Who likes cats? You do? Well, that's fine and jim-dandy for you. As to me, when the question is asked, my hands tend to remain at my sides. I've never been fond of the snotty creatures, although I would never be cruel to one because as a rule I love animals. But today I had to clean an elderly gentleman's apartment, and part of it involved cleaning a kitty litter tray, which for me is practically Barfing Central.
You know what else I did today? My FB group were set a challenge to find a song with several incarnations. And what did I find? No less than five versions of 'Tell Laura I Love Her'. I found Ray Peterson and Ricky Valance. I found an even more over-wrought one by Johnny T Angel. I found the one I remembered from my little tacker days being by New Zealand band Creation. And I also found a rather campy and fun one from US 50s tribute band Sha Na Na. It really puzzles me that it was in musical history deemed necessary to have five - FIVE - versions of this song that can simultaneously make you want to stick your head in a gas oven, cry your eyes out, and/or vomit up a major bodily organ. Personally, I go with the first and last options, and skip the middle one. Can you believe the Johnny T Angel one has sounds effects like a car combusting on the race track and ambulance sirens? I'm not a studio engineer, but I will still point out this doesn't really help. If anything, it makes the song even more schlocky and laughable. The bloke who did vocals for Creation really does have a nice voice, but how did he apply it to this festering dung heap of a song and keep a straight face? No matter who covers this song, it doesn't alter the fact that Tommy would have to have been one of the greatest fuckwits in the history of the popular song, and Laura is better off without him.
I will be following the fallout of this stripper scandal at the AFL grand final with interest. Or with eye-rolling. To be honest, I don't approve of this act being booked in a corporate box. Because the box does not appear to have been all that private, and could be seen by people who should not be watching, ie, children. And people who did not wish to be subjected to tawdry spectacles. There is a time and place, folks, that's all. This will seriously damage the brand of whoever the holder of that box is. I'm sure I've mentioned before a similar scandal from my late twenties when I attended a function at a barristers' chambers, and someone thought it would be the height of cleverness to book a stripper. It was not. It was actually dispiriting to watch grown, educated men acting like lobotomised trolls. Not wishing to trudge around in a dress and heels as I sought a taxi, I made my way to the ladies and started to change into jeans and a shirt. I was in my underwear, the door was opened and a naked stripper came running in. I looked at her, and looked at myself, and asked, 'Have I overdressed?' (By the way, I cannot resist pointing out I looked a damn sight hotter than she did!). The woman laughed, but was a bit upset and confused at having had her show cancelled. I pointed out her show was not appropriate for this party, but it was not her fault as she wasn't to have known that, and whoever did the booking should have exercised some common sense. Kind of like whoever was involved in the sleazy romping and cavorting at the AFL Grand Final.
Well, I might practise what I am to read at the Scone Writers' Festival this weekend, and hopefully get some copies of 'Silver Studs and Sabre Teeth' sold. I am also going to flop onto the couch and watch 'Q&A' when the time comes. What will tonight bring? Given Chris Pyne is a guest, probably some very disapproving glances. I'm sure he doesn't mean to, but he often pulls faces like an old maid who's been propositioned in church.
Monday 29 September 2014
Wednesday 24 September 2014
Indies To Be Re-Watched
Yesterday, I dragged my novel-in-progress off the back burner and actually did some work on it. I am about to do a bit more work. Was going to do even more work tomorrow, but have been called in to work/cover a shift, and given my electricity bill arrived yesterday, and it was a SHOCKER (boom-tish!), I need all the extra buck-a-roonies I can earn.
But when I have done my work, I might just head off to the DVD hire franchise, and see if I can get out 'Dazed and Confused' tonight. I'm not talking about any Led Zeppelin flick, but an indie flick that has just celebrated its 21st birthday. Yes. Time flies like a mythological, rapid night-thing. I went and saw this film at the Valhalla in Glebe, accompanied with two of my cousins, and my cousin's then girlfriend (now wife). I used to love going to independent cinemas like the Valhalla. And I love watching movies like 'Dazed and Confused', which is set on the last day of school in 1976, in the US. Yes, I know it's the US, and I know I finished school in the Eighties, but those themes of the end of year party and getting drunk and groped can be identified with by most people. The film also has a soundtrack that just kicks arse of all description. It's got Kiss. It's got The Runaways. It's got Ted Nugent. Some of the music in the film isn't actually on the soundtrack CD I bought years ago, but I can put those tracks on my iPod. The tracks I'm thinking of are 'Summer Breeze' by Seals and Croft, and 'No More Mr Nice Guy' by Alice Cooper (I can download them onto my iPod). The latter track accompanies a rather awful scene, but it's brilliantly set up and filmed. A kid - freshman, I think - called Mitch is set upon by the seniors, and has the stuffing whacked out of his arse with a paddle. One of the sadistic fuckers is played by an almost unrecognisable Ben Affleck, although in this film he does bear a scary resemblance to one of my husband's uncles. The music, the kid being tracked down by the seniors, the pain on the kid's face, the cruel triumph of his attackers, the show-mo shots to me make one hell of a scene. So, I might hire it out, like I said.
Well, I've got to get typing. The scene I'm working on in my project is set in 1983 or so, and the character is making her debut. This is in no way autobiographical. Although of appropriate age then, I did not make my debut. I did not make it at any time. Whilst maintaining the view it is fine for others, I do believe I would sooner sit down and chow down on a big box of hair than partake in this ritual. There was a deb ball announced in my town at the salient time, and many girls of my age group rounded up partners, but I couldn't stomach the idea. Also, I was a bit shy to ask a boy to partner me. The other debs were twerps from Year 11, and I did not wish to be frolicking around in a long white gown, flowers in my auburn locks, wishing I was anywhere else, alongside this lot. My cousin made her debut (in another town), and I attended as a guest because we have always been very close. We went to an after-party, swilled Dr Jurd's Jungle Juice, and some bloke said to me, 'Has anyone ever told you you've got hair like Boy George?' I replied, 'They do if they want to die.'
But when I have done my work, I might just head off to the DVD hire franchise, and see if I can get out 'Dazed and Confused' tonight. I'm not talking about any Led Zeppelin flick, but an indie flick that has just celebrated its 21st birthday. Yes. Time flies like a mythological, rapid night-thing. I went and saw this film at the Valhalla in Glebe, accompanied with two of my cousins, and my cousin's then girlfriend (now wife). I used to love going to independent cinemas like the Valhalla. And I love watching movies like 'Dazed and Confused', which is set on the last day of school in 1976, in the US. Yes, I know it's the US, and I know I finished school in the Eighties, but those themes of the end of year party and getting drunk and groped can be identified with by most people. The film also has a soundtrack that just kicks arse of all description. It's got Kiss. It's got The Runaways. It's got Ted Nugent. Some of the music in the film isn't actually on the soundtrack CD I bought years ago, but I can put those tracks on my iPod. The tracks I'm thinking of are 'Summer Breeze' by Seals and Croft, and 'No More Mr Nice Guy' by Alice Cooper (I can download them onto my iPod). The latter track accompanies a rather awful scene, but it's brilliantly set up and filmed. A kid - freshman, I think - called Mitch is set upon by the seniors, and has the stuffing whacked out of his arse with a paddle. One of the sadistic fuckers is played by an almost unrecognisable Ben Affleck, although in this film he does bear a scary resemblance to one of my husband's uncles. The music, the kid being tracked down by the seniors, the pain on the kid's face, the cruel triumph of his attackers, the show-mo shots to me make one hell of a scene. So, I might hire it out, like I said.
Well, I've got to get typing. The scene I'm working on in my project is set in 1983 or so, and the character is making her debut. This is in no way autobiographical. Although of appropriate age then, I did not make my debut. I did not make it at any time. Whilst maintaining the view it is fine for others, I do believe I would sooner sit down and chow down on a big box of hair than partake in this ritual. There was a deb ball announced in my town at the salient time, and many girls of my age group rounded up partners, but I couldn't stomach the idea. Also, I was a bit shy to ask a boy to partner me. The other debs were twerps from Year 11, and I did not wish to be frolicking around in a long white gown, flowers in my auburn locks, wishing I was anywhere else, alongside this lot. My cousin made her debut (in another town), and I attended as a guest because we have always been very close. We went to an after-party, swilled Dr Jurd's Jungle Juice, and some bloke said to me, 'Has anyone ever told you you've got hair like Boy George?' I replied, 'They do if they want to die.'
Monday 22 September 2014
What Bingells Did Today
In the event you are reading this, and care, here are the things I did today:
1. Defied physics and engineering (and my husband's prediction) by actually getting all four of my dining chairs into my Magna, and drove them to a nearby town to be reupholstered. I made this decision a few weeks ago, when I sat down to dinner and was stabbed in the buttock with a nail-or-staple poking through the fabric, and saw the 'cushion' sags downward, and they look more like those chairs designed for people stricken with haemorrhoids. They are going to look magnificent with the bright green shiny fabric I have chosen (they're kind of heritage looking, so it's going to go just fine). It's a new lease of life for these lovely old chairs. I inherited them from my late aunt. I can recall having dinner at her house on these chairs, and I'm sure they have had this same fabric for at least thirty years. The craftswoman who will do the work says they have had an upholstering at some stage of their life, but I cannot recall it. I do look forward to not sitting on a chair that could only please a Fakir, anyway.
2. Downloaded 'Summer Rain' by Johnny Rivers onto my iPod. This song is magnificence on a musical stave, isn't it? It's just one of the most wonderfully evocative songs. I always feel like kicking back and cuddling with a loved one, listening to the rain and sipping wine. This is strange, because I'm not drinking a lot lately. Drank too much last weekend, and am detoxing myself somewhat. Anyway, it's all laid-backiness, Woodstockiness, don't-give-a-shitness. I have always liked it.
3. I also downloaded 'Hey, You' by Bachman Turner Overdrive. I have loved this song since I was a kid - my older sister had their album, and although everyone knows the stuttering 'You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet', this is an often overlooked and underrated one. Give it a listen, peeps.
4. Sighed. A lot. This is because I appear to have acquired a troll. I'm not afraid, just perplexed. It's not just me being 'trolled', it's other admins of this FB site of which I am admin. Someone is like a dog with a bone, like a snappy turtle gripping a twig in its jaws, like a Cyclops in his single-eyed vision about what's wrong with the world. Well, us lot, anyway. I've been personally mentioned in a blog, and possibly on his Twitter account. Does this mean I've finally made it in the crazy old world of show business? I do hope this guy finds another hobby horse soon.
5. Put forward my interest in reading from my latest book at the Scone Writer's Festival, which will be held on the long weekend in October. This is the first time the event is to be held, and local writers are very excited about it. One of my colleagues will launch her next book on the Friday night, and I might take along one of my children. There is to be a discussion on the Sunday on digital vs paper. I might take along another of my children, but he will doubtless be bored and whine. 'Stop bitching and get some culcha in ya!' will be my considered reply.
6. Put up some pictures on my FB page from my father's 85th birthday party last Saturday. I was able to include some old newspaper clippings of some of his exploits over the years (he's a very well known former rough rider, and one of the pics was of him buckjumping - former Australian buckjumping champ, no less - and this was in the days when they did it tough; TEN seconds, and not this wussy eight seconds business). I did the speech on behalf of my siblings, and it was a mighty fine one, if I do say so myself. My sister-in-law arranged for a power point presentation, which was quite poignant in some places, as some included my mother, who is no longer with us.
Well, that's it for now. Tomorrow, I am going to get back into my work-in-progress. I also have to plan a lesson for a class I am hoping to teach next term - mature age students. Exciting stuff, exciting times ahead. I hope.
1. Defied physics and engineering (and my husband's prediction) by actually getting all four of my dining chairs into my Magna, and drove them to a nearby town to be reupholstered. I made this decision a few weeks ago, when I sat down to dinner and was stabbed in the buttock with a nail-or-staple poking through the fabric, and saw the 'cushion' sags downward, and they look more like those chairs designed for people stricken with haemorrhoids. They are going to look magnificent with the bright green shiny fabric I have chosen (they're kind of heritage looking, so it's going to go just fine). It's a new lease of life for these lovely old chairs. I inherited them from my late aunt. I can recall having dinner at her house on these chairs, and I'm sure they have had this same fabric for at least thirty years. The craftswoman who will do the work says they have had an upholstering at some stage of their life, but I cannot recall it. I do look forward to not sitting on a chair that could only please a Fakir, anyway.
2. Downloaded 'Summer Rain' by Johnny Rivers onto my iPod. This song is magnificence on a musical stave, isn't it? It's just one of the most wonderfully evocative songs. I always feel like kicking back and cuddling with a loved one, listening to the rain and sipping wine. This is strange, because I'm not drinking a lot lately. Drank too much last weekend, and am detoxing myself somewhat. Anyway, it's all laid-backiness, Woodstockiness, don't-give-a-shitness. I have always liked it.
3. I also downloaded 'Hey, You' by Bachman Turner Overdrive. I have loved this song since I was a kid - my older sister had their album, and although everyone knows the stuttering 'You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet', this is an often overlooked and underrated one. Give it a listen, peeps.
4. Sighed. A lot. This is because I appear to have acquired a troll. I'm not afraid, just perplexed. It's not just me being 'trolled', it's other admins of this FB site of which I am admin. Someone is like a dog with a bone, like a snappy turtle gripping a twig in its jaws, like a Cyclops in his single-eyed vision about what's wrong with the world. Well, us lot, anyway. I've been personally mentioned in a blog, and possibly on his Twitter account. Does this mean I've finally made it in the crazy old world of show business? I do hope this guy finds another hobby horse soon.
5. Put forward my interest in reading from my latest book at the Scone Writer's Festival, which will be held on the long weekend in October. This is the first time the event is to be held, and local writers are very excited about it. One of my colleagues will launch her next book on the Friday night, and I might take along one of my children. There is to be a discussion on the Sunday on digital vs paper. I might take along another of my children, but he will doubtless be bored and whine. 'Stop bitching and get some culcha in ya!' will be my considered reply.
6. Put up some pictures on my FB page from my father's 85th birthday party last Saturday. I was able to include some old newspaper clippings of some of his exploits over the years (he's a very well known former rough rider, and one of the pics was of him buckjumping - former Australian buckjumping champ, no less - and this was in the days when they did it tough; TEN seconds, and not this wussy eight seconds business). I did the speech on behalf of my siblings, and it was a mighty fine one, if I do say so myself. My sister-in-law arranged for a power point presentation, which was quite poignant in some places, as some included my mother, who is no longer with us.
Well, that's it for now. Tomorrow, I am going to get back into my work-in-progress. I also have to plan a lesson for a class I am hoping to teach next term - mature age students. Exciting stuff, exciting times ahead. I hope.
Wednesday 17 September 2014
Wonky Wardrobes & Offended Oldies
Dear Whoever Built The Wardrobes That Were Finally Delivered To My House Nine Weeks Post-Order Date Today (And Four Months Post-Flood That Necessitated Said New Wardrobes),
My husband and I did not pay a substantial sum for what is very shoddily built pieces of junk with maybe 25% pine, with the rest consisting of ply and compressed sawdust, okay? The 'lid' doesn't even fit the top of the wardrobe, the hinges stick out like the engorged testicles of an aroused Irish wolfhound, the doors shifted unevenly when they were stood upright. I understand a solidly constructed piece of furniture should not have that movement. The back of this laughable item is as flimsy as a house of cards. I was wondering had we accidentally received a movie prop - you know, where a chair is whacked over someone's head in a bar fight and said chair comes apart? This is simply not good enough. My husband and I (to quote the Queen) are at this point in time exhausted and furious. We will be contacting the outlet through which we purchased your scungy piles of kindling, and letting them know our displeasure. Whoever you are, you are seriously the world's shittiest carpenter. It took us ages to get the fucking wardrobes here, so long in fact, I wondered were you actually building an ark to stuff two of every animal onto instead of building or wardrobes. Before the articles arrived, I had been looking forward to getting my clothes packed away tomorrow, instead of hanging around in washing baskets in the house and making my house look more shambolic than it needs to look. But now my house is even more cluttered because I have two useless bits of furniture, courtesy of you. I am on holiday this week, and my holiday is ruined because I am in a state of extreme piss-off.
Holiday did start spectacularly well, caught up with family and friends in Sydney. It was with resignation I realised I can no longer rock and roll all night, and party every day. I am not sure wine is my friend anymore.
Holiday continued pleasantly enough yesterday, when I was invited to speak to a few senior women about writing, and books, and publication. I enjoyed my little chat, and I think they did, too. But at question time, I had to fight not to roll my eyes. One woman told me she gets out the large-print books for her mother (I sat there in amazement; her mother must be older than God), and she asked me why it was necessary for large print books to have the F-word in them. Her mother, as it happens, finds this offensive. I pointed out that if the word was in the original book, then it is not going to be removed just because the font size has been changed, and suggested her mother might want to consider other authors. The woman demanded to know why it was necessary to have swearing in books (shit, should have read her some of 'Silver Studs and Sabre Teeth'!), and I said that although I find commonplace swearing annoying myself (I'm swearing in this post because I'm cranky, and that's different), the fact is people do it, and if I believe one of my characters would swear, then I will have that character swear and offer no apology about it, when it's important for the integrity of the art and character. Lucky I didn't give my talk after the delivery of my wardrobes, because I think my response would have been a tad more base. Something along the lines of, 'A work cannot be changed just because one person finds a word troublesome, and if your mother has a problem with this, tell her to read Enid-Fucking-Blyton!' Seriously, would you put a pair of underpants on Michelangelo's David?
So what will tomorrow bring? I will crawl off to bed and find out soon enough, I guess. I have truly had enough tonight.
My husband and I did not pay a substantial sum for what is very shoddily built pieces of junk with maybe 25% pine, with the rest consisting of ply and compressed sawdust, okay? The 'lid' doesn't even fit the top of the wardrobe, the hinges stick out like the engorged testicles of an aroused Irish wolfhound, the doors shifted unevenly when they were stood upright. I understand a solidly constructed piece of furniture should not have that movement. The back of this laughable item is as flimsy as a house of cards. I was wondering had we accidentally received a movie prop - you know, where a chair is whacked over someone's head in a bar fight and said chair comes apart? This is simply not good enough. My husband and I (to quote the Queen) are at this point in time exhausted and furious. We will be contacting the outlet through which we purchased your scungy piles of kindling, and letting them know our displeasure. Whoever you are, you are seriously the world's shittiest carpenter. It took us ages to get the fucking wardrobes here, so long in fact, I wondered were you actually building an ark to stuff two of every animal onto instead of building or wardrobes. Before the articles arrived, I had been looking forward to getting my clothes packed away tomorrow, instead of hanging around in washing baskets in the house and making my house look more shambolic than it needs to look. But now my house is even more cluttered because I have two useless bits of furniture, courtesy of you. I am on holiday this week, and my holiday is ruined because I am in a state of extreme piss-off.
Holiday did start spectacularly well, caught up with family and friends in Sydney. It was with resignation I realised I can no longer rock and roll all night, and party every day. I am not sure wine is my friend anymore.
Holiday continued pleasantly enough yesterday, when I was invited to speak to a few senior women about writing, and books, and publication. I enjoyed my little chat, and I think they did, too. But at question time, I had to fight not to roll my eyes. One woman told me she gets out the large-print books for her mother (I sat there in amazement; her mother must be older than God), and she asked me why it was necessary for large print books to have the F-word in them. Her mother, as it happens, finds this offensive. I pointed out that if the word was in the original book, then it is not going to be removed just because the font size has been changed, and suggested her mother might want to consider other authors. The woman demanded to know why it was necessary to have swearing in books (shit, should have read her some of 'Silver Studs and Sabre Teeth'!), and I said that although I find commonplace swearing annoying myself (I'm swearing in this post because I'm cranky, and that's different), the fact is people do it, and if I believe one of my characters would swear, then I will have that character swear and offer no apology about it, when it's important for the integrity of the art and character. Lucky I didn't give my talk after the delivery of my wardrobes, because I think my response would have been a tad more base. Something along the lines of, 'A work cannot be changed just because one person finds a word troublesome, and if your mother has a problem with this, tell her to read Enid-Fucking-Blyton!' Seriously, would you put a pair of underpants on Michelangelo's David?
So what will tomorrow bring? I will crawl off to bed and find out soon enough, I guess. I have truly had enough tonight.
Thursday 11 September 2014
Rameses II, and Overwrought Bleating Song Lyrics
Although coping well enough during the day, this head cold is - ahem! - doing my head in at night. Last night I had not Codral Night Time to help me get through the sleeping hours. So today I dragged my sorry butt to the chemist to get some Day & Night tablets. Look, there are other remedies people rave about, but for me, it's got to be Codral. I enjoy a hot Lemsip, but if I am to sleep, it has to be Codral. It had not been an easy afternoon for me. Won't go into too much detail yet, but I had to do a few things and my 13yo has developed a particular deafness-cum-amnesia associated with gaming; forgetting he was going to help (and I don't care if he is about to battle Boudicca in the frigging x-box game). I did a fair bit yesterday to assist with his Ancient Egypt project, and as mentioned in previous posts, my computer has some annoying ads to be taken care of, ads that pop up like malign Jack-in-the-Boxes when I'm going onto web sites. We were both in such a toxic state of extreme piss-off, we agreed we would go to the library this afternoon and he could download pictures of the magnificent temples constructed at the behest of Rameses II. I kind of enjoyed helping with this project because Rameses II was a rather interesting character, and if you don't know, he died at the age of 90-odd. This to me was of significance given he lived over a thousand years before the accepted timeline of Christ's life; people didn't really live that long back then, to my knowledge. One of the articles suggested Rameses II died from old age. I snorted, 'Ya THINK?', when I read it. My son assures me he is grateful for my assistance, but you really have to wonder with teenagers.
So after being at the library, we traipsed to the marketplace and I went to purchase some Codrals. I really, really get the irrits purchasing Codrals. It is fortunate I hold a driver's licence, and I wonder what people who don't, or cannot drive have to do when their head is stuffed up, their eyes are itching, their sinuses throbbing like bass drum. It irks me no end being asked to produce this ID when all I want to do is buy a box of cold-and-flu remedy. My son asked why this rigmarole was necessary. I explained some flu remedies contain pseudo-ephedrine, which is often used in illegal street drugs. I also stepped on the soapbox and gave one of my patented rants that all I want to do is relieve my symptoms, thus giving me a good night's sleep. I have no intention of cooking up a batch of amphetamines at home, and even if I was, then it's up to the public NOT TO BUY THE DRUGS. I often feel like grabbing pharmaceutical clerks by the lapels and snarling at them to have a good look at me, a bleary-eyed and woeful waif, who cannot pronounce words with 'n' or 't', who is sniffling and giving the old snot-box a good honk into a Kleenex. Do I look like I have the energy to do anything other than taken a dose of the medicine and crawl into bed? Sick of feeling like a criminal, or a Dickensian orphan when I want to get some medicine.
Just a thought: does anyone else rather dislike songs with the lyrics that go along the lines of 'you belong to me' sung in whiny, piteous. mewling tones? Those lyrics are just plain disturbing, unless you're Carly Simon who has a good song of this very name. But I can name a couple of songs with similar lyrics delivered in an overwrought bleat, and all I can think is that I hope the object of their affection (read 'sick fixation') doesn't have a pet rabbit.
So after being at the library, we traipsed to the marketplace and I went to purchase some Codrals. I really, really get the irrits purchasing Codrals. It is fortunate I hold a driver's licence, and I wonder what people who don't, or cannot drive have to do when their head is stuffed up, their eyes are itching, their sinuses throbbing like bass drum. It irks me no end being asked to produce this ID when all I want to do is buy a box of cold-and-flu remedy. My son asked why this rigmarole was necessary. I explained some flu remedies contain pseudo-ephedrine, which is often used in illegal street drugs. I also stepped on the soapbox and gave one of my patented rants that all I want to do is relieve my symptoms, thus giving me a good night's sleep. I have no intention of cooking up a batch of amphetamines at home, and even if I was, then it's up to the public NOT TO BUY THE DRUGS. I often feel like grabbing pharmaceutical clerks by the lapels and snarling at them to have a good look at me, a bleary-eyed and woeful waif, who cannot pronounce words with 'n' or 't', who is sniffling and giving the old snot-box a good honk into a Kleenex. Do I look like I have the energy to do anything other than taken a dose of the medicine and crawl into bed? Sick of feeling like a criminal, or a Dickensian orphan when I want to get some medicine.
Just a thought: does anyone else rather dislike songs with the lyrics that go along the lines of 'you belong to me' sung in whiny, piteous. mewling tones? Those lyrics are just plain disturbing, unless you're Carly Simon who has a good song of this very name. But I can name a couple of songs with similar lyrics delivered in an overwrought bleat, and all I can think is that I hope the object of their affection (read 'sick fixation') doesn't have a pet rabbit.
Monday 8 September 2014
A Productive Little Beaver
Hello, is anyone reading this? I know you're out there; I can hear you all breathing. Well, I shan't be on the computer long because I'm thinking of having a doze before B1 gets home from school. B2 left this morning for his Year 4 Camp excursion. His dad was going along as a parent helper, but was barfing his guts out through the night, so being the nagging wife I am, I put the kybosh on his planned drive today. Powers of the Cosmos willing, he will drive to the campsite tomorrow as it's only about one hour away.
I have been a productive little beaver, when I haven't been sick myself (yeah, I had the bug as well). I have finally made a film clip to accompany the audio of my recorded interview plugging 'Silver Studs and Sabre Teeth'. Given how technologically inept I normally am, this has made me proud. Furthermore, I even got it on You Tube. Yeah, you read that right. I've made a film clip and put it on You Tube. I cannot claim to be any type of Russell Mulcahy, but gentle reader if you go to this link you can see the fruits of my labour and listen to me prattling on: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyrZPTEaWPk.
The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have announced another Royal Bun In The Oven. Maybe it's because I'm tired, or maybe it's because I'm a nark, but I have searched high and low and still cannot find a rat's arse to give. Don't get me wrong, I do think it's nice news for them, but I so don't want to hear commentators gushing like Old Faithful about it, which is what they have been doing all morning. I watched a breakfast television show, and there was simultaneous crossovers to four people! Count 'em, FOUR! I felt like joining in the Twitter conversation thus: married couple aged over thirty have sex and procreate - wow. The Duchess is once again suffering hyperemesis gravidarum, the poor thing. I was lucky. With my first pregnancy the worst I felt was the odd patch of queasiness on the bus en route to work, and I had a plastic bag stuffed into my handbag in case a discreet puke became necessary. I wonder will she end up being hospitalised again? Hopefully the world has learned its lesson. I do not want to hear of idiotic prank calls to overworked hospital staff. I do not want to hear of tragically flawed people ending their own lives. I do not want to hear from singers who were relevant in the Nineties for depressing the snot out of everyone with their music stating the Royals should apologise because she was in hospital for no reason he could see. Arrogant tosser (if you've forgotten or are unsure who I mean, it was Morrissey from The Smiths who went on this bilious rant when that poor woman suicided after the notorious prank call). That aggravated me the most, I think, because the Duchess didn't actively seek out getting so ill that she required hospitalisation, and - I'll type this slowly - she was not responsible for somebody else's decision. Oh, and I don't want to hear about cyber-hactivists who hide behind Guy Fawkes masks issuing threats, too. Strewth, why do there have to be so many drongos in the world?
I have been a productive little beaver, when I haven't been sick myself (yeah, I had the bug as well). I have finally made a film clip to accompany the audio of my recorded interview plugging 'Silver Studs and Sabre Teeth'. Given how technologically inept I normally am, this has made me proud. Furthermore, I even got it on You Tube. Yeah, you read that right. I've made a film clip and put it on You Tube. I cannot claim to be any type of Russell Mulcahy, but gentle reader if you go to this link you can see the fruits of my labour and listen to me prattling on: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyrZPTEaWPk.
The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have announced another Royal Bun In The Oven. Maybe it's because I'm tired, or maybe it's because I'm a nark, but I have searched high and low and still cannot find a rat's arse to give. Don't get me wrong, I do think it's nice news for them, but I so don't want to hear commentators gushing like Old Faithful about it, which is what they have been doing all morning. I watched a breakfast television show, and there was simultaneous crossovers to four people! Count 'em, FOUR! I felt like joining in the Twitter conversation thus: married couple aged over thirty have sex and procreate - wow. The Duchess is once again suffering hyperemesis gravidarum, the poor thing. I was lucky. With my first pregnancy the worst I felt was the odd patch of queasiness on the bus en route to work, and I had a plastic bag stuffed into my handbag in case a discreet puke became necessary. I wonder will she end up being hospitalised again? Hopefully the world has learned its lesson. I do not want to hear of idiotic prank calls to overworked hospital staff. I do not want to hear of tragically flawed people ending their own lives. I do not want to hear from singers who were relevant in the Nineties for depressing the snot out of everyone with their music stating the Royals should apologise because she was in hospital for no reason he could see. Arrogant tosser (if you've forgotten or are unsure who I mean, it was Morrissey from The Smiths who went on this bilious rant when that poor woman suicided after the notorious prank call). That aggravated me the most, I think, because the Duchess didn't actively seek out getting so ill that she required hospitalisation, and - I'll type this slowly - she was not responsible for somebody else's decision. Oh, and I don't want to hear about cyber-hactivists who hide behind Guy Fawkes masks issuing threats, too. Strewth, why do there have to be so many drongos in the world?
Thursday 4 September 2014
'Of' Course It's Wrong!!!!
Just been listening to 'Black and White' by Three Dog Night. Love that song. That bloke could hold a tune really well, too. Have been watching a film clip of them singing on some variety show, I think. Look past the nut-choking, moose knuckle-inducing pants, and listen to the song's message. Wouldn't go so far a to call it a sublime song, but it's really a nice little tune to mellow out to. Michael Jackson had a number with a similar name, as did INXS. Liked the INXS one, but was a touch meh about Jacko's. I'm a touch meh about all of Jacko's stuff, if I think about it. Which I don't. Got better things to worry about.
So what's worrying me? The freaking SMS I got from my son's high school, that's what!!! Oh, don't get me wrong, the cherubic lad is in no strife. It was just a generic text to all the Year 7 parents to advise the Naplan results should have been received via their kids' backpacks etc already. I saw my boy's Naplan results yesterday, and let me tell you - BRAGGING MOTHER ALERT!! - he is almost off the scale in good results in spelling, and mathematics, and just about every other area 'they' tested the students on. But what's really making me want to stab baby kittens is the wording of the text: 'You should of received...'. Yes, 'of' instead of 'have'. You know, if I was running this country, or State, or even this town, I would decree that anybody found guilty of this crime against grammar be dragged to a public place, locked in stocks, and pelted hard with rotting vegetable matter. My aim is as rough as my singing voice, but so infuriated does this grammatical nonsense make me, the hatred is enough to guide my arm and I could do some serious damage as I bounce an old turnip off some perpetrator's head. I am regretting cleaning out my vegie crisper the other day, because that old carrot so wilted even Viagra wouldn't firm it could have come in very handy. I exploded, 'Jesus Christ jumping up and down on a pogo stick fitted with an outboard motor!', and my weary husband just said, 'Yes, dear.'
Seriously, people, stop saying 'would of' instead of 'would have'. IT'S EVIL!!!
So what's worrying me? The freaking SMS I got from my son's high school, that's what!!! Oh, don't get me wrong, the cherubic lad is in no strife. It was just a generic text to all the Year 7 parents to advise the Naplan results should have been received via their kids' backpacks etc already. I saw my boy's Naplan results yesterday, and let me tell you - BRAGGING MOTHER ALERT!! - he is almost off the scale in good results in spelling, and mathematics, and just about every other area 'they' tested the students on. But what's really making me want to stab baby kittens is the wording of the text: 'You should of received...'. Yes, 'of' instead of 'have'. You know, if I was running this country, or State, or even this town, I would decree that anybody found guilty of this crime against grammar be dragged to a public place, locked in stocks, and pelted hard with rotting vegetable matter. My aim is as rough as my singing voice, but so infuriated does this grammatical nonsense make me, the hatred is enough to guide my arm and I could do some serious damage as I bounce an old turnip off some perpetrator's head. I am regretting cleaning out my vegie crisper the other day, because that old carrot so wilted even Viagra wouldn't firm it could have come in very handy. I exploded, 'Jesus Christ jumping up and down on a pogo stick fitted with an outboard motor!', and my weary husband just said, 'Yes, dear.'
Seriously, people, stop saying 'would of' instead of 'would have'. IT'S EVIL!!!
Monday 1 September 2014
Today's Peeves
Okay, here's today's peeves.
1. I'm typing this at my library instead of my home, and there is a creeping miasma of body odour infesting the computer area, like a thick London fog. Maybe the culprit is reading over my shoulder. Maybe the culprit will read this later. Maybe the culprit has a friend who will tell him, but dude (and I know it's a dude, because the other people here are dudes), truly, buy some deodorant. It's not expensive.
2. I'm at the library because my computer has been slowed for a few days as my kids downloaded something and hogged all the monthly Internet allowance, and I haven't the patience to spend the day at the computer whilst my page loads like a sluggish tortoise travelling uphill. Day after tomorrow the Internet speed will be back to normal.
3. I still haven't uploaded my interview into the computer because of this, and also because I thought I would probably need iTunes for a library to store it in. I clicked the wrong iTunes link, and it looks like I got malware. My husband, a fairly computer savvy type, ran the scan and I think things are okay, but with the computer so slow at present, I haven't bothered to check.
4. The Swedish woman on 'Q & A' last night. Don't get me wrong, I thought she was very intelligent. I thought the entire panel were intelligent, and fascinating (particularly the journalist from Mexico). It's just her views really, really pissed me off. She's against surrogacy and prostitution. She thinks it's fine for people to be having sex, but not getting paid for it. Why is being paid a problem? I don't get it. If two consenting adults of sound mind want to have sex, with one person providing remuneration to the other party, then why the fuck (pun DEFINITELY intended) not? If an appropriately informed woman is happy to act as a surrogate, for either profit or altruism, then why can't she? Why can't women have autonomy over their own bodies? You know, it bugs the crap out of me when women seek out c-sections or inductions for non-medical and non-necessary reasons, but I can't tell them NOT to, can I? Yes, I know the panel represented the Festival of Dangerous Ideas, but I thought this was a bit Festival of Downright Stupid, Outmoded Ideas.
5. I have a parent/teacher interview this afternoon for my 13yo. It should go okay; he's a good kid. At school, that is. He's a monster at home. But I'd still rather be doing other stuff, and it goes with the territory once you decide to breed and socially activate and educate your spawn.
1. I'm typing this at my library instead of my home, and there is a creeping miasma of body odour infesting the computer area, like a thick London fog. Maybe the culprit is reading over my shoulder. Maybe the culprit will read this later. Maybe the culprit has a friend who will tell him, but dude (and I know it's a dude, because the other people here are dudes), truly, buy some deodorant. It's not expensive.
2. I'm at the library because my computer has been slowed for a few days as my kids downloaded something and hogged all the monthly Internet allowance, and I haven't the patience to spend the day at the computer whilst my page loads like a sluggish tortoise travelling uphill. Day after tomorrow the Internet speed will be back to normal.
3. I still haven't uploaded my interview into the computer because of this, and also because I thought I would probably need iTunes for a library to store it in. I clicked the wrong iTunes link, and it looks like I got malware. My husband, a fairly computer savvy type, ran the scan and I think things are okay, but with the computer so slow at present, I haven't bothered to check.
4. The Swedish woman on 'Q & A' last night. Don't get me wrong, I thought she was very intelligent. I thought the entire panel were intelligent, and fascinating (particularly the journalist from Mexico). It's just her views really, really pissed me off. She's against surrogacy and prostitution. She thinks it's fine for people to be having sex, but not getting paid for it. Why is being paid a problem? I don't get it. If two consenting adults of sound mind want to have sex, with one person providing remuneration to the other party, then why the fuck (pun DEFINITELY intended) not? If an appropriately informed woman is happy to act as a surrogate, for either profit or altruism, then why can't she? Why can't women have autonomy over their own bodies? You know, it bugs the crap out of me when women seek out c-sections or inductions for non-medical and non-necessary reasons, but I can't tell them NOT to, can I? Yes, I know the panel represented the Festival of Dangerous Ideas, but I thought this was a bit Festival of Downright Stupid, Outmoded Ideas.
5. I have a parent/teacher interview this afternoon for my 13yo. It should go okay; he's a good kid. At school, that is. He's a monster at home. But I'd still rather be doing other stuff, and it goes with the territory once you decide to breed and socially activate and educate your spawn.
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