Yippee! I like to start the day with a yippee. It seems positive and upbeat, which is how I am feeling. You might wonder why I have never started my other blogs with a yippee but that is just because I have usually said it just before I start typing. Anyway, this morning’s little outburst of positive energy is because I managed to sleep for 6 hours STRAIGHT last night. Despite being desperately tired, I still stayed up too late, which is something I do, and got to bed at nearly midnight. Part of that was me cleaning up after dinner but mostly I blame the TV. Anyway, DW came to bed shortly after me and woke me up and after a little while we went back to sleep at about 12:30am. Then my alarm went off at 6:30am and Little Man went off at 6:32am. That’s six hours! It has made me feel… well, refreshed may be overstating it a little but at least I don’t feel like stabbing myself in the leg with a fork just to stay awake.
Other things make me feel like stabbing myself in the leg with a fork. The current crop of ads for Big Brother for instance. It is billed as Reality TV when it is actually just a bunch of pretty wannabes (I think “wannabe” is now a word) who exist on the fringe of society playing unscripted roles for the entertainment of people who think they are seeing how “real” people behave, if they could be edited and have their daily life summarised in their five minute slot of a half hour show. You may think “Well, just don’t watch it if you don’t like it!” and that is fair enough. I don’t watch it. And I don’t even particularly mind the concept or the show itself, but I don’t like the ads. I don’t get as much choice when it comes to watching the ads. They just pop up and slap you in the face like a big face-slapping popper.
I am pretty open-minded about entertainment. I think watching people interact is fascinating and Big Brother does do that to some degree. I watched some of the previous series and particularly liked watching “Big Brother Uncut” you know, for the articles. However, the problem is that the same type of people apply and get on the show. Because of the constraints of time and TV ratings and duty-of-care, the Network responsible is forced to be very choosy and the result is a “type” of person that fits a very narrow bill. There is definitely scope within that type for a vast range of individual temperaments and characters but this is further hampered by more constraints such as the rules of the show. The comedian Ross Noble once said he thought a good way to spice things up would be to release a black panther into the house and see what the pretty people do. I personally don’t want to see anyone get mauled to death, but he makes a good and funny point.
Watching people jump through hoops is not actually as interesting as people struggling in their real lives, even with things as unlikely as a panther attack. Again, I’m not looking for blood here. I mean, how do people react when the choices they make affect their own future and their loved ones? What about when the choices of others affect us? I know most (all?) of the contestants are looking at BB as a way to the Fairy Tale life of celebrity and red carpets and in that way it can be argued that they fit the bill, but I don’t agree. I think our society has elevated celebrity status to that of “above and beyond” the daily lives of ordinary people, where worry has no meaning. But for most of us, it will never come. And I personally think that is a good thing.
Mt Thomas may be the body-count capital of Australia but it is closer to reality than Reality TV, because at least the writers are trying to make characters that we, the humble audience, can connect with. These people have lives not unlike our own, aside from all the death. BB may well be entertaining, but it is not nearly as close to reality as the promoters would have us believe. It comes down to my own personal belief that Reality TV is a misnomer. The News is Reality TV. If it comes to watching unscripted TV then I prefer "Thank God Your Here" (sans Tom Gleisner). I wonder if they'll do an "Uncut".
Gotta run!
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Tic tacs are not Proton Pills. They are tic tacs.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Welcome back. Its been a while. I've been so busy that I've barely had time to scratch myself let alone anyone else or even blog, but I promise things look like they will calm down in about two weeks. Until then, blogs might be a little brief, but I will try and post more frequently. Anyway, I have a very, extra special reason for posting today.
IT IS DW's BIRTHDAY!!!
YAY!
Whoo Hoo! YIPPEE!!
DW is "Dearest Wife" for those who have just joined us. I'm not going to say how old she is but let's just say we'll need a pack of 35 candles next year. Unfortunately I have to work today, otherwise I'd be home right now, pampering and doting and probably annoying but definitely well-meaning and looking after... I'm not sure how to end that sentence now. Anyway, you get my drift. Why not take a sickie, you might type, though you may have spelt it "sicky". That seems wrong and off-topic to me. Did I mention that I have a LOT of work. I am acting-pseudo-quasi-temporary-silent-manager, I'll have you know.
So, no time off work for me. But that is not to say I didn't do a little pampering this morning. And you can get your mind out of the gutter, it was just bacon and eggs, juice and coffee (instant). Also, I tended to the kids during the night, which is no small feat, though they do have small feet. Princess was fine and slept all night but Little Man woke up at 11:30pm and went back to sleep at 1am, woke again at 3:30am, back to sleep at 4:15am and up again at 6:02am. By the time he went back to bed, it was time for me to get ready for work. And make breakfast.
"Enough about you! What about DW?" I hear you type. You type loud. All of you. Well, presents are a tricky thing. We've spent an amount of money doing up the bedroom, which is coming along very well, mostly thanks to DW's excellent taste and uncapped budget, but she has been feeling guilty about spending too much money. I should point out that she has not actually spent too much money, she just thinks she has. Or at least she worries she has. DW does worry more than she ought. The bed, originally a dark chocolate brown, has been transformed into a pastey, ghostly white with little streaks. Fortunately, this is the special metal-bonding undercoat and will be covered by a kind of white. It isn't white, but rather some sort of hog-white. Actually, not the whole hog, just the bristles. Now, you may be reading this thinking, the guy is an idiot, but it is true! Not the idiot bit. At least, not only the idiot bit. There is a white paint which is not white but hog bristle. I don't know who names paints but I have some difficulty with some of the concepts. Cherry and Yellow Rose invoke some kind of familiar image. But Early April Dawn and Seeding Marsh don't really tell me anything. I personally can't tell the difference between Early April Dawn and Late May Dawn and most of the wintery mid-morning colours look pretty much the same also. Maybe if I lived in a marsh, I might have some idea what it looked like when seeded, or is that what you do when trying to grow a marsh. So you can imagine the look on my face when asked if I thought we should go with a 1/2 strength hog bristle water-base enamel or would 1/4 be enough. I've got no bloody idea.
I try to follow, I really do, but every so often I hear "I hope you'll like it" and I say "I'm sure I will." Which is true. DW does have very good taste. She does spend time pondering colours and these weird names make sense to her. Actually, I think it is kind of like naming for the purpose of subsequent identification rather than necessarily revealing anything about the colour. Early April Dawn is a kind of purple. Anyway, she has worked very hard to come up with the perfect scheme. Only, it keeps changing and evolving the way paint doesn't, so I'm not sure what we are going to have yet. Chances are I won't be able to tell the difference anyway.
Probably the best part of all this is that DW is actually getting the chance to stretch her creative muscles. She is doing something for herself, despite the look of terror on her face whenever I say something like "I bought a print for our bedroom wall - it'll blend in perfectly. Its a nude." She has really enjoyed experimenting with colours and textures and she may well have missed her calling as an interior decorator, you know, if they were female, Grace not withstanding.
So, my birthday present to her has been the bedroom. Not that I didn't want to get her something else, she wouldn't let me. Not that that has ever stopped me before. I buy presents for her from the kids. Princess got her a copy of Sense and Sensibility, which is kind of ironic given the source, namely, Princess and my own good self. Little Man has promised to buy a game to go with her new laptop which I got her a couple of weeks ago but she doesn't know which one she wants yet. Apparently Princess was shocked and dismayed at the lack of presents DW received this morning and wept for minutes, praying to the god of presents, whom she calls Santa, to give mummy more presents. DW explained that she had received other gifts such as the bed, but they don't count, according to Princess, because they weren't wrapped. Packaging doesn't count either it seems. Did I mention that Princess told several of her friends and possibly her kinder teachers that her daddy can burp loud enough to shake pictures off the wall and trigger nearby tsunami early warning systems? Its just not true. The pictures were all about to fall anyway and she doesn't even know what a tsunami is. That's just a little aside.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. DW's birthday. Today marks the occasion when she has officially travelled around the sun a whole one more time than she had last year. It is her day to feel extra special. Because I can't actually be there today, we are also going to celebrate on Saturday, with a movie-going-to and a nice dinner. I feel a little bad that I can't make her dinner tonight but I fully intend to make her a wonderful meal on the weekend. Hopefully she will get the idea that we, her family, are very grateful that she lets us come with her on these little jaunts around the sun and look forward to many more. She's pretty damn cool and colour-savvy.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Hmmm. D'Oh! Oh well. Hmmm.
IT IS DW's BIRTHDAY!!!
YAY!
Whoo Hoo! YIPPEE!!
DW is "Dearest Wife" for those who have just joined us. I'm not going to say how old she is but let's just say we'll need a pack of 35 candles next year. Unfortunately I have to work today, otherwise I'd be home right now, pampering and doting and probably annoying but definitely well-meaning and looking after... I'm not sure how to end that sentence now. Anyway, you get my drift. Why not take a sickie, you might type, though you may have spelt it "sicky". That seems wrong and off-topic to me. Did I mention that I have a LOT of work. I am acting-pseudo-quasi-temporary-silent-manager, I'll have you know.
So, no time off work for me. But that is not to say I didn't do a little pampering this morning. And you can get your mind out of the gutter, it was just bacon and eggs, juice and coffee (instant). Also, I tended to the kids during the night, which is no small feat, though they do have small feet. Princess was fine and slept all night but Little Man woke up at 11:30pm and went back to sleep at 1am, woke again at 3:30am, back to sleep at 4:15am and up again at 6:02am. By the time he went back to bed, it was time for me to get ready for work. And make breakfast.
"Enough about you! What about DW?" I hear you type. You type loud. All of you. Well, presents are a tricky thing. We've spent an amount of money doing up the bedroom, which is coming along very well, mostly thanks to DW's excellent taste and uncapped budget, but she has been feeling guilty about spending too much money. I should point out that she has not actually spent too much money, she just thinks she has. Or at least she worries she has. DW does worry more than she ought. The bed, originally a dark chocolate brown, has been transformed into a pastey, ghostly white with little streaks. Fortunately, this is the special metal-bonding undercoat and will be covered by a kind of white. It isn't white, but rather some sort of hog-white. Actually, not the whole hog, just the bristles. Now, you may be reading this thinking, the guy is an idiot, but it is true! Not the idiot bit. At least, not only the idiot bit. There is a white paint which is not white but hog bristle. I don't know who names paints but I have some difficulty with some of the concepts. Cherry and Yellow Rose invoke some kind of familiar image. But Early April Dawn and Seeding Marsh don't really tell me anything. I personally can't tell the difference between Early April Dawn and Late May Dawn and most of the wintery mid-morning colours look pretty much the same also. Maybe if I lived in a marsh, I might have some idea what it looked like when seeded, or is that what you do when trying to grow a marsh. So you can imagine the look on my face when asked if I thought we should go with a 1/2 strength hog bristle water-base enamel or would 1/4 be enough. I've got no bloody idea.
I try to follow, I really do, but every so often I hear "I hope you'll like it" and I say "I'm sure I will." Which is true. DW does have very good taste. She does spend time pondering colours and these weird names make sense to her. Actually, I think it is kind of like naming for the purpose of subsequent identification rather than necessarily revealing anything about the colour. Early April Dawn is a kind of purple. Anyway, she has worked very hard to come up with the perfect scheme. Only, it keeps changing and evolving the way paint doesn't, so I'm not sure what we are going to have yet. Chances are I won't be able to tell the difference anyway.
Probably the best part of all this is that DW is actually getting the chance to stretch her creative muscles. She is doing something for herself, despite the look of terror on her face whenever I say something like "I bought a print for our bedroom wall - it'll blend in perfectly. Its a nude." She has really enjoyed experimenting with colours and textures and she may well have missed her calling as an interior decorator, you know, if they were female, Grace not withstanding.
So, my birthday present to her has been the bedroom. Not that I didn't want to get her something else, she wouldn't let me. Not that that has ever stopped me before. I buy presents for her from the kids. Princess got her a copy of Sense and Sensibility, which is kind of ironic given the source, namely, Princess and my own good self. Little Man has promised to buy a game to go with her new laptop which I got her a couple of weeks ago but she doesn't know which one she wants yet. Apparently Princess was shocked and dismayed at the lack of presents DW received this morning and wept for minutes, praying to the god of presents, whom she calls Santa, to give mummy more presents. DW explained that she had received other gifts such as the bed, but they don't count, according to Princess, because they weren't wrapped. Packaging doesn't count either it seems. Did I mention that Princess told several of her friends and possibly her kinder teachers that her daddy can burp loud enough to shake pictures off the wall and trigger nearby tsunami early warning systems? Its just not true. The pictures were all about to fall anyway and she doesn't even know what a tsunami is. That's just a little aside.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. DW's birthday. Today marks the occasion when she has officially travelled around the sun a whole one more time than she had last year. It is her day to feel extra special. Because I can't actually be there today, we are also going to celebrate on Saturday, with a movie-going-to and a nice dinner. I feel a little bad that I can't make her dinner tonight but I fully intend to make her a wonderful meal on the weekend. Hopefully she will get the idea that we, her family, are very grateful that she lets us come with her on these little jaunts around the sun and look forward to many more. She's pretty damn cool and colour-savvy.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Hmmm. D'Oh! Oh well. Hmmm.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
I am back in the Princess’ good books. No longer in the bad books, the get-me-something books or the oh-its-you-I-hoped-it-might-be-someone-interesting books. And like any self-respecting father I got there simply by being a loving but firm parent carrying a big present. Yes, bribery may get you nowhere but it works pretty damn well for me. DW had informed Princess that I had bought her something special and so I was met at the door by the eagerest beaver that ever there was. Admittedly, I don’t think Princess actually noticed that this wonderful present hadn’t floated of its own accord into her arms. She didn’t even look at me as I opened the door. I was expecting big eyes and wide open mouth and at least a mildly astonished look but I got… well, she grabbed the present and bolted. DW managed to stop her with “Excuse me, what do you say?” to which Princess replied, “Look!” DW then indicated that thanks were in order and so Princess said “Thanks” to the box containing the present. I was acknowledged when it became apparent that some daddy know-how was required. I am not actually full to the brim of daddy know-how or even daddy’s best-guess but as you may have guessed, I’ll have a crack at anything that involves something I can break. Strangely, things I can’t break seem to hold little fascination.
Anyway, with dinner a little while off, DW indicated that she would like me to help Princess with her new toy by saying, “You brought the bloody thing home.” So it was that Princess and I unpacked her bloody new Puppet Theatre. Yes, I bought Princess a puppet theatre, complete with both puppets and theatre. The theatre also has little curtains that can be tied back and the piece-de-resistance, a sound deck. Princess has inherited her love of all things electrically motivated from me. DW likes to cross-stitch and has refused my offer to build battery-powered needles and thread. I’m not so good with metal so it would have to be made from wood. I’m also not so great with wood so DW has decided to stick with a more traditional approach to most things.
Puppet theatre is fun. The puppets are a king, a prince and princess, who may possibly be a very young queen and a green dragon. And they all have my voice, would you believe. Their accents tend to drift between Irish, Scottish, Indian and Texan, and they are occasionally gender-confused. But fun nonetheless. We were unable to use the sound deck because the volume controls were stuck on Auditorium, and obviously they mean a real auditorium. The sound deck has buttons and sliders and so both Princess and I wanted to play with that first. There are two microphones that allow you to speak, which, technically we can do without the microphones but obviously that is what they were for, so we used them. There is also background music, various sound effects and “mood” sounds. I call them mood sounds because they really pissed DW off so we had to stop. Admittedly, they were pretty loud.
So, we decided to just do without the sound deck and get to making up a play. Our first performance was a bit of a fiasco as we didn’t have a script and we both wanted to be the dragon, but I won. I was also the king and Princess was the prince and the queen/princess. She wasn’t happy but I soldiered on. When we finally agreed to do it my way, the play got underway. The following is a faithful transcript of the play.
ENTER STAGE RIGHT Dragon
DRAGON: Aha! A land for me to terrorise! Whaa Haa Haaaaa!!
KING: Hang on there. This is my land. Bugg… Don’t do that!
DRAGON: I’ll stop if you give me your daughter to eat!
KING: Eat my… No! That’s just not on!
DRAGON: Then I shall fly over there and capture her myself. Whaa Ha Haaaaa!
KING: Bugger. I’m mean, bother! Who can help me?
DRAGON FLIES, KING BOBS AWAY
PRINCESS sings in a garden
PRINCESS: Lalala lalala
DRAGON: Aha! Come’ere you!
PRINCESS: Eeek!
DRAGON: Away we fly. Whaaha,whoa wait, ok whaa haa, no I’ve got it, let her go so I can fly away. You be the prince.
PRINCE: I’m the prince.
KING: Hello Prince. Obviously you are not my son or nephew, but another, unrelated Prince. Could you save my daughter?
PRINCE: I could.
KING: If you save my daughter, you can marry her. What do you say to that, eh?
PRINCE: OK then. I’ll get my dragon net.
KING: Cool. You’ll be having my daughter in no time.
PRINCE: Yeah.
PRINCE AND KING EXIT. PRINCESS LIES IN THE DRAGON’S TOWER
DRAGON: No one will ever come for you! WhaaHaa Haaaa! Wait who the hell is this?
PRINCE: I’m the Princess
DRAGON: The Prince
PRINCE: The Prince. I’ve got a dragon net and I’m catching you.
DRAGON: Never, I’ll…wait! Bring me back here! AAARRGGHHH!!
PRINCE TAKES DRAGON AWAY AND THEN JUMPS ON THE PRINCESS. KING ENTERS.
KING: Well done. Now you have to stop that until you have married my daughter.
PRINCE: Ok. Now we are married. Mwa, mwa, mwa, uh, uh, uh (actions removed)
KING: High five!
THE END. Everyone bows.
Maybe we’ll video the next one.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: I like to think of the middle of nowhere being halfway to somewhere, only easier to get to.
Anyway, with dinner a little while off, DW indicated that she would like me to help Princess with her new toy by saying, “You brought the bloody thing home.” So it was that Princess and I unpacked her bloody new Puppet Theatre. Yes, I bought Princess a puppet theatre, complete with both puppets and theatre. The theatre also has little curtains that can be tied back and the piece-de-resistance, a sound deck. Princess has inherited her love of all things electrically motivated from me. DW likes to cross-stitch and has refused my offer to build battery-powered needles and thread. I’m not so good with metal so it would have to be made from wood. I’m also not so great with wood so DW has decided to stick with a more traditional approach to most things.
Puppet theatre is fun. The puppets are a king, a prince and princess, who may possibly be a very young queen and a green dragon. And they all have my voice, would you believe. Their accents tend to drift between Irish, Scottish, Indian and Texan, and they are occasionally gender-confused. But fun nonetheless. We were unable to use the sound deck because the volume controls were stuck on Auditorium, and obviously they mean a real auditorium. The sound deck has buttons and sliders and so both Princess and I wanted to play with that first. There are two microphones that allow you to speak, which, technically we can do without the microphones but obviously that is what they were for, so we used them. There is also background music, various sound effects and “mood” sounds. I call them mood sounds because they really pissed DW off so we had to stop. Admittedly, they were pretty loud.
So, we decided to just do without the sound deck and get to making up a play. Our first performance was a bit of a fiasco as we didn’t have a script and we both wanted to be the dragon, but I won. I was also the king and Princess was the prince and the queen/princess. She wasn’t happy but I soldiered on. When we finally agreed to do it my way, the play got underway. The following is a faithful transcript of the play.
ENTER STAGE RIGHT Dragon
DRAGON: Aha! A land for me to terrorise! Whaa Haa Haaaaa!!
KING: Hang on there. This is my land. Bugg… Don’t do that!
DRAGON: I’ll stop if you give me your daughter to eat!
KING: Eat my… No! That’s just not on!
DRAGON: Then I shall fly over there and capture her myself. Whaa Ha Haaaaa!
KING: Bugger. I’m mean, bother! Who can help me?
DRAGON FLIES, KING BOBS AWAY
PRINCESS sings in a garden
PRINCESS: Lalala lalala
DRAGON: Aha! Come’ere you!
PRINCESS: Eeek!
DRAGON: Away we fly. Whaaha,whoa wait, ok whaa haa, no I’ve got it, let her go so I can fly away. You be the prince.
PRINCE: I’m the prince.
KING: Hello Prince. Obviously you are not my son or nephew, but another, unrelated Prince. Could you save my daughter?
PRINCE: I could.
KING: If you save my daughter, you can marry her. What do you say to that, eh?
PRINCE: OK then. I’ll get my dragon net.
KING: Cool. You’ll be having my daughter in no time.
PRINCE: Yeah.
PRINCE AND KING EXIT. PRINCESS LIES IN THE DRAGON’S TOWER
DRAGON: No one will ever come for you! WhaaHaa Haaaa! Wait who the hell is this?
PRINCE: I’m the Princess
DRAGON: The Prince
PRINCE: The Prince. I’ve got a dragon net and I’m catching you.
DRAGON: Never, I’ll…wait! Bring me back here! AAARRGGHHH!!
PRINCE TAKES DRAGON AWAY AND THEN JUMPS ON THE PRINCESS. KING ENTERS.
KING: Well done. Now you have to stop that until you have married my daughter.
PRINCE: Ok. Now we are married. Mwa, mwa, mwa, uh, uh, uh (actions removed)
KING: High five!
THE END. Everyone bows.
Maybe we’ll video the next one.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: I like to think of the middle of nowhere being halfway to somewhere, only easier to get to.
Monday, June 19, 2006
A brief experiment which involved me staring at the blank screen for several minutes has reinforced two things for me. Firstly, blogs don't write themselves. Secondly, computers don't turn on just by looking at them. Even for several minutes. Thirdly, there is no thirdly. However, I mention it because I think you will all agree that thirdly is a VERY funny word, you know, if you think about it really hard. For several minutes while waiting for your computer to turn itself on. Thirdly, thirdly, thirdly. See?
Ok, on to more important things. DW and I went out on Saturday night. Like, on a date, without kids. Earlier that day, DW had used the station wagon (yes, we have a station wagon - license: BrdyBnch) to transport our new bed (a blog for another day) and so the back seat was laid down. When we got in the car to go on our "date" DW said, with a twinkle in her eye, to leave the back seat just the way it was. I haven't eaten so fast in ages. Anyway, turns out the twinkle was actually glitter and DW sat up very late chatting to our babysitter.
Ok, to be fair to "Hulie" she is more than just a babysitter. She is a self-confessed Super-Nanny, only she can say "acceptable" properly, though she does make rather frequent pop-culture references, which to me, makes her largely unintelligible. However, not only did she super-nanny Princess asleep before we got home, me with the indigestion and shattered hopes, she also brought Pez. And not just ordinary Pez. Actually, it may be ordinary Pez. But Pez in Incredible Pez dispensers. You may have noticed I capitalized Incredible, and it is not because I am excited. The Pez dispenser is actually Mr Incredible, or at least his head, or more precicesly, plastic shaped and painted like his head, and his Incredibles family. They were all there, though I may have overlooked the invisble one.
So, why would a babysitter bring a gift of such obvious value for me? Well, as I mentioned, Hulie is not just a babysitter. She is, in fact, a very close friend of DW's and she and another friend "Hathy", or Doolie when they are together, visit DW and celebrate, things. They celebrate Christmas, birthdays, celebrities, craft shows, Saturdays and so on. And they exchange gifts and give Princess and Little Man books and presents and as many coloured lollies as they can eat. Apparently I get a little sulky so they have started giving me presents too, mostly to shut me up but also because I make the coffees. Only instant coffee this time though. I still have a red welt from my last brush with the PLUNGER of DOOM. Anyway, I gots me sum presents. Hathy got me a very nice bottle of red and told me to stop sulking and make the bloody tea, because she didn't want coffee. I like Hathy. And Hulie too, though obviously for different reasons, namely wine and Pez respectively. And they both have the highly prized talent of being guests and therefore, Princess magnets.
Anyway, it made for a very busy weekend but it was nice to see DW enjoy herself. DW, Hulie and Doolie all worked together BC (Before Children) and have maintained a close friendship ever since. DW is very good at making friends. The only friends I am good at making only last until Princess wants her playdough back. There's Squishy and Pete and Roundly Bob and they don't say much and rely heavily on me to help them with their facial expressions, but they listen without judgement, guile or interest. Obviously I can get that last bit anywhere but its the combination of all three that gets tricky.
I should mention that the above should not be taken to mean I don't have friends. It just means that I'm not good at making them. There are some people who either can't or won't read the warning signs (Beware of the God - he's dexlysic) who insist on making me into one of their friends. I do what I can to resist, like sulking and making coffee, but it happens anyway. In college I used to beat potential friends away with glasses of port and exotic teas but it never seemed to work. They would just keep coming back for more. Even when I started buying more expensive port. Some people just can't take a hint. Or maybe I'm just not very good at given hints.
However, after you get used to them, friends can be quite, you know, not bad. DW has lots of friends and Princess has even more, though she doesn't even know all their names. Little Man just loves everybody and smiles at absolutely everything, not just everyone. Me, on the other hand, I am the odd one out, at least according to DW, though that was relating to a different topic. Instead of a black man, she got a black sheep. However, I am big enough to admit that maybe, some tiny part of the blame lies with me. Obviously its mostly everyone else but perhaps I could do more to engage with people and not look down on them, or at least not tell them so. Also, things will be much better when I have enslaved all humanity but until then, maybe I will try and smile at people, and not just at strangers to make them nervous. Its a start.
Ciao!
Thought for the day: Not being able to remember a saying makes me madder than whatsit full of thingys.
Ok, on to more important things. DW and I went out on Saturday night. Like, on a date, without kids. Earlier that day, DW had used the station wagon (yes, we have a station wagon - license: BrdyBnch) to transport our new bed (a blog for another day) and so the back seat was laid down. When we got in the car to go on our "date" DW said, with a twinkle in her eye, to leave the back seat just the way it was. I haven't eaten so fast in ages. Anyway, turns out the twinkle was actually glitter and DW sat up very late chatting to our babysitter.
Ok, to be fair to "Hulie" she is more than just a babysitter. She is a self-confessed Super-Nanny, only she can say "acceptable" properly, though she does make rather frequent pop-culture references, which to me, makes her largely unintelligible. However, not only did she super-nanny Princess asleep before we got home, me with the indigestion and shattered hopes, she also brought Pez. And not just ordinary Pez. Actually, it may be ordinary Pez. But Pez in Incredible Pez dispensers. You may have noticed I capitalized Incredible, and it is not because I am excited. The Pez dispenser is actually Mr Incredible, or at least his head, or more precicesly, plastic shaped and painted like his head, and his Incredibles family. They were all there, though I may have overlooked the invisble one.
So, why would a babysitter bring a gift of such obvious value for me? Well, as I mentioned, Hulie is not just a babysitter. She is, in fact, a very close friend of DW's and she and another friend "Hathy", or Doolie when they are together, visit DW and celebrate, things. They celebrate Christmas, birthdays, celebrities, craft shows, Saturdays and so on. And they exchange gifts and give Princess and Little Man books and presents and as many coloured lollies as they can eat. Apparently I get a little sulky so they have started giving me presents too, mostly to shut me up but also because I make the coffees. Only instant coffee this time though. I still have a red welt from my last brush with the PLUNGER of DOOM. Anyway, I gots me sum presents. Hathy got me a very nice bottle of red and told me to stop sulking and make the bloody tea, because she didn't want coffee. I like Hathy. And Hulie too, though obviously for different reasons, namely wine and Pez respectively. And they both have the highly prized talent of being guests and therefore, Princess magnets.
Anyway, it made for a very busy weekend but it was nice to see DW enjoy herself. DW, Hulie and Doolie all worked together BC (Before Children) and have maintained a close friendship ever since. DW is very good at making friends. The only friends I am good at making only last until Princess wants her playdough back. There's Squishy and Pete and Roundly Bob and they don't say much and rely heavily on me to help them with their facial expressions, but they listen without judgement, guile or interest. Obviously I can get that last bit anywhere but its the combination of all three that gets tricky.
I should mention that the above should not be taken to mean I don't have friends. It just means that I'm not good at making them. There are some people who either can't or won't read the warning signs (Beware of the God - he's dexlysic) who insist on making me into one of their friends. I do what I can to resist, like sulking and making coffee, but it happens anyway. In college I used to beat potential friends away with glasses of port and exotic teas but it never seemed to work. They would just keep coming back for more. Even when I started buying more expensive port. Some people just can't take a hint. Or maybe I'm just not very good at given hints.
However, after you get used to them, friends can be quite, you know, not bad. DW has lots of friends and Princess has even more, though she doesn't even know all their names. Little Man just loves everybody and smiles at absolutely everything, not just everyone. Me, on the other hand, I am the odd one out, at least according to DW, though that was relating to a different topic. Instead of a black man, she got a black sheep. However, I am big enough to admit that maybe, some tiny part of the blame lies with me. Obviously its mostly everyone else but perhaps I could do more to engage with people and not look down on them, or at least not tell them so. Also, things will be much better when I have enslaved all humanity but until then, maybe I will try and smile at people, and not just at strangers to make them nervous. Its a start.
Ciao!
Thought for the day: Not being able to remember a saying makes me madder than whatsit full of thingys.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
DISCLAIMER relating to yesterday's blog:
It should be noted that yesterday's blog was only half accurate, half mildly inaccurate and half utter nonsense. Today's blog is a full third more or less accurate. DW would like me to inform you that her representation in yesterday's blog did in no way resemble her, either living or dead, and that no animal other than myself was hurt in the making of yesterday's blog. She would also like me to state that the opinions expressed therein were my own and complete crap. Finally, she would like it to be known that she did not, in point of fact, finish her bacon on the day referred to in yesterday's blog.
Ok, so maybe I did exaggerate a little. Who cares? My version was funny, unlike the painful and unhappy truth. Actually, DW was extrememly worried and looked after me very well and made sure I was as ok as I could be under the circumstances. I guess she must like me or something.
So let me tell you about our little "mattress hunting expedition". Because I had incapacitated myself on Sunday, we had to cram in all our planned activities in to Monday, which was a public holiday. Our activities were quite simple and few, but when I say "cram", I mean we didn't have a babysitter so Princess and Little Man had to come along.
Princess isn't the best shopper when it comes to mattresses. For one thing, her method of testing isn't what most store owners would consider... allowed. To her, the beds are set up perfectly as little bouncy islands that can be leapt between and parents and store owners will chase you like crocodiles. This makes testing a bed in the usually way pretty much impossible. It is difficult to relax and get a sense of the comfort zoning of the springs and the posture conturing and support while listening to the boing, boing, boing and the very tense voice of the sales assistant saying. "Isn't she cute with the jumping and the boots and the mud..."
The reason for the mattress hunting is because we are "doing up" our bedroom. I say "we" and "our" because I am involved financially and I sleep in the room. To be fair, I also acknowledge that DW has a much better sense of decor than I do and I have willingly relinquished control of the "upgrade" to her. The thing with being a "stay at home" mum is that you are also a "stay at work" mum. I don't mean that you work all the time, as some mothers who shall remain nameless but often appear on "Oprah", would have us all believe. That may be true for some mothers but not so in our house. The problem isn't that "stay at home" mums work from the moment they get up to the moment they go to sleep. The problem is that they are "at work" from the moment they rise until the moment they go to sleep. Its the being trapped at home that is the hard thing.
For me, home is the haven I retire to after work. I use "haven" in the sense of stepping into nice warm room containing a hurricane. DW doesn't have that same sense of haven. Actually, nobody has that same sense of haven. So we are trying to make our bedroom a little something special, our own quiet space, away from the "haven". DW deserves that.
And so we hunt for beds and mattresses and bedside tables and pictures and other stuff needed to make a bedroom pretty. DW asks my opinion of all sorts of things and then says "are you just saying that?" to which I reply, "Of course I'm just saying that. Do you think I'm an idiot?"
"You could at least pretend that you're interested."
"I was!"
You see, the problem is that we have slightly different taste. For instance, DW would like a great big picture of a flower on the wall. The wall would also be excellent for a great big plasma screen. I have also explained to DW that with a great big plasma screen, we could still have a picture of a flower on the wall, only we could also have other flowers, maybe a sunset scene or a beach or even the footy. But she just wants the one flower and its cheaper as a print than a plasma screen. Besides, I don't watch that much footy anyway. Still, you know, a plasma screen.
Anyway, whwn all is said and done, the plan DW has come up with for the room is actually very nice. It has a lot of charm without being all girly and pink, not that being girly and pink has any inherent charm. I'm quite enjoying our little project together and I do get to have my input but I also know that the main need for this space is for DW and so I'll do my best to make it what she needs. Besides, as she is fond of pointing out, I'm so vague we could be living in a box and I wouldn't notice as long as it had broadband and a laptop. I think she underestimates the importance I place on a toilet. Anyway, when the room is all done and pretty, I'll post a picture with a blog, no doubt telling of my suffering and agony, tongue in cheek.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Don't walk on the Wild Side. Do the Chicken Dance. That'll get you noticed.
It should be noted that yesterday's blog was only half accurate, half mildly inaccurate and half utter nonsense. Today's blog is a full third more or less accurate. DW would like me to inform you that her representation in yesterday's blog did in no way resemble her, either living or dead, and that no animal other than myself was hurt in the making of yesterday's blog. She would also like me to state that the opinions expressed therein were my own and complete crap. Finally, she would like it to be known that she did not, in point of fact, finish her bacon on the day referred to in yesterday's blog.
Ok, so maybe I did exaggerate a little. Who cares? My version was funny, unlike the painful and unhappy truth. Actually, DW was extrememly worried and looked after me very well and made sure I was as ok as I could be under the circumstances. I guess she must like me or something.
So let me tell you about our little "mattress hunting expedition". Because I had incapacitated myself on Sunday, we had to cram in all our planned activities in to Monday, which was a public holiday. Our activities were quite simple and few, but when I say "cram", I mean we didn't have a babysitter so Princess and Little Man had to come along.
Princess isn't the best shopper when it comes to mattresses. For one thing, her method of testing isn't what most store owners would consider... allowed. To her, the beds are set up perfectly as little bouncy islands that can be leapt between and parents and store owners will chase you like crocodiles. This makes testing a bed in the usually way pretty much impossible. It is difficult to relax and get a sense of the comfort zoning of the springs and the posture conturing and support while listening to the boing, boing, boing and the very tense voice of the sales assistant saying. "Isn't she cute with the jumping and the boots and the mud..."
The reason for the mattress hunting is because we are "doing up" our bedroom. I say "we" and "our" because I am involved financially and I sleep in the room. To be fair, I also acknowledge that DW has a much better sense of decor than I do and I have willingly relinquished control of the "upgrade" to her. The thing with being a "stay at home" mum is that you are also a "stay at work" mum. I don't mean that you work all the time, as some mothers who shall remain nameless but often appear on "Oprah", would have us all believe. That may be true for some mothers but not so in our house. The problem isn't that "stay at home" mums work from the moment they get up to the moment they go to sleep. The problem is that they are "at work" from the moment they rise until the moment they go to sleep. Its the being trapped at home that is the hard thing.
For me, home is the haven I retire to after work. I use "haven" in the sense of stepping into nice warm room containing a hurricane. DW doesn't have that same sense of haven. Actually, nobody has that same sense of haven. So we are trying to make our bedroom a little something special, our own quiet space, away from the "haven". DW deserves that.
And so we hunt for beds and mattresses and bedside tables and pictures and other stuff needed to make a bedroom pretty. DW asks my opinion of all sorts of things and then says "are you just saying that?" to which I reply, "Of course I'm just saying that. Do you think I'm an idiot?"
"You could at least pretend that you're interested."
"I was!"
You see, the problem is that we have slightly different taste. For instance, DW would like a great big picture of a flower on the wall. The wall would also be excellent for a great big plasma screen. I have also explained to DW that with a great big plasma screen, we could still have a picture of a flower on the wall, only we could also have other flowers, maybe a sunset scene or a beach or even the footy. But she just wants the one flower and its cheaper as a print than a plasma screen. Besides, I don't watch that much footy anyway. Still, you know, a plasma screen.
Anyway, whwn all is said and done, the plan DW has come up with for the room is actually very nice. It has a lot of charm without being all girly and pink, not that being girly and pink has any inherent charm. I'm quite enjoying our little project together and I do get to have my input but I also know that the main need for this space is for DW and so I'll do my best to make it what she needs. Besides, as she is fond of pointing out, I'm so vague we could be living in a box and I wouldn't notice as long as it had broadband and a laptop. I think she underestimates the importance I place on a toilet. Anyway, when the room is all done and pretty, I'll post a picture with a blog, no doubt telling of my suffering and agony, tongue in cheek.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Don't walk on the Wild Side. Do the Chicken Dance. That'll get you noticed.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Having received a "Cease and desist" letter from Microsoft's solicitors, I have decided to postpone my plans to take over the world. Now I know this will please some of you, outrage others and bemuse the rest, but I think it is the wisest course of inaction. I for one welcome our evil software overloads. So, on to the next challenge. I have decided to get myself into the Guinness Book of World Records!
No doubt some of you will be surprised that I am not already in there but let me say with absolute certainty that I don't think I am. I suspect that if I could just find the right wording, Princess would probably qualify, for something. Now, I don't own a copy of the respected collection of pointless behaviour, but they do have an online version which will even let you search for records that you might like to break. And there is a process for making a world-record-breaking-attempt-at-something-pointless which is laid out in simple terms for the kinds of people who go in for this sort of stuff. Anyway, now I have a plan, I guess I'd better start thinking about what I do that no one else could/would do.
Well, apparently I can stare blankly for some hours. I'm also pretty good at scratching my head in a puzzley kind of way. And my thumb twiddling leaves other thumb twiddlers in awe. To be fair, they are easily awed.
Ok, nothing comes to mind, as it so often does, and I'm left with that empty feeling you get after a big meal. Oohh. Wait. I remembered something. Its not very world-record-breakeringish but I should mention it for all you coffee-plungers out there. BEWARE the coffee plunger from HELL!!!
Once upon a Sunday morning about three days ago I was being a very good husband and making DW breakfast in bed. That alone should get me into the Guinness Book of World Records. I had cooked the bacon and eggs and served them with a nice cold glass of apple juice when tragedy struck. Actually, it didn't strike exactly so much as wait patiently for me in the kitchen. I prepared the coffee and boiled the water. Then I boiled it again to make sure it was REALLY hot. Then I poured the REALLY hot water, with the bubbles still rising, in to the PLUNGER of DOOM. Now, nowhere on the PLUNGER of DOOM does it actually say that it is the PLUNGER of DOOM, but I know it is. So I poured the REALLY hot water into the PLUNGER of DOOM, over the COFFEE from HELL (actually, I have nothing against the coffee itself - its just a bugger to clean up) and the side burst and the REALLY hot water, bubbles still rising, gushed out the side of the PLUNGER of DOOM and all over my CROTCH of SUFFERING.
I calmly placed the remains of the PLUNGER of DOOM in the SINK of COMPLETELY MISSED and noticed the burning pain in my... the burning pain. I turned casually and called to DW. In my calmness I slipped on the COFFEE from HELL and slammed my HEAD of RUBBER into the BENCH of UNYIELDING and went down like a sack of spuds. Now, in my efforts to contact DW without alarming her or the kids, I decided that bellowing like a birthing cow would be the least distressing to the children. When DW finished her bacon and came to check what was wrong, she was obviously surprised to not find a birthing cow. In fact the look on her face said "Why is he humping the floor and bellowing like a birthing cow? And he has poured the coffee all over the floor, the big idiot."
Finally I had calmed down enough to scream "BALLS OF FIRE!" and so DW said "Well, if you hadn't behaved like a birthing cow, I wouldn't have brought you this bucket of hot water." I said, "You make a good point and I really should have thought of that before. Perhaps we could continue this discussion in the cold, cold shower?" and DW said, "I'm only kidding, its cold water. Here you go." And we both laughed.
All this took about fifteen seconds. Fortunately, no serious damage was caused and DW said my concussion was barely noticeable. Princess has said countless times since, "Dad, remember when you broke the jug and poured the coffee over yourself and slipped and banged your head and fell on the ground and yelled like a big ol' sissy man? That was funny!" Little Man just grins at me like he's waiting for me to do it all again, for his entertainment, but we haven't replaced the plunger yet. And DW won't let me make the coffeee any more because I "make such a fuss".
So there you have it guys. If you don't want to have to make the coffee, all you have to do is pour boiling water in your crotch. The head banging bit is an optional extra. I should also mention that you should never, ever underestimate the protective power of a pair of boxer shorts. Also, REALLY hot water in the crotch doesn't count as a vasectomy.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Fully functioning
No doubt some of you will be surprised that I am not already in there but let me say with absolute certainty that I don't think I am. I suspect that if I could just find the right wording, Princess would probably qualify, for something. Now, I don't own a copy of the respected collection of pointless behaviour, but they do have an online version which will even let you search for records that you might like to break. And there is a process for making a world-record-breaking-attempt-at-something-pointless which is laid out in simple terms for the kinds of people who go in for this sort of stuff. Anyway, now I have a plan, I guess I'd better start thinking about what I do that no one else could/would do.
Well, apparently I can stare blankly for some hours. I'm also pretty good at scratching my head in a puzzley kind of way. And my thumb twiddling leaves other thumb twiddlers in awe. To be fair, they are easily awed.
Ok, nothing comes to mind, as it so often does, and I'm left with that empty feeling you get after a big meal. Oohh. Wait. I remembered something. Its not very world-record-breakeringish but I should mention it for all you coffee-plungers out there. BEWARE the coffee plunger from HELL!!!
Once upon a Sunday morning about three days ago I was being a very good husband and making DW breakfast in bed. That alone should get me into the Guinness Book of World Records. I had cooked the bacon and eggs and served them with a nice cold glass of apple juice when tragedy struck. Actually, it didn't strike exactly so much as wait patiently for me in the kitchen. I prepared the coffee and boiled the water. Then I boiled it again to make sure it was REALLY hot. Then I poured the REALLY hot water, with the bubbles still rising, in to the PLUNGER of DOOM. Now, nowhere on the PLUNGER of DOOM does it actually say that it is the PLUNGER of DOOM, but I know it is. So I poured the REALLY hot water into the PLUNGER of DOOM, over the COFFEE from HELL (actually, I have nothing against the coffee itself - its just a bugger to clean up) and the side burst and the REALLY hot water, bubbles still rising, gushed out the side of the PLUNGER of DOOM and all over my CROTCH of SUFFERING.
I calmly placed the remains of the PLUNGER of DOOM in the SINK of COMPLETELY MISSED and noticed the burning pain in my... the burning pain. I turned casually and called to DW. In my calmness I slipped on the COFFEE from HELL and slammed my HEAD of RUBBER into the BENCH of UNYIELDING and went down like a sack of spuds. Now, in my efforts to contact DW without alarming her or the kids, I decided that bellowing like a birthing cow would be the least distressing to the children. When DW finished her bacon and came to check what was wrong, she was obviously surprised to not find a birthing cow. In fact the look on her face said "Why is he humping the floor and bellowing like a birthing cow? And he has poured the coffee all over the floor, the big idiot."
Finally I had calmed down enough to scream "BALLS OF FIRE!" and so DW said "Well, if you hadn't behaved like a birthing cow, I wouldn't have brought you this bucket of hot water." I said, "You make a good point and I really should have thought of that before. Perhaps we could continue this discussion in the cold, cold shower?" and DW said, "I'm only kidding, its cold water. Here you go." And we both laughed.
All this took about fifteen seconds. Fortunately, no serious damage was caused and DW said my concussion was barely noticeable. Princess has said countless times since, "Dad, remember when you broke the jug and poured the coffee over yourself and slipped and banged your head and fell on the ground and yelled like a big ol' sissy man? That was funny!" Little Man just grins at me like he's waiting for me to do it all again, for his entertainment, but we haven't replaced the plunger yet. And DW won't let me make the coffeee any more because I "make such a fuss".
So there you have it guys. If you don't want to have to make the coffee, all you have to do is pour boiling water in your crotch. The head banging bit is an optional extra. I should also mention that you should never, ever underestimate the protective power of a pair of boxer shorts. Also, REALLY hot water in the crotch doesn't count as a vasectomy.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Fully functioning
Friday, June 09, 2006
Good news! A quick search on Google today yielded a new hit for my new word. Ok, it was my blog entry from earlier in the week, but now the word is out there, so I hope you are all doing you bit. I’ve even got Princess saying it, though she uses it much the way someone else might use the word “smurf”. But that’s ok. Little Man just gives a great big smile when he hears the word, though he does exactly the same thing when someone says “smurf”. He has never seen a smurf and Princess thinks of them as “the little cold people”. Anyway, keep up the good work, unless you haven’t actually done anything yet (that includes DW! – where’s the support, I ask you?), then you had better get started. Anyway, on to more important matters, though I don’t suppose there is actually anything more important. Let’s just say, on to other matters.
I am the boss. And by that I mean my boss is on leave and has left me in charge of the whole group. Ok, the last thing he said was “don’t touch anything and don’t speak to anyone, and for God’s sake, don’t answer my phone.” I said to him, “Are you sure I’m acting manager?” and he said, “Of course you are.” So there you have it. I’m in charge. It’s a scary thought. Actually, there is only one other person in my group and he doesn’t actually report to me per se. And there is another guy who drops in once a week to sit in the boss’ chair. Also, I’m not allowed to go to the group meetings. But its all experience, and money can’t buy that. I also have to take a slight pay cut, so I guess it could be argued that I am paying for it, if you want to be negative.
So, what do I plan to do with my newfound power? Well, I’ve always wanted to take over the world. Yesterday, I created a new word and today I am in charge of… well, precisely what I am not sure as it wasn’t really explained and I have no actual control over staff, funding, equipment or lighting, but I like to think it’s a start. So how does someone take over the world? Firstly, I’d just like to stress that I do not advocate violence as a means to world domination. It may be effective but it just isn’t my way. As DW will attest, I am more likely to resort to tickling to get my way, but clearly that will not be practical. Anyway, most people don’t like me touching them. Just ask anyone on the train. They don’t know my name but they can point.
I also considered using my super-powers, but decided that would be unfair and it’s better to keep them a secret anyway, so that I can use them to defend my world once I have it in my control. I like to call it “an ace up my sleeve”, though that itself is not one of the super-powers, just a simple playing card.
Just as I created a word, so shall I take over the world. Yes, I shall achieve world domination by blogging! I know what you are thinking: “I was going to help this idiot with his stupid word thing and now he wants what?!?” Ok, let’s not jump off the bandwagon too soon. Not point being too hasty. At least koberish stands a slim chance. I know taking over the world is a long shot but no one in the whole of human or insect history has EVER tried to take over the world by blogging, and just think how grateful I’d be to those loyal followers who helped me create a word. Actually, I should point out that Koberish is not actually intended to be a religion, in case you were worried about being brainwashed by a great spiritual leader.
At my right hand shall sit Princess, who will probably act as spokesperson. And at my left hand shall sit Little Man, no doubt grinning his head off. Let’s call him “morale officer”. And I shall sit on DW’s lap and she shall drink water from a glass whenever I speak.
So it is written, so shall it be. Well, maybe. Probably not.
Ciao!
Thought for the day: Cat’s stare at me like they know what I’m thinking.
I am the boss. And by that I mean my boss is on leave and has left me in charge of the whole group. Ok, the last thing he said was “don’t touch anything and don’t speak to anyone, and for God’s sake, don’t answer my phone.” I said to him, “Are you sure I’m acting manager?” and he said, “Of course you are.” So there you have it. I’m in charge. It’s a scary thought. Actually, there is only one other person in my group and he doesn’t actually report to me per se. And there is another guy who drops in once a week to sit in the boss’ chair. Also, I’m not allowed to go to the group meetings. But its all experience, and money can’t buy that. I also have to take a slight pay cut, so I guess it could be argued that I am paying for it, if you want to be negative.
So, what do I plan to do with my newfound power? Well, I’ve always wanted to take over the world. Yesterday, I created a new word and today I am in charge of… well, precisely what I am not sure as it wasn’t really explained and I have no actual control over staff, funding, equipment or lighting, but I like to think it’s a start. So how does someone take over the world? Firstly, I’d just like to stress that I do not advocate violence as a means to world domination. It may be effective but it just isn’t my way. As DW will attest, I am more likely to resort to tickling to get my way, but clearly that will not be practical. Anyway, most people don’t like me touching them. Just ask anyone on the train. They don’t know my name but they can point.
I also considered using my super-powers, but decided that would be unfair and it’s better to keep them a secret anyway, so that I can use them to defend my world once I have it in my control. I like to call it “an ace up my sleeve”, though that itself is not one of the super-powers, just a simple playing card.
Just as I created a word, so shall I take over the world. Yes, I shall achieve world domination by blogging! I know what you are thinking: “I was going to help this idiot with his stupid word thing and now he wants what?!?” Ok, let’s not jump off the bandwagon too soon. Not point being too hasty. At least koberish stands a slim chance. I know taking over the world is a long shot but no one in the whole of human or insect history has EVER tried to take over the world by blogging, and just think how grateful I’d be to those loyal followers who helped me create a word. Actually, I should point out that Koberish is not actually intended to be a religion, in case you were worried about being brainwashed by a great spiritual leader.
At my right hand shall sit Princess, who will probably act as spokesperson. And at my left hand shall sit Little Man, no doubt grinning his head off. Let’s call him “morale officer”. And I shall sit on DW’s lap and she shall drink water from a glass whenever I speak.
So it is written, so shall it be. Well, maybe. Probably not.
Ciao!
Thought for the day: Cat’s stare at me like they know what I’m thinking.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Welcome back. I didn't expect anybody today. I thought maybe people would think I was beng too hard on penguins yesterday but don't worry. They can take it. Anyway, perhaps today I should try and stay on track. I don't really have a track to stay on so I am going to have to make one.
I have decided that the word "koberish" should be a real word. I personally like to say it like "kobba rish" but it shouldn't be taken to mean "like a cobber" as this is not the definition. I haven't decided what the definition actually is yet but apparently I know what it isn't.
Now, when creating a word, it is a good idea to know whether the word already means something or not, otherwise you may just be redefining a word, which any illiterate teenager can do. So, the first thing to do is check a dictionary. I don't have a paper dictionary handy so I checked an online dictionary "www.yourdictionary.com". It replied in the negative. That is, it couldn't find the word. So far so good.
The next stop was Google. I like Google and if Google said the word was already out there, I was prepared to hate Google and everything associated with it, especially whatever twonk had stolen my word. Interestingly enough, the word "twonk" does have a definition, which, according to the Encyclopedia of Sex, means "the act of striking an object with a flaccid penis, usually in jest." I personally think the "usually in jest" part of that definition is particularly funny because I can't imagine anyone doing it "in anger" or "to resuscitate" or even "to wake someone up".
However, Google was kind. Only one hit for my word and following the link yielded no fruit. By that I mean, "koberish" is not only not a fruit, but the site that Google listed did not actually have the word anywhere. My guess is that it once had the word but it no longer does, and it remains solely in the limbo that is Google cache. Also, the manner in which the word was used, according to the cache, was very much like the word gibberish, which Google suggested I probably meant.
Things were looking up for my word. So the next thing I thought of was Wikipedia. It is kind of an online encyclopedia which contains a large amount of information. I haven't read it all but I am told it is large. So I went to Wikipedia and I asked if it knew about "koberish". It didn't but I wasn't yet satisfied. Partly because I hadn't eaten lunch and partly because I like to be thorough. I actually don't like to be thorough, I just like to have people think that I am. Also, I probably should remove the last line but I am too lazy.
So I moved on to a couple of other search engines. First I tried James. More precisely, I tried "Ask James" who is supposed to be some sort of butler for information on the web. That could be entirely misleading so don't believe it. James didn't have an immediate response so he said he'd get back to me and perhaps I could as Jeeves. It would seem that James and Jeeves are some sort of rivals but I have to go with Jeeves on this one, because he was quite upfront with his lack on knowledge. I also tried Sensis, but that gave me exactly what I would have expected had I been searching for tomato. I am not saying koberish means tomato, just that Sensis is crap. Again, it may not be, because what I said isn't true.
So after waiting twenty or so seconds for James, I decided that I was right and koberish was my word, my very own and nobody already owned it. So I decided to register it. It turns out that there isn't actually a "place" that takes registrations for new words. From all accounts, a word has to enter the "vernacular" which is not a vein in the penis as one might expect. It basically means the words has to be in common usage. So how do you do that?
I once heard that an individual did something like this with the word "quiz". They told a few people one day and had them tell a few others and within a period of time, the word was in common usage. I think it was something about the word was said back to him or something but the whole story may be apocryphal. Anyway, I thought that maybe the Internet could be my starting point. Once this blog is published, the word koberish should start showing up in search engines, after a little while. I'd hope Google would be on board pretty soon. But that is only useful if people actually search for the word.
So I thought that maybe, just maybe, you all could help me. Yes, damn it. I've crossed the line into "reader participation" which I know will have some of you running for cover. But just think about it for a moment. You too could be a part of the making of a new word. All you have to do is actually use it in a couple of emails, without explaining what it means. When the recipient asks what the word means, you give them the definition and ask them to help by sending it on. Sounds like a chain letter, doesn't it? Well, that's true. However, the only luck you are going to get is completely unrelated to this word. No bad luck either, unless you count the loss of a perfectly good word.
"Aha!" I hear you type. But what is the definition? Good question. I have been thinking that perhaps the following would be viable:
Koberish (kob a rish): verb to stumble forward without any idea of what lies ahead or why you are going there, usually relating to blogging: He tends to koberish if his speeches aren't written for him, but then again, what US President didn't?
So, there you have it. Become a part of something. Help make a word. You'll feel better and may even find true love. Let's see if we can influence that bastion of knowledge, that harbour of words, the dictionary. I don't mind which one, though we should probably be aiming for one in English. All we have to do us send a couple of emails and get those people to send a couple as well. Can we do it? Probably not but who the hell cares? Let's make a word. Go to it.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Patience is a virtue I don't mind waiting for.
I have decided that the word "koberish" should be a real word. I personally like to say it like "kobba rish" but it shouldn't be taken to mean "like a cobber" as this is not the definition. I haven't decided what the definition actually is yet but apparently I know what it isn't.
Now, when creating a word, it is a good idea to know whether the word already means something or not, otherwise you may just be redefining a word, which any illiterate teenager can do. So, the first thing to do is check a dictionary. I don't have a paper dictionary handy so I checked an online dictionary "www.yourdictionary.com". It replied in the negative. That is, it couldn't find the word. So far so good.
The next stop was Google. I like Google and if Google said the word was already out there, I was prepared to hate Google and everything associated with it, especially whatever twonk had stolen my word. Interestingly enough, the word "twonk" does have a definition, which, according to the Encyclopedia of Sex, means "the act of striking an object with a flaccid penis, usually in jest." I personally think the "usually in jest" part of that definition is particularly funny because I can't imagine anyone doing it "in anger" or "to resuscitate" or even "to wake someone up".
However, Google was kind. Only one hit for my word and following the link yielded no fruit. By that I mean, "koberish" is not only not a fruit, but the site that Google listed did not actually have the word anywhere. My guess is that it once had the word but it no longer does, and it remains solely in the limbo that is Google cache. Also, the manner in which the word was used, according to the cache, was very much like the word gibberish, which Google suggested I probably meant.
Things were looking up for my word. So the next thing I thought of was Wikipedia. It is kind of an online encyclopedia which contains a large amount of information. I haven't read it all but I am told it is large. So I went to Wikipedia and I asked if it knew about "koberish". It didn't but I wasn't yet satisfied. Partly because I hadn't eaten lunch and partly because I like to be thorough. I actually don't like to be thorough, I just like to have people think that I am. Also, I probably should remove the last line but I am too lazy.
So I moved on to a couple of other search engines. First I tried James. More precisely, I tried "Ask James" who is supposed to be some sort of butler for information on the web. That could be entirely misleading so don't believe it. James didn't have an immediate response so he said he'd get back to me and perhaps I could as Jeeves. It would seem that James and Jeeves are some sort of rivals but I have to go with Jeeves on this one, because he was quite upfront with his lack on knowledge. I also tried Sensis, but that gave me exactly what I would have expected had I been searching for tomato. I am not saying koberish means tomato, just that Sensis is crap. Again, it may not be, because what I said isn't true.
So after waiting twenty or so seconds for James, I decided that I was right and koberish was my word, my very own and nobody already owned it. So I decided to register it. It turns out that there isn't actually a "place" that takes registrations for new words. From all accounts, a word has to enter the "vernacular" which is not a vein in the penis as one might expect. It basically means the words has to be in common usage. So how do you do that?
I once heard that an individual did something like this with the word "quiz". They told a few people one day and had them tell a few others and within a period of time, the word was in common usage. I think it was something about the word was said back to him or something but the whole story may be apocryphal. Anyway, I thought that maybe the Internet could be my starting point. Once this blog is published, the word koberish should start showing up in search engines, after a little while. I'd hope Google would be on board pretty soon. But that is only useful if people actually search for the word.
So I thought that maybe, just maybe, you all could help me. Yes, damn it. I've crossed the line into "reader participation" which I know will have some of you running for cover. But just think about it for a moment. You too could be a part of the making of a new word. All you have to do is actually use it in a couple of emails, without explaining what it means. When the recipient asks what the word means, you give them the definition and ask them to help by sending it on. Sounds like a chain letter, doesn't it? Well, that's true. However, the only luck you are going to get is completely unrelated to this word. No bad luck either, unless you count the loss of a perfectly good word.
"Aha!" I hear you type. But what is the definition? Good question. I have been thinking that perhaps the following would be viable:
Koberish (kob a rish): verb to stumble forward without any idea of what lies ahead or why you are going there, usually relating to blogging: He tends to koberish if his speeches aren't written for him, but then again, what US President didn't?
So, there you have it. Become a part of something. Help make a word. You'll feel better and may even find true love. Let's see if we can influence that bastion of knowledge, that harbour of words, the dictionary. I don't mind which one, though we should probably be aiming for one in English. All we have to do us send a couple of emails and get those people to send a couple as well. Can we do it? Probably not but who the hell cares? Let's make a word. Go to it.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: Patience is a virtue I don't mind waiting for.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
(sung) A blogging we will go. A blogging we will go. He ho the dairy-o, a blogging we will go.
See what happens when I don't have enough sleep. Whacky fun.
Ok. Back on planet Earth. Or so they tell me. You know, you can't trust aliens because they will never admit it. Obviously I'm not referring to the trust worthy aliens. They are ok. But the other kind, don't get me started.
I was going to discuss a very serious topic today but I decided that wasn't going to be as much fun as the gibberish I now have planned. Also, I use the word "planned" like I use the word "koberish". Neither have any meaning to me. I suspect the latter has little meaning to anyone as I made it up to illustrate my point. As I was koberish, today's discussion has no real point so feel free to tune out now. I for one tuned out after "whacky fun".
There are two types of people. Me and everyone else. In the "everyone else" category, there are subcategories, the most obvious being DW and CU. DW is obviously Dearest Wife and CU is "Currently Unassigned". In the CU subcategory, there are three more subsubcategories, namely Princess, Little Man and PWDLIMH(People Who Don't Live In My House). I hope you can see where I am going with this. Using a simple recursive algorithm, it is easy to see that there are actually lots of categories, and yes, "Hulie" has one of her own.
Which brings me of course to penguins. It may seem like a leap of consciousness, but if you follow the above algorithm, you will see where it leads. Anyway, I wouldn't usually put penguins into a "people" category, mostly because they are actually fish masquerading as birds, but they are funny so I will make an exception. I don't think penguins think of themselves as funny and I guess its always amusing to me when someone takes themselves so seriously. Alternatively they may just have a very dry sense of humour, which is funny in itself, you know, because they are fish.
Contrary to popular belief, penguins do not fall over when planes fly overhead. However, they do fall over when cutting their toenails, which is why they try and do that in private. They tend to stand about making fun of waiters and laughing quietly when one of them falls over. They huddle together, not for warmth, but so that noone can be sure who made the yellow snow as they shuffle away. It has also been suggested that penguins don't fart, but they do, only it sounds like ice cracking.
Penguins, like other fish, eat smaller fish and occasionally sharks, but that takes a coordinated effort and most penguins aren't very organized, except when it comes to making films, all of which we would consider "film noir". Again, the dry, black humour belies their secret desire to be real birds. As does their bitter hatred of real birds, as evidenced by the complete lack of real birds in penguin films. Penguin poetry, however, is littered with the metaphoric carcasses of "flying" birds who "think they are above us". They also like to "deal" with "bird-lovers" by "sending the boys round". It is the funniest and deadliest sight to open your door and behold twenty or more of the roughest, toughest fairy penguins all carrying itty, bitty chains and sporting tattoos that say things like "Peck Me" and "I was made for lovin' you, baby". Pray it never happens to you.
The most famous of Penquin poems:
Up In The Sky
by Iris Peckledot
Birds, birds
Up in the sky
Aiming below at my eye
So up themselves
'Cause they can fly
Honey, get my gun
Ciao!
Thought for the day: Sleep is for the weak. And tired.
See what happens when I don't have enough sleep. Whacky fun.
Ok. Back on planet Earth. Or so they tell me. You know, you can't trust aliens because they will never admit it. Obviously I'm not referring to the trust worthy aliens. They are ok. But the other kind, don't get me started.
I was going to discuss a very serious topic today but I decided that wasn't going to be as much fun as the gibberish I now have planned. Also, I use the word "planned" like I use the word "koberish". Neither have any meaning to me. I suspect the latter has little meaning to anyone as I made it up to illustrate my point. As I was koberish, today's discussion has no real point so feel free to tune out now. I for one tuned out after "whacky fun".
There are two types of people. Me and everyone else. In the "everyone else" category, there are subcategories, the most obvious being DW and CU. DW is obviously Dearest Wife and CU is "Currently Unassigned". In the CU subcategory, there are three more subsubcategories, namely Princess, Little Man and PWDLIMH(People Who Don't Live In My House). I hope you can see where I am going with this. Using a simple recursive algorithm, it is easy to see that there are actually lots of categories, and yes, "Hulie" has one of her own.
Which brings me of course to penguins. It may seem like a leap of consciousness, but if you follow the above algorithm, you will see where it leads. Anyway, I wouldn't usually put penguins into a "people" category, mostly because they are actually fish masquerading as birds, but they are funny so I will make an exception. I don't think penguins think of themselves as funny and I guess its always amusing to me when someone takes themselves so seriously. Alternatively they may just have a very dry sense of humour, which is funny in itself, you know, because they are fish.
Contrary to popular belief, penguins do not fall over when planes fly overhead. However, they do fall over when cutting their toenails, which is why they try and do that in private. They tend to stand about making fun of waiters and laughing quietly when one of them falls over. They huddle together, not for warmth, but so that noone can be sure who made the yellow snow as they shuffle away. It has also been suggested that penguins don't fart, but they do, only it sounds like ice cracking.
Penguins, like other fish, eat smaller fish and occasionally sharks, but that takes a coordinated effort and most penguins aren't very organized, except when it comes to making films, all of which we would consider "film noir". Again, the dry, black humour belies their secret desire to be real birds. As does their bitter hatred of real birds, as evidenced by the complete lack of real birds in penguin films. Penguin poetry, however, is littered with the metaphoric carcasses of "flying" birds who "think they are above us". They also like to "deal" with "bird-lovers" by "sending the boys round". It is the funniest and deadliest sight to open your door and behold twenty or more of the roughest, toughest fairy penguins all carrying itty, bitty chains and sporting tattoos that say things like "Peck Me" and "I was made for lovin' you, baby". Pray it never happens to you.
The most famous of Penquin poems:
Up In The Sky
by Iris Peckledot
Birds, birds
Up in the sky
Aiming below at my eye
So up themselves
'Cause they can fly
Honey, get my gun
Ciao!
Thought for the day: Sleep is for the weak. And tired.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Ok, I admit that yesterday's blog was a little different. I went out on a limb. I have been informed by DW that while it was a brave thing to do, I was too heavy for the limb and it broke and I crashed heavily to the ground. Only she didn't mention the brave bit. And also said something about a lead balloon. She also suggested that my idea of trying a blog in semaphore would be confusing and people wouldn't enjoy been forced to wave their arms about while reading. I've tried it and it can make it difficult to keep your place. Have a go. I can wait.
See? Anyway, I considered morse code and also a "Jive" text converter, which also does the Swedish chef. Just so you know what the outcome would have been like, I have converted this short paragraph into both Jive and Swedish Chef below:
JIVE:
See? Anyway, ah' considered mo'se code and also some "JIBE" text converter, which also duz de Swedish chef. Just so's ya' know whut de outcome would gots been likes, ah' have converted dis sho't paragraph into bod JIBE and Swedish Chef below, dig dis:
SWEDISH CHEF:
See-a? Unyvey, I cunseedered murse-a cude-a und elsu a "Jeefe-a" text cunferter, vheech elsu dues zee Svedeesh cheff. Bork, bork, bork! Joost su yuoo knoo vhet zee ooootcume-a vuoold hefe-a beee leeke-a, I hefe-a cunferted thees shurt peregreph intu but Jeefe-a und Svedeesh Cheff beloo: Eeshkidoo, bork, bork, bork!
I have come to realise that a whole blog like that would be a little difficult to understand and wouldn't relay any useful information. However, it should probably also be noted that very little of what has been written by moi could actually be considered "information" in the strictest sense. Or even in a very broad, generous sense. So I'm back to where I started. I think.
Anyway, DW often gives me advice on my writing in general and said the best blogs I have written were the ones where I said nice things about her. In fact, she tells me I should start up a blog about her and just say nice things. This blog can be for the peasants. Obviously I'm only kidding and I have materially damaged my chances tonight.
However, I do hope that it is clear that DW and I have the kind of relationship where she can make fun of me and I can make fun of her and apologise and grovel and it only makes our relationship stronger. We understand each other, though I need a little explaining. I am in SO much trouble.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Princess and Little Man rule the roost. I like to mix metaphors and see what colours I get. Princess has decided she will marry Little Man, which has led to some disturbing conversations at our house. She likes our house and has decided that the only way she will be able to live there forever is if she marries "close to home". A little too close in my opinion. And in a legal opinion. However, she will brook no opposition and gets very upset at the prospect of anything resembling an alternative. She is close friends with "Sharen's" little boy and in desperation I told her he might be upset if she married someone else. Princess put her hands in the air and said "Well, don't tell him!" DW has advised that we just wait for a little while and she gets the idea that boys are smelly and gross and have germs and inheritance is no longer determined by gender.
Hiroshima was hit by an atmoic bomb called Little Boy and Nagasaki was hit by Fat Man. Our lounge room was hit by a bomb called Little Man. Coincidence? I think not. He's quick, he's chaotic and he laughs all the way. This weekend will be occupied with baby-proofing. I don't mean just baby-proofing, I mean Little Man proofing. We may need a nanny. Or a maid. Or both. DW has said no, despite my pointing out all the advantages. Well, not all the advantages. Anyway, it doesn't look like that is going to happen so we need to protect our assets from discovery by little fingers. Our main problem comes from Princess who likes to leave tiny little things for Little Man to find. She doesn't mean too and she certainly has no desire to cause any harm to Little Man. Given that, you'd think should wouldn't land on him so hard or so often. At this point, she remains the greatest threat to his safety followed by any electrical appliance with a light. Its all so much fun. Which is true, despite my sarcastic tone.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: When in doubt, do as the Romans do. Mix your metaphors like there's no tomorrow.
See? Anyway, I considered morse code and also a "Jive" text converter, which also does the Swedish chef. Just so you know what the outcome would have been like, I have converted this short paragraph into both Jive and Swedish Chef below:
JIVE:
See? Anyway, ah' considered mo'se code and also some "JIBE" text converter, which also duz de Swedish chef. Just so's ya' know whut de outcome would gots been likes, ah' have converted dis sho't paragraph into bod JIBE and Swedish Chef below, dig dis:
SWEDISH CHEF:
See-a? Unyvey, I cunseedered murse-a cude-a und elsu a "Jeefe-a" text cunferter, vheech elsu dues zee Svedeesh cheff. Bork, bork, bork! Joost su yuoo knoo vhet zee ooootcume-a vuoold hefe-a beee leeke-a, I hefe-a cunferted thees shurt peregreph intu but Jeefe-a und Svedeesh Cheff beloo: Eeshkidoo, bork, bork, bork!
I have come to realise that a whole blog like that would be a little difficult to understand and wouldn't relay any useful information. However, it should probably also be noted that very little of what has been written by moi could actually be considered "information" in the strictest sense. Or even in a very broad, generous sense. So I'm back to where I started. I think.
Anyway, DW often gives me advice on my writing in general and said the best blogs I have written were the ones where I said nice things about her. In fact, she tells me I should start up a blog about her and just say nice things. This blog can be for the peasants. Obviously I'm only kidding and I have materially damaged my chances tonight.
However, I do hope that it is clear that DW and I have the kind of relationship where she can make fun of me and I can make fun of her and apologise and grovel and it only makes our relationship stronger. We understand each other, though I need a little explaining. I am in SO much trouble.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Princess and Little Man rule the roost. I like to mix metaphors and see what colours I get. Princess has decided she will marry Little Man, which has led to some disturbing conversations at our house. She likes our house and has decided that the only way she will be able to live there forever is if she marries "close to home". A little too close in my opinion. And in a legal opinion. However, she will brook no opposition and gets very upset at the prospect of anything resembling an alternative. She is close friends with "Sharen's" little boy and in desperation I told her he might be upset if she married someone else. Princess put her hands in the air and said "Well, don't tell him!" DW has advised that we just wait for a little while and she gets the idea that boys are smelly and gross and have germs and inheritance is no longer determined by gender.
Hiroshima was hit by an atmoic bomb called Little Boy and Nagasaki was hit by Fat Man. Our lounge room was hit by a bomb called Little Man. Coincidence? I think not. He's quick, he's chaotic and he laughs all the way. This weekend will be occupied with baby-proofing. I don't mean just baby-proofing, I mean Little Man proofing. We may need a nanny. Or a maid. Or both. DW has said no, despite my pointing out all the advantages. Well, not all the advantages. Anyway, it doesn't look like that is going to happen so we need to protect our assets from discovery by little fingers. Our main problem comes from Princess who likes to leave tiny little things for Little Man to find. She doesn't mean too and she certainly has no desire to cause any harm to Little Man. Given that, you'd think should wouldn't land on him so hard or so often. At this point, she remains the greatest threat to his safety followed by any electrical appliance with a light. Its all so much fun. Which is true, despite my sarcastic tone.
Ciao!
Thought for the Day: When in doubt, do as the Romans do. Mix your metaphors like there's no tomorrow.
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