging nettles hurt a lot when you fall from a tree into a patch.

- and don't jump into the deep end of the pool when you can't swim, it get really ugly real quick until that 10 year old saves you.

Kids have to learn lessons. They only get some lessons when they go out into the world. The front garden and safety of the cul-de-sac you live in is the very edge of the world and needs to be explored when you're in running while crying distance from home.

The police need to question the intentions of the neighbour and how they reacted. Surely when the woman you've come to arrest approaches you because she's seen you arrive it's clear she hasn't abandoned her children in her own front garden.

Charges have been dropped and Tammy is going after the police by suing them. Only in America?






Picture borrowed from here, I had nothing to do with creating it!

Intelligence

Yesterday morning, Rizzo the chicken managed to evade me. She didn't want to go back into the chicken house after the morning scratch, so she squeezed her deceptively skinny body out of the run. After I'd tried to encourage her back, she used the compost bin and then the potting shelf to get onto the top on the chicken house. I couldn't get her up there.


After the roof, she moved into a tree.

This all took about three minutes. A bird that can't fly and is notoriously dumb figured out if she got up high, the predator (that's me) couldn't reach her.

I came home after dark and couldn't find her. I feared she may have fluttered down into the garden behind us. There be two big dogs there that wouldn't have taken kindly to her intrusion. She may have wandered a little further into the garden of the family I have no doubt would have had her on a spit by lunchtime (I know this from conversations and experience).

Turns out she was next door, she's safe there because the three lazy brothers live there. I'll go and get her when she roosts later.

It maybe nature that send her high and hide when she perceives danger, but I think it's pretty smart she figured out how to get high so quickly while running around clucking. Most animals will avoid danger rather than run headlong into it.


So why is it that humans, supposedly the smartest creatures on earth can't figure out that avoiding agro is better than starting it? That violence begets violence and posters and banners spewing hate messages only affirms what some were already thinking, which in turn leads to more violence.

Live in peace, spread no messages of hate and remember when you're out on your own, you're much more vulnerable and more easily picked off, which no one really wants...

...unless they fancy chicken for dinner.

Mid Life

In just under three weeks, I’ll be turning 40. I don’t have an issue with aging. I know I’ll do it disgracefully and I have no issue with that. What I do have an issue with is doing a job I hate, working for the man to spend the rest of my life struggling financially.


I asked a question on my Twitter this morning; ‘In this day and age: what’s the point of being a good and helpful person? Really, I’d like to know why I waste my time.’

I asked this because last night a buxom, burlesque dancer that I photographed for free as part of an event asked me to remove the photos I had taken of her because of ‘unflattering angles’. She asked me to leave a couple as they where beautiful. I had carefully selected all the photos posted so as not to show skin rolls (no easy task), smiles (plenty of those) and to show the very essence of her performance. Despite her size she had grace, elegance and dancing skills of a woman considerable smaller. I removed all the photos I had taken.

I give my time for free because I enjoy taking pictures in a challenging environment (lots of movement, bad lighting and having to ask people if they'd like their photo taken). In total I spend three hours at the event (it's a fortnightly thing), then up to three hours processing the pictures. It usually costs me $10 to park the car, plus the petrol to and from the event. So when asked ‘as an artist I have to careful of how I’m seen’, I say, as an artist and someone who isn’t being paid, I was doing you a favour by giving you free publicity, so you get nothing’.

I’m sick of ungrateful people, just taking. It seems that the world has more of them these days

When Leo Durocher said, ‘Nice guys finish last’, I’m sure he was talking about baseball, but you know what, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s in all walks of life.

I’ve lived my life as a good person. I help old ladies out, I ask homeless people, ‘have you eaten today?’ and follow through when they say no. I volunteer my time to a number of non for profit organisations. And you know, when I try and do something for me, I get nothing back. So I’m taking it back. I’m not going to commit to anymore volunteer things that cost me money. I’m going to do something for me and anyone with an opinion can go f*ck themselves.

I’m not saying I don’t have a few supporters, I do, and thank you to those of you that ‘get’ me.

So this is my plan.

I’m going to get a part-time job and study full time. I may, if I have to, sell everything of value that I own and get a housemate (that really is the last resort).

I think I can cope with a job I hate if I only have to do it three days a week.

I haven’t brought a sports car or a flash motorbike…but I do believe this is what they call a midlife crisis

Finally something the middle classed white lady can talk about at stand-up comedy!

Audition

I have 50 minutes to kill before leaving the office today. I may do some work in the time, but it’s more likely I’ll blog, read a story or two from the newspaper, but I’m most likely to try and learn my lines for the audition I’m about to attend.


Why am I going to an audition, you ask. Because I can, is my reply.

I may have mentioned this before but I’m not entirely satisfied with my current career progression. I think I know what I want to do and were I want to go, but in the mean time of making that happen I’m doing other stuff.

Can I cut it as a presenter on a TV channel dedicated to career development and work/life balance?

I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.

Welcome to WorksTV, I am your host, Jodie! [cue smile]

Temper temper

I have noticed recently people are getting angrier on the roads.

This morning when I was driving the train station I was on the receiving end of driver aggression.  I’m not sure it would classify as road rage.  I was caught in the wrong lane and put my indictor on.  I then slipped into a space that was more than large enough to fit my tiny car into, in front of the white van of a plumber.  I know he was a plumber because his branding was all over the van, along with his phone number.  What happened next was the start of a few minutes of road harassment.

First he lent of his horn for a prolonged period of time.  More than enough to show his displeasure you’d think.

Then he proceeded to tailgate me for a about a kilometre, all the time making hand gestures that would make a sailor blush, of course I just laughed it off and resisted temptation to brake suddenly.

Then, as the road widened to two lanes, I moved over to let him pass, and pass he did, only to rapidly pull back in front of me (sans indication), before speeding off and into the other lane.  Further up the road he pulled back into the left lane without indicating. 

Over now you’d think.  Ohh now…he was now still really angry about my indication and moving front of him over five minutes ago.

As I pulled up level with him again at traffic lights, two lanes away, I caught him make gestures at me from the corner of my eye.  I didn’t feel the need to look at him and give him the satisfaction of screaming at my silently and I really didn’t want him to see me smiling at his ridiculous behaviour.

Of course, I second guessed myself.  Had a cut in too close?  No, I could clearly see his entire front in my side mirror and over my shoulder.  I’d been indicating for at least 20 seconds…which we all know is ages when sat in a traffic queue and I know he’d seen it because we’d got eye contact in the mirror.

Yesterday, in the news was a story about a young woman being followed home before the attacking driver ran over her Dad and threatened them with a knife, all because she merged in front of him.

Are we losing all perspective of what’s a good thing and what’s a bad thing?

An actor gets saved while out kayaking – he gets blasted for pulling a publicity stunt, maybe he really was lost and was genuinely thankful for the save.  While not really news, kinda of feel good story that should be taken for what it is, not vilified.

A woman gets abused so badly online she makes an attempt on her own life after being repeatedly told to ‘go kill herself’ – she gets blasted for bringing it upon herself, she should have just turned off and heeded the old adage of stick and stones.  No, she should be able to conduct her life and work without being abused by hidden cowards with anger issues.

A woman tries to merge on a busy highway, a requirement of getting from A to B in a motor vehicle and experienced countless times a day by hundreds of thousands of drivers around the world - she gets followed home and threatened with a knife

I get abused for changing lanes while indicating and called an ‘attention seeking whore’ for looking for my dog.

I do believe the world really has gone crazy.

Can we all just calm down and look at our behaviour towards others.  We all have a life to lead.  For the most part we try to do so without interfering too much in each others lives.  We’re all busy, your time is worth no less than mine.  We all just want to live peacefully.  In the end it all comes back to what George Bernard Shaw said in 1903:

'Do not do unto others as you would that they should do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same.'    

On the Up?

Things continue to go from bad to worse on the work front.


Personally though, things have remained fairly static with a very slight elevation.

A week ago I got massive laughs during a stand-up set, which I pretty much winged. While much of the material had bee written before I tried loads of new stuff and it worked. Always a good thing. My next gig is at 8pm on 7th September at the Comedy Court on George Street, Sydney, in case you’re interested.

The last weekend was fun and after lots of fun in the garden I feel like I actually want to sort sh*t out on the home front. It’s been a while since I actually wanted to do anything that related to keeping my environment clean and tidy, but despite being exhausted when I get home from my work day, I do a little something that may, in the long run contribute to a cleaner home space.

My veggie patch has started to produce food. Yay! For the next six months I’ll be able to go into the garden and pluck sustenance from the ground. I’m sorry, but there really is no better feeling than eating freshly picked produce. For the last three days I’ve been able to use my home grown greens in my dinner and also eggs laid by the Pink Ladies in omelettes, scrambled and poached.

With the better weather comes more vitamin D which in turn makes you feel better generally, so hopefully, there will be less depression and more happiness in my future.

Now please enjoy this picture of my dinner from last night. Everything is from the garden except the Holumi cheese (and the tiny bit of fresh ground pepper) :-)

Down

While my small creamy coloured dog has been missing I have found the big black one barking at the back door and paws on the window sill on many occasions. My attempts to scare him away have only succeeded in getting him out of the garden and my near vicinity.

This morning he got in and landed on the bed with a thud. Pinning me down.

I’m not sure how he got in, but I think the cracks have expanded over the last few weeks while I have been wrestling with a couple of issues. These cracks have clearly been ignored by me as I’ve focused on trying to think my way through my problems.

While in the grander scheme of things that effect the wider world, my problems are meaningless and insignificant, but one thing I’ve learned, when you’re dealing with things alone, they can often become all consuming to the exclusion of all others.

I find myself trying to claw my way through financial worries, still. My attempts to bring it all to a speedier conclusion seem to be ticking along, but a little support would be nice.

My work situation is interesting to say the least and the least said the better.

Which bring me to the overarching issue: companionship. As much as I love my fur family I find it really hard to ask them to help out about the place. When I have to change a light bulb, if I was to fall off the step ladder and broke my neck, they would be pretty useless at calling the emergency services. They are crap at helping move logs in and even worse at doing any kind of housework.

I discovered this when I had a kidney stone and spent several days in hospital alone until someone came to visit. The chicken shed I’ve had for nearly a year that has been partially erected (yes, kiddies I said erected), the fact that I still haven’t seen Batman 3 because I have no one to go with. Actually I haven’t been to the movies in months and I love the movies. What’s the point of going if you come out with that urge to discuss but turn to empty air?

People laugh at me when I say I’m learning the recorder…I do that so I’m not sitting at home alone, it gives me a focus.

When people criticise my choice to be a Tupperware Lady, I do that because a, I love the product and genuinely believe it’s great but b, so I can get out of the house, meet people and as an added bonus make a little cash. I’ve been told ‘You’re better than that’ but has it every occurred to people that I do actually enjoy it and would rather not wait tables or pull pints in shift work.

When people ask why I drive to Canberra to perform 10 minutes of stand-up comedy, it’s because no one comes to see me in Sydney and people actually do when I go to Canberra. The weird thing is, people have actually been to see me multiple times in Canberra…they even get to see my new material.

When people say I should only photograph things that pay…that’s nice if I never actually wanted to photograph anything and I didn’t do it to get out of the house.

When people say to me I should stop looking for my missing dog. When the dreams of vivisection, abuse and overfeeding stop and I know what happened to her, I’ll stop looking. A need to know her fate drives me to do the things I do, with little or no physical or emotional support. Would you give up looking for your loved one if they went missing, and NO, it’s no different because she isn’t ‘ just a dog’.

I do things that get me out of the house and interacting with human beings. As much as I hate the general public it sometimes feels better to be alone in company than alone, alone.

I shall have three days of companionship this weekend then it will be over for another undisclosed period of time. Time to move on I think, the hope that it will lead to more has hit a point in reality that I don’t like, but I need to start living my life with a view to the future. Cold turkey. Rip the band-aid off and visit the doctor for more brain numbing drugs. While I should be looking forward to this brief time of fun, laughter and adventure, I find myself half dreading it because I know it will be over before it’s even begun.

A long term future with some genuine human companionship would be a rather pleasant thing I feel. I do still feel.

fingerfriend hugs by FCImages

Karma?

I’ve grown up hearing the names Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. Their images are instantly recognizable to me, just as I could tell you who Pope John Paul II, Clint Eastwood and James Cagney are.
They are famous, or should I say infamous, murderers and rapists from 1960s England.

Like all people of infamy they have been glamourised by some, but for the most part vilified as they rightly deserve. Between them they sexual assaulted and tortured five children (that they admitted and where convicted of, but unofficial numbers are higher) between July 1963 and October 1965. They were convicted in 1966. Before I was even born, but their names often popped up.

In the mid 80s they gained a tremendous amount of press when they returned to scene of their crime to find the graves of their victim, but could only find one.

In 1995, Hindley was in the news again, but this time for her mugshot being used as the basis for a portrait painted by Marcus Harvey using children sized hand prints.

Hindley died at the age of 60 in 2002 in jail.
Today I saw the name Ian Brady in the paper and though, surely he’s dead now, but apparently not.

I read this story and felt hope for the family of Keith Bennett.

It was the last line of the story was what caught my eye and brought out a very rare, extreme, non-humane reaction from me.

‘The tribunal was to consider Brady's application to be transferred to a Scottish prison and be allowed to die. He has been tube-fed since refusing food 12 years ago.’

My immediate reaction to this was ‘Let the f*cker suffer!’
Then I reconsidered.  At 72, is it right that he be allowed to die or should he be forced to continue to suffer?  Does that make his captors as bad as he?

I know say, let him die and maybe, just maybe his name will cease to reoccur in our lives to remind us of the evil he and his girlfriend perpetrated forty odd years ago.

    NOTE: the image was taken form here and the copyright belongs to them, not me.