Lies, damned lies, and statistics

Completely false things that I have claimed with deep conviction to be true....because I a smart-arse.


1. That the children’s voices in Pink Floyd’s The Wall were the Grange Hill kids

2. That one of my school friend’s middle names was “Bisty”

3. That after the ambulance funding cutbacks in Melbourne circa 1996 there were just three ambulances servicing the metropolitan area


The internet was invented for people like me.

You're too twisted by half

Dear "Celebrity Agent",

I know it's really hard to get publicity for no good reason, and you and your mates spend a lot of time developing marketing strategies for your A-List clients.

But really, did you think that "David Hicks is so hott right now" is an appropriate sentiment to share with a journalist?

Do you think that speculating about the financial outcomes for a man who has been incarcerated in one of the best-known, government-approved hell-holes is an appropriate way to use your media capital?

Of course this speculation comes on the heels of your full support of Hicks' human rights, doesn't it? And your deep concern for his welfare, expressed continually on the society pages of the SMH and Daily Telegraph? Yes? YES?

No. I thought not.

Love,

Gigglewick


PS Have I mentioned that you're peddling some outdated and misogynist views about women and what they represent in politics? If you think that the policy and strategy skillz of Ms. Gillard and McKew can be boiled down to them looking good in matching wonder woman outfits, or that this will result in even one single vote, then you really should stay out of the sun. Perhaps a Brian Burke style panama is in order?

When you're ready to suggest a make-over for the more sartorially challenged male politicians of the world (more than a few of them could do with some cosmetic dentistry, but I don't see that taking up 20 column inches in the opinion pages) come back and see me. In the meantime, please shut up.

Symbol of free west

Is it possible that in years to come Prince's '1999' will gain a whole new relevance in much the same way that the entire 'Big Chill' soundtrack has to people of my parents generation and we will be on walking frames "partying like it's 1999" because it is our last vestige of hipness* that we happened to be young enough to enjoy the changing of the millenium?

I myself feel that my partying skils have improved vastly since 1999 and also the 1999/2000 new year's, although spent at a coolsie party was not my fave. But as no other years were immortalised in a top 10 rock hit, I guess that's what I'm stuck with.

* Am well aware that in using the phrase 'hipness' have discounted myself from this scenario altogether. So, so sorry.

You can count on me

When quick and decisive action is called for...

I buy pants*.

* Not these ones. Any critiques of the relative attractiveness of these pants - while amusing - do not relate in any way to the pants I actually bought.

Statements I have made in a failed attempt to end an argument

1. “We can talk about this later”

2. “I’m not one of your discussion forum doofuses, you don’t need to write in italics to get my attention”

3. “Did not times infinity PLUS ONE”

4. “Just because I said that doesn’t mean I meant it”

5. “Fine. Fine. FINE!”

6. “I’m not a computer, you know”

7. “LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU”

I'm making a list, and checking it twice

I am not in the habit of making new year’s resolutions, mostly on the basis that they are spectacularly unsuccessful. I did read an article in The Age which announced the first ever academic study of the characteristics of successful resolution-keeping, with the observation made that if everyone stuck to the “big five” resolutions* the ramifications for the world’s economies, environment, longevity and the like could be immense.

Of course, having said all that, here is the bit where I become a hypocrite. One of the things I did do was to use moving as an excuse to do a whole heap of things I should have always been doing. It’s been three months since we moved to the country, and in the spirit of program evaluation, let’s see how I’m going….

Goal 1: do more exercise

Well, I’m doing it. Half hour walk each morning, walking or riding to work most days, yoga once a week and 45 minute sessions on the exercise bike about three times a week. I feel a lot healthier and fitter, although I wouldn’t say I’m ready to run a marathon just yet.

Still to do: I think next season (i.e. next summer) I might do my bronze medallion. Well, it’s just an idea at this stage…and all of this is assuming that the exercise “bug” that I have caught doesn’t die. One of the more irritating things about exercise is that people say things like “If you do it for two weeks, it’s a habit”. This is crap. If I do something for two weeks, I can still GIVE IT UP ANY TIME I CHOOSE.

Goal 2: be more environmentally responsible

I sometimes feel like I spend half my bloody life turning off lights, but this has been easier than I thought too. Last weekend we built a compost bin in an abandoned sandpit at the base of our garden. Yesterday heralded the first in the bucketing of water from bath/shower to garden. The only new lights we buy are the eco-globe variety.

Still to do: act a bit more consciously about buying food with less packaging (Grizzlewick not totally on board with this “policy”) replant the major section of our garden with drought resistant plants, buy some additional worms for the compost

Goal 3: get Grizzlewick to try more foods

Lord help me, he’s a fussy one. Of course, if you listen to my mother, I have only myself to blame, being a fussy little sh-t of a child while my sister consumed everything fed to her with a zen-like calm equalled only by the Dalai Lama. BUT the big news is that after two years of absolute refusal, he has now decided that he likes bolognese sauce. Of course, he doesn’t like pasta (I know, what kind of a kid is he?), but the consumption of tomatoes is a major deal in our household.

Still to do: Broccoli?

Goal 4: spend more time with Mr Fix and Grizzlewick

Mission accomplished. I (technically) worked 4 days/week at my old job. Now I work 5 days/week and still have more time with the boys than I did before (mainly because there was a lot of overtime in my old job, much of it unpaid).

Goal 5: spend less/save more

Well, I did buy a new car, and I haven’t exactly paid for it yet. On the other hand, we were driving a museum piece which did not appreciate being pressed into long distance driving, so it’s a vast improvement. I am spending exactly “less than I used to” in order to buy a new car, but I can’t quite manage that extra little bit of savings around the edges.

Goal 6: find some rewarding volunteer work

This is kind of half-done. On one hand, it’s been nice to have a bit of a rest, but on the other hand I’m crazy for the “doing” and I’ve joined up to three Committees that I think will be interesting, but all of them have a limited life-span, which is pretty attractive too.

Still to do: I was having the virtues of a local conservation group touted to me by a friend on the weekend, so it’s probably only a matter of time before something like that happens.


In other years, I would have written “learning to say no” as a goal, but at the moment I’m feeling pretty open with my time and attentions. Hence long-winded, self-indulgent posts about how good everything is.



* quit smoking, diet, exercise more, do my bit for the environment, find a partner

No, you may not see my black box....

I'm not pretending this is the worst thing that's ever happened to a traveller. But I tell ya, it took a long time for me to get over it. Add it to the other stories I will be telling for 28 years.....

In 2001, my friend MW and I went to Europe for three months. It wasn’t the longest overseas journey ever, but she and I were both in long-term relationships and couldn’t exactly disappear indefinitely without Mr Fix and Buddy getting slightly concerned about our intentions of returning.

We were very excited our trip – me especially as I am something of a history nerd and was planning more time at sites of historical significance than your average old fogey. We had managed to get a rip-snorter of an airfare, which we deemed to be the result of travel agent stupidity (we believed this because several other travel agents said to us that not only could they not match the fare, they couldn’t even come within $500 of it).

We had also planned a stop-over in Japan, which was going to save us another bunch of money and also give us the chance to say that we had been to Japan when in fact all we’d done was stay overnight in Osaka at one of the Airport Hotels. That was a strange experience in itself – when we arrived all the airport restaurants were closing and we had to eat Italian food as there was no Japanese food to be found.

So in resuming our flight to London, we were pleasantly rested and not particularly hung-over despite our propensity for watching Japanese game shows until late in the night* and dance about the room in the sheer delight that comes with being on holiday. We were being met by my friend Amandalicious, who had lived with Mr Fix and I about four years previously, and who now lived in Richmond, just north of London.

Like many international flights, our luggage had been sent straight through to Heathrow and we were carrying only our (over-stuffed) day packs. Mine, certainly, contained more books than was entirely necessary.

Anyhoo, MW has an Irish passport, so she wandered gaily through the residents queue while I waited with the several thousand other sweating and tired individuals in the “rest of the world” line.

When I finally got to the front, the official took my paperwork and then bluntly informed me that I had an invalid ticket.

Me: “What? What do you mean?”

Him: “You don’t have an English passport, and this is not a return ticket”

At this point the hideously cheap ticket started to make sense. Karma was raining down on me in a very, very frightening way.

Me: “But how could I get on a plane without a return ticket – surely the airline staff should have checked this?”

Him: “It’s the wrong ticket”.

It had started to look very much like they weren’t going to let me into the country. There were several versions of the conversation above had with both this man, his supervisor, a randomly interested colleague and I was starting to really fear that I would be put on a plane back to Melbourne (at my own expense of course).

Eventually, MW finished all her “I’m here” phone calls to family and friends and wandered back to see what was going on.

“I don’t have the right ticket! I don’t have a return ticket!” I wailed.

She pulled her ticket out of her bag and looked at it.

“No,” she said. “I have your ticket. You must have got mine by mistake.” She then reached over the desk, ripped the ticket the man was holding for me out of his hand and said, “See? Look at this! It says MW right here. It doesn’t even say her name!”

One might think that the suitably humbled official might have

a) realised that the ticket and passport did not have matching names and perhaps drawn THAT piece of information to the passport holder’s attention

b) when confronted with the evidence that a simple mix up had occurred when tickets were returned at Kansai Airport, smiled politely, apologised for the stress and let me go on my way.

But no.

First, he made fun of my job: “Communications Officer – what do you do, answer the phone?” (accompanied with a jab in the ribs to his oh-so-amused colleague)

Then he questioned whether I had any friends (in London) and asked me to call them to verify my good character: I said: “I can’t call her, she is waiting about two hundred metres behind you”

And then they made me prove my bank balance, which thankfully was very healthy.

And then, after 40 minutes of piss-farting around, they grudgingly conceded they would have to let me enter their country.

Amandalicious was waiting patiently at the gate, with a home-made sign which read “G’DAY GIGGLEWICK!” which no doubt she had been enthusiastically waving at one point. She immediately took us home for multiple glasses of red wine before we collapsed in a heap. The next day I had my very first breakfast that came with a gin and tonic.

The next week, when I flew (alone, except for the other 200 passengers) to Ireland to meet MW, I was a bit paranoid. I practically crash-tackled the Irish Immigration official at the regional airport to present him with my (perfectly valid) ticket and passport. We had the following exchange:

Me Here’s my passport. Do you want to see my passport?

Him: Not really.

Me: No, here it is. And my ticket.

Him: How long are you staying?

Me: Eight days.

Him: Have a good time.


And I did. **

I'm off to sample the finest "prawn cracks" in all the land tonight. Will report on their relative gastronomic (and economic) value later.

* If you’re wondering what happened to the Tokyo Shock Boys, this is where you’ll find them.

** Realise this is the blogging equivalent of the 12 year old plot technique, "And then I died", but I got nothin' else.

Hoping is not enough to live upon

I don't know about any other lefties out there, but I am frankly starting to get a little bit concerned about several of my friends and acquaintances apparent lack of control when it comes to pre-election excitement*. This, from a bunch of people who with the power of their cynicism could usually put a shuttle into orbit.

For those who are wondering, here is the appropriate way to deal with the Federal politics news of the past few months.


1. Rudd elected leader of ALP

Appropriate response: "Couldn't be any worse than Beazley"

Inappropriate response: "GAH! Labor becomes competitive! Hooray Rudd/Gillard, it's a whole new ball game, here comes a clutch of Queensland/Victorian seats we never would have won otherwise, etc"


2. Rudd gains ground quickly in the polls

AR: "Honeymoon. REMEMBER LATHAM"

IR: "It's HAPPENING! IT'S HAPPENING!"


3. Rudd gains even more ground including an idiotic headline: "Mr 65 per cent", Howard reshuffles cabinet

AR: "Meh. He was going to do that anyway. It's an election year"

IR: "Gillard will eat Hockey for breakfast! Ha ha ha ha we're number ONE etc"


4. McKew preselected in Bennelong, Combet so committed to Labor cause that he vows to continue fight from labour movement

AR: "Labor can't win Bennelong" (resist temptation to make some comment about the relative hotness of Greg Combet. After all, he is a fancier of birds)

IR: "Maxine McKew will wipe the floor with Howard and by the way Greg Combet is so hot right now"


Like Rudd, I am preaching restraint in this instance. Excitement is fine, as long as it is channeled into making sure that the 16 seats which form the Howard majority are whittled back to, let's say, none. Apparently it is a common tactic to assure MPs that they are doing VERY BADLY INDEED in order to spur them on to greater victory (and you can see it in the backbencher revolts against Howard lately re social justice issues - those folks are rightly concerned that their seats are in a very tight spot indeed. And also, y'know, The West Wing). That's my plan. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't think you need cover your car with bunting and streamers yet.

Cupcakes should not yet be made, nor commemorative t-shirts stockpiled. I was suitably skeptical last time we did this (Federal) thing** and then allowed myself just enough excitement to be completely and desperately disappointed the government didn't change.

C'mon kids. We're cynical enough the rest of the time. Why not now?***



* Ms Fits, you will notice, has been stoically counting down for the last three years, and comments to her blog of the last six months or so have gotten decidedly more frantic re the count-down and impending election. Also, for some reasons it seems to be all anyone can talk about at the moment....or maybe I've just been listening to too much 774.

** Worth noting that plenty of people I know now reckon they saw the wheels falling off much earlier than they admitted at the time. Ah, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

*** Of course maintaining cynicism doesn't prevent you (and all your friends) from moving to a marginal seat, or giving some time to a political campaign.

It's all takin' and no givin'

My workplace has a strange system whereby there are a lot of programs that are quite different housed in the one place. The programs vary quite a bit but there is a high level of portability between programs – a lot of internal movement in the organisation and also a series of programs that are funded by other organisations located in the same place.

One of the workers in a program that is located here (but not part of the parent organisation) observed to me when I first started that there was no point in my boss having introduced me to her, because she “didn’t count” (not being part of the core program). I’ve been thinking about this lately, because it is true that they don’t attend general staff meetings, for example, but they do use the services of the organisation (staff room, etc) and also use the services of the reception staff.

The reception staff here are uniformly lovely. Unlike a lot of other places, there are men and women working in reception and they have a camaraderie and, dare I say it, a bonhomie about them that is very welcoming. They are tolerant and friendly, and even put up with a reasonable amount of Grizzlewick shouting about his day while waiting impatiently for his mother to emerge from the depths of the office space.

Which is why it has bothered me that on several occasions now, the workers in the “separate” program have been outrageously rude to and about the reception staff*. I suppose it is possible that they have had an unpleasant experience at some point. But I have to wonder what any of this achieves other than perpetuating a division that the “separate” staff have been complaining about? I know it would be difficult for me to maintain a loyalty or respect for some one who I know is deriding me either behind (or to one side of, in some cases) my back.

I’ve never understood this predilection amongst some people to treat those they feel are lower down the pecking order than they are with contempt or derision, or to interpret the friendliness and openness of some as stupidity. When I first started my last job, there was a strong sense from many that because I am friendly, chatty and smile easily (partnered with youth and enthusiasm) that this was a “cover” for a lack of intelligence. I for one say that it’s possible to be both friendly and smart, and that being stand-offish or officious is not a hall-mark of great brain-power**.

I also think that the people I have met who have had any kind of power that I have instantly clicked with are those who show they aren’t above doing the tasks that others could do: the General Manager making coffee for their staff, the highly-paid Communications consultant patiently filling 500 information packs with photocopied sheets. Likewise, the people I have taken an instant dislike to are the ones I have made cups of tea for, with never an offer in return, or worse, the expectation that even though anyone should be able to make their own damn hot beverages, that is what I am there for***.

As a workplace issue, is being friendly, generous and happy really such a career-killer?


* The day after I first wrote this piece, I came into the workplace to hear one of them saying “Do I really have to say hello to them, every time I go into the office? I mean, is that what they expect now? Do I have to pretend to be their friends? And did you hear what they were talking about? Banjos!” followed by snorts of derision and peals of laughter. For cryng out loud, what the f-ck is that?

** As a side issue, it grates on me endlessly to hear John Howard use phrases (and this is one of his favourites) like “what people have to understand”. Because unless he told us that we “have to understand it”, we’d be too dumb to, and also incapable of forming our own opinions about things, right? Now, get back to blogging about toddlers and Wolfmother, and leave the sensible discussions to we brainy types.

*** I'm well aware that some people would consider that their jobs had "making the boss a cup of coffee" as an implicit role. I'm just saying that I don't think it's right that these jobs should always fall to the people we perceive to being on a "lower rung" than others.

Possible answers to the question "What is your problem?"

Can’t run in these shoes, truck approaching

Slowly dying of jealousy

Bitten by camel

The cheese in my “on the go” deli lunch has gone mouldy

Can’t do maths for shit

Bad grammar (see above)

I need a fork

Global warming – it’s everyone’s problem

I feel your pain

My mind is blank*



* To be fair, not always considered a problem.

The internet: when the local library just won't do

If you were to search for "steps of a pineapple reproductive system" on google, you would get 51,000 hits.

Of these hits, your old pal Do I Have To makes it in at # 8.

Woo hoo!

The champagne is chilling as we speak.

FYI other popular searches getting people here are mostly about waxing and bridesmaids.

I hope you know that I accept no legal responsibility for the advice given on this blog, particularly to those TOO DARN YOUNG to be using alcohol as a deadening agent.

Seriously.

Monday Quiz

1. Is “dessicated coconut” quite possibly the most obscure Keating insult ever?

2. Am I good looking, or funny looking? Which is better? Why?

3. Why can’t I be more like Janene Garofalo*, but also what the hell is going on with her eyebrows?

4. What’s going on with MY eyebrows?

5. Why do people insist on making vegetarian meals that are imitations of meat?

6. Why is my tummy itchy?

7. Why, when I am distracted, do I always type “L” into the web browser bar?

8. Where did all those enormous three-wheeled bikes from Coke ads in the 1980s go?

9. Why did I spend $3.00 on a can of coke the other day when the staff room stocks the very same cans for a bargain basement $1.00? Come to think of it, why did I spend $3.00 on a coke AT ALL?

10. Where are you going now? Come back!

* Without the Scientology

I'm standing here, on the ground...

Welcome to the third instalment of "the wedding series". Again, part instruction, part history, here are some choice moments that I wouldn't have expected forming a challenging part of my wedding experience.

Things you might choose to be prepared for at the “reception”

1. Seeing an incredibly tall friend and a very short friend dancing together…this Twin Peaks style-tableau will be burned into your brain for the rest of your life

2. The wedding band which comprises a group of your friends deciding that a really romantic song to play at your wedding is INXS’ ‘Don’t Change’. I suppose I don’t disagree with this per se, but it still seems a little bit odd to me. Especially considering the whole 80s Crowded House vs INXS thing, and the fact that I think I have made it clear over the course of my life which camp I am in on that one (hint: not INXS).

3. The repeated use of the phrase “wife”.

4. Fabulous food that you eat not one morsel of, despite your dear friends loading up several plates for you, and completely negating the time and effort you put into making sure that the menu was “just right” (for you). It’s useful to make sure that the place you are staying has an in-room breakfast provision (better would be room service, but they don’t tend to have that at pubs masquerading as B and Bs), so you can make sixteen pieces of toast when you get there.

5. Males friends asking your “husband”’s* permission to dance with you. And I’m talking disco dancing, not Chris de Burgh, ‘Lady in Red’ style.

6. Your dad’s friend getting half your coolsie friends completely ripped on an opium-laced joint that he thoughtfully prepared for the assembled congregation. Mr Fix got wise (he got some eyes?) and having been through this experience before limited his intake. This didn’t stop our friends marvelling at his ability to wield a knife while on cake-cutting duties later that night.

7. Your ex-boyfriend getting completely blind and spending fifteen minutes telling you, no really, TELLING YOU, what an AWESOME WEDDING you’ve had and how much he REALLY LOVES YOU GUYS and how much better your wedding is than THE OTHER TWO WEDDINGS HE HAS BEEN TO THIS YEAR, NO REALLY, NO REALLY….(Grandpa Simpsons-style narcolepsy ensues….everyone breathes a sigh of relief)**.

8. Your sister’s dog almost collapsing under the weight of assembled bones and tid-bits fed to him by the 70 wedding guests who saw him and ‘felt sorry for him”**

9. Finding out, the next week, that the cricket club didn’t really appreciate your friends doing donuts on their oval later that night while playing Regurgitator really loud on the car stereo and leaning out the window/chopping up the cricket pitch.

10. Arriving at aforementioned hall the next day to find one of your friends curled up with his head on a blue-stone block for a pillow and cuddling a twelve-litre bladder from a red wine cask.


Coming next: Ten reasons why your wedding is not about you

* It’s been nine years. I still very very rarely use the word “husband” to describe Mr Fix. And I’m not a huge fan of “wife” either. Is anyone else wondering why we got married (we didn’t have a toaster - after our wedding, we had two! Score!)

** I read with amusement INCraig’s comment in relation to my last instalment. We invited a couple of ex’s to our wedding, but only the ones with whom we are still on good terms, so no need for punching-out from anyone. There was possibly a close-run with another group of friends where couples had split and re-matched, but we were too busy feeling bathed in the love of one another to bother about any of that crap.