Digital Dodginess

 Again, it's been some time since I ran my fingers at the frenetic pace over the keyboard. That is because I've spent nearly every spare hour this week working on a university assessment that was due tonight. Don't worry, I got it submitted, but not without trials, tribulations, and multitudinous drama that saw me seriously worrying for my sanity - yeah, yeah, I know: that horse has fled the stable and left behind a great steaming pile of horse apples -but this past week was really draining. I thought I was going completely around the twist, and furthermore, was taking along my family as unwilling hostages.

The assessment involved presenting two summations: one on cyberbullying and the other on any topic from a list relating to this crazy Internet world. In theory, this is all good because I enjoyed learning about the topics and was confident I understood the underlying issues, as well as having some ideas about how those issues could be resolved. But this was the problem: the summations had to be presented multimodally on a website to be created by me. The subject I'm studying relates to the digital world, and whist I have blogged for many, many years, there is a large pothole in my path to finalising this subject, and that pothole is this: the only people less digitally fluent than I am are the Amish. 

I will not go into too much detail at the moment, but the past week saw me:

1. Opening and closing accounts with presentation platforms

2. Grappling with a fucked-up headset mic that would not record my narration

3. To-ing and fro-ing between my PC and a laptop with a built-in microphone, only to discover I couldn't find the record function in the website when the app was opened on the laptop

4. Recording my script on my phone and emailing the audio file to myself

5. Contemplating selling everything I own and fucking off to live in Mustique, notwithstanding the sale of my worldly goods would probably only see me good to relocate in Newcastle one-and-a-half hours down the road

6. Discovering You Tube won't support an m4a

7. Finally - FINALLY! - getting my presentation into an MP4 and putting it in Movie Maker, and then working out how to add my m4a to it

8. Having the library scan and email my scripted work as a PDF, and then discovering the assessment platform wouldn't accept a scanned file

9. Putting out the call on Facebook to convert Word to PDF, and actually DOING IT, and submitting my assessment.

10. Sitting in total delirium that I learnt how to do this stuff

Yeah, it's been a bizarre week, but the way I feel right now; if anyone wants me, I'm out churning butter and will only answer to 'Rachel'. 

Riddle Me This (hint: it involves troglodytes and idiots who cant think)

 Riddle me this: why do people post stupid stuff and go into politics? Answers: 

(a) Because they're stupid

(b) Because they're troglodytes

(c) Because they join the Liberal Party

(d) All of the above

Sometimes, if you have a potentially really stupid opinion, you should keep it off social media. Paradoxically, if your opinion is stupid enough to rupture the time/space continuum, then chances are you're too stupid to see that social media is not the place for stupid and inflammatory opinions if you want to pursue a career in politics. 

Okay, if you're wondering what I'm talking about, a post by the Liberal member for Mundingburra has surfaced from the depths of some foul, smelly swamp wherein he shared historic footage of people discussing whether education is a waste of time for married women. He commented that there was definitely more research needed. 

Look, Glennie Boy, let me spell it out for you: there is no research needed. None. Zilch. Zero. Blank. Void. Nothingness. The reason for this is simple: Education, no matter for whom, is NOT A WASTE OF TIME! Maybe try some yourself, when your knuckles feel a bit better, because the Almighty knows they must be scraped raw from being dragged along the ground. 

That odious comment has no place in our society, which is one that does not entail sitting in a tree flinging your own excrement. The dependent clause of that previous sentence describes what I imagine your existence to be. 

I'm a married woman, and I am in the process of getting some education. It's hard. It's interesting. It's making me want to break sobriety. But I'm pleased I'm doing it. My kids aren't neglected. The only thing suffering at the moment is my sanity.  But I will get this education and use it for good.

Riddle me this: Why do people whinge when the problem can be easily remedied with a little common sense? Answer:

(a) They're lame

(b) They want their Warholian fifteen minutes

(c) They possess neither lateral thinking skills nor common sense

(d) All of the above.

Okay, that particular riddle referred to the people groaning about the Emma Wiggle costume which, given it's October, I surmise is some Halloween gimmick. What people are groaning about is the costume comes in one for boys (yellow skivvy and black trousers) and one for girls (yellow skivvy and black tutu). 'What about a tutu for boys?' 'What if boys want a tutu?' 'Seeeeexxxxiiiiisssssttttt!' scream the usual adherents to the Church of Dumbarsery. 

Okay, you people: I'm going to suggest something. Before I do, make sure you've emptied your bladder. You might also consider removing your socks, because what I'm about to tell you is going to knock them off because of its mind-blowing simplicity. Right. Are you all comfortable? Here goes: 

Does your little boy wish to dress as Emma Wiggle, but wants to wear a tutu? What you have to do is purchase a girl's costume in his size that has the tutu, and get him to put it on. Jesus Christ hopping up and down on a pogo stick fitted with an outboard motor, and also fitted with fluffy dice and a fox tail waving in the breeze: isn't that INCREDIBLE? Who'd have thunk it? Thank me later. And in future: stop whingeing and start THINKING. 

Okay, I'm tired. I'm full of mushroom pizza. I have work to do on the weekend - curse that education thing; how dare I undertake it when I'm a married woman?

RIP, Eddie

 I was feeling all inspired earlier today, but now (9.04pm AEDST), I'm feeling about as inspired as a sloth that's been pulling cones. Nice things have been happening this week. I've received good news about a matter that I cannot yet discuss, but one that has been a millstone around my neck. I'm on holidays. I received a lovely bouquet of flowers from the family of the young woman to whom I rendered assistance last week when she had a medical episode. I received a 'Pass' on a subject I have been studying online. I had a lovely lunch on Sunday with Mr Bingells as we celebrated our wedding anniversary. We went to a nearby winery and had a delicious al fresco meal, looking at the beautiful vineyard. I got the final assessments on another subject finalised and uploaded. 

Prima facie, life is good.

Then this morning came the news Eddie Van Halen has lost his battle with cancer. 

Honestly, can 2020 suck any harder than it already has? Everyone is already miserable and melancholic with the changes and adjustments as this virus does its diabolical work. That malignant narcissist in the White House had a turn, and still does not appear to have learned, given his lap in a car waving to what he called 'fans'. Honestly, does he still think he's being a television star? What about the poor people who had to drive the deluded nincompoop; would they have enjoyed possible exposure?

But no, it's a guy who had more an a modicum of talent in is chosen field, and who was apparently a genuinely nice person, who had to go. Okay, I will admit to having harboured a bit of a crush in my teenage years. He had a cute baby-face and a gorgeous cloud of dark shaggy hair that cascaded below his shoulders, and he rocked the spandex pants. And he was seriously fucking talented, folks. What a virtuoso! As an aside, I won the Who Am I in an online live trivia game I play a few weeks ago - the clues were: born in the Netherlands in 1955, emigrated with family to US, played piano but decided to stick to guitar because brother liked drums - and I was first with the answer: Eddie Van Halen. 

When Thriller was released, and people sighed and rhapsodised about its brilliance (I didn't get the memo; not a huge Jacko fan), and the album was played ad nauseum at parties, and other kids would be up dancing: I'd just loll on a beanbag, glass of coke mixed with Blackberry Nip in hand, and wait for Beat It so I could enjoy that ripper guitar solo provided courtesy of Mr Edward Van Halen.  I still maintain Eddie's guitar solo was the best part of that album, but my palate has matured and I no longer drink Blackberry Nip with coke. 

You were a true talent, Eddie. Rest in peace. 

The Post Where I Mention the Infant of Prague and Nurse Ratched

 So, here I sit for the first time in at least a week. It's kind of hard to concentrate because I can hear my sixteen-year-old son in his room - I believe he has his ear buds in but he's singing along to Bad Case of Lovin' You by Robert Palmer. I feel a cuddly 'gee-shucks' type of warm fuzziness at the realisation my son has inherited my eclectic taste in music (he was listening to The Beatles and Michael Buble whilst he washed up earlier), but I must admit it appears he might have my singing ability, which is somewhat dire. I'm just having a bit of a tap on the keyboard to keep the old mind ticking along. My life has been busy lately with work and study. It's all I've done. But the study iceberg is decreasing as I chip and chip at it. Soon it will be reduced to a couple of cubes over which I will pour a measure of vodka, lime, and soda and toast its completion. 

Today's Facebook memory involved an episode where I was having a tour around the local Catholic high school with my cousin six years ago. My cousin had two of her daughters with her, and I had my younger son, who was then aged about ten. We were having a look because my cousin had attended there and wanted to show her daughters.  I attended a State high school, but did have the old Cat'lic torture as a primary schooler, and remember all those statues and icons. We walked past the Infant of Prague, a staple in Catholic institutions who radiates benevolence, and my son said, 'Mum, who's the kid doing this?' - to demonstrate my son struck a gangster rapper type pose and did a peace sign, before asking was the kid 'taking a selfie.' I laughed like a drain then, and had a good old laugh this morning when reminded of the incident. It's good to have a laugh and in this absurd time of Covid, it doesn't happen nearly enough. 

The other big thing in my life lately is that I gave first aid to a young woman having a medical episode last Sunday. I don't want to go into all the details, but it was good to be able to help. My husband gave me praise, and reminded me of about five other incidents over the years where I have been a Good Samaritan. I'm either a very kind person or else a jinks who should stay home for the safety of the general public. 

Also had a filling placed in my tooth. It had to be done - my tooth had a hole like the Mariana Trench. 

Okay, well I'm off to do some more watching of Ratched on Netflix. It's an imagining of the early career of Nurse Ratched from One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. It's awesome stuff.