Not sure what to call this one

Good morning!

My recent lack of blogging has nothing to do with me not having anything to blog about. The fact is I have simply been too busy to spend much time in front of the computer for anything other than work or study. So, a quick catch up is in order.

Well, not long after my birthday, DW and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary, which I'll have you know is the "lace" anniversary, or "lingerie" in more modern times. Unfortunately, DW was quite sick for the few days leading up to the big day (I took leave and everything) and just as sick after. In fact, she said to me on the morning of our anniversary, "Happy Annibleeaaugh!" but I knew what she meant.

Anyway, because both kids are at school now, I figured we could have a nice quite day, just the two of us enjoying each others company as we have for much of the last 13 years. After I got both the kids dressed, fed, packed and delivered to school, it turned out to be much quieter than I expected, the child-free silence punctuated only by the occasional "*cough* *sneeze* *sniff* *blow* *hhhhuuuurrrrraaaakkkkk*".

Anywho, I still cooked a beautiful dinner and DW told me she believed it probably tasted wonderful, but she couldn't really taste or smell anything, other than mucus. Who doesn't want to hear that about a meal they cooked? In case you are wondering, I am aware that the anniversary was harder on DW than it was on me.

Still, celebrating an anniversary is far less important than having a marriage that is worth celebrating, and after 13 years it would seem that DW and I still find ourselves very much in love and thoroughly enjoying married life. In fact, the weekend just past saw my parents celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, and DW's parents recently celebrated their 40th, so I guess it runs in the family.

Obviously marriage is not going to work out in every case. While it is important to try to find the right person, it is also important to be prepared to admit your mistakes. In my (what's the opposite of humble?) opinion, marriage takes effort, but if it works, it can be a truly wonderful experience. As I've heard somewhere, "It is not only finding the right person, it is being the right person." Well, I've always been confident that I am the right person, and it looks like I was bang on the money about DW too.

So here's to the next 87 years (our marriage certificate expires after 100 years, with an option to renew for another 100 - its in the fine print). Here's to not getting sick of each other and DW still laughing at my jokes (if dementia sets in for her before me, we should be ok). And as long as DW doesn't find my other blog, here's to a continuing happy marriage.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Always read the fine print. Or not.

13 for the Third Time

Top o' th' mornin' to yeh!

St Patrick's Day has come and gone with little ceremony at my house. It would seem that if one doesn't drink much any more, there really doesn't seem to be a satisfactory way of actually celebrating the day. I supposed we could have had a stew for dinner, but we opted for something... greener. Chow Mein. Apparently it is one of my all time favourite meals, and I can see why, it was delicious. DW was a little surprised that I'd forgotten it was my favourite. I don't think my mind was working properly at the time. My boss asked me what I'd done for the past two weeks and I couldn't think of anything. I think he took my blank stare as a demonstration. I have actually been quite busy but the harder I tried to think, the harder it was to think.

I have decided that this is symptomatic of my recent 39th birthday - or as the title to this blog suggests - my third 13th birthday. I had decided to take the day off work, as well as the following day, which led into the weekend, so four days off. It sounded like a good idea. The kids had other plans. I expressed my birthday wish to them to have a bit of a sleep in. They informed me at 5:30am that they had decided to give me something else. Apparently they decided to pre-enact World War III (yes, I said pre-enact). They were at each other from the get go. I got dragged into the fray when Little Man decided I mustn't really like him because I didn't get him a present for my birthday.

However, after we dropped them both at school, we found ourselves sitting down for a quiet cup of tea. It occurred to me that we hadn't been alone in the house without either kid since Amy was born, but for one day when both kids stayed at their grandparents a couple of years ago. It was bliss.

We decided that a movie was in order and off we went to watch "The Kings Speech", though I admit I was somewhat reluctant. I don't like to work on my birthday and I also don't like to think, so I was not really in the mood for a thought-provoking movie, but timing-wise there wasn't really anything else to go and see. I wanted something mindless with helicopters and explosions and cheesey one-liners. Where is Michael Bay when you need him? (OMG - did I just write that?) Anyway, I absolutely loved this movie. It was performed flawlessly, crafted exquisitely and written with such a gentle understatement that it really is a brilliant film. It turns out Michael Bay was exactly where I needed him. I was expecting the film to be good. I just wasn't expecting it to touch me in quite the way it did. What an excellent birthday present that turned out to be.

For reasons I won't go into, I've been delayed in publishing this post, so I'll finish now and get started on being late for the next one.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: An optimist might say a crisis is an opportunity in disguise. A pessimist would point out that at least opportunity knocks.

The Joys of Wedding Photography

Greetings!

Last Saturday my brother-in-law was married. It was a festive day and much fun was had by all - or at least by most: Little Man wasn't hugely impressed until the dancing started. The bride was nervous but she is generally pretty laid back. The groom was pretty nervous but he is also laid back. The in-laws and out-laws, best man and best woman, the celebrant and the invited guests were all a bit nervous but mostly pretty laid back. I was the official photographer, so I was very nervous and not at all laid back.

I was asked to take on this role because my brother-in-law and his (now) wife had seen the results of my first foray into wedding photography at another brother-in-law's wedding. For that first one, I read lots of books and websites about how to be a wedding photographer, I ignored the recurring suggestion of those books and websites to never, under ANY circumstances, become a wedding photographer and plowed straight in. I have a barely decent Digital SLR (I say barely decent because DW wouldn't want me to call it crap) which is an excellent device to learn digital photography with but not at all up to scratch for an official wedding photography to shoot with. Luckily, my brother, who is learning digital photography, has exactly the same model, and isn't silly enough to try to shoot a wedding with it.

When it comes down to it, wedding photography is just like any other high pressure photography where you only have one shot at capturing the most important day of two other people's lives or risk sending them into a vicious spiral of blame and doubt and ultimately divorce. So its important to have a sense of humour. In cases like mine, it's also important to lock that sense of humour away and behave like a person. It is also important to take off the lens cap, but with a DLSR, that one turns out to be fairly easy to remember.

Using my own DLSR and my brothers equally wonderful DSLR, I set off to capture the perfect wedding. As I learned during my first attempt, even if the wedding is perfect, you still might not get the perfect photo. As it happens, not many weddings are perfect and even if they are, not many photographers are perfect. However, despite my relative naivety, I managed to capture that first wedding rather well. The problem with that was it put extra pressure on my second and most recent effort to be of equal standing.

Using the same kit, I tried valiantly not to let the pressure overwhelm me, not to let my inexperience underwhelm me and to remember to take the lens cap off. And looking at the final photos, I can safely say I now know what it is to be whelmed. To start with the photos aren't black - check lens cap removal. The photos aren't complete rubbish - check... don't take complete rubbish photos. The photos generally flatter the bride and make the groom look like Yosemite Sam - check, though the groom helped a lot on this one. The photos should include all the guests - check, though I don't really know for sure, but with 1500 photos if I didn't get everyone then I must have gotten someone twice.

So what of the 1500 photos I did end up with. Any perfect, shot of a lifetime images - not as such. Any brilliant capturing the essence of the moment shots - not really, though it was a drab day and there are plenty drab shots so one might argue I have captured the essence of the day. Do the photos cover the events of the day - yes they do, mostly. I managed to get a photo of nearly every event of note during the day - even the ones no one told me were about to happen, such as the bride and groom walking in to the reception. I must confess I also missed the bride's arrival at the gardens but the circumstances where beyond my control. However, overall my coverage was pretty good.

I joke about the lens cap but I did make a mistake that falls into a similar category. I forgot to ask the groom to remove his sunglasses during the formal photo shoot. I honestly don't know why I didn't think of it. I have plenty of shots during the ceremony of him without the shades. I have plenty of shots after without the shades. But all the formal shots make the bride look beautiful and the groom look like a cross between a big, black-eyed bug and Yosemite Sam. D'Oh! Now if they go and get divorced it will be all my fault! Unless they get divorced before they see the photos - but it would be wrong to wish that.

After the wedding, everyone relaxes - except the photographer, especially one who blames his tools. I am now in the process of checking all the photos, fixing blemishes, improving colour saturation, tweaking brightness and contrast, and blaming my tools. It will take some time but eventually I hope to have enough decent photos to fill a photobook, or at least a photo frame. Can you tell I'm not really looking forward to it?

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Rejected Slogan:- "Do you know anyone who needs a wedding photographer? I could use the practice."

Let's get the band back together!

Whad up, Homies?

You heard me. We are getting the band back together!

Let me explain. Many, many years ago my brothers and I started a band. I played guitar, my oldest brother played keyboard and did lead vocals. My next oldest brother played drums and/or bass and also did lead and backing vocals. My younger brothers played lead guitar and drums and sang backing vocals. Did I mention I played guitar? I'm not the best singer in the world and according to DW that will only change if I am the last person in the world. My brothers acknowledged my desire to sing by providing me with a microphone, and acknowledged my ability to sing by not plugging it in. I wasn't exactly the backbone of the band. Like they say, "its more important to have fun than to be good," which became my motto.

Well, despite my lack of actual talent, as a whole we were generally pretty rubbish but we had a lot of fun. At one point we decided to try to get serious and try to lift the overall tone. This resulted in each of us being replaced by actual musicians until it seemed wrong to call it "our" band, as none of us were in it. So the dust settled, mostly on the guitar case under my bed. I decided then I would get some guitar lessons so that if we ever got the band back together I would be ready to do my bit. I considered getting singing lessons but DW suggested that should focus my efforts on something I had a chance of being good at.

That was over twenty years ago and the call has gone out, "Let's get the band back together!" Obviously I haven't had a single lesson in that time, but I did make a few phone calls and decided formal lessons were not for me. I played guitar at our last family Christmas gathering and was keenly reminded how useful guitar lessons would have been.

It might sound like I am a complete hack when it comes to the ol' six strings, but to be fair, I was just as bad with four (I tried playing bass for a while - the theory that limiting the strings might limit the damage. This was a logical consequence of my playing a twelve string guitar once. I've even tried playing just on the one string, which technical cannot be out of tune with itself - and yet...). There is one song that DW does like me to play. Its very quiet and she likes me to be a fair way off but she always comes back in the room after I've finished and says it was lovely. She also says that its good for couples to support each others' creative needs and that support can be just as valid from a distance. It's like she doesn't want me anywhere near her wool when she is knitting and I can show my support by sitting in another room.

Anyway, twenty years or so after our band disbanded, we are going to have another crack. Not at stardom, as we are under no illusions that we will be any good, but rather, just a chance to get together and have some fun, because at the very least, we a very good at that. In fact, in the past, all of our songs ended in fits of laughter that usually lasted longer than the songs themselves. But to our credit, no matter how badly we butchered a song, we always struck up and had a go at another one. After we stopped laughing that is.

However, we are now older and, well wiser may not be quite right, but we are older. And I hear you can now get sheet music for songs so we may try that. I also expect that we won't play as loud so it will be less of a competition to be heard. And I may get some lessons. Who knows, I may have improved - you know, sometimes having some time away from a problem can help you see the solution more clearly. Perhaps music is like that. I know that you can't just put an instrument down and pick it up twenty years later and hope to be just as good - though that may be true in my case. I like to think of the last twenty years of listening to music as research so I think I've learned a thing or two. Surely one of those songs will have stuck. Anyway, I'm now ready to put it into practice. But first I've been putting off getting the guitar out from under the bed because it is covered in dust and you know how bad my hayfever is. I'll let you know how our first rehearsal goes.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: A timely disclaimer can save your life

Disclaimer: DW is actually wonderfully supportive of my music and loves to hear me play. She doesn't like me to ruin it by singing.

Welcome to 2011!

Yep, I'm back.

After reading back over my sister's blog of her family's recent travels, I decided to put pen to paper, put pen and paper away, put keys to keyboard and restart my blog. Much like the current trend of calling movie remakes "reboots", I shall be rebooting this blog and you can already see the major changes. Yes, I've added the title field. I could have done it long ago, I know, but I didn't because I wanted to save it for something special. Then I realized that was stupid and turned it on a few minutes ago.

I still have thoughts so I will be continuing my "Thought for the Day" but I make no guarantees that they will make any more sense than my previous thoughts. In fact, it is highly unlikely as they will be coming from the same head and out through the same fingers, but I do have a new keyboard so we'll just see.

I have not found much time for writing of any sort over the last year or so but I hope to make amends for that. I've been asked to write a technology review blog for work and that also inspired me to get back to some of my own writing.

So, on to my opinion of the world at the moment. At the moment the sky is blue - well, blue-ish as my window is rather dirty. I should mention that I'm in an office on the third floor and my window is sealed shut so I take no responsibility for the state of my window. Yet it does affect how I see the world. At least the sky isn't grey-ish with streaks of dirt like it was yesterday.

Politicians are still jerks, but then so is everyone else. Footballers have recently taken offense at being told that they aren't necessarily the best role models in the world, to which they replied "Go *$%# yourself, you $%@#%ing $%@#$!!". Ben Elton's new show "Live from Planet Earth" is apparently deader than its title but no-one is game to tell Ben so it's on again tonight, and George Negus has promised to tell us more about less.

There are some TV shows which I think could find new life if they combined with other shows. For instance, perhaps we could combine "Masterchef" with "The Biggest Loser", and produce "The Biggest Masterchef". I'd watch "NCIS: Summer Bay". We could put Eddie Maguire and the "Hot Seat" in "The Cube" and have him try to guess the lyrics from popular songs of the Baby Boomer, Generation X and Gen-Y eras. How about "Good New Specks" where Adam, Myf and Allan attempt to beat Paul, Mikey and Claire at "Wipe Out"? Every week.

So I think I'll leave it there before someone gets hurt and look out my streaky window again at the streaky sky. Maybe next time I'll give a Princess and Little Man update.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: I don't HAVE to explain myself, but I probably shouldn't rule it out.

Schnitzel!

(Thank you to all those who said "Bless you!")

After reminiscing about the imaginary friends of Princess and Little Man, I thought I'd check to see if they actually remembered them. If you remember, Princess had Baxibax and Batasha, and Little Man had Baby Dinosaur. Princess claimed to remember Batasha, but she called her Natasha. I remember quite clearly having a conversation with Princess about the pronunciation of the name when she was little(r) and it was definitely Batasha with a "B". She also said she vaguely remembered Baxibax was the boy, which I also corrected, as I also remember having that conversation as well. It turns out that in my stolid inflexibility, I assumed that imaginary friends are like ordinary friends that typically don't change names or gender, but apparently they can if they want to.

However, the real revelation came from Little Man.

Me: Hey buddy, do you remember your imaginary friend Baby Dinosaur?
LM: (exasperated tone)Dad! Of course I do.
Me: Whatever happened to him?
LM: He's dead.

So there you have it. Some imaginary friends can evolve and make lifestyle choices and others quite literally expire.

Try as I might, I do not remember having such a friend myself. As DW pointed out, as I had six sisters and five brothers growing up, I probably imagined some of them were my friends. I'm very pleased to say that is still the case as all my brothers and sisters are still alive and well.

However, I do remember having a very active imagination. I enjoyed replaying scenes from movies and TV shows that I liked, usually with a far superior ending. I would also make up entire worlds and jump about in the shed, hurling myself into the fray, this way and that. In retrospect, I probably should have explained to someone what I was doing as the muttering to myself and flopping about like a tortured animal may have been misleading. I think my parents just hoped I would grow out of it. Or move out. Either way. Eventually I discovered two very important things. First, other people may have their own independent existence when I'm not thinking about them (jury is still out on this one) and second, most people did not behave the way I did. In fact it made them uncomfortable. So I sort of grew up and started behaving the way most people did so they wouldn't be uncomfortable. Now that unreserved wild child only comes out when I'm completely alone or snoozing on the train.

I bring this up as I think Little Man has similar characteristics. When watching an exciting TV show, he will pace back and forth, growling softly, occasionally jumping from couch to couch and levitating. DW is concerned about this behaviour but I have told her not to worry. Its all part of being a boy possessed by an over active imagination, and possibly a demon. Kids are funny.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Unfortunately, no matter what we do, someone is going to win the next election.

Good morning, World!

DW and I were watching TV last night and the subject of imaginary friends came up. Both Princess and Little Man had had their own imaginary friends but it took us a while to remember what their names were. In the interest of posterity, I can now reveal the names. For Princess, it was not just one imaginary friend, but two, named Baxibax and Batasha. I’m not completely sure of the spelling but just sound it out and you will get the idea. These two were the subject of much play and proxy requests, where it was made clear by Princess that it wasn’t her who wanted the extra lollies, but Baxibax and Batasha.

Little Man on the other hand had a friend called Baby Dinosaur, who was something of a troublemaker. Many things were knocked over, stood on and broken by this tiny transparent terror. And he was always hungry. Whenever Little Man was told he had eaten enough junk food, he would calmly inform us that Baby Dinosaur wanted some as well and if he didn’t get it, there was no telling what next would be knocked over, stood on and broken.

However, as is usually the case, as new friends are made, the invisible ones fade into distant memory. I’m not sure either of the kids even remembers their imaginary friends, but that is the way of things, I suppose. Apparently stuffed toys are not so easily forgotten and both kids’ beds are covered in myriad of these. I have suggested that perhaps some other kids might like to look after a few of them for a while or perhaps forever, but based on the response, I don’t think the kids are willing to give up their stuffed friends just yet.

While I think of it I should mention something Little Man said to DW the other day. To provide a context, his granddad sometimes calls him a “whacker” when he does something particularly strange. DW sometimes calls him a “nutbag” for the same reason. He has decided to combine these two names and announced at Kinder the other day that he is actually a “Nut Whacker”. I think it would make an excellent wrestling persona that would strike fear into the hearts of his opponents, so I’m encouraging it.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: (to the Batman theme) Na nanan na na nana na na na na Nut WHACKER!!

And we’re back!

Well, some amazing and exciting things have been happening at work but that’s enough about that. The current TV phenomena “MasterChef” has made me think back to my first foray into cooking.

Once upon a time, around 5 BC (before children), I decided that I would like to become a better cook. I’m not sure why; it could have been the shock guests displayed when I invited them for dinner; it could have been something else, but probably the shock. Anyway, I began with various recipe bases and experimented with sauces and condiments and even tried some sticky glazes. Even I have to admit that first meal was a bit much. I think the balance was out but DW (who was DG at the time) suggested it should have had some sort of protein. And typically the bases aren’t for mixing.

So it was back to the drawing board. My new rule was one packet mix at a time. I had always thought a good chef can “feel” their way through a recipe and it was time to acknowledge that I was not a good chef. So I read the instructions on the packet. I bought the ingredients it suggested (DG later told me that those ingredients should be considered necessary in my case). I read the instructions again. And again. I found I knew most of the words but the sentences themselves didn’t really stick in my head. So I read just the first instruction again and really concentrated on that. Once the oven was on at the required temperature for the required time, I read the second instruction. Apparently I was completely unable to keep the essence of the step in my head. Eventually I managed to put the onion in a pan only to have to remove it a few seconds later to chop the bloody thing. I had discovered another important fact about recipes. Preparation time doesn’t include the preparation of the individual ingredients.

So I finally managed to pour the recipe base mixed with water and tomato paste into the screaming hot pan where my beef strips were beginning to blacken and my chopped onions had gone from soft and golden to dark and crunchy. I probably should have used hot water in the mix because as soon as the cold liquid hit the pan it pretty much exploded. I thought I had done something wrong. I was right, but it turned out that it wasn’t the wrongest thing I had done. It was explained to me after that frozen beef chunks should be defrosted before cooking and not just broken apart and tossed in the pan. In my defense, I quite reasonably expected that putting frozen meat in a hot pan would defrost it but there are complications to that method. Anyway, after finally getting the meal to simmer nicely, I went on to step 3.

The potatoes were a comparatively easy step. They just needed to be peeled and boiled for long enough as to become soft and mashable. I figured that I could just boil and boil and boil them but it turns out that after a while they sort of come apart and a lot of the actual potato mass seems to dissolve in the water. After draining the... well it sort of looked like soup now... there was not a whole lot of potato left. I managed to bulk it out a bit with grated cheese, milk and butter and a small hand full of plain flour but even with a lot of salt it tasted more like Deb mixed with butter and cheese. It didn’t taste too bad but the texture was a little challenging.

Anyway, after that debacle, I decided to be a little more conservative with the carrots and broccoli and DG said that was the most successful part of the meal. They were slightly warm and extremely crunchy, which is just how I like them, though I think DG was being nice.

So finally I “plated up” and put all of the parts of the meal on the plate. I also learned another important lesson that day. No matter how badly you stuff up the mashed potato, it is still better to serve it hot, or at the very least, warm. The meat mixture was kind of lumpy and had small pockets of dry unmixed recipe base, which I think added the occasional little surprising burst of flavour in an otherwise very tomatoey flavoured sauce. The onions had all but disintegrated entirely but still managed to add a sort of smokey chalk flavour but unfortunately the meat itself wasn’t very good. We were able to eat the outside of the hard little lumps but the very centres were, amazingly, still quite bloody and cold. I should point out that they weren’t frozen at the centre but that was a small victory.

Also, I learned that on many of these recipe bases there are two recipes; the basic one and a more elaborate version that apparently requires the oven for some part of it. My 20 min (+ 5 min preparation time) meal had taken nearly an hour and a half and was an unmitigated disaster, and the oven had been on the whole time. We had ice cream for dessert. I like to microwave mine.

In the end DG still became DW so it can’t have been too bad. Mind you, I didn’t pop the question after that meal – I didn’t want to risk getting a sympathy “yes”. In fact I waited a few more years, just to be sure. And after some assistance from DW...or as she tells it; her cooking by proxy...I have actually improved somewhat from those first tentative steps into the world of cooking. In fact, some might say I am now an exceptional cook, if you take into account where I started. So if you are lucky enough to get an invitation to a meal cooked by yours truly, don’t be put off by the above story. That was years ago. I guarantee it will be a meal to remember. And we have the local pizza place on speed dial.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Cook from the heart. If you can cook, that is. Otherwise stick to the bloody recipe.

Guten tag!

I have recently discovered that my evil toe may not actually be evil after all.  At least, that is what the evil little piggie wants me to believe.  It would have me believe that the actual culprit, "so-called", is an affliction called Restless Legs Syndrome.  Now I admit that I do have many of the symptoms of RLS, but I have always attributed them to my diabolical digit.  However, my doctor feels firstly: that my tyrannical toe is not the spawn of the devil, and secondly: chopping the f*#$@%g thing off (my words) would not actually solve the problem.  That said, my main reason for not severing my tiny nemesis is not that it would likely hurt like hell, but rather an unreasonable fear (or is it) that the little fiend would actually grow back, bigger and badder than ever.

So I'm humouring my doctor and I am taking this Restless Legs Syndrome, "so-called", seriously. I have been told that my incessant pacing and twitching may be alleviated by the addition of magnesium, calcium and iron in my diet.  It was not without some irony that I found myself surrounded by short, oddly muscled men in a health supplement store buying my new "fix".  Apparently these stores are where you can buy muscles when you have trouble growing them yourself.  I also noted the expensive clothes store on one side of this shop and a sports store on the other.  All they need now is a medical clinic that dispenses Viagra and they could rename this section "Self-Esteem Lane".

Anyway, enough about my legs, for now.  I'll let you know if the vitamin supplements or the holy water have any effect.

I was lucky enough to get home in time to watch Princess do her second swimming lesson with her new squad.  Far from her previous lessons which involved fairly simple tasks and introductory stuff, these lessons are considerably more serious and a lot more intense.  The thing that impressed me most was the enthusiasm Princess has for the sport.  She quite literally hurls herself into the pool.  By that I mean she was doing the diving lesson when I arrived and her technique is...developing. Even the instructor covered her face with her hands in dismay when she saw how hard Princess hit the water on her stomach.  She does manage to get further than anyone else but hasn't quite got the idea of keeping her head down and sliding into the water.  For a little body she can make quite a big splash.  However, despite the reddening of her legs from the impacts, she didn't hesitate to get back up on the blocks time and again to repeat her mistake.  She did complain that her tummy felt a bit sore after.  That would be the eight successive belly flops I suspect.

Little Man is into his last term of Kinder and while he does enjoy it, he is finding it and life in general pretty tiring.  Of course, the fact that he goes at it like a bull at a gate is part of the reason but still... He had his haircut yesterday after Kinder and DW was recounting his displeasure at not being given his usual downtime.  He growled at the hairdresser and her laughing hysterically did little to quell his anger.  Luckily by the time I got home, he had calmed down after being able to play computer games without having to share with his older sister, who was off at swimming practice at the time.

Anyway, time to go.  More tomorrow (maybe?).

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Blanketty blank blanking blanker (trains late again)

Wow! Took a few minutes to brush away the virtual cobwebs from this site but apparently I now feel ready to jump back on the blogging bandwagon.

A lot of exciting this have happened since I last blogged but I can't remember most of them so I'll just skip ahead.

Astronomy has been a hobby of mine for the past few years and in February this year, I decided to up the ante and formalize my astronomical endeavors. (Blogger doesn't like Australian English spelling and I don't like squiggly red lines so I bow the imperialist might of the increasingly inaccurately named American "English"). As I work full time, or more accurately, am required to be at work full time, I had to choose a part time course and a friend recommended a Masters of Science (Astronomy) through Swinburne University, so I enrolled. As I haven't studied for over twenty years (my first two degrees finished 14 years ago) I have decided to take it slowly and really focus on whatever it is I'm studying. So far so good.

Ok, so what about everyone else? Well, DW's passing interest in knitting hasn't passed and is now bordering on a medical condition. She has decided to do her bit for the planet by knitting everyone a shawl. If you haven't received yours yet, don't worry, it's coming. In the meantime, you can borrow one of mine. She also likes making her own greeting cards, which usually accompany the shawls. She is also planning on knitting me a jumper, or possibly 365 jumpers, based on the number of patterns she has asked me to consider. I have drawn the line at knitted bathers.

Princess has continued to become a proficient reader and simply loves going to school. She also enjoys maths and has a very inquiring mind, which I think she gets from me. DW has pointed out that I probably should have kept using it myself, because she is witty like that.
Princess has started to show signs of growing out of "little kid" things and moving on to "pre-teen" things, like makeup and Taylor Swift. Is it just me or does Taylor look like she was shot in the face by Homer Simpson's makeup gun? Actually, a quick check has shown that I'm thinking of someone else, but I can't work out who. Taylor's makeup looks like she did it herself.

Little Man is fast becoming a misnomer. I wonder if anyone has ever had a teacher named Miss Nomer? Or even better, Miss Anne Thrope. But back to Little Man and his big head. I should add that it is not only his head that is big - he is proportionally big. It's just that I notice his head mostly because it is at the top, and further from the ground than it seems it should be. His head is big enough to be in four-year-old kinder this year and he is enjoying it immensely. He now has a 3 hour stint on Mondays, a 3.5 hour stint on Tuesdays, and a 5.5 hour stint on Wednesday, after which he tends to stint a bit as well. This means that DW now gets a bit more time to herself, after nearly 8 years. She tends to use the time to knit.

Ok, well, that's my lunch break over so the rest will have to wait until tomorr... let's just say next time.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: I feel old when I get Facebook messages calling me "Uncle Bern", so I respond with "In ya face! brprbrprbrprbrpr!"

Knock Knock!

Who's there?

Oh, sorry. You've probably heard that one.

Time to have an opinion. Where's my gauntlet?

Is TV bad for kids? Of course it is. It destroys a child's ability to communicate and think for themselves. They either waste away to nothing or turn into something bloated and disgusting. They all become mass murdering, chip eating, sugar loving, misogynistic, anti-social brats. And it's all because of TV.

Or is it? In case it's not obvious, I don't actually think TV is bad for kids.

There has been a recommendation made recently that children under two be banned from watching TV and those under four be only allowed one hour a day. The impetus for this move is to combat obesity in our society, which I wholeheartedly agree needs some combating. The reports I have read also suggest that communication skills are significantly reduced and that eye movement may be retarded.

One simple solution would be to make very large widescreen TV's that are voice controlled and powered by treadmill mandatory.

I think that research would find that if a child would sit and read books for several hours a day that the very same conditions mentioned above would likely develop. The effort of turning pages notwithstanding (some of those cardboard pages are pretty thick after all), books are no more interactive than TV. I suppose the act of actually lifting the chosen book off the shelf may be slightly harder than pressing the button on a remote.

Ok, so what about eye movement? Do the eyes get a better work out scanning through lines of text or watching TV? Before we answer that, let's ask if it is actually relevant. After all, kids books are mostly pictures and while they don't move like they do on TV, they are typically smaller than a TV screen. So the range of movement can't be considered greater. But wait, you might say. The kid stares at an unmoving TV screen for hours and a child normally looks at numerous books in the same period of time, forcing their eyes to move far more than when watching TV. I would argue that the contention here is not a comparison of time spent engaged in this particular activity, but rather the specific nature of the act itself, that is, the looking at a book versus the watching of TV and the movement of the eye to cover the information. We will get to the time spent shortly. I think most people would agree that a book is actually not bigger than a TV and the eye can traverse the display space equally effectively for both.

But the time issue is significant, however, maybe not for the above reason. In all the literature I have read, none has suggested that books are better than TV because for every unit of time, your eyes get a better workout with books than with TV. The studies do address the time concerns, but they all focus on the macro movement of the whole body. So while there may be a gut instinct to defend books as a better experience for eye movement, there doesn't seem to be any actual scientific data being offered to support that idea.

Before we jump on the main issue, let's look at the other idea of verbal skills. We are encouraged to read to our kids and speak to them normally, no baby talk, so that they develop a mature, natural way of speaking. Hearing lots of spoken words is the only way a baby can begin to develop speech. Books are full of cool pictures and (to a baby or toddler) otherwise meaningless words. Those words only gain meaning when read aloud to the child. The story comes to life and the significance of those strange markings on the page start to creep into a child's mind.

I am a great believer in reading aloud to your children and I have been doing it for Princess and Little Man since before they were born. Ok, I read Harry Potter for DW while she was pregnant with Princess, then known as Bob. But I also believe it is a valuable thing for the kids to have access to the books themselves. This allows them to go through the book at their own pace, to explore the pictures carefully and to try to retell the story as they remember it. It also has resulted in the ultimate destruction of some "overly loved" books but that is probably worth it to foster the joy of reading.

But...and you knew there was a but coming... I don't think a child learns anything about speech when they are sitting quietly on their own, not hearing the words being read and not trying to say the words themselves. That is not to say that such time is not valuable, but how does it help speech? More often than not the child will soon tire of that activity and find something else to do, all the while learning valuable skills but unless they are hearing words spoken or trying to speak themselves, they are not practicing that particular skill.

Does TV help? Most of kids TV consists of people or characters talking or singing, sometimes themselves and other times with the help of a narrator, but there is always lots of words involved. Most programming targeting young children have specific educational goals, such as learning colours, shapes, words and numbers and even morals. Some even include other languages. Many encourage the children to participate, asking them questions and giving them time to come up with an answer and pretending it is an interactive medium. Whatever you may personally feel about TV, I think you would have to agree that it presents a wide variety of speech learning opportunities for a child.

So on to the next objection. TV may have lots of words and talking but that is not as good as sitting with your child and reading a book, or talking to them about what they are doing and so on. That is absolutely correct and also completely irrelevant. I am certainly not contesting the value of spending personal time with you child, whether it is reading a book, drawing a picture, baking muffins OR watching TV. The more one-on-one time you can spend with your kids the better. But this argument is about comparing the solitary act of watching TV with the solitary act of reading a book for a preliterate child.

So just how much one-one-one time can you spend with your child? Each parent will have their own answer for that but when it comes down to it, you simply have to let them have some time to themselves, and not just for your own sanity. A child needs time away from the stimulation of discussions with a parent to integrate the information. They may play with blocks and they may look at a book, or heaven forbid, watch TV. Invariably we all need some mental downtime to let our "subconscious" play with the ideas we have just been exposed to. Kids are no different. I should point out that kids certainly do need time away from TV for the same reason, but that is a long way from saying they should not be allowed any time in front of the TV in the first place.

And now for the biggie. Kids are fat. Ok, not all kids are fat, but most of them are, so the generalization is fair. Only is it? Well, to be quite honest, it really is fair. A generalization is a description which fits the majority of the subjects. In this case, the majority of kids are overweight. That is not to say that your kids or my kids are overweight, just that for every kid that isn't overweight, they are more kids that are.

My kids are not fat. They are active and vibrant and very, very healthy. They also watch more TV than the new recommendations allow. Actually, they watch more TV than the old recommendations allow. They probably watch too much TV, but I certainly couldn't use their weight as an indicator of that. Actually, there is only my unfounded belief that they watch too much TV. I have no actual evidence of that at all.

Kids need to be active and my kids are like humming birds. But back to the argument in question, how is TV any less physically active than sitting reading a book? It is certainly less active than bouncing on the trampoline or riding the scooters, but the question here is about reading. I'm sure you can agree that in this context, TV and reading use up about the same calories and develop the same gross motor skills, which is to say, none at all.

And here is some more fuel for the fire. Fat kids aren't really the problem. The problem is they grow up to be fat adults, so perhaps the ban should not be on kids, but on adults. I don't see that ever happening, or ANY political party brave enough to even suggest it.

Basically, our kids need to eat healthy foods MOST of the time, get plenty of exercise and gain as much experience of the world they safely can, be that with a parent, playing sports and with friends, reading and yes, even TV. No-one would ever dare to suggest that books should be banned - that would be akin to blasphemy! But the lack of actual evidence and the emotive arguments make TV an easy target. The problem with the suggested ban is not that it is unenforceable, but rather that it will not achieve what it sets out to, and that is help children be healthy and grow into healthy adults. And to make matters worse, it WILL succeed in making excellent, loving and dedicated parents feel guilty when they turn on the TV while they have their morning coffee, just for a moments peace. And God help anyone with more than one kid.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Say everything with conviction, especially your retractions.

Hey, Hey it's... what day is it?

It's time to put pen to paper, shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone and get some finger tappin', mind melting, fog inducing, thought reporting blog-style.

Ok, before I forget, I should mention some of the wonderful kid-isms that seem to pop out at regular intervals at my house. Firstly, Little Man is going through an "angry" age. Everything seems to annoy him, though he can be extremely happy at other times. I don't think he is manic depressive or anything scary but at four, I'm told kids go through a difficult age. Actually, saying kids are going through a difficult age is a load of crap. They are difficult period. They start out being difficult and then get steadily more difficult until they have kids of their own. It would be more useful to describe an age or phase using some scale - DW and I currently use the Richter scale, other families might be different.

Anyway, the other day I was cooking dinner and Little Man objected to what I was cooking, or possibly the idea that the Earth is round - who knows. The thing is he declared his hatred for me, as he so often does these days:

Little Man: I HATE you!
Me: But I'm cooking you dinner.
Little Man: Fine! Then I love you and I hate Mum!

I should note that DW had nothing to do with this exchange whatsoever.

On to Princess, who is embracing the skill of reading with great gusto. However, a few nights back she had finished the age-appropriate readers and had come home with a book of her choosing. It was called "Cockatiels" and was in fact an in-depth reference book regarding the breeding and care of various types of cockatiels. Now while Princess can read very well for her age, this book was chock full of bird-breeding-related jargon and nearly every second word was one she had not come across before in her reading travels. In fact, many were new to me as well. So after a few pages of reading what might as well have been in another language, I suggested that the book was a little over her head.

The next day, when it was time to do her reader I asked her if she had remembered to get a simpler book, unlike her book about cockatiels. She assured she had by saying her new book was not at all the same - it was about bees.

She couldn't understand what I thought was so funny.


Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Even if they do smell funny, it's not something people expect to hear. Don't expect a "thank you". Honesty is its own reward.

Good morning.

I know that sounds rather more formal than is typical but I don't want to alarm you.

I believe Little Man has been abducted and replaced by a short, angry psychopath called Lightning McQueen...asaurus.

Seriously, either that or the kid has gone nuts. In all fairness, the creators of the replicant have done a great job. It looks just like Little Man and sounds just like Little Man. But a couple of things are amiss. For example, he now talks more than Princess and hasn't taken a breath for twenty three days straight. The best Princess was ever able to manage was eighteen hours and she was in peak form.

The Little Man we knew would give hugs and kisses and say "I love you Daddy" all the time, but the new one kicks, punches, bites and screams blue murder when the ads come on TV. He's even worse when something REALLY annoys him. He's a menace!

I am calmly told by those who are more calm than I, that I should calm myself and try to maintain a calming atmosphere for Little Man so that he too might calm down. My response is below:

For your information
Until now I have been
Calm and I do
Know exactly how to cope with this

Ordeal.
From now on, please keep your
Foughts to yourself.

Or words to that effect. A measured response if ever there was one, I think you'll agree. I should mention that very occasionally the real Little Man pops back and gives hugs and cuddles and says "I Love You" and makes DW and I feel less like the parents of an angry velociraptor. We treasure those brief moments and use them to steel ourselves for the maelstrom that is Little Man Unleashed.

In case anyone is wondering about the Lightning McQueen reference earlier, Little Man has been obsessed with the hero of the Cars movie for ages. He is also obsessed with dinosaurs, hence the "...asaurus" addition. He alternates between flying his cars around the room, blasting everything in sight, ala Angry Blue Lightning McQueen (cf. Cars dream sequence) or roaring and leaping about like a dinosaur. He chops and changes which dinosaur he is at any given moment, depending on which one he thinks would inflict the most damage in a particular scenario. He really commits to the role as well.

It is not just during play that he is completely crazy. He deliberately rejects any suggestion of Princess' when it comes to deciding what to watch on TV. The only food he admits to liking is noodles and screams his replicant head off (ok, it doesn't come off but it does seem to turn further than it should be able to) whenever something else is served. He still eats whatever is put in front of him eventually, and will occasionally admit to liking it, but its still not noodles, dammit!

It is DW's considered opinion that the behaviour is not that of a changeling, but rather a result of Little Man giving up his day sleep before he is really ready to. I have applied the principle of Occam's Razor to her argument and decided that it is more likely he is a short, angry psychopath replicant, rather than just being overtired. I mean, how else can you explain the inhuman strength and super spit?

I don't remember Princess going through a similar phase. DW offers two explanations for this supposed lapse. Firstly, Princess did go through the same phase and I am simply repressing the memory. Secondly, and seemingly at odds with the first, Princess is a girl and girls are different to boys and go through different phases. It was unwise to suggest she should just pick one and stick to it.

To her credit, DW is the one who bears the brunt of dealing with the replicant-freaky-monster destructo-boy. The fact that he still lives is a testament to her self-control. Thank God he hasn't touched her knitting.

Now if I reach my mind out to the most extraordinary possibilities I must concede that it is possible that the horrible little punk monster is actually our beloved son, Little Man. I admit it may be, however unlikely, that he is going through a phase and it is exacerbated by him being overtired. Maybe. But I doubt it.

I'll keep you posted.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Never rush doing up your fly.

"Let them eat cake", she said.

Princess has been making this world her own for seven years, as of yesterday, at about 1:01pm. And she made nearly as much fuss as she did on arrival.

Well, we had already had the birthday party but Princess was just about beside herself pending the actual anniversary of her birth. She was humming with anticipation the night before. I don't mean humming like most people hum. I mean her whole body was shaking almost imperceptibly and she appeared in a constant state of motion blur.

While DW worked on what must be said to be one of her best birthday card creations, I set about wrapping the presents. I am pretty proud of the presents I chose, bar one. DW suggested a series of kids books about the adventures of Tinkerbell, which Princess loves, but I chose the rest of the presents on my own. I think I did pretty well considering my lack of shared interests with a seven year old girl. I bought her a microscope. Ok, we have some shared interests. She calls it her science thingy with the bits and other stuff. Ok, so I got her something for me to play with, but you know, quality time and all that.

I also got her a board game called Cluedo Jnr, where rather than solving a gruesome murder, the kids are called upon to solve a far more insidious crime - who ate the last piece of chocolate cake. Are we preparing our kids for the real world or what? I also bought her Monopoly Jnr (a great deal on the double pack) but DW decided that along with all the presents she had already received and are still coming, we would hold off on that one. I'm not sure how that is preparing Princess for the Global Financial Crisis but there it is.

Now, those all sound like responsibly, well thought out gifts, yes? I agree. It was the last gift, or rather the one we let Little Man give to Princess, that is the questionable choice. For the last year or so, Princess has been asking for a "yada yada yada." It turns out this is actually the name of a toy, and not me just hearing her say what I always hear when she asks for something. It is a little voice recorder that can record all of six seconds of whatever and then play it back. It can only record one clip but the real magic, at least for Princess, is that it can play it "high and fast or slow and slow". She evens says the slogan in those voices.

I love Princess dearly but her voice can be a little piercing and she talks A LOT so that can get a little annoying after a few seconds. Imagine what its like after seven years. And now, she can record herself and play it back "high and fast". As her voice is already high and fast, it is difficult to explain what we are now being subjected to, but suffice it to say, DW would probably have preferred I'd bought her a sports whistle.

Because it was Princess' 7th birthday, I took some flex time to stay home yesterday. As luck would have it, it was also the day DW was scheduled to do classroom help in Princess' class, so what better opportunity for Dad to "see first-hand" just what goes on in the grade one classroom. What joy! What rapture? What a funky smell a room full of grade ones make.

Princess was terribly excited that I would be with her for the first couple of hours of the day, and pretty much wanted to cuddle me and sit on my feet the whole time. However it was good to see how well she does in class and how she really listens and works hard for the teachers. Now I just need to learn their secrets and get her to do it at home. "Not likely", she tells me. So I wandered around, helping the odd kid with their writing, chatting with the normal kids and practicing my pasting. I've still got it, by the way. It was an experience, and by and large a rewarding one. I'm very proud of Princess and I've discovered I can hold my breath for nearly two minutes when it's really necessary.

Then it was cake making time. DW had a couple of cake mixes that she said I could have a go at making. And yes, she said it a little condescendingly if you ask me. Anyway, I set about trying to make the birthday cake. I would have followed the instructions to the letter if DW hadn't informed me that she does it differently to the instructions and proceeded to modify the recipe. I, being a dutiful and sensible husband, followed her instructions up until the point of the discussion over which cake tin to use. Our opinions diverged slightly and in a rare display of backbone, I chose a different cake tin to DW's "highly recommended" one. In my defense, mine was what the original recipe called for. I guess having survived the morning with Princess' class and so little oxygen, I was feeling brave and slightly light-headed.

All appeared to go well until the cake came out. From above, it looked perfect, just like the packet. Unfortunately, it nearly disappeared when observed from the side. It had certainly risen in the oven, but some mysterious thing happened when it cooled - it compressed itself into a thin, firm disc. I was able to add some height with, I guess it could be said, too much icing, and I made it rather pretty with, again it could be said, too many smarties. The result was a very pretty cake, especially with candles and such, but not the best eating. Unless you thought of it as more of a tort, which was closer to the mark, but still, pretty hard going.

The kids had a fair go at the smarties and ate their way down through nearly a cakes-depth of icing, but couldn't proceed past what we were now calling the base. I think DW must have felt sorry for me and ate her whole piece. She started laughing toward the end, but it took nearly twenty minutes more before she could explain why she was laughing. Apparently she had been trying to speak after putting in the last mouthful and it had taken her that long to clear her mouth to speak. It did have a slightly clagging effect, I'll admit.

We discussed its various merits later. The possibility of using it for roof insulation looked good until you consider the cost of reinforcing the ceiling to support the weight. It could also be used as a bullet-proof vest, with or without the smarties, and with the added bonus of being able to stick the wearer to a wall, or a reinforced ceiling. It could also be used as a Frisbee of mass destruction or for weight training. We also considered that we could market it as the closest thing to Elvish Lembas bread. I ate four pieces.

Anyway, the most important thing is that Princess had a great day, and is now counting the days until the next present epoch, Christmas. And we all survived the experience. Little Man made his presence felt yesterday but that will have to wait for now. Stay tuned.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Highly concentrated chocolate goodness. Doesn't sound so bad now, does it?

Hello World!

Time for another blog.

In two days it will be Princess' 7th birthday! I find it hard to believe that this girl has been with us for such a long time. I also find it hard to believe how quickly seven years can go by. You would think that I could average the two out and have it feel like seven years but No! No matter how I think about it, seven years just seems wrong. But seven years it is.

Because its is Mother's Day on Sunday coming, we decided to have the birthday party last weekend. DW did her usual stellar best and organized an excellent party. If I ever have another 7th Birthday party, I want her to organize it. However, this year, Princess decided to help. She found herself a clipboard and discovered the joys of making lists. She made lists of her lists and stuck them about the place with various ticks besides those she deemed accomplished to her satisfaction.

I also make lots of lists, but I lose them. I found a list I made in 1992 and I hadn't done anything on the list yet, but I figured if I've gotten by this long without doing those tasks, I probably don't need to worry about them. I can't find the other lists.

During her list making, Princess would come up to DW and I and ask politely in her most demanding voice, what we were going to do about such and such. We would give some answer and she would stare at her list and apparently tick things at random. I'm sure it all made sense to her. DW was concerned that bad weather might interfere with our plans but Princess declared the she and I had come up with an "Inside during Wet Weather Plan". DW was impressed and asked what the plan entailed.
Princess replied that we would be inside if there was wet weather. Good plan. Aptly titled as well.

As it happened, we had an almost perfect day for the picnic. In fact, it was a little too hot if anything, but that only ruined the jelly cups. Everything else went according to plan. Kids running madly. Eating like locusts. The occasional tears which disappeared as quickly as they started. More eating. Cakes and candles and "Happy Birthday to you"s. More tears. Did I mention the red cordial? (Actually we didn't have red cordial - Princess likes to get her face really close to other people and tell them that red cordial makes her go nuts - and at that distance they truly believe her).

Perhaps the most amusing thing for me was that as the only male adult in attendance, I ended up as the unofficial MC. I didn't mind. At one point all the kids were running in all directions and I was reminded of gas particles in a contained space. So I yelled at them all to "run much faster!" and bless them, they actually did. Pretty much until they fell over. The other parents might have thought I was being a little mean, abusing my power like that, but I'll bet when their kids fell into bed and went straight into a deep sleep that night, they filed that little trick away in the back of their minds.

Anyway, on Thursday there will be no party as such, but a family celebration. No doubt another blog will ensue.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Initial experiments indicate that frisbees are attracted to birthday cake.

G'Day!

I've never started a blog with G'Day and I promise I will never do it again.

I have recently been tempted into the world of Twitter. Obviously many people already use Twitter and I signed up a while back wondering what the big deal was. My first instinct was that there was, in fact, no big deal. Basically, for those not in the know, when using Twitter, you "tweet" whatever you're doing at any given moment, whenever you feel you have something of interest to tweet. Actually, even if it is not of interest, you can tweet. In fact, especially then, if judging by the current world of Twitter is anything to go by.

This is slightly different to FaceBook, which asks the question "What's on your mind?" Now that is a dangerous question to ask me, seriously. So mostly I just post little inanities and the occasional plug for my doritos ad at http://www.doritos.com.au (Spies Like Us) but nothing too challenging for my small array of friends.

Fortunately there is a FaceBook app called Twitter which allows me to post simultaneously to both with the same entry. But it is often not the case that what I am thinking is the same as what I am doing.

I am left with the distinctly uneasy feeling that I don't actually understand social networking online. What makes me uneasy is the fact that my track record in social networking in the real world seems to be following me into cyberspace. But cyberspace is supposed to be my domain. It's where nerds are cool and geeks are hip. Or is that have hips? Not sure but it is supposed to be the one place you can meet other nerds and geeks while wearing a cape and carrying a broad sword or magical staff and actually command some respect in a pub.

For what its worth, don't try the broad sword thing in a real pub. People don't seem to feel threatened. But I think they respected the cape, at least a little.

So, back to my social ineptitude. I have cleverly masked my dysfunction in the real world (my cape has a hood) but the real people have stopped going to pubs and now drink at home while Twittering and telling their friends on FaceBook what's on their mind. Now you may laugh or shake your head at me for my comments about swords and capes, but who throws sheep, honestly? And what are you to do with said sheep?

I had someone hug me the other day. Not for real, not a hug like DW or the kids can give. Just a message that someone had sent me a hug. Wow! That is so nice! Someone cared enough to send me a hug, along with the other 2342 people in their friends list. I felt so special but couldn't help thinking, if you're going to send me useless intangible crap, why not send me a million imaginary dollars. Or a bazillion dollars. Why not send me a bucket full of dirt? Why dirt you ask? Why the hell not? I could lie in it while I wait to become a vampire. You see, apparently someone else, who didn't think I deserved a hug, set a vampire on me instead. Honestly though, I couldn't tell the difference. In fact, the next person who sends a hug to me may well find themselves beaten on the head with a sheep and have a spike rammed through their heart. And a million imaginary dollars because I care.

There are probably a whole bunch of people who read the above (I wish) and think that maybe I have missed the point of online social networking, and perhaps the hug was just a nice thought, and the sheep is only harmless fun. I think you are probably right. If you remember, that was my initial point. I don't understand online social networking. I don't have time to find out just how many mothers from eighties sitcoms I can name, or to prove I have a decent IQ to whoever it was claimed I'm the dumbest person they know. There are damsels what need savin', don't you know. And that IS a sword in my pocket.

However, I do try. I blog, for instance. Actually, I mostly do that for the catharsis but sometimes I actually try to make someone else feel better about themselves or voice my consternation about an injustice. But blogging is different. It is a much broader expression of self, but maybe not everyone needs such an expression. And so I also use FaceBook, though not to hurl sheep or discover which planetary region I come from. I have found some small measure of satisfaction in knowing that several friends who have seemingly drifted away a little are back in touch, even if its only to say they like my status.

Its funny, but I find I have no interest in what someone's Bejewelled score is, or how many citizens they have in their very own little metropolises(?), and yet I am very interested in what they are thinking. I read recently that a friend was sad. Another person unknown to me but close to my friend asked what was wrong and my friend confided her pain, not just to the one asking, and not to the whole world, but to those who are interested in what she is thinking, her friends. Obviously some things need to be kept private but it made me more aware of my friend who is living a long way away.

And in that lies the heart of the matter. Online social networks, while no substitute for real interpersonal communication, allow us to fill some of the empty moments in our day with thoughts of our friends. You don't need to spend more time in front of a screen, because many of those active online are spending less time in front of the TV, watching imaginary peoples' lives unfold. Those little messages, and hugs I suppose, are a tiny glimpse at people we would otherwise see only rarely. I know there are nay-sayers who condemn these communications as taking people out of the real world, disconnecting humanity from personal interaction. While they have a point, it is proffered without consideration of the benefits. Their are also proponents who are quick to bring those arguments of how socially inept people can find some measure of meaningful communication with others they might not enjoy in the "real" world. But in my opinion, those that potentially suffer most and also those that stand to benefit most greatly are those of us in the middle.

Technology is change and all change brings with it both promise and warning. It is up to us to work out how to progress rather than regress. It is certainly up to us to educate our children in practices that will see them reap the rewards of these developments and at the same time be mindful of the dangers that lurk. It is a brave new world and I suppose I can get used to it.

Now, I must go. Someone sent me a dragon egg and I'm told it needs tending if it is to hatch into a ferocious weapon that I can wield in my quest to save damsels and get respect in pubs. Gotta love the respect.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: I can't express my thoughts in Twitter's 140 character limit.

Its cold again. I'm cold. I'd like to feel warm. But I don't. Still, I now have a cup of tea and that is helping.

I think its time I bought a new winter coat. I haven't bought one for a long time and my old one is disintegrating. A new coat would be nice. It would make me warm. I wish I was warm right now.

Ok. Enough whining. On to today's blog.

Football. Some people drag themselves through the summer just to get to the start of football season. Others notice the insidious encroachment of football into their usual TV schedules. And some don't give a hoot either way.

Me, I quite like football, but I quickly get enough of it. I was lucky enough to be offered free tickets to a Geelong game on Sunday but I declined. "Why?", you may ask. Well I'll tell you. Basically over my lifetime I have been to maybe half a dozen AFL football games and I have failed to enjoy any of them. I don't like the noise. I don't like not being able to see properly (certainly not now that I have my 106cm fullHD LCD at home). I don't like the neanderthal-like regression displayed by some of the supporters. I assume its a temporary regression but its entirely possible those particular people were like that before they come, and continue to be like that when they leave.

And I don't like to watch Geelong lose. Every time I have gone to the footy, Geelong have lost. If I even watch Geelong on TV, even my beautiful new 106cm fullHD LCD TV, they usually lose. In fact, the only way for me to see Geelong win is if they manage an unassailable lead in the first half and then I can tune in. Even so, Geelong still hold the record for having established the greatest three-quarter time lead and still manage to lose. I saw that game.

As I was coming to work this morning I entertained myself, as I do, by thinking up strange changes to the world around me. This morning it was football. I wondered if Aussie Rules Football might not be more interesting if it was called in the spirit of Dungeons and Dragons.

I imagined Gary Ablett Jr attacking the enemy combatants with his +6 boot. Someone casts the dreaded "Chewey-on-your-boot" charm, but the young magician is not deflected. The Brisbane Lions defenders collapsing before his skill. The Geelong forward line unite in a frontal assault, hacking and slashing their way through. Dragons and Trolls doing bloody battle. The final score reveals The Mighty Cats take the day with 18 major strikes and 18 minor hits and take a paltry 5 strikes and 3 minor, barely denting their armor, leaving the Barely LionCubs with a deficit of 93 hit points. While The Cats celebrate their XP boosting win, the Brisbane Lions barely have the strength to kick their wounds.

I'd watch that.

But not soccer:
England swing at Italy and miss. Italy swing at England and miss. England swing at Italy and miss. Italy swing at England and miss. England swing at Italy and miss. Italy swing at England and miss. England swing at Italy and miss. Italy swing at England and miss.
The End

Grid Iron might be ok though, for a laugh:
The Chicago Bears are facing the Dallas Cowboys. Both teams are in full armor. They stare at each other while one of them tries to count. When they realise that isn't working, they all drop their weapons and punch each other in the face. In fact, rumor has it they are lined up facing each other to make sure they punch the right team in the face.

Maybe not, but I like to daydream.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Mr Whippy! Mr Whippy! Where for art thou, Mr Whippy?

I'm just interested to see how easy it is to blog from my iPhone.

[Ed.: It's not too bad but I'd like to be able to post and edit the posts within the one app.]

Good morning, World!

It's Monday and it's cold. We are getting to the last part of Autumn and winter is apparently anxious to be about.

We had a reasonable amount of rain last week and somebody stole my umbrella. It greatly annoyed me. I know I shouldn't but I often have a quiet snicker to myself at people who don't think ahead and carry an umbrella. I'm mean it's Melbourne people! Anyway, I was unfortunately one of those people running through the rain, wishing some prat had not stolen my umbrella. Perhaps I shouldn't laugh at other people's misfortune because perhaps some of them were in the same predicament as I. Who am I kidding? As long as they look funny, I'm gonna laugh.

So it was a cold, wet weekend at our house which meant the kids probably watched more than the recommended two hours of television. They got a little stir crazy. The place looked like a bomb hit it. Actually, two bombs. Princess and Little Man are surprisingly effective when it comes to uniform distribution of all they own. Apparently they like to be able to see all their toys and clothes at once. DW has to go around every day and tidy it all up only to have them do it again to next day.

I don't suppose our kids are unique in this penchant for disorder, so I guess most mums or stay-at-home dads have a similar problem. However, Princess and Little Man are certainly proficient to a high degree. I know DW finds it very hard to have to do the same thing every day, clean up after the kids, wash the clothes, wash the dishes, make the meals, rinse and repeat. Finding time to do the things she needs to do for her own sanity often get bumped to the background and she has been doing it for over seven years.

This year promised some respite as Princess is in Grade One and Little Man is now at three-year-old kinder. That means DW has a whole 5 hours (nearly) to herself. So what does she do with that precious time? She reorganizes her week to do those chores that are easier without the kids in tow, like shopping or paying bills. She doesn't actually get that time to herself. The impact is not insignificant because overall, her week is slightly improved because she doesn't have the shopping battle with Little Man trying his level best to help. Princess is not stopping her to read every single word she sees on the street. But it isn't down time.

I read a while back a comparison of activities which cited looking after a three-year-old as being equivalent in energy demand to eleven hours of sex. I'm sure there are many mothers (or fathers) who firstly have never experienced eleven hours of sex, but probably feel the comparison is fair. They might also have a slightly improved respect for hookers. Or not. But the point is, its hard. Energy draining, body mass reducing hard. At least according to the study.

But I don't think it's quite accurate. It probably feels that way, and therein lies the problem. Looking after small children is hard, but mostly that challenge comes from having to let a significant part of yourself slide to the background while you pick up toys, wash clothes, make meals, rinse and repeat. It is a physical job, but it is the mental challenge and self-sacrifice that really makes it hard.

So to DW and other mothers/fathers out there who struggle with the daily grind, I say thank you. I hope every one of you has someone who will say that to you in person and show you their undying appreciation. Your kids will probably not understand yet just what you are giving them but one day they will. And when that happens, they will realize that they can never repay the debt, except by being such a parent to their own children.

So as you start your next day of mindless tedium and unending chores, just remember that you are appreciated, perhaps not fully and perhaps not by everyone, but at least by those future adults who were once so completely dependent on you. And me. I think you are all doing a great job. Thanks.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Eleven hours! OMG!

Doritos!

Yep. You heard me. Doritos.

For those who watch TV or those who eat chips, and those few who do both, you may be aware of the Doritos ad competition. Basically the idea to to make a 29 second ad featuring Doritos. Sounds easy? Well, yes and no. If you visit the website you will see that some people found the competition very easy. In fact, some of the ads took no apparent effort at all. However, a couple of ads did show some extra spark, and they would have been far more challenging.

I have created an ad along with my regular co-producer Narelle and crew. I think its pretty cool. If I ever manage to get it submitted (currently some server issues), hopefully you will able able to see it too, and vote for it (you can win chips!). But I have been thinking about the other ads submitted.

There is a very cool little cartoon about a corn chip trying to win a singing contest in the vain of Australian Idol or one of those shows. Its very dynamic, funny and well produced with very high production values. It is engaging and a worthy contender for the top prize. Obviously I hate it because it might beat my ad, but I applaud the effort.

There is one ad I hate even more. Its the ad with the girl in the corn chip bikini that apparently falls off after she dives into the pool. It might be the best ad ever. Hell, even I nearly voted for it. I still might. Apparently I am squarely in the target demographic because it is a such a simple concept. Sex sells. Based on the number of votes, lots of people are buying.

Don't get me wrong. I wish I had thought of it and had the budget to put something like that together. It is very slick. It has very high production values. And it can be extremely easily adapted to sell anything from corn chips to BBQ tongs, swimming pools, any form of soft drink, and pretty much anything that could potentially be used to barely hide breasts. And there's the rub (no pun intended - well not really). Basically it has done exactly what any good ad does. It taps into the audience psyche and wraps them up in endorphins. Then it can sell them pretty much anything it wants. The perfect ad. I hate it. One day I hope to create an ad just like it. Shallow, I know.

Actually, we had a lot of fun making the ad so that in itself is some reward. Even with these few good ads in the competition, I'm still hoping we can make a good showing of ourselves.

As an amusing aside, due to scheduling conflicts and so on, I ended up playing the scientist. I don't usually like being in front of the camera. In fact, I still don't but I decided it would be best in this instance. What was funny was DW's reaction to the beard I grew. Its not like I haven't grown a beard before but usually I don't trim it. Its either there, wild and unkempt, or its not. What I wanted for this scientist was something more deliberate and repressed, so I very neatly trimmed my beard. One might think that would look better. It certainly sounds better. DW was horrified. She hated it. She thought I looked sleazy and wouldn't even give me a kiss until I shaved it off. Which she made me do a few minutes after we finished shooting.

Oh well. The things we do for art. And for love. Often not the same things.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Super powers don't make the superhero. Its the underpants.