Buckle has been approved

I checked my citizenship application this morning and it seems they have finally approved me. I have no idea why it took them so long: almost 6 weeks. How come they didn't just take one look at my application and say "oh she looks like a nice girl; we'll have her. Tick"? But at least they have finally come to their senses and realised they would be proud to call me an Aussie.

To be honest, the thought of dual citizenship is a wee bit strange. I could never give up my British citizenship because I feel British through and through. Even though there may be some elements of the British psyche that bug me, I just can't help it. It's who I am, it's how I was brought up, it's who many of my close friends and relations are and despite its faults (and in some cases because of them) I love it.

That said, I do feel increasingly Australian. You can't live here for five years, immerse yourself in the culture and not let it rub off on you. Obviously there are things that bug me about the Australian character too, but it's much easier to fob that off saying "oh but I'm British" ("and far superior" is the inference there, I suppose). When I return to England I remember my Britishness but my Australianness is also highlighted: that's the bit that makes me different to my fellow Brits. And my Britishness makes me different to my fellow Australians. So, I'm neither one nor the other and I guess that's the way I have felt for a while now.

So, although I can never be constantly 100% Australian, or constantly 100% British, I can now be sometimes 100% either, or always 50% of both. See what I mean about it being a bit strange? I think I will still have to barrack for England in international tournaments, and the "friendly rivalry" between the two sporting nations could very well tear me apart, but I do think I have the best of both worlds.

Now I just have to see if they can squeeze me into the last citizenship ceremony of the year in 2 weeks. I'll practice my national anthem in the meantime.

Australians all let us rejoice
For we are young and free
We've wealth for toil and earth to soil.... no , that's not right
We've wealth and toil and earth and soil... nope
We've wealth and soil and Mrs Doyle
Preparing buns for tea... no hang on, that's Ireland.

I am a pantheist.

I have just discovered that I am a pantheist. I have often struggled to define myself in religious terms. Sometimes I'm a christian (by birth, not practice), other times I am an entirely non-religious atheist and then there are times when I'm a naturalist/universalist/believe in the inter-connectedness of all things known and unknown spiritualist and why isn't there a word for this? Well, apparently there is. It's pantheism and I discovered this when reading the following passage in Richard Dawkins' book, The God Delusion:

A theist believes in a supernatural intelligence who, in addition to his main work of creating the universe in the first place, is still around to oversee and influence the subsequent fate of his initial creation. In many theistic belief systems, the deity is intimately involved in human affairs. He answers prayers; forgives or punishes sins; intervenes in the world by performing miracles; frets about good and bad deeds, and knows when we do them (or even think of doing them).

This is what most of the world's religions are: theists. Clearly, this isn't me. Although the small part of me that is Christian, the part that was christened when I was five, which clearly is a very small part of the thirty-two year-old me, still wonders if God knows when I'm naughty and will send me to hell as punishment, and can be known to make a quiet prayer when there's something I really want (or don't want) to happen. But deep down, I know it isn't going to make the blindest bit of difference. But wouldn't it be cool if there were a such thing as miracles?

A deist, too, believes in a supernatural intelligence, but one whose activities were confined to setting up the laws that govern the universe in the first place. The deist God never intervenes thereafter, and certainly has no specific interest in human affairs.

Now this is an interesting concept, and one I haven't really considered. However, as Carl Sagan said, "if by 'God' one means the set of physical laws that govern the universe, then clearly there is such a God. This God is emotionally unsatisfying ... it does not make much sense to pray to the law of gravity." Gosh, how I laughed when I read that. Still tickles me.

Pantheists don't believe in a supernatural God at all, but use the word God as a non-supernatural synonym for Nature, or for the Universe, or for the lawfulness that governs its workings. Deists differ from theists in that their God does not answer prayers, is not interested in sins or confessions, does not read our thoughts and does not intervene with capricious miracles. Deists differ from pantheists in that the deist God is some kind of cosmic intelligence, rather than the pantheist's metaphoric or poetic synonym for the laws of the universe. Pantheism is sexed-up atheism. Deism is watered-down theism.

So there you go. Dawkins does go on to argue that such "believers", if they can indeed be called as such should refrain from referring to their metaphorical spiritual force as "God":

The metaphorical or pantheistic God of the physicists is light years away from the interventionist, miracle-wreaking, thought-reading, sin-punishing, prayer-answering God of the Bible, of priests, mullahs and rabbis and of ordinary language. Deliberately to confuse the two is, in my opinion, an act of intellectual high treason.

I am happy not to call my interconnecting energy God, but I would like a name for it. However, for now I am happy to put a name to my general belief. Pantheism. I shall now go google and wiki it just to be sure that that's what I am. I'm only up to page 41 of the book so there's a good chance I could change my mind by the end of it but "sexed-up atheism"? I can live with that.

How could I forget?

Silly me! Of course I have something to report... well not exactly yet but the thing is about two weeks ago I did the Australian Citizenship test and then, after getting 100% (I'm such a girly swot), I applied for citizenship. As part of my preparation for the test Toby kept teaching me the Australian national anthem. It's surprisingly catchy. That's about as exciting and interesting as that story goes.

The website that I applied on is typical of all goverment (or at least Department of Immigration) forms; that is, bloody awful. You have to visit the site a few times in order to know where to find things and even then, when I want to check on the progress of my application I have to go through about 12 screens of the application process to find it.

UPDATE 19/09/08: Richard showed me today that there is actually a link directly to the login section to check my application about one click into the site. It's just the pages are so damn long, and it was right at the bottom, that I missed it. So, still not an entirely user-friendly site but not as bad as I thought. I take some responsibility for that particular problem.

The form itself asks for a Citizenship test reference number. The paper given to me after the test had two references numbers on it but neither of them were called Citizenship test reference numbers so it was anybody's guess as to which was the right one to use. Thankfully, my British colleague, Richard had recently applied so he helped me out a bit, although really he was just guessing too and I don't know why I listened to him anyway as his application was delayed whilst they conducted an "internal investigation".

After I'd applied I was directed to a form which detailed what I had to do next. This involved filling in a proof of identity form and getting someone important to witness it. (I immediately thought of my friend Libbette as she's a teacher and apparently none of my other friends have important enough jobs.) The form indicated I would also have to get a passport-sized photo witnessed. Passport photos are difficult things to obtain here on the Sunshine Coast, lord only knows why. No such thing as passport booths you see. You end up having to go to photograph processing places. I could only locate one place that did them in the surrounding area and it wasn't en route to anywhere for me that day. Richard told me I didn't need a photo because they took one when I went for the test so I phoned them to make sure. The lady who answered said I didn't need to send anything else in, not even the proof of identity form. She did follow this, however, with the comment, "if we do need anything else, we'll contact you," which probably means she didn't really know. Rich had been given contradictory information from people he'd spoken to on the phone so he suggested I send the form in anyway. I got a colleague who's a Commissioner for Declarations (whatever one of those is) to witness it (because I forgot to ask Libbette) but so far I haven't managed to remember to post it.

So that's that. Rich and his wife, Sue have their citizenship ceremony on October 31st. It only seems to be us Brits who are humoured by the fact that they will become Australian citizens on Halloween. I guess it's not really an acknowledged celebration here. It's summer here at that time of year and Australians don't feel the need to break the depression of increasingly shorter, darker days with random holidays such as Halloween and Guy Fawkes. That, and they have no pagan history. Not that Fawkes was a pagan but to say Australia has no history would have caused an uproar and wouldn't have been strictly true. The Halloween ceremony is the last of the year, the next one being the biggie on Australia Day on January 26th. I'm really hoping I can squeeze into the same one, or one before that as I don't fancy making my pledge in front of all those people whilst 8 and a half months pregnant. Suppose I'd better get that form sent off then.

Australians all let us rejoice for we are young and free...

'Allo 'allo

I'm a little surprised at how long it's been since my last post. Work has picked up and has been quite busy and I haven't really had much to say on any other topic. Still pregnant, still painting the house, nothing much to report.

Except, I just have to tell you that there is a South African guy at work who sounds like one of the German officers from 'Allo 'Allo, either Captain Hans Geering (the one who hangs around with the fat Colonel and prounces Colonel as it is written), or Lieutenant Hubert Grubert (the one with a crush on Rene). Either way, every time he talks I have to giggle and when he talks to me it's terribly embarrassing as I struggle to keep a straight face and not immediately burst out with "Ha! Did you know you sound like one of the German dudes from 'Allo 'Allo??? So funny!!"

Bored!

I am so unbelievably bored.

Apart from one or two notable exceptions, no one has sent me an interesting email in days, and even Facebook is a bit like Scarborough in winter at the moment. Not that I've ever been to Scarborough. I've never been in summer, let alone winter, but I imagine not much happens there in winter. If there is a lot going on in Scarborough in winter then Facebook isn't much like it at all. It's possibly more like the moon. But less cool because the moon has a good view of the earth and the whole low gravity thing going for it.

That said, Facebook did recently go through quite an interesting and fun phase where I got to laugh at lots of old school photos (including class photos from when I was 9 and 13 ish). My sister's friends have started putting old photos on now too so I've been having a good giggle at them.

Work is boring. I've finished off a lot of jobs and those remaining are in a pending state whilst I wait for various colleagues to get back to me. What's the bet they all get back to me at once demanding immediate resolutions?

Knocked up

It's probably about time I made an official announcement on this site that I'm having a baby early next year. Thank god! My pregnancy is the only interesting thing going on right now. It's quite fascinating once you get into it but I think I'm stretching the limits of how much even that can entertain me. (I won't go on about it by the way - I have another blog for that purpose - but I will mention it when it's relevant.) At least I know I'm unlikely to spend my days next year sitting on my arse whinging about being bored. I'll probably be wishing for such days to return to me.

Don't get me wrong, I can find plenty to occupy my time and mind with. I have millions of jobs to do at home (just not necessarily the money to do them), there are a gazillion things I'd like to read and as for things I'd like to do today, well, I've already been to the dentist and I plan to go to the gym but I also need to get petrol, fish and possibly some noodles because I can't remember whether we have any at home. The trouble is that these are not things I should be doing in work time and hence getting paid for.

Laptop battery bingo

I'm fairly pleased with myself at the moment in that I managed to successfully purchase a new laptop battery from eBay. My battery hasn't worked for about 6 months, which kind of made my laptop less of a laptop and more of a desktop, which isn't really what I forked $3000 out for. I tried to do this some time back and was bamboozled by the fact that none of the numbers on the batteries on eBay seemed to match those on my battery. I had already tried to get one from Dell and they quoted me $175 which seemed like rather a lot of money, given my computer was only 18 months old, and surely a battery should last longer than that.

I kept periodically returning to eBay and getting bamboozled so eventually I decided just to buy one from Dell. At least that way I could be sure of getting the right part and didn't have to try and figure anything out for myself. This time they quoted me $290!!!! For a battery!!! A new Dell laptop costs $750 and that comes with a battery! So I did a bit more research and discovered that the confusion is caused by Sony's insistence on measuring their batteries in watt hours (Wh) when everyone else uses miliamp hours (mAh), sneaky devils.

Thankfully, there is one common component on all batteries and that is voltage. Once you know the voltage and either Wh or mAh you can do a simple conversion using the formula:

watt = amp * volt

or

amp = watt / volt

Thanks to camerahacker.com for helping me figure this out.

It's probably a bit more complicated than this but it was close enough. I found a battery with similar power outage on eBay, which I could get shipped from Hong Kong for $87!!! What a bonus. A saving of over $200! At that price I figured I could take a risk as I wasn't able to get full use of the laptop, and I wasn't likely to pay $300 for a new battery. Well, the battery arrived yesterday and I'm happy to say seems to be working well. Kudos to me and ya boo suks to Dell!

Willie Wagtail pursues wife

Just for fun, and to stop everyone else becoming as bored as me, here's a lovely little photo of me and a Willie Wagtail on our wedding anniversary the other weekend (that's mine and Toby's anniversary, just in case that sentence caused any confusion). It was taken at Point Cartwright, near where we were married and the little bird seemed to be oblivious to the fact that I am now a married woman and was following me around rather ardently.


Right ho! I think I have procrastinated enough for one day. I shall go and do something a bit more worth getting paid for but probably terribly boring, and perhaps amuse myself with some Skunk Anansie (that's the kind of mood I'm in) for the remaining hour of the working day.

TTFN!

Do you remember the one with the Dambusters?

For some inexplicable reason, possibly relating to the deluge of old school photographs that are currently finding their wicked little ways onto Facebook, today I started to reminisce about really bad old music.

It may also have been due to the discussion in the office as to how London is possibly going to outdo Beijing in the Olympic Opening Ceremony and ideas as to what the London ceremony might consist of.

The Hairless suggested:

"I am thinking of Charlie riding in all dolled up in his medals and feathered hat upon his faithful steed Camilla mumbling "I'm here Mummy...where is the fireplace that needs lighting?" sounds like the best option."

Sanchez preferred a cockney theme:

"I can see Chaz and Dave getting a good cockney knees up going and the pearly king and queens performing a dance.

"Then we will bring on an army of chavs to drink 5 pints of stella and have a fight.

"I think the finale will involve the Queen waving her hand as usual.

"Quality...."

I liked the cockney theme but went for something a bit grander:

"I think there'll be a million morris dancers prancing around the stadium with their handkerchiefs and sticks, jangling their bells, followed by a massive 500 metre may pole with lots of coloured ribbons and more prancing around.

"Then about half a million cockneys, accompanied by pearly kings and queens and the odd beefeater, will march in and do the lambeth walk. Then we'll bring in a huge replica of the spanish armada, light torches all around the stadium to signify the warning of the armada's approach, then set the ships of the armada on fire (and they'll be full of fireworks so there'll be a massive firework display... in fact... we might even have a few of them sail up the Thames just to be a bit beyond-the-stadium, like in Beijing) and use that to light the torch before flying off to bomb a German factory."

Before I go on, can I please point out that I do not advocate the bombing of anything German and that reference was meant to be purely tongue in cheek. However, Sanchez picked it up and suggested a Spitfire flyover and some tribute to the Dambusters, to which I recommended getting all of the athletes to dambust around the stadium on their march, to the Dambusters music, arms outstretched pretending to be aeroplanes, or fingers round their eyes as goggles.

This, of course, is what triggered the old memory of the song that used to always get played at parties where everyone did the actions and sang along to the Dambusters theme. I got confused and distracted at first by the Superman song (remember that one? Comb your hair, spray, Superman!!) but eventually I identified the Dambuster one as being The Music Man. Both were recorded by Black Lace to annoy people at parties for the duration of the eighties and most of the nineties. And so, for your delight and delectation, here are some awful YouTube versions of both. Reminisce to your heart's desire.

Randoms doing the Superman song at work:



Black Lace sing Music Man on Top of the Pops or something. Bad copy but it's the best I could do. Dambusters are about 2 minutes 50 seconds in for those that can't bear to watch the whole thing.



And just for a laugh, and to show I'm not proud, here's one of the old photos a school friend put onto Facebook, depicting me and my good friend Bev, her with classic poodle perm and me with scary Michael Jackson-style white-face make-up:

Everything is arbitrary

We recently had the University website redesigned by an advertising agency. One of the requirements was that the site must conform to Priority 1 World Wide Web Consortium Web Content Accessibility Guidelines at a minimum, and that it should also conform to Priorty 2, preferably Priority 3.

On delivery I noticed they had a green box with white text. The green was mottled and graduated and became yellow in places. It was obvious to me, with my reasonably good eyesight, that white text is not easy to read when on a yellow-ish background (it doesn't really take a genius or a blind-man to figure that one out now, does it?). So the Marketing team sent the image back to the agency and requested a new one.

The new one was much better. I could definitely read it. Just to be sure I ran the colours through an online colour contrast analyser. The difference in colour and brightness was still not quite enough to meet the Priority 2 WCAG checkpoint 2.2 regarding colour contrast. However, it was pretty close so I left it up to the Marketing team to determine whether they were happy with it.

They weren't.

The agency sent another image along with the following comment:

"The algorithms are a useful guide to ensuring sufficient contrast and colour difference, but the precise thresholds are somewhat arbitrarily chosen (strange that the human eye works in such neat numbers, 125 and 500 ;)"

Isn't this a bit like saying:

"Hmm, it's a bit strange that water just happens to boil at exactly 100°C, isn't it?"

or

"How perculiar that 1 Litre of water weighs exactly 1 kilogram."

or

"Strange, don't you think, that a day is exactly 24 hours long?"

Well, I've got news for you Mr Smarty-pants-Multi-media-degree-don't-you-know-Ad-agency-man, a day isn't exactly 24 hours long. We make it that long so that it's easy to measure. Water only boils at 100°C because we decided that would be a good way of measuring temperature. Time is arbitrary, everything humans measure with is arbitrary. Don't you think perhaps they decided that 125 and 500 were nice, round, easy numbers to remember and developed algorithms accordingly? Dear me...

Grammar Nazi: Gil Mayo corrects "would of"

One of the reasons I like Gil Mayo (The Gil Mayo Mysteries, ABC1, Thursdays 8.35pm) is that he is a stickler for grammatical correctness. The show doesn't contain much "laugh out loud" material and is at times a bit weird and contrived, but occasionally it hits the right spot and extracts more than a mere chuckle from me.

A classic scene was when Kite, the Welshman, was asking for a code and the others kept asking "a cord?" until he put on his poshest English accent and pronounced code with a long vowel. It's a phonetic joke and hard to transcribe onto paper (or blog) but suffice to say, having experienced a similar encounter myself when ordering a vodka and coke in a London bar ("a cork? What, like just a vodka and er.. a cork?"), which resulted in me also having to adopt my best posh English accent, this scene certainly had me laughing out loud.

Another scene I chortled away at occurred last night and went a little something like this:

Neil, the accountant: I was afraid he'd lose his job.
Clair, the bar owner: Well, he would of.
Gil, the grammar nazi: Have.

Miscellaneous conversation follows, then:

Clair: I resent the implication that he would of.
Gil: Have.

Refer to my previous post, Should have, should've, should of to see just why this tickled me.

Grammar Nazi: The Importance of Order

Read the following paragraph from the BBC News website:

Mr Rudd issued his landmark apology for the abuse and discrimination the country's indigenous people have endured since European colonisation in February, soon after taking office.

The order of the wording implies that the European colonisation of Australia occurred in February. Colonisation occurred over two hundred years ago; Rudd's apology was made in February. This is a surprising grammatical, or rather semantic, error from an institution such as the BBC. The paragraph should have been worded:

In February, soon after taking office, Mr Rudd issued his landmark apology for the abuse and discrimination the country's indigenous people have endured since European colonisation.

What a massive difference to meaning is made by the order in which those few words appear in the sentence.

World Youth Day

Crowds at the official opening of World Youth Day. From: www.news.com.au

Had anyone reading this blog heard of World Youth Day before about a month ago? Have the British residents amongst you heard of it at all? I don't know whether I've been sleeping under a rock for the last 32 years or whether an almighty fuss is suddenly being made of it in Australia right now but I hadn't a clue what it was until a few weeks back.

For those of you who are still clueless, it's a massive meeting of young Catholics. It happens about once every three years and it's an international event. Despite the name, "World Youth Day", it actually happens over about five days. (I always was sceptical about the story of creation happening in seven days and now I suspect it was actually thirty-five, which is still quite impressive.)

Basically hundreds of thousands of these young Catholics congregate on a city (in this case Sydney) and party and pray for a few days. That seems like such a strange combination of words to place in one sentence: Catholics, party, pray.

I will probably be flamed for this but I am astounded at the number of enthusiastic young devotees being portrayed on the news (every day). I always thought of Catholicism as the kind of religion that kids were dragged into (often literally and hungover) and given names like Mary and Bernadette and Joseph, because their parents were Catholics and their parents' parents were Catholic and no one ever questioned it. Most of the Catholics I have known stopped practising as soon as they left home, and have felt forever guilty about it, and everything else for that matter. It seems like such an old-fashioned religion somehow and I suppose I imagine young folk getting more into the relatively modern protestant denominations of Christianity, such as Pentecostalism (HillSong certainly seems popular in Australia) or not bothering at all.

World Youth Day is expecting 125,000 international visitors. The opening mass at Darling Harbour yesterday attracted over 150,000 pilgrims and the papal mass on Sunday is expected to address a congregation of half a million. According to the World Youth Day website it is the biggest event Australia has ever hosted, attracting more overseas visitors than even the Sydney Olympics in 2000 and providing Pope Benedict XVI's first ever visit to Australia. The television coverage is greater than the Tour de France and the Olympics combined, although I suppose there isn't too much to report on the Olympics at this stage. Still, I am finding the extent of the coverage of an event I had never even heard of before quite bizarre. Images flash on the screen of young people wearing their national colours and World Youth Day t-shirts shouting, singing, being generally rowdy and happy, fireworks and pop concerts, not the sort of things I ever associated with the stuffy old Roman Catholics.

It's all been a bit of an education to me really. Catholicism can be cool (in a Guy Sebastian kind of a way) and Catholic kids know how to party (as long as it all wraps up by 10pm and involves a few prayers here and there). Sydney must be a crazy place right now.

Oh, and just for the record, I think priests should be allowed to be gay. Unless they're Catholic, in which case they can be gay but celibate, merely because Roman Catholic priestly sex is against the rules.

One last thing, as we're on the subject of religion, isn't this a brilliant headline:

Mormons make missionary position clear

I love it! The best thing is, it's about young (male) mormon missionaries posing semi-naked for a calendar. Brilliant.

Eating soup with a teaspoon

Today at work I had to eat my soup with a teaspoon.

It was a frustrating experience. It occurred because of a lack of resources (i.e. normal-sized spoons). The teaspoon was an inadequate alternative, particularly because some of the vegetables in my soup were bigger than teaspoon-size. Whilst I achieved my goal of consuming my soup, it was a lengthy experience and my enjoyment was diminished.

Eventually I found a cheap, plastic spoon in my desk drawer. This wasn't as shiny and smooth as the teaspoon but at least it allowed me to get a reasonable mouthful of soup.

I can see this might prove to be a useful analogy some day.

While my ukelele gently weeps

I don't usually do two posts in one day but this was just too good to ignore.

Driving home, listening to Triple J, the presenter announced a much requested repeat of a hawaiian chap playing While My Guitar Gently Weeps .... on the ukelele! With visions in my mind of George Fornby singing about cleaning windows, I listened on. What I heard amazed me. This guy, known as the Hawaiian Ukelele Wizard but whose real name is Jake Shimabukuro, has a wonderful talent and can make the ukelele take on a whole load of other sounds, such as flamenco and classical guitar. Apparently Hawaiians learn to play the ukelele at school in the same way that Brits and Aussies learn to play the recorder. Most then move onto the guitar but Shimabukuro stuck with the ukelele and made it his own.

Here is a YouTube movie of him performing While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Stay with it, the break about 2.45 minutes in is fantastic and the low res movie can barely keep up with his lightening fast hands. There is a higher resolution movie of him playing this in concert but it's 8 minutes long so I'll let you go and check it out yourself if you're interested. (http://youtube.com/watch?v=3mEqEe-PIC8&feature=related)



It's also worth checking out his website and YouTube site. He has some great original tracks (e.g. Let's Dance) and his version of Ava Maria is just beautiful (navigate to the Gently Weeps album in his audio player). I think I know what my next CD purchase is going to be.

Chunky soup

What's with all the chunky fancy soup these days?

Ever just fancy eating something from your past? By that I don't mean a 10 year old beef and tomato Pot Noodle, rather something that you used to eat and perhaps don't anymore? I caught a whiff of something in the office today and it reminded me of mulligatawny soup and I thought, "well there's a thing I haven't eaten for a while. I wouldn't mind a bit of that."

So off I trundled down to the supermarket and I found myself the soup aisle but no mulligatawny soup! There was beef and potato curry, even beef massaman soup and Malaysian laksa soup and lots of other fancy foreign ones but no straight-forward mulligatawny, nor, whilst we're on the subject, was there any good old traditional oxtail soup. There were all these "chunky", "hearty" soups but I didn't want an entire meal, I just wanted a nice can of Heinz mulligatawny soup.

Maybe it just never made it to Australia.

I'm happy to say that tomato soup did still seem to be available. That was my mainstay as a kid especially when I was sick (or poorly as we say in the north of England) and I tell you something, it made me feel better every time. Perhaps I should have got some to make me feel better about not having mulligatawny.

Dolphin Watching

I've been quiet because since about 5th June I've been laid up with a bad back and have been unable to sit at the computer for more than five minutes. Here's a quick summary of events.

Some time during the week of 19th May: I ride my bike 7.5km to work, then home again. I get a sore back.

Some time during the week of 26th May: I ride my bike 7.5km to work, then home again. I get a sore back again. I decide that 4km to the beach might be okay but 7.5km to work is too much and that I won't ride my bike to work again until I have one with a smaller frame. Toby suggests that I actually have a virus that he's got and that is going around people at his work. It makes you sleepy and gives you a sore back. I point out that I'm not sleepy and that it's the second time I have had a sore back after riding my bike and that I want a new one.

Sat 31st May: About two hours after getting out of bed everything becomes too much for me and I have to go back to bed today. I spend the weekend drifting in and out of sleep. Toby tells me I have the virus.

Thurs 5th June: I do a first aid course all day at work, which mostly consists of bending over on knees performing CPR on a dummy with no legs and arms, and comforting and administering first aid to crazy imaginary drunken mountain bikers and aggitated electricians. My back twinges. Go to yoga. Tell instructor but do mostly the same stuff as the rest of the class. Back twinges even more on way home.

Fri 6th June: Back still twinging. Go to pilates. Tell physio back is twinging. Do lighter version of the exercises. Then drive to supermarket and over-load basket with morning tea goodies for the team. Drag heavy bags into work and back goes into spasm. Most painful. Spasms all day. Sitting at desk makes it worse. Go home that night and collapse on floor in painful teary heap. Stay there a while.

Sat 7th June: Woke up in pain. Toby gave me a massage. Spent most of the day flat on back on floor on top of my hot water bottle. Toby's mum did the housework for me. Toby did all the cooking.

Sun 8th June: Woke up in pain. Spent day lying around, stretching and massaging back (with a tennis ball). Was convinced I'd be all better in the morning.

Mon 9th June: Wasn't better. Was exhausted and frustrated. Long weekend but just more lying around and stretching for me. Did a teeny bit of gardening but couldn't spend too long doing anything. Went to yoga and this time concentrated on back problems and did lots of gentle stretching. Started to feel much better.

Tues 10th June: Took day off sick and went to physio then for short walk. Then stretched, slept and massage. Still hurt.

Wed 11th June: Went to work. Set myself one task then left when completed which took five hours. Back was seized up a bit by then. Went home and slept.

Thurs 12th June: Same as yesterday only I exchanged my pilates appointment for another physio session, which helped ease things up a bit more.

Fri 13th June: Local public holiday (Nambour Show Day a.k.a. Maroochy Shire Holiday). Went to Straddie for a weekend of camping. Packing was hard work. Back seized up after sitting in car but spent rest of day lying flat on back in sun at campsite. Started feeling much better.

Sat 14th June: Felt much better and even managed a lovely coastal walk with Toby, Scott and Lucie.

Which brings me to the point of my post. On this walk we saw a pod of about thirty or forty dolphins surfing the (rather large) waves, jumping, spinning and all in all just having a jolly good time. It was such a beautiful sight and kept us entertained for a good 10-15 minutes before the dolphins started to head back out to sea again. Toby took some photos but I haven't looked at them yet so don't know if they'd be any good. The next day we spotted plumes from two whales obviously travelling up the coast together. Apparently loads of whales had been spotted that day.

My back still gets a little bit sore after sitting at my desk but it feels so good to be mobile again.

From a seed grows a tiny green thing

Toby has just reminded me that I should update you on my lovely seeds.

Last week I sowed some aubergine/eggplant, pepper/capsicum and broccoletti. I can only imagine the latter is a bit of a Malcolm, somewhere between a broccoli and a broccolini; a little broccoli but not a tiny one.

My little babies are starting to grow. I have a few red lettuce, one or two green lettuce and loads of broccoletti, keen little devils that they are. Oh and one pepper plant. No sign of the baby carrots yet though, lazy mites.

None of the seedlings look anything like their adult relations yet. In fact they all look remarkably similar. I do hope they're not weeds. Anyway, they're still tiny. A bit like human babies, I suppose they all look the same. Can't wait until they're big enough to transplant to the ground and make room for more.

Is geoengineering a viable solution to climate change?

With climate change a real and increasing threat, scientists are coming up with more and more bizarre methods of prevention or reversal. Amongst those cited in an article in The Guardian are

• putting 1.9 million tonnes of cooling sulphur into the atmosphere, via ballooons;
• placing iron particles in the ocean to increase carbon-absorbing phytoplankton, a form of marine carbon sequestration;
• using large tubes which will move vertically with waves and pump cooler water and nutrients to the ocean's surface and encourage the growth of phytoplankton;
• using giant platforms to re-ice the Arctic by spraying salty water onto ice, thereby increasing its thickness and preventing an onslaught of fresh water when the ice melts in summer, in effect maintaining the threatened Gulf Stream;
• placing light refractors between the earth and the sun to reflect some of the sun's rays back into space. (Far out!)
  

Freaky? I think so. But perhaps not as freaky as the alternative. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. For the full story see http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2008/may/29/greentech.geoengineering

Whilst we're on the subject of climate change, one of my favourite topics has raised its head again: the environmental impact of aviation, that is can flying ever be "green"? The London Science Museum is housing an exhibition titled "Does flying cost the Earth?" until November. It looks at the effect flight has on climate change and the new technologies being considered by the aviation industry in an attempt to green up aeroplanes and keep the industry going in a world increasingly concerned by CO2 emissions. I wish I could go. This is one of the things I miss about London. Would someone please go on my behalf and report back?

Coincidentally, perhaps, next week is World Environment Day and the University is hosting the Sunshine Coast World Environment Day festival this Saturday. I had intended to be really green and go along on my bike but a couple of things are putting me off. Firstly, I have recently been suffering from a really sore back following lengthy bike rides, which is a bit annoying as I have been quite enjoying my rides to work. Secondly, the weather is going to be rubbish, otherwise I'd walk. It's only 7.5 km which would be quite pleasant on a nice day. On a rotten minging day, however, it would be very unpleasant so I'll either take the bus or, more likely, drive. If I do make it there, and it's interesting, I shall endeavour to report back next week.

Climate change in Google Earth

Climate Change In Our World is a new Google Earth layer developed by the Met Office Hadley Centre demonstrating current climate change predictions. It's an excellent tool for communicating what climate change can (and will) do to our world and I encourage all of you with Google Earth installed to download the layer.


There is a time line across the top, which you can either slide to a particular year to see what the temperature increase would be, or which you can play as an animation, watching the temperature rise as time goes by. The timeline goes from 1999 to 2099. There is a second animation which flies you around the earth to areas of specific interest, where you can click on an icon and read stories of how climate change is already impacting the world.

Fly over to the Artic Circle and watch the temperature increase at an astonishing rate. By 2018 it is approximately 8 or 9 degrees (celsius) warmer than in 1999; by 2043 it is around 12°C warmer and by the end of the animation in 2099 it has increased by an incredible 18°C. The data used to produce the layer are based upon a mid-range IPCC emissions scenario.

A second Climate Change In Our World Google Earth layer has been produced by the British Antartic Survey and demonstrates the retreat of the Antartic ice shelves over the past 50 years.


These are great educational tools for both adults and kids with links to resources offering further information and practical advice.

Incidentally, I took this opportunity to update my version of Google Earth and installed the latest beta (4.3). It's great. It has its own browser so any links you click on open in the Google Earth window and it comes with lots of really interesting layers. Those that I have found of interest in the few moments I have spent madly clicking around are the National Geographic Magazine layer (under Gallery) and The Earth from Above with GoodPlanet (under Global Awareness) but there are loads of others.


After rediscovering my love of Google Earth I downloaded another layer which demonstrates World Oil Consumption using data from the CIA World Factbook. Fascinating. Next, I think I shall play with rising sea levels. I mean that from a purely educational Google Earth perspective, not from an evil-world-domination-I-like-to-think-I-am-God perspective.

Sowing the seeds of love

Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.
- Robert Louis Stevenson

I have sown some seeds. Actual physical seeds, not metaphorical ones, you understand.

I wanted to share this with you all because it's quite exciting. I sowed them last Sunday and placed them in a little seed box thingy which was left at the house by the last owners. I am sure there is a technical gardening term for the seed box thingy but I don't know it as I am a novice gardener.

I placed a few (between two and four because one was too tricky) in each little pot thing and there were about eight of these per small plastic tray. Again, I'm lacking the technical terms here but bear with me. I have two trays of green lettuce, two trays of red lettuce and two trays of baby carrots (yum! baby carrots).

I lovingly watered them every day for the first three days and then I panicked that I was drowning them and haven't watered them since Wednesday. On Thursday night it poured and we were a bit concerned about our other vegetables but my babies... well embryos I suppose... are protected in their little seed box thingy because it has a lid.

The purpose of these seeds is manifold.

Firstly, I'm sick of supermarket vegetables and Toby and I are trying to "go organic". The supermarket fresh produce can be very hit and miss but often it's over-sized and under-flavoured, covered in pesticides and been in cold storage for a few months.

Secondly, food such as lettuce seems to go mushy before we get to finish them. You have to go shopping fairly regularly to always have a fresh supply. It's great to be able to just pop into the garden and pick only the amount of lettuce leaves we need for that meal.

Thirdly, some veg, such as baby carrots, are a bit expensive for what they are.

So we're hoping to have a constant, fresh supply of seasonable vegetables, gain comfort from knowing exactly where they've come from and how they were grown, save a bit of money, and do something practical with our garden. I'm hoping to border our garden beds with red and green lettuce... I think it'll look quite pretty.

I'll let you know how the seeds get on. I'm anxiously awaiting my first sign of green. I plan to plant some more in a few weeks once these babies have graduated to the garden bed. This should ensure a continuous supply of goodies, providing my green thumb develops, of course.

It wouldn't be fair of me to end this post without mentioning what a fantastic job Toby has done preparing and planting the couple of vegetable garden beds we already have. Can't wait to start harvesting.

What gets you through the bad times?

I was chatting with a colleague this morning about the relative merits, or lack thereof, of retail therapy. He was surprised that neither his wife, another female colleague nor I actually enjoyed shopping that much. It's not that I dislike it but the thought of spending my holiday shopping in Singapore does not exactly fill me with glee. However, on occasion I have been known to splash out on a coveted item, or even indulge in the odd impulse buy in order to congratulate or commiserate myself.

One such occasion was when I split up with last boyf six years ago. I decided to buy a couple of CDs to cheer myself up, including the ever-popular but quite pricey Ministry of Sound Annual (Spring 2002 to be exact. I think the other one was the Karma Collection). To my disappointment I discovered that I couldn't bring myself to listen to either CD - it was just too depressing - so they sat on my desk untouched for a week or two until I started to feel a bit better about things. And then I played Disk 1 of The Annual and the first song couldn't have been better: DB Boulevard's Point of View, about a chick who's going through a really rubbish time but figures that if you change your perspective things really aren't that bad. It got me thinking. Who would expect a dance tune to have such a deep and meaningful message? But it really did make me feel better. It's a nice tune too with a pretty cool video so I thought I'd share it with you. Listen to it when you're feeling down and see if it makes you feel better.



To be sure this girl's situation was far worse than mine. My ex-boyf was a lovely chap but, as time has told, not my lobster. And at least I still had a job, and money, and a nice flat (and lovely flat-mate) and lived in a city where I didn't need a car. (I particularly love the "We have split up" line. Straight to the point; none of this flowery, pathetic woe-is-me poetry.)

I don't have a cent!
Will I pay my rent?
And even my car doesn't work.
Me and my man, he's the one
To die for; we have split up!

Can't you see, life's easy
If you consider things
From another point of view
In another way
From another point of view

I see life and lights
All the colours of the world
So beautiful won't you come with me
I've seen birds and trees
All the flowers of the world
So beautiful won't you come with me

Wise words indeed!

Cool remixes:

• Techno-euphoria remix of the song to a boring slideshow with pictures of fast cars: DB Boulevard - Point Of View (DJ Lange Remix)
• Awesome remix using the brilliant Gary Numan's "Cars": Gary Numan Verses Db Boulevard - Electric Point 2002... I love this one, but then I love "Cars". Funny, that would have been a more appropriate tune for the boring car video, don't you think?

Stressless Day, apparently

You all have my most sincere apologies for being one of the tardiest bloggers ever to disgrace the ethernet with her presence. I guess I just let life get in the way but that is no excuse as this is supposed to be a document of my life. What can I say?

Apparently, today is "Stressless Day" at uni. We are approaching the end of semester and this can be a stressful time for staff and students so our very own Student Services team has organised their annual Stressless Day "to promote healthy mind, body and spirit." Activities include:

• Free snacks
• Group meditation
• Comedy and music
• Physical activities
• Yoga

There is also a celebration next week organised by a group of students to commemorate World No Tobacco Day on 31st May. This includes free breakfast snacks, games, prizes, information and giveaways. How fantastic? It seems you can organise a commemorative day for pretty much anything these days, which prompted my colleagues and I to ponder which celebratory days we might organise and what they may consist of.

For example, Geordie Day might consist of:

• Fashion show of Ben Sherman shirts for blokes; short skirts, high heels and strappy tops for the lasses. Although if it's a warm day, as it usually is here on the Sunshine Coast, the lads will probably do away with their shirts and wander around semi-naked.
• "Learn Geordie" language workshops.
• Newcastle Brown Ale tasting sessions.
• Free ham and pease-pudding sarnies on stotty bread.
• Singalonga Geordie folk songs, including classics such as "Fog on the Tyne", "The Lambton Worm" and "The Blaydon Races".
• Meet a famous Geordie featuring Robson Green, Sting, Jimmy Nail and everyone's favourite, Donna Air.
• Free screenings of selected episodes of Byker Grove, When the Boat Comes In and The Likely Lads.
• Geordie pub quiz.

I wish I'd remembered this morning that it was supposed be Stressless Day because I ended up stressing more. I'd decided to start riding my bike to work again, and I'd told Toby that he could take my car. He's experimenting with the idea of getting rid of his car and has been riding his bike to the bus stop for a couple of weeks. I was quite excited about it until I got into the garage about 10 minutes later than intended and discovered someone with a big head had worn my helmet. After faffing with the strap for five minutes to get it right again, I ventured out onto the drive and prepared for my journey. I climbed onto my bike but something wasn't quite right. I couldn't easily sit on it. How strange. Further investigation indicated that someone with long legs had been riding my bike and had put the seat up too high for me to ride.

Feeling quite deflated and a little bit annoyed, not least because my bike tools were right in the bottom of my bag, I took my bag off the back of my bike (I strap it to a tray on my bike so I can carry more stuff and not get a sweaty back) and pulled everything out of it. After a few minutes of grappling with the bolt (how much do I wish I had a quick-release seat?) and bashing my knuckles up I decided to phone Toby (who'd already left for work in my car some time prior) and let him know how angry and frustrated I was.

ME: You could have told me that you'd used my bike and raised the seat!

TOBY: Oh no! I'm so sorry!

ME: I don't mind people using my bike but I wish they'd put it back the way they found it.

TOBY: Yes, I realise that's annoying. I'm sorry.

ME: I'm already late for work and I can't get the bloody nut undone. Is there a trick to it?

TOBY: What are you using? If you're using the wrong tool you'll ruin the bolt and then you'll never get it off?

ME: Well what did you use?

TOBY: A switcher.

ME: What's a switcher?

TOBY: It's a brown metal spanner-like thing the length of your forearm.

ME: Where is it?

TOBY: If you go into the garage...

ME: [huff puff... mutter mutter] Right. Great. So now I've got to faff around looking for my keys to get back into the garage.... [mutter... steam from ears]

... PAUSE ...

ME: Right I'm in the garage. Where is it?

TOBY: On the floor there's a toolbox.

ME: Where on the floor?

TOBY: It's just on the floor. You should be able to see it as soon as you walk in.

ME: Well, I can't. Can you be more specific? It's a pretty big room.

TOBY: It's black with yellow fasteners.

ME: You mean the huge camping box [which is on the garage floor and is black with yellow fasteners... but couldn't possibly be what you are referring to as a 'toolbox', could it?]

TOBY: No! It's a toolbox.

ME: Well, I can't see it!!! Where is it in relation to your car?

TOBY: My car? Oh sorry... I meant the shed!

ME: !!!!!!! [steam]

And so it went on. After walking right around the outside of the house and locating the toolbox in the shed but not finding the switcher in the described location, Toby had me looking first on the bench in the shed (not there), then on the bench in the laundry, which required walking back around to the front of the house and letting myself back in again only to find it wasn't there either. I eventually found the switcher in the toolbox, not on top as specified but under some other gear, and discovered that it's actually about 12cm long and is metal with some rust (not brown metal the length of my fore-arm).

I then spent quite a while frustratedly trying to undo first the nut, then the bolt with said switcher and bruised and bloodied my knuckles even further. Thoughts of having to catch the bus were flying through my mind, which frustrated me as it meant changing and re-packing my bag, plus not getting any exercise for the day. I just couldn't figure out how Toby had done it. No matter how I tried there didn't seem to be enough space to get the switcher onto the nut and then turn it. I felt like a useless girl.

I called him back to whinge and make him feel guilty.

And then the bright spark decided there was an even better tool I could use. Back to the shed I went and this time I was instructed to pull out a ratchet kit, infinitely easier to find and the whole thing was resolved in less than five minute. Five minutes!! I could have done it all in five minutes. No faffing around getting my toolkit from the bottom of my bag, or pulling out my handbag to get to my keys, or looking in numerous locations for some enigmatic tool which looks nothing like the picture I had of it in my mind's eye, or bashing up my knuckles and scratching my wedding ring. Just put the bike down, straight round the back and into the shed, find the ratchet kit on the shelf, back to the front, fix up the seat, put the ratchet kit away and off you go. How I wish that was how it had happened. It just goes to show how important good communication is.

At least next time I'll know which tool to use and I'll be able to fix it up straight away without bothering Toby.

As if there'll be a next time. I don't think Toby will dare leave my bike incorrectly adjusted after the hard time I gave him this morning.

And by the way, I still want a bike with a quick-release seat. And suspension. And a smaller frame. I'm hoping at least one of these things will prevent my bum getting as sore as it was on the ride today.

Incidentally, my knuckles are so sore and bruised that I can't get my rings off and I'm paranoid that I left without locking the laundry door but apart from that the day is definitely improving.

A Dad's-eye view: Weddings

Conversation with my dad regarding my cousin's recent wedding:

ME: And what was Wendy [the bride] wearing?

DAD: A white dress.

Cool slideshow feature: Tasmania

I have just discovered a cool feature of Google Photos (Picasa) and that is the ability to create slideshows of your albums to embed in a web page or blog post. This differs from the permanent slideshow that I have in my toolbar to the right as I can only display one album at a time here, it's small and you can't view captions. With the Google Photos Slideshow I can choose the size and create a new slideshow every time I post a new album. You can view captions by clicking on the speech bubble. (If you can't see speech bubble and other controls just hover your mouse over the slideshow.)

Of course you can always go and run the full size slideshow yourself by clicking on the 'My photo gallery' link to the right but a cool new toy is a cool new toy and it just begs to be played with. So here is the first of what could be many embedded albums: Honeymoon in Tasmania.

Me, the discerning bride

Yes, more wedding stuff for your delectation. Many of you will remember my tendancy to drag my birthdays out for as long as possible and now I'm doing the same with our wedding. I don't do it with birthdays any more though; I'm too old for that now.

This time it's The Discerning Bride magazine feature that came out a few months ago. I have finally got around to scanning it and getting it online (after scanning it as PDF and emailing it around, photocopying it and sticking in the post to my grandparents, and handing it around to everyone who'd bother to look at it).

From Our Wedding

In further exciting wedding news (I am obsessed; I have no life) we are now in possession of over 1000 professional digital images of our wedding and in a few weeks we should have our wedding album. I will probably struggle to show this to most of you but I do have digital images of the layout so I may well post that at some point too.

Big Freeze

So you think you're frozen back in the Old Dart* what with your snow and that? That's nothing! Check out this cool clip where 200 people froze themselves in time at exactly the same moment for five minutes in New York's Grand Central Station.



For more information see ImprovEverywhere.com

* The Old Dart: An Aussie reference to Britain (I'd never heard of it either), the origin of which is a corruption of "dirt", as in the old dirt, meaning the old country.

Sources:
http://www.abc.net.au/newsradio/txt/s1837062.htm
http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-old1.htm

To the moon and back

Wow! What a trip! I LOVE TASMANIA!!! We had a fantastic time and it's a beautiful place. I recommend it to anyone, particularly those people who live in Australia and have little excuse for not having been, but also to those who may be planning a trip Ozwards and may not have considered including Tassie in their itinerary.

I have uploaded our photographs to Picasa and I'm in the process of adding comments to each one. I may summarise them in a post some day but to expedite getting it out there I will leave it at that for now, rather than giving you a lengthy travel journal straight up. I will be continuing to add comments and probably a few more maps, especially for those of you who may be thinking of going and are keen on doing some walking whilst there.

There is so much that we didn't get to see or do, surprising considering the size of the place. I can't understand how people can "do" the whole place in three or four weeks; they really wouldn't be doing it justice. We stayed on the Tasman Peninsular for seven days and that was nowhere near enough just for that one little section. It's definitely on our list of places for a second visit.

Thank you so much to all of the friends who helped make this trip possible. Thanks to Lucie, Scott, James, Melissa, Jillian, Jimbo, Mark, Mindi, Guy, Libbette, Jon, Megan, Pete and Daneale.

http://picasaweb.google.com.au/lindseybuckle/HoneymoonInTasmania

Quote (and word) of the day

I wanted to share with you this great quote I read last night in the novel Fear of Flying by Erica Jong:

There are no atheists on turbulent airplanes.

How true.

I haven't got much else to say really. I just blogged for a chat and because I liked that quote. It's a bit like when you phone a friend for no particular reason but just to hear their voice, say "hi" and have a chat. I don't really do that any more, which is a bit sad really.

Another interesting thing I learnt today is the meaning of the word "nonce". I don't know what I thought it meant but I didn't think it meant any of the definitions I found. I looked it up because it fell into a sentence I was reading at work, about web site authentication. The sentence was thus:

The server sends a nonce to be used in creating a digest of the user's password.

A what? I thought. Now, I think I thought a nonce was a silly person and I did wonder why the server would send a silly person to the browser so I looked it up and this is what I found:

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopediaNonce may refer to:

• Cryptographic nonce, a number or bit string used only once in security engineering
• Nonce (slang), a sex offender or child sexual abuser
• Nonce word, a word used to meet a need that is not expected to recur
• The Nonce, a rap duo

Well, I never. Sex offender, indeed. I will never call anyone a nonce again. Not sure I ever did anyway but I certainly won't in future. (Obviously, in terms of the sentence above it means the first definition. I am surprised that it can also mean sex offender but am in no way implying that a web server sends a sex offender to the browser. That would be really, really creepy.)

Dictionary.com also claims it means:

the present, or immediate, occasion or purpose (usually used in the phrase for the nonce).

So there you go. And that's that from this rather random post.

The trouble with blogging

The trouble with blogging is that you can't always say what you want to say, and what you do say you worry about.

This applies in all forms of writing and journalism, and I guess it applies to comedians too. In fact sometimes I wish I was a comedian rather than a writer. Yes, I consider myself a writer. I have a number of writing projects on the go other than this blog, and one day I'd like to do something other than just write my blog on occasion. I'd really like to make a career of it. This is really just practice.

But back to why I'd rather be a comedian. Anything goes in comedy and everyone knows that it's supposed to be funny. Granted, it isn't always; sometimes it's just mean. But people know what to expect from comedians. Friends and family know that anything they say or do can and will be used against them, in the form of comedic art. I suppose, too, that not many people will be present at a comedian's every show. Take, for example, the popular mother-in-law jokes comedians seem to love. Do you suppose that they tell those jokes when said mother-in-law is in the audience? Or perhaps said mother-in-law didn't really do or say the things the comedian claims; it's all artistic license and she couldn't possibly be offended by that. But, you get my drift.

The trouble with writing is that no one really knows whether you're being literal or humourous, and anyone can pretty much read anything you publish into the public arena. You can't publish a blog post and say "oooh... hope the boss isn't in tonight".

My writing is based on real life. Things in my life influence what I write. Sometimes I exaggerate; sometimes I bring a number of different things together with a common theme. Always I worry about whether the people I mention, or even people I don't mention but who may recognise aspects of themselves in my writing, will be offended by what I write. Much of it is tongue-in-cheek and intended to entertain, not offend, but you just never know. So far I've had no complaints but I have had indirect comments (i.e. via Toby, for example) by acquaintances who think certain other acquaintances mentioned in my writing may be offended by what I've said.

Indeed I have left out many an amusing story from this blog because of concern that others involved may be upset. Right now I am busting to tell you a funny story about a conversation regarding cooking breakfast with one saucepan, possibly only funny because of my perception of the conversation. I'm aware that the other participant of the conversation may have a different, un-funny view of it and may think I am making fun of them so I have refrained from telling my side of it. Unless, of course, that person reads this and gives me their permission to tell the story.

To all of you reading now I say writing is my passion. I hope you are entertained by it. Should you one day find yourself, something you have said or done, or perhaps just a caricature of yourself, parodied, or indeed literally represented within this blog, or any other work of mine, please do not be offended. Just know that you are all fair game.

Generous listening

This morning I endured one of the most excruciating one and a half hours of my life in the form of an immensely boring department meeting, during which I was trying my very best to "listen generously".

During the meeting a young colleague, whose wife has recently had a baby, commented that the start of semester had gone very smoothly for IT Services. Eventually, after a lengthy soliloquy, the IT Director replied that she was pleased that this young chap had made such a comment, upon which she mentioned his name. I do not think that her comment warranted a response, yet when he failed to do so she brought it to everyone's attention, asked if he was off in "babyland" and told us all that we must be aware of the difference between "generous listening" and "stingy listening".

An hour and a half later I had decided that those who wish others to "listen generously" should also speak generously, which in fact means the opposite of how it sounds, that is to speak succinctly. Such speakers should remain aware of the time that these generous listeners are investing in their listening, place the appropriate value on that time and respect it accordingly. As such, I have combined my own guide to public speaking, or speaking during meetings.

1. Do not use more words than is necessary to convey your point.
   Most writers understand this one. However, it is a little more difficult to put into practise during speech as you can't really edit your words after you've said them. Perhaps just put a little more thought into what you wish to say before you've said it.
   
   
2. Do not give your listeners more information than they need.
   Be aware of who your listeners are and what their viewpoints and roles are. Keep this in mind when deciding which information to impart to them. Time is precious and they have important jobs to do, and if you happen to be their manager then you really want them to do those jobs. So don't waste their time by telling them little side stories about the politics of your last board meeting. Don't tell them about all the effort you've put in to get a particular result; they expect this from you anyway. They only need to know the facts.
   
   
3. Do give them the opportunity to find out more information if they are interested.
   This might be in the form of questions following your presentation or speech. In a large group, however, this might only interest a small number of your audience. Be respectful of the others, particularly if they are the majority. This is especially pertinent if the meeting is a mandatory one and the attendants are not necessarily there by choice. If you are presenting a document, don't read it to your listeners. Give them the gist (a verbal executive summary) and make the document available to them to read in their own time.
   
   
4. Don't talk about all the things that could have or would have happened; just talk about what has or will happen.
   Whilst I'm aware of the potential irony here, this is really just another way of saying points 1 and 2 above but with a specific example.
   
   
5. Don't use a long word if a short one says the same thing.
   Long words and flowery language do not make you sound clever, just really boring. This makes it much harder for people to listen generously.
   
   
6. Do not interrupt the main speaker, even if you are his superior.
   Interruptions and interjections make the speaker's speech longer, which in turn makes it more difficult for people to listen to. If the speaker makes a mistake with a relevant detail, then correct him in a non-condescending tone. Do not interject just because you like the sound of your own voice and think the listeners might too, and do not continuously argue an irrelevant point with him just because you hate to be wrong and think he should respect his superiors.
   
   
7. Assign approximate portions of time to each of your points before you start speaking.
   Before the meeting decide what it is that you wish to talk about. Then prioritise each item. Take the length of time that you will have to talk, being mindful of possible interruptions and divide it proportionately amongst your items, allowing more time for the higher priority items.
   
   For example, let's say you have four items you wish to discuss during a one hour meeting, one of uber-importance and three of lesser but equal importance. You know the Director will also want to speak for a short while, and each team leader will give an update. Let's assume this leaves you with approximately 35 minutes. Take away between 5 and 10 for interruptions and corrections from the Director, and questions from those of your listeners who are actually listening generously. You have 25-30 minutes. You could speak for 10-15 minutes on your uber-important item and approximately 5 minutes each on of your remaining items.
   
   Do not present your listeners with a document consisting of approximately 18 items (although the exact number is unknown to them) and then proceed to spend 6 minutes on the first item, no matter how uninteresting or irrelevant. This will only serve to fill them with despair and they will stop listening generously in order to plan their escape from the room.
   
   
8. Spreadsheets and Word Documents are not interesting material for display on a projector.
   This applies even if the spreadsheet has coloured lines.
   

If anyone has any further suggestions, please leave a comment.

Movie: Fool's Gold

Last night I went to see Fool's Gold, starring Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson. I haven't been feeling too well lately and Toby was away in Brisbane, so when a friend said she was going to see it and invited me along I decided that rather than stay at home on my own feeling sorry for myself and watching crap TV, I would go. This film has had terrible reviews. Awful. I didn't read any of them before I went but I did watch the trailer. I thought it looked worth the $8.50 on cheap-arse Tuesday.

Seriously though, what do these critics expect? Matthew "shirt-off" McConaughey, Kate "rom-com" Hudson and a movie (clearly in the "chick flick" genre) about treasure hunters. I was expecting nothing but pure unadulterated cheesy entertainment and escapism. And that's exactly what I got. Was it predictable? Yes. Was it believable? Not in the slightest. Were the actors convincing? Not really. Did any of that matter? Absolutely not.

So here's the thing: Dumb-blonde action-man Matthew and bookish-but-outdoorsy Kate are married but about to get divorced because Kate is sick of Matt getting into debt for his obsession with treasure hunting. Turns out though that he's not particularly good at finding treasure without Kate because he's stupid and she's clever. So, when he finds a clue she agrees to have one last look around, using her millionaire employer, Donald Sutherland's equipment. There's a bit more to it than that. Obviously you have to have the obligatory bad-guy and the mentor-turned-rival, token gays and some other bits and pieces not really worth mentioning. The basic gist is there is action, a bit of violence, wonderful scenery (the highlight for me, especially the underwater stuff) and Matthew McConaughey looking hot with no shirt on and being all tough and brave.

• Matthew McConaughy: Hot
• Kate Hudson: Gorgeous
• Alexis whatsherface: Cute and annoying
• Donald Sutherland: Donald Sutherland. 'Nuff said; he's totally wasted in this film. What is he even doing here?
• Ray Winstone: Hmm... I do like Ray but I prefer him as a cheeky east-end likely lad. I didn't find his American accent particularly convincing but who cares?
• Acting: Not great, but who cares?
• Direction: Was there any?
• Script: Pretty bad, a bit cheesy.
• Laughs: a few, mainly of the slap-stick variety rather than the intellectual witty sort.
• Cinematography: lovely.; beautiful underwater scenes which made me want to jump right on a plane to some remote island on the Great Barrier Reef and don a BCD and scuba tank.
• Action: yes. Oh... the best bit which made me hold my breath and feel a bit sick was when Kate was stuck in a blow-hole. That chick has balls.
  

Would I recommend it? As long as you're not expecting anything too deep, yes, go see it. It's fun. Would I see it again? Probably not. Maybe in a few years I'll watch it on DVD. Would I have gone to see it if I'd known what I know now about it? Absolutely. It was perfect for my mind-set. Pure escapism. Is it good? Define good.

Some people think Matthew McConaughey looks like Toby. Well, I don't know about that but he is hot (have I mentioned that?) and obviously I think Toby is a bit of alright. Well, one scene in particular made me laugh as he was wandering around in baggy knee-length shorts, a bad t-shirt and no shoes. That is so Toby. And maybe Kate's character reminds me a bit of myself; quite happy reading books and writing and being all intellectual but can't really say no to a bit of adventure as long as there's a hot, strong and brave man to look after her. So perhaps for me, the escapism was all the better because I could actually imagine Toby and I one day cruising around the Carribean (or Great Barrier Reef) hunting for treasure together. One can dream. Just so long as I don't get stuck in a blow-hole.

Teenage Song

Sorry for the recent lack of communication but things are a bit crazy in my life at the moment. Work has been busy, life is busy, and I haven't really thought of much to blog about. But this, I just had to share, it's so funny. For those of you reading this on email you may need to visit the site to watch this youtube movie but it's worth it.

Apology: Historic day for Australia

This morning Kevin Rudd, Prime Minister of Australia, formally apologised to the indigenous people of Australia for a policy referred to as the "stolen generations". In an emotive and carefully worded speech Rudd apologised on behalf of the government for past policies that resulted in generations of aboriginal children being taken from their families, homes and communities and forced to integrate into Western culture.

The policies started in the 1860s and continued until 1969 and involved primarily mixed-race children. They were based upon the belief that aboriginal society was dying out and that integrating the children into western society would be for their benefit. Later on it was thought that mixed race children were at risk of abuse and neglect within their communities and they were removed for their own saftey. It is clear from personal accounts that this wasn't always the case. One such account was published as a book called The Rabbit Proof Fence and a film of the same name was released in 2002. Some children never saw their parents again.

After ten years of the previous Liberal government, led by John Howard, refusing to formerly apologise, this is a momentous day in Australian history. The apology was broadcast outside Parliament House and watched by thousands. I felt quite emotional watching it as Rudd told a story of a woman remembering her childhood before the age of four, sitting around campfires and dancing, before being taken from her mother whom she never saw again. I imagined being taken from my parents as a child and how losing them was the subject of a recurring nightmare I had when I was young. I'd worry about being abandoned and I'd dream that I'd come downstairs for comfort after waking from a bad dream. I'd see my parents sitting on the settee watching television. When I walked around the front of the settee though, I'd realise they weren't my parents. They looked like them but they had different faces. It was terrifying. Then I'd realise they were wearing masks and rip them off but they'd still have different faces underneath. Then I'd realise that the new faces were also masks and so it went on until I woke up.

Imagine living that nightmare. Okay, so maybe the authorities didn't dress up as aboriginal parents and start ripping off their own faces but the feeling that I felt, of not knowing where my parents were and wanting nothing more than to find them, would have been very much how those children would have felt. I can still remember the way that dream made me feel and it makes me want to cry when I think of the 100,000 children being taken from their homes to a completely different culture.

I think it's great that the Prime Minister has apologised. I'm amazed at how many people are against it; 30% I read on one website. It means so much to the indigenous communities to have it said; does it really mean that much to the white Australians? Why do they so passionately believe that the government shouldn't be sorry. I'm sorry. I'm not saying I'm responsible but I'm sorry that it happened. The apology was more about understanding and acknowledgement of the hurt caused than about admitting responsibility. How can anyone not want to say to someone who was taken from their parents, "I understand that this must have hurt you and I'm so sorry this happened"? We say sorry to people who are bereaved but that doesn't mean we are admitting responsibility for the death of their loved one.

The opposition leader Brendan Nelson, possibly the most uncharismatic party leader in the world, also stood up and formally acknowledged and backed the apology and made a speech that I lost interest in. He went on about the problems in aboriginal communities today, problems of alcoholism, violence and drug abuse. Granted, these are problems that are rife and need to be dealt with but did they really need raking up on this day of celebration and reconciliation? Talk about killing the party. The crowd outside Parliament House turned their back on him, clearly unimpressed with the leader of a party that has had the opportunity for ten years to say sorry and yet pointedly refused. Nevertheless boring Brendan kept droning on. Seriously, the Liberals are never going to win an election with him as their leader.

If you want to read the apology, check out this website: http://www.abc.net.au/news/events/apology/text.htm

To read Australians' comments on the apology go to http://www.news.com.au/comments/0,23600,23206140-2,00.html

Reasons I love working in IT - No. 1

What was my colleague talking about during a meeting this morning when he said (and I quote):

I played with it again this morning and tried to get it up...

Cracked me up as it did a few of my less mature colleagues; or maybe just the ones who were paying attention.

The Shift: A movie about an evolutionary shift in the collective consciousness

I stumbled across this film clip this morning on a blog called We The Change. I thought it was pretty cool and that it should be shared. Unfortunately it seems the film-makers are still raising funds to finish the movie so I don't know when it's likely to be released.

If you have some spare cash lying around and you're in the business of supporting independent film-makers then you can make a donation at The International Documentary Association website. Visit the film's website at The Shift Movie.

If you don't behave yourself I'll take you back to the shelter

I don't think I've ever actually threatened the cats with a trip back to the shelter but Zadie has been behaving a tad strangely since her visit there on Friday.

I was taking both of them down for various things. Monty ceased his days as the full monty and had his balls taken care of. Zadie had the injection the shelter should have given her back in November before we took her home. They were both microchipped.

Having experienced the joys of taking Zades to the shelter previously, when she went to have her stitches taken out a few days after she came to live with us, I insisted that Toby stick around to help me get them in the car. Monty was no bother. We only have one pet carrier so we stuck him in a cardboard box. He seemed quite happy. Then we tried to get Zadie into the carrier. We couldn't put her in a box as she's incredibly vicious in her attempts to escape. I tried to coax her into the carrier head-first. Her legs went the other way. We both tried. She refused to cooperate. She's surprisingly strong. We took the top off the carrier and Toby placed her in (still with stiff-you-can't-make-me-go-there-legs) whilst I struggled to try and clip the top back down and re-attach the front, her pushing her head through the side, front, top, trying to make a bolt for it, whinging at us. It took so long that Monty started trying to escape from his box so we had to parcel-tape him in. Then he tried to escape through the view-port I had kindly cut out for him so we had to parcel-tape some cardboard over that.

Eventually, with both cats securely in their respective carriers, I began the 20 minute journey to the shelter. Monty's head and one paw were permanently squished as far as he could get them through the now-mini viewport (more like a breathe hole really). Zadie yowled and scratched and bit at the bars of her box and attempted to dig her way out.

Once we got there they were a bit better behaved. The lady that looked after Zadie for a while before she was our cat was pleased to see her and fussed over her, and they got to sit in a cage together. When I went back later that day to pick them up Zadie was sitting in the litter tray and had been all day, the vet told me (weird cat). Monty was drowsy after his operation but Zadie perked up as soon as the vet and I tried to get her in the carrier again. And again, it took two struggling adults quite a while to get one small (but strong) cat fastened in. Yowling and biting ensued for another 20 minutes on the way home.

Zadie didn't eat for two days after that. Monty didn't eat much either but that was expected after his anaesthetic. She has also been more affectionate than usual. I'm sure she thinks we took her there to show her what would happen if she was naughty. Monty slept most of Friday but had almost fully recovered by early Saturday morning, which he celebrated by jumping on my feet with his claws out at 5am! Nice! I think he's forgotten the whole thing ever happened now and in a week or so, when his wound is healed, he'll be able to come and go as he pleases during the day rather than being stuck in the house all the time.

One sad thing about the trip to the shelter was the discovery that two of Zadie's kittens were still there. I wouldn't change my cats for the world but it did feel a bit strange, given that we'd originally been going to take her and one of her kittens (but Monty insisted we take him instead). One of them, Morgan, was being desexed at the same time as Monty. He seemed so much younger than Monty although there are only a couple of weeks between them. He was incredibly cute, with Zadie's beautiful face and Monty's colouring, and over a kilogram lighter than Monty. I only wish I could have taken him home and fattened him up but two cats is enough.

It's been a while since I last checked in here, over a month in fact. I don't know about you but that surprised me. January has flown over and here we are, a little over a twelfth of the way through 2008 already. I must be getting old because time is speeding up. It's been a very social month, what with 30th birthdays, our house-warming party, a baby shower.

Toby and I realised yesterday that it was our "demiversary"*. Six months since our wedding day and we still haven't been on honeymoon or got our wedding album. But let's not speak of the have nots; at least the 'moon is now booked and the album is with the photographer so it's out of our hands. We celebrated by drinking beer with the neighbours.

We now have our top wedding cake tier back in our own freezer; it had been staying with Lucie since the period of homelessness. The fridge situation is still a little odd in our house, in that our fridge sits in the garage not doing anything, not even plugged in (and I'm a little concerned this is bad for a fridge) and some big, huge, old oddly-shaped thing that lived in our house before we did is in the kitchen keeping our food cold. It's deep and wide until you open the doors because the fridge and freezer are side-by-side. It has an ice and cold water dispenser which we never use (and which doesn't work when you do want to use it, such as at a party) and which merely serves to take up room in the freezer which seems to be missing a basket anyway and consequently is a bit of a rubbish freezer. It's good for parties though because you can load bags of ice into it. The point I'm trying to make is that the cake is now residing on a jaunty angle because it doesn't actually fit into the freezer.

I'm not sure how we're going to get along with decorating and choosing furniture if we can't even sort out our fridges. I spent yesterday cutting the nasty colours off green paint colour charts. White and pale green is about all I've narrowed it down to for our living area. I can't decide between mint and lime but I don't want a yellowy-tone. I'm not sure how pale to go and I've no idea whether to paint the dado green and the wall white or the wall green and the dado white. I attempted to calculate how much paint I'd need but that was too hard. I think I'll just paint the whole thing white and take it from there.

Interesting DIY note: polyfiller is called spakfiller over here.

* I'm not convinced this is a real word. I thought I'd made it up but a quick search on Google uncovers plenty of other people who believe the same thing. Dammit!

Forgotten Christmas spiders (and Happy New Year)

Warning: if you're scared of spiders don't scroll down

I had to go back to work today. I happen to think that January 2nd is far too early in the year to be going to work. The year needs to settle a bit first. Like a fine wine it should be allowed time to breathe, it is not the sort of thing that should be rushed. But anyway, I digress, as usual.

New year's eve was quiet but fun. We went round to Scott and Lucie's house for a few drinks and some nibbles, plus a game of that entertaining Peruvian dice game, Perudo. Toby didn't drink much so at 11.45pm, with a slight break in the fairly consistent rain we'd been having most of the day, he suggested we drive up to Point Cartwright and see the new year in there. Which we did and which was rather nice, it having been the location of our wedding back in August. We took a bottle of nice sparkling wine, popped the cork and got merry on the bubbles. The wind was howling over the headland at a rate of about 30 knots and then the rain started again. As you can probably imagine it was nigh on horizontal. We sought shelter behind the big water tower. Eventually the rain subsided and we strolled down the hill to get out of the wind. Then the rain started again, really heavily and we ran back to the car through the forest track: partly because it was a short-cut and partly because it provided some shelter from the rain. We were soaked by the time we got back to Scott and Lucie's. And that was our new year's eve.

I realised that I forgot to share some Christmas highlight photos the other day. We went for a walk (another wet one) with Scott and Lucie through Mooloolah National Park and most of the tracks were spanned by massive bright yellow tough and sticky spider webs. Often we had to duck our heads (particularly Scott who is 6'7) to avoid getting tangled in them. In the centre of the webs were huge golden orb spiders. Here is a series of photographs I took:

A golden orb spider and its yellow web

A golden orb spider which has caught a cicada and wrapped it in webbing so there is no escape and is now devouring it.

Huge puddles (not shaped like Australia)

Hairy shoes: our shoes became covered in thick sticky mud and hairy twigs which proved to be incredibly difficult to remove and rather awkward to walk upon.

The biggest big spider we saw, and Scott's hand for perspective.

Toby and the biggest big spider we saw.