It's genetic

It's true that as you get older you start to resemble you parents more and more. Well, that's my excuse for recently becoming a shopaholic and I'm sticking to it.

Yesterday I took my mum out for her weekly shopping trip; at the morning market she bought enough vegetables and frozen chicken to feed a houseful of flatting students for a week (though of course, students live on beer rather than meat and veges); later, at the supermarket, she bought FIFTEEN 500g packets of frozen beans and the same number of packets of pasta.

Sometimes, she buys TEN frozen chickens at a time, and returns for more in a fortnight.

She used to buy toilet paper in monster-sized 72-roll cartons, and laundry detergent in similarly-sized boxes. Mum has enough packets of Thai rice noodles for more than a year's worth of her churches pot-luck lunches.

Mind you, her rationale for this super-stocking-up behaviour is something along the lines of saving money by buying in bulk, and the security of knowing she isn't going to run out any time soon. She was, after all, a child of the turbulent decades when China was first invaded by the Japanese and then taken over by the Communist Party.

I don't have those excuses. For me it's probably just a self-rebellion against my normally sensible spending habits.

The Lair of the Liuzer

The Lair of the Liuzer is full of funny, and possibly even true, news articles. It's the first news-type blog I've ever enjoyed (not counting the Buffy- and Whedon- news blogs). Have a gander at the one about the benefits of drinking your own urine...

And more shopping

Today I set out with the intention of buying an evening jacket or coat - one that isn't black - to wear at my friend's wedding. I brought my new silvery stretch lace t-shirt with me, since of course the jacket had to go with it.

The boy was sleeping off his hangover from last night, which meant that I wouldn't have his style advice (which is actually mostly quite good), but it also meant I would be free to roam around as I wished i.e. I could pop into sales to look at jeans and boots.

Starting at one end of the shopping district and making my way south, I shopped non-stop for three hours. I found a great pair of burnt gold pointy-toed ankle boots for ten bucks at the Number 1 Shoe Warehouse (dumb name, but actually a fit description - I'll be returning to that one), but every jacket I saw was either too office-y or too Spring-y (and hence not a year-round item).

The last hour was spent at a designer shop, one which I'd never entered due to it's anticpated high prices and slightly snotty-looking atmosphere. The shop assistant was really helpful and patient though - not pushy as such but willing to show me whatever I asked for. Amidst the winter sale items and the spring non-sale items, I found a fitted jacket in a deep red textured fabric which really suited my skin tones but didn't suit the silver top.

I figured that a jacket or coat is pretty expensive and should last a while, so it doesn't make sense to run around looking for one which especially matches a relatively cheap shirt (one in a colour which won't go with anything else I have except my black pants).

So I bought the jacket, and next weekend I'm off to look for a top to go with the jacket!

Shopping is really hard work - all that walking, looking closely at clothes, trying clothes on...now that I'm home I'm all tired out.

post-Tru Calling Episode 1 and a smidgeon of sour grapes

Well, that was lots of fun. I wonder though how much fun it's going to be if every episode is another Groundhog Day in which Tru has to save a murder/suicide victim. It's now looking like a cross between Angel (helping the helpless) and Quantum Leap. I'll just have to wait and see I suppose.

My boy is out for the evening, at a work do. It's not that I mind him going out and having fun without me; believe it or not, I'd prefer to stay at home and catch up on my study most Fridays. However, it would be nice if he gave me a bit more notice when his boys' nights out are planned i.e. more than a day and a half. If I knew a week ago that I had a 'free' Friday night, I would have had time to call up my own pals and arrange a catch-up dinner or movie or drinkies. Hummmph..

Nice "creep" factor in Tru Calling

Wow. I'm so excited about episode one that I'm blogging about it during the commercial break...

Eliza Dushku shows this vulnerability (coupled with athleticism) which reminds me of Buffy; even her makeup is kind of reminiscent. So far the story is really interesting - a scarier Groundhog Day.

I was planning on watching the first half and then flicking over to TV One for What Not To Wear, but I think I'm going to have to stay for the whole show. And that's saying something.

Two more things to do before I die

While I was sweating away at the gym, I thought of a couple more things I want to add to my previous list:

11. Learn not to be hard on myself for being a flawed human being
12. Learn not to be hard on other people for being flawed human beings

That's all folks :-)

Ten things to do before I die

Usually it's 'Things to do before I turn 30' or something, but I figure I may as well (hopefully) give myself a bit more time...

1. Travel Europe and the UK again
2. Have a home which is warm even in winter
3. Have a child
4. Own an evening jacket which goes with an evening outfit and evening shoes
5. Be able to express exactly why I like a particular film or book (currently I just say it's the coolest thing ever)
6. Exhibit my paintings (and be happy with them)
7. Write something really really well
8. Something scary and brave, like save someone's life
9. Learn to ski
10.Understand abstract art

Bride and Prejudice

According to Angry Asian Man, the woman who brought us Bhaji on the Beach and Bend it like Beckham gives us a full-blown Bollywood remake of Pride and Prejudice.

Cool.

Creep-o-rama

There is one episode of X-Files which will always be lodged in my mind, and it's the one which still creeps me out now. The episode I'm talking about is the second one in Season Four, Home.

It's the one where Mulder and Scully investigate the discovery of a dead, malformed infant in a shallow grave...and are lead to the Peacocks - a family which has, for generations, played together, stayed together and bred together.

The sight of Mrs Peacock, limbless from a car accident a decade before and strapped to a board under the floor of her home, creeps me out even before she shows her deformed face.

The 'brothers' (the eldest of whom is also the father of the other two) are pretty ugly in a neanderthal kind of way. Listening to the eldest and his mummy dearest plot the family's regeneration in the boot of their car at the episode's end, is almost as appalling as watching the mother give birth in the opening scene.

Uggghhh!!!

"Your call is very important to us..."

This is certainly a morning for being put on hold. The folks from Epilepsy NZ still haven't shown up to put their display up and I've been trying unsuccessfully to get hold of them. The local rep isn't taking any calls, though so the display board continues to look bare and scrappy.

I also tried to get hold of Inland Revenue, to ask about getting some of my student loan repayment money back. This tried my patience even more - after being put on hold for approximately half and hour, I was told that I'd be put through to Student Loans, then I was on hold again. I persisted though, and after a couple of interruptions (like.. work and stuff), contact was made. Only it turns out that I've wasted all my time, because I should be talking to Payroll.

So I'm not going to wait in any more phone queues today.

The rampant consumerism continues

Not satisfied with spending my hard-earned dosh on evening wear, underwear and yet another Buffy book (this time it's the updated The girl's got bite by Kathleen Tracy), we went out again yesterday for more domestic wares. An hour and a half later, we emerged from The Warehouse (a chain of huge cheap-import stores housed in big red un-airconditioned buildings) with a large burgundy rug for the lounge, a kitset typist's chair for my study and a microwave oven.

And the rationalisations are...
- we needed the rug because the scrappy carpet in the lounge is not only ugly and coffee-stained, but it's also lacking an underlay.
- I needed the typist's chair because the computer sits too high on the computer desk. It was either buy a height-adjustable chair or take a hacksaw to the computer desk
- I've been looking for a microwave oven priced at less than one hundred dollars for approximately four years now. Originally I wanted one to heat my wheatbag, but now we need one because I keep forgetting to take meat out of the freezer ahead of time. This particular microwave oven was only about seventy bucks, so I really did have to have it.

I should be getting some money from work soon though - I'm fortunate that our newish manager (who is, coincidentally, studying for his MLIS) managed to get the City Council to agree to pay for library-related study. I hope I can put the money straight into the savings account though, instead of spending it.

That's spooky

I guess I'm a Violet both inside and out...

what's your inner flower?

[c] sugardew

I found it at Quiz Blog

Shopping for glamour

I did some research on FashioNZ, and found a couple for really great outfits by State of Grace. So, armed with printouts (I won't try to describe them; just follow the link and look for 'Ariel' on page 1 of the Winter Collection and Queen Mary bodice + Poseiden skirt on page 5), we went into town to look for something similar but cheaper.

What I ended up getting was something quite different. I got a silver stretch lace cap-sleeved t-shirt (one size larger than usual so it wouldn't cling, and on sale at less than forty bucks), which I figured I could wear with black pants or long skirt. I then had to look for underwear which wouldn't scream for attention from underneath, but that was fairly easy.

Pulled in the opposite directions of gunning-for-glamour (which goes for Librans) and being practical (which is probably a Cantonese thing), it's never been easy. This time it was so easy that the boy insisted we try a few more clothes shops in case I was on a roll. Well, I found a really fab strapless raspberry dress with a fishtail - but it would've looked better on me if I had a narrower waist, a longer torso and bigger boobs. And perhaps longer legs and a pair of Sex in the City-type shoes. It was at this point that we decided to go home before I started looking for corsets and tummy-flattening pants.

Loan-free

I paid off my student loan last week. It's not quite as impressive as it sounds, because my loan was actually quite small. All the same, it'll be nice to have that extra fifty bucks every fortnight (which was being automatically deducted from my pay).

So I was kicking myself yesterday when I realised that I was supposed to tell the people over at payroll to stop giving the IRD my money. I got my payslip, and instead of a big fat empty space where the words 'Student Loan' had been - those words were still there and sitting next to a dollar figure.

I've heard that it's really hard to get one's money back from the tax folk; soon I'll find out for myself.

And now it's time for a cheap thrill...I was shelving some of the returned non-fiction this afternoon on the bus when I came across a couple of dinosaur books (as you do). It's so childish, I know, but I couldn't help sniggering when I put the 567.91 DIX right next to the 567.91 COX...

(umm... those are Dewey Decimal codes in case you haven't set foot in a public library for a while)

today's brain dump

Films
These are the film industry names which would make me want to see a movie (without knowing anything about it):

- Peter Jackson
- Ben Stiller
- The Coen Brothers
- Charlie Kaufman
- Johnny Depp (-ish. He's let me down a couple of times, though generally it's still true)
- Lars von Trier
- Zhang Yimou


Sleep
Oh, for some! Every evening I go to bed with one of my trusty Buffy books, reading a while before falling asleep. Every morning I wake up to the rude noise of the alarm clock, and I'm bleary-eyed, unrefreshed and possibly not quite fit to drive for at least another hour.

Playing dress-ups
A friend of mine is getting married early in October; between now and then I have the task of trawling the shops, looking for something suitable to wear. I don't like girly gear, I don't like exposing my legs, I can't walk in high heels and I don't have the bod for clingy clothes. I thought I might look for a strappy dress with a little jacket, plus some pointy-toed knee high boots. Or I might give up after the first couple of shops and settle for some of the ten-year-old stuff in my wardrobe (hoping it hasn't been mildewed to death). Oh, for the donated services of a fashion stylist and a couple of grand in spending money!

nostalgia

I got an e-mail from an Irish friend yesterday, someone I used to work with years ago when she was doing her travels around the world. Back then, I was a spirit-drinking early-thirty-something who participated in a major annual pub crawl with a gang of hard-drinking IT guys who really liked to wear ladies underwear occassionally. It was on one of those pub crawls - the theme was Village People and I was dressed up as a biker chick - that I picked up a toy boy fan. I was quite flattered to be stalked by the 24-year-old, who didn't pluck up the courage to come and talk to me until six whole months after that big night.

Boy, have things changed since then. Serious-minded, teetolling and hitched in all but name only.

Confession

It was me. I was the one who let the book-stealer leave the library.

Actually, I don't know for a fact that the woman was stealing anything. I do know that she set the alarm off when she left the building, that she kept on walking and that I let her go.

I tried to stop her - when I heard the alarm go off (and it goes off several times a day; usually it's a false alarm), I looked up from behind the information desk and she was already two automatic doors ahead of me. I had to walk right around the desk to get to the entrance/exit, stand in front of the inner automatic door for a second waiting for it to let me out...by then she was already heading around the corner. That's when I thought "I'm not going to go running down the street after her". I was probably also thinking that that would look undignified, that I was leaving the information desk un-manned, that by the time I got someone to help the woman would have gotten even futher away, that it was probably another false alarm.

True, she probably wasn't doing anything wrong except not stopping for the alarm. But she was moving pretty quickly for a short, round person - almost as if she was in a hurry. And the more I think about it, the more likely it seems to me that she was hurrying out of there with an un-issued book.

It made me feel horrible all afternoon. And guilty too.

Q and A

A friend of mine sent me an e-mail wondering why middle-aged men's nose- and ear-hair grows so thick'n'fast, at a time when head hair diminishes disturbingly quickly. I didn't know the answer, but being a library worker, I vowed to find out.

And I did.

In the process, I found a fascinating site called The Straight Dope. This guy, Cecil Adams, is syndicated in various newspapers, so you people in North America may know of him already.

It's a lot of fun. Go on, ask him something.

urgency

All this time I've been very lazy about exercising my pelvic floor muscles.T he boy thinks I should be doing it on a regular basis; he claims to do the exercises himself. Well I had to exercise 'em today.

I should always go straight to the loo after a workout, since I'll have drunk a litre of water and we all know that the body can't absorb that much water in one hour. I shoulda, but I didn't, and to cut a long story short I was out on Main Street with my boss looking for tulips to put in our Spring Festival display. My hipsters were pressing on my bladder but I was too shy to say I needed to pee (and this is something which has been with me since I was a child). Centuries later, she went took off to get her lunch before heading back to the Library. I made it back in time, but along the way I found out the hard way that the public toilets are locked and they should really take down the enormous sign pointing to them.

Home comforts

The boy has been testing out his new toy (the X-Box) on some new games. BTVS isn't one of them, which is a pity; although I have a natural aversion to computer games, I would have been interested to see how the TV show translates into an interactive activity - especially when it's being played by someone who knows his console from his ...other game equipment.

Now that my couches and cushions are all furry, I find myself touching them all the time - when I'm sitting on them and when I'm just passing by. Back in the days when you had to wear a dead animal on your back if you wanted the feel of fur, I might have had a tough time avoiding real fur coats (okay, maybe not so tough - fur clothing on a short and sturdy figure is a less-than-sexy combination).

To a more domestic topic: I got three loads of laundry dry in record time today. The winds weren't quite as gusty as they were last Wednesday (or I would have lost it), nor so strong that the washing wrapped 'round and 'round the four clotheslines until there was just one giant noodle of wet clothes and stuff. But there was certainly enough air-flow to whip most of the moisture out of the towels, undies, jeans etc in the space of about three hours. Spring weather ain't all bad.

Furriness

I do have a bit of a 'thing' for fake fur, though I tend not to wear it. I already had a fake-fur cushion which I bought on sale at half-price, and today I persuaded my boy to take me back to the same shop for a couple of fake-fur throws too.

They aren't actually throws - they're single bed covers - but they're perfect for my two couches. There's a purple one for the mango three-seater (we ran into one of the boy's workmates outside the shop and I think he got a bit of a ribbing for having a purple furry thing in his grasp) and a coffee-coloured one for the blue-green two-seater. Hopefully this will be the end of the fur-fetish.

Apparently there is such a thing as a 'furry' - someone who likes to dress up in furs (and I think there's a sexual thing impulse there too). I wouldn't go that far - fur is so fattening to wear - but the touch of the stuff is so...sensual. Not to mention warm.

Anyhow, the boy was warmly rewarded for his good work; I walked around town with him for ages looking for an X-Box (they're in short supply nationally!) and some games for him to play on it.

new book

oooh...My The Simpsons and Philosophy book arrived today. It's all shiny and thick and full of potentially life-changing (or at least interesting and amusing) content.

To be or not to be a hero

I've just started reading 'What would Buffy do?', which is a spiritual guide based on the characters of BTVS. There's a lot of material in there about redemption, sacrifice, forgiveness etc. I'm reading it because I'm a Buffy fan and because I'm a pop philosopher, not so much because I feel the need for spiritual guidance.

But then again, perhaps it's people who don't feel the need for it who are most in need of it...

I don't want to be a hero. I don't want to have to think of other people all the time. I don't want to care about everyone; there is enough on my plate just caring about myself, my partner, my immediate family and my friends. If anything, I'd like to care less about people outside this sphere - maybe because I feel powerless to prevent countries from invading each other, or corporations from polluting the environment. It's also because I want to live a simpler life, and it doesn't seem possible to live a simple life and care about everybody at the same time.

On the other hand, I do want to be a hero, because its such a noble thing to be. But if I was so heroic and noble, wouldn't I get all bigheaded about it and think I'm better than everyone else? And wouldn't that be ignoble?

a pain in the neck, a secret passion

Probably like most office workers and people who work with computers a lot, I have a problem with stiff shoulders and neck. I've added to this recently, by unintentionally discovering a new sleeping position which ensures that I have an extra-sore neck in the mornings. If I run my fingers over the left side of my neck, I'll find a tight little knot which defies all reasonable force (it is near the base of my brain, after all). It may be time for a pillow reassessment.

There aren't many shops to browse in near my work, and there is a severe lack of interesting clothing shops. Thank goodness for Stationery Warehouse, which has opened a megastore in the last couple of months. I thought I was alone in my lust for stationery (the gleam in my eye when I spot a particularly attractive journal or photo album, the allure of the sticky plastic decorative book covers, the pull of the trendily-coloured magazine files...), but it turns out that this isn't the case at all. Fellow bloggers and library students have gushed about fabulous unfilled, unlined books; even one of my more colourful co-workers (a tattooed, pierced, belly-dancing children's librarian) is equally turned on by great stationery. But I'm still not convinced it's something to tell people at parties.

Wild Wednesday weather

Last night I kept waking up to the sound of my house's foundations being tested. It was gale-force windy, and wanting everyone to hear about it. I kept an ear open for radio reports of the highway being closed, but it hadn't happened by 8pm so reluctantly I set off for work. All the way to work in the car, I listened to more radio reports; mentally I chanted the mantra "State Highway 2 will be closed". But despite all the wind, the torrential rain and the surface flooding, I heard no excuse to turn around and come back home.

Luck was on my side, however. At 2pm, while I was sitting in the Mobile Library reading Janet Frame's To the Is-Land, one of the team leaders suddenly appeared through the doorway and announced she would take over my bus-driving duties so that I could leave early for home. It was something about problems on the motorway about half-way along - I wasn't really listening after the bit about my going home early.

And funnily enough, it was a breeze getting home. I could see that the river was high and brown; later, the sea was all churned up and a similar colour of weak coffee. But no Hawaii Five-Oh-type waves dumped on my car, as I'd seen happening to the South-bound traffic this morning. There was a bit of wind, but it seemed a mere shadow of its early morning self.

Not that I'm complaining - I'm home with a couple hours of leisure time to spare before my library class, and because I'll be doing this one from home I'm spared the post-class exercise of putting the laptop and various cables away afterwards.

a tempest, a home network and a fairly interesting article

It's pretty rough weather out there - I drove to the gym via the coast road, and a fair bit of seawater was dumped on my car along the way. Sort of like being in a car wash but without the big brushes.

Surprisingly, the gym was quite busy; it must have been all the frustrated joggers. Apparently it was less than five degrees Celsius at 4.30 this afternoon; it's certainly not very a comforting temperature now. In fact, the first time my feet felt warm all day was after I'd been working out for half an hour.

I am so glad I bought that queen-sized electric blanket.

Well, we're on high-speed Internet now. The boy went to Dick Smith's for a geek-shopping-spree, and the cable guy finally turned up. After half an hour's work by the cable guy, and several hours of hard work by my boy, both of our computers are now on a high-speed connection and on a wireless network too. Now we can both surf, and have a phone conversation, all at the same time. Along the way he found loads of software updates which my computer needed, so he dealt to all that; but I feel like a bit of a techno-cretin for not knowing to do this already.

This'll be boring if you aren't working in the library world (and possibly disappointing after yesterday's racier offering), but should be pretty interesting if you are - especially the bit about some US library school programes costing forty-five grand per year. It's a Library Journal article presenting some of the issues facing new library grads in the States. It constantly surprises me that people go straight from their first degree to Library School, without attempting to get any library work experience, and expect to get librarian jobs when they graduate.

Waiting for TelstraClear

reference-y stuff
The homework rush for Olympics information is dying down, thank goodness. I'm a bit sick of it already, and the actual games have only been going a couple of days. I did get a very obscure request for book on the "Orion mystery". At first, I didn't understand he meant the constellation, because he pronouncied it like "oree - in". So we started looking for astronomy books, and he waited until I'd led him over there before telling me he thought we should be looking for books on Egypt. I found the name of the book he was probably after - it's called "The Orion mystery" and we don't have it.

the waiting
Meanwhile, my boy has taken the day off work to wait for the cable guy to come by and set us up for Broadband. He was supposed to turn up "between 9.30 and 12.30", and this (rather generous) time span was confirmed twice over the phone and again in a message left on my voicemail. Confident that he'd be in the midst of it all when I phoned home at 12.15, I was a little annoyed (though not entirely surprised) to discover that the cable guy had still not turned up. I'm probably more annoyed that the boyfriend is though, since he gets a paid day off work.

selective memory

My mother rang up just before I went on the 'Net. There was a fruitless attempt at drawing me into conversation about the family, the batteries for her blood suger meter and whether I was dressing warmly enough for the weather, I told her I had to go and study.

She asked me what study I had to do. She seemed to have forgotten that I've been a part-time Library student since March. 'That's why I'm always so busy, Mum" I said ( but in Cantonese). She wondered out loud how I could fit in study when I'm always so busy. "Thats... why... I'm...always busy, Mum".

She's an old lady. She can forget whatever she likes.

Diversions

Nothing really interesting to report here: I'm more than halfway through Seven Seasons of Buffy and trying come to terms with reading negative criticism about Season 7. My headache went away but my tummy was dodgy. My assignment now looks like a strategic plan, but not a good one. It's been a freezing cold day with rain and wind, but at least I still have a roof.

Deadly Smurf. That's my Smurf name - what's yours?

The boy sent me this interesting (in more ways than one) report which he titled 'What happens when a librarian finds "naughty librarian" novels? They catalogue them ', found on memepool. But I warn you now... there is actual porn content. The funniest thing is that after each plot summary is a list of library stereotypes found and whether or not the library scenes were realistic...

feeling peaky

Perhaps it's due to the start of hayfever season, and the galeforce winds. Yesterday I was feeling pretty blah, and by the time I left work to go home I was feeling actively sick (in that about-to-throw-up kind of way). Plus my head was hurting really badly (in a it's-hayfever-and-I've-forgotten-to-use-my-nasal-spray-several-days-in-a-row kind of way).

Perhaps hayfever season, lack of sleep and lack of perkiness medication have all coincided with that certain mix of hormone levels generally known as PMT, have combined to make me less than an angel of cheer.

Whatever...I was feeling bad last night, teary, hurt-y and spew-y. The boy convinced me to ring a Library person and tell them that I wasn't going to be able to make Saturday morning.

So I've spent most of today working on the assignment, and listening to the bands on the Buffy CD. I so love The Sundays' rendition of Wild Horses...

Deadlines and distractions

Only last night, I realised that I have only three more weeks to complete and hand in my assignment. This is bad, because by this time last trimester I would have already re-written my essay several times whereas this time around I've only typed up notes and put them under headings. I haven't yet decided what my strategic plan (which what the assignment is) is actually going to be.

To test my self-discipline further, three of the four items I ordered from Amazon have arrived. So while I slave over my studies, the shiny new covers of What would Buffy Do?, The Seven Season of Buffy and Buffy the Vampire Slayer: the album will beckon. And when The Simpsons and Philosophy turns up on my doorstep I'll be even more tempted to engage in procrastinating activities.

I don't know whether it's the weather or what, but I have slept pretty badly over the last few weeks. Even though the boy tells me that I slept through, I'm still tired and groggy in the mornings. Either it's affecting my attitude to work, or vice versa.

philosophy right this second

Due to lack of motivation, I can't think of a single thing to write about tonight. I'm having one of those "why am I doing what I'm doing" days, and I can't answer this question convincingly.

So, as you do when you start questioning your life, I've been browsing through the questions and answers on Ask a Philosopher . Here's one of the more light-hearted entries:

10) Emran asked:
Why can we only use 10% of our brain?
============
Because the other 90% is for phrenology.
David Robjant

ho-hum

I just can't get motivated today. The most excited I've gotten so far is when, at 9.30, I realised that I'd forgotten to update the New Books page on the library website. It takes about half and hour (it's a labour-intensive process of cutting and pasting) and it had to be live in exactly half and hour.

I'm getting high-speed Internet access soon. It's a bit ironic that it takes so long to get through to the telecommunication company on the phone - but after four tries, I made it. System updates, firewall installations and anti-virus downloads, oh my!

the smell of roast pork buns

Every Sunday for the last couple of months, my mum has been supplying me with a bag of her own roast pork buns, made from her own recipe. They're really nice and they're filling, which makes them perfect for lunches at work.

The smell of them is distinctly noticeable when they're reheating in the microwave oven. My workmates are getting so used to the smell that I've been pressured to shout them some on my birthday. My birthday isn't for another two months, so if I keep some in the freezer every week I should have enough by then. This means I won't have to ask my mother to make some especially. This is important, because my mother doesn't make her roast pork buns for just anyone; for months after she first knew about my boyfriend, she gave me only a few at a time and instructed me to eat them at work so that he'd be denied access to them.

I suppose this makes sense if the act of feeding someone is an expression of love, eh?

Tama sent me this Guardian review of Flight of the Concords. They are a really fab and funny duo, and Jermaine has been recognised in one of the LOTR movies.

first chaos, then music

I thought it was pretty good going getting the Mayor to agree to be our celebrity reader for this morning's nation-wide Library Week reading of Oh Hogwash, Sweetpea!'. He'd only had about three days notice, after all.

When a lanky, middle-aged woman came by to check out the children's library, I thought that was all she was doing - just ensuring that our guest-reader had a nice, soft chair to sit in. By the time the entire class of a local primary school had filed in to join the assortment of toddlers already there, I wondered where the hell he was.

Apparently he couldn't make it after all, so he'd sent his deputy.

Well, at least we had a copy of the book for her to read, which certainly wasn't true a mere half hour earlier. Why hadn't I thought to check whether our copy of Hogwash was still checked in at the library? It might have saved an emergency trip to Books'n'More with a scribbled purchase order.

These are the CD's I'm listening to now that I've remembered that I can play them through the CD drive:

Acid Jazz Classics - various
London Warsaw New York - Basia
Tuatara - A Flying Nun Compilation - various
Heart Shaped World - Chris Isaak
In Love With These Times (another Flying Nun compilation) - various
Mix - Stellar*
Lounge-a-palooza - various
Blue Lines - Massive Attack
Tourist - St Germaine

It's been quite a while since I last bought any CDs.

She's boredom incarnate...

No doubt in every class there is at least one person who will go on and on about something which isn't really relevant to the subject under discussion; when this person talks, intelligent people roll their eyes and gird their loins in preparation for lengthy and boring noise pollution.

The great thing about doing my class via distance is that nobody seems to like talking via the Internet conferencing facility. The lecturer talks; she has to. But most people will ask questions, or respond to hers, by typing in text instead. This means I have been spared utterly boring and wordy monologues of a particular distance student who shall remain nameless ('cos I'm nice, and I don't know how violent she is).

She prowls the MLIS discussion board, however. Every post she has written has been really verbose, to the point where my eyes glaze over after the first three or four words. I did try to understand what she was on about - the first time anyway. It's very impressive; the people I spoke to about it thought she must really know what it's all about. I reckon it's a fine example of communication at it's most perverse.

Dentist's time is tooth-hurty

It's been about two years since I last had a dental check-up; I'd been putting it off mostly because my usual dentist is not in the same city where I work. I've started getting those nagging "sensitive teeth" sensations lately though, so I can't put it off any longer. I suppose one more filling isn't going to make much difference to a mouth which is already full of 'em anyway (due to a flouride-less water supply in childhood, perhaps).

Cake
I wonder why, when I'm at the branch library all by myself on a quiet day, someone always walks in just when I've surreptitiously taken a bite out of my piece of cake? Maybe it's the secret dental police.

an Ah Hah! moment (not the Eighties band)

There I was, with two mostly-empty CD cubby holes in my tw0-week-old computer desk and very few CD-ROMs to put in them. Why on earth did I not think of playing my music CD's from my computer? Not only can I have music whenever I study or surf, but I have built-in storage space for it.

Although I'm not sure that I'll be able to study when music's playing...

Saturday is Retail Therapy Day

Not that I was feeling in need of any therapy; I was feeling perfectly okay this morning when I decided to walk into town and go shopping while my boy stayed home, sleeping off his hangover.

It's not often that I go all out and buy stuff without thinking really hard about it; I've always been that way. However, the boy is more of an impulse buyer and it's probably starting to rub off on me.

The sun was out, and I wanted to go for a walk. I also wanted to avoid my assignment for a little longer.

The first purchase was a queen-size electric blanket. How we survived for so long with a piddly little single-size one, plonked in the middle of the bed (with the resulting jostlings for prime position during the night), I really don't know. But now we'll have one which not only heats up the whole bed, it's got dual controls too - so I can sabotage his side of the bed when he pisses me off.

I also bought a fake-fur cushion. I've always wanted fake-fur cushions and a fake-fur throw - well, ever since I became aware of their existence anyway.

And clothes...I bought a nifty knitted, zipped cardigan in gothic black, a grey stretch pencil skirt which will look fab with my knee-high black boots, and a burgundy mohair-like sweater which comes with it's own nipple-hider i.e. a thin white singlet.

Back home, thirsty, foot-sore and a couple of hundred dollars lighter, I was able to do some study. But you know what makes a good study-break activity? Checking out the Amazon recommendations. I'll soon be expecting the arrival of The Simpsons and Philosophy, What would Buffy do?, The Seven Seasons of Buffy and Buffy the Vampire Slayer- the album.

I feel really good now.

It's not easy sitting by the public toilets

The library's public toilets are located just on the other side of our office, and exactly on the other side of a now-locked door from my workstation. Fortunately, I haven't yet had to listen to sleazy patrons having sex in there - perhaps they only do that when I'm on desk duty and too far away to hear.

Usually I just hear mums telling their toddlers to hurry up and wash their hands already, which is only very slightly amusing (though, thankfully, not at all disturbing).

Still on the subject of poo, it's been raining pretty steadily for the last couple of days and I'm actually quite pleased about it. Two days ago, I was driving around when I realised that I must've previously parked under a bird with diarhoea; there were splotches of bird shit all over the front and back windscreens, and the roof. The rain isn't going to wash it all off (and it certainly isn't going to offer a polish), but at least there'll be less of it by the time I get around to washing the acrid stuff off.

Still on droppings... every week I get one of my co-workers, who has little kids, to pick me out a picture book to read to a class of three-year olds on the library bus. I find that when the book has a toiletry theme the storytime goes down pretty well. Mind you, I probably laughed louder than any of them.

the library bus must get through!

There's a Mobile Bus stop at the New World car park, and although a sign specifically asks that shoppers leave that spot vacant during a very specific period of time, most times I find that I can't park the bus in the designated spot due to someone ignoring it. All it takes is for one shopper to occupy one of the four spaces I need, and I'm stuffed.

The last time this happened, I couldn't get my co-worker to get off the bus and ask, very nicely, the offending driver/s to move as she'd decided to drive herself to the supermarket and meet me there.

So I parked the bus in the middle of the thoroughfare, opened the hydraulic door, and asked the drivers to move. They were really really nice about it, and moved immediately. By the time I was back in the driver's seat though, their spots had already been taken by newcomers.

It was going to be a nightmare; on that unseasonally warm day I was working up a sweat running around trying to keep a stream of ignorant shoppers from invading my rightful bus park.

(My co-worker turned up eventually so it ended well.)

Let's try that again...the importance of dress-ups

I so hate it when I lose all my hard blogging work just because Blogger’s having a fit, and I can’t save my stuff quickly as soon as I see the error message because of some dorky flaw in the software which doesn’t let me select and copy my words….

Anyway, where was I?
I have realised why my efforts to inspire enthusiasm for Library Week have come to nothing. It’s because there has been no suggestion of dressing up.

The women at my library (there are only two men and neither of them suffer from this affliction) really love to dress up. Events which are organised by the library are most popular and positively acted upon, are those which act as an excuse to wear glamourous, frivolous or weird clothing. It might be Halloween Storytime, a Harry Potter-themed float for the Christmas Parade, a pretend Night at the Oscars or a quiz night with prizes for best-dressed. I did suggest donning tweeds, spectacles and hair up in buns for Library Week, but no-one went for it. It may have been due to the lack of tart-potential.

Tonight, while I was studiously sitting in my MLIS audio-conference, straining to hear the lecturer’s advice about our first assignment, I caught glimpses of the quiz participants. They were be-jeweled, be-sequined, fish-netted, pan caked, and stiletto-ed as they shrieked, yelled and guffawed in and out of the workroom where I was stationed. Although I was might irritated by the noise pollution, I couldn’t really begrudge them their dress-up opportunity.
But I will know better next time I want to get them interested in something…

The importance of dress-ups

Happiness is a well-drawn nude

I was quite sure yesterday that, since I hadn't done any drawing whatsoever for about five months, my first life-drawings would yield only crap drawings. To make it even harder, the model last night was a male (I find female bodies much easier to render).

Predictably, most of my drawings were crap. But maybe two were okay, not too embarrassing. It was also good to catch up with some of the people I knew from before - the ex-art student who's now working part-time so he can spend the rest of the time painting; the ex-hospitality professional who's now studying art part-time and enjoying non-hospitality hours; and Tama of course, who will be exhibiting some of his drawings next week at Olive Cafe.

It was two hours in which I was focussed on something other than how extremely busy I felt work-wise. It was very cool.

naked people and Pacific-style karate

The prodigal life-drawer returns...
Tonight I'm going to life-drawing; it'll be the first time in about five months, so I'm expecting to produce rubbish drawings. I'm going because I don't have to work on Tuesday evenings any more and, though I won't be doing this on a regular basis due to my studies, it'll be nice to see the old crowd. I'm also doing it because I promised Tama I'd lend him our copy of Phillip Pullman's Northern Lights.

Tongan Ninja
We saw a really fun movie in the weekend, Tongan Ninja. It's the work of the two guys who make up the comedy duo Flight of the Concords, and is a really silly satire of seventies-style martial arts movies. It's a whole lot funnier than Kung Pow, which bored me silly - the only funny thing about Kung Pow was the title - but I suspect it'd be a whole lot less successful outside of NZ than Peter Jackson's home movie, Bad Taste (because it's very home-movie). It's fun because the acting is so bad it must be on purpose; because the cast includes people like Raybon Kan (the funniest Asian I know) and stars of local soap Shortland Street; because it's cool to see places you know really well on the big screen; and because Jermaine Clements could've been good in Zoolander.

When does one kick little boys out of the ladies changing room?

It was a struggle getting to the gym and back this morning, and still get to work on time by 11.30am. Thankfully my new work-out programme is more intense, but shorter.

Afterwards in the changing room, I was a little uncomfortable with the presence of a couple of boys there; they looked about eight or ten years old. The sight of them made me stop in my tracks, then turn around and undress in one of the cubicles instead of in the main communal area where I usually go.

I'm used to seeing mums bringing their little boys and girls with them - they are normally toddlers and I figure that if it's okay with the mother then it's okay with me. But I don't really want to share a changing room with boys who are much older. Especially these days, kids seem to become worldly at a much younger age than when I was a kid. If I'd seen them with their mother, it would've been almost okay - almost. Perhaps I'm being prudish - after all, when I was in Germany it seemed that everyone just changed in front of each other. But if it's a case of 'when in Rome', then surely in NZ that isn't what people do.

Needless to say I didn't go as far as confronting the boys, assuming that their mother was somewhere around (and also being a conflict-avoider).

Feng Shui my life

The boy is really keen on getting Broadband, which will mean much quicker Internet activity than the present dial-up situation (and in turn, will make it worth his while playing games on the Internet).  He's already installed a firewall on my computer - no doubt he already has one on his own - so the next step is deciding which package to sign up for, the 1G or the 5G.

There's a complication factor, though.  I use my dial-up Internet account on the library bus laptop, for my MLIS audioconference sessions.  If we switch to Broadband at home, then I'll be getting rid of my dial-up account.  Then I'll have to ask work to set up an Internet account, especially for me.  What if they do, and I find a dream job and leave?   I'd feel kinda guilty.  But I don't want to pay for two Internet accounts.

Then I remembered something else.  The other night we did a switcheroo between the old bus laptop and the new one (both on lease), and I forgot to get rid of my personal dial-up settings from the old one before it got sent away.

And I've realised what a security risk it is to leave one's personal dial-up settings on a fairly public laptop in the first place.  So I have to get the boy to show me how to put that stuff on disk instead.

In less than an hour, my life started to feel cluttered.  Oh for the days when I just used computers without worrying about viruses, ad-ware, identity-theft and all that.  Actually those were the days when I only used computers at work,  so the systems admin folk worried about it, not me.

I want life to be simpler again.  Tomorrow I'm going to clear out all the junk in my study, as well as the box of junk at the front of the hallway, and the pile of concrete bits from outside the front porch.  That should do it.

If I were gay

If I were gay, I'd probably go for curvy women.  I thought of this is when I was leafing through a Marie Claire magazine today and looking at an article which portrayed women aged from 19 to about 60; there was a photo of each woman, naked, accompanied by a small amount of text quoting that woman's thoughts about her body image.

I was a little surprised at how many body shapes can fit into a particular dress size.  There were chubby-looking size 10s (that's UK size, which is maybe a 6 in US sizing), shapely size 16s and lots in between.  Of the ten women pictured, definitely the one with the sexiest body was a size 16, with a classic hourglass shape.

But the weird thing is, I don't personally want that shape for myself.  I would much rather be a tall, athletic type - one whose boobs don't get in the way when I'm moving about, and whose long legs make for fast running.

So what the hell does that mean - that I don't want to look sexy? Or that subconsiousley I really am gay, and attracted to ultra-fem women?

I hope I'm just reading way too much into this. 

sorry we have no books about feminism and beauty

I tried to help a couple of schoolgirls yesterday, who wanted to find information on cosmetic surgery and why women do it; I thought Susan Faludi's Feminist Backlash and Naomi Woolf's Beauty Myth would be really useful.  I was a little embarrassed, but mostly shocked when I couldn't find either title in the library catalogue.  So you can bet there'll be no copies of anything by Camille Paglia either.  I had to send the girls away with books on cosmetic surgery aimed at people who've decided to get something done anyway. 

On the other hand, we do have a book on sex for old people - what is the PC term for that anyway, senior sex?  The twenty-somethings amongst us thought the whole idea was just disgusting, while I personally thought it meant I'd have something to look forward to.

Giving 'em enough rope

In the next couple of months, there are going to be a bunch of new computers at the library; this means that there'll be word-processing facilities for the public, which we don't have currently.  People will also be able to bring their CDs and disks into the library, for use on the new computers.

I think this will open up a can of useless-user worms.  We have enough to do trying to help people use Hotmail on our sole Internet-enabled PC.  Most people have no trouble, but plenty come in to send e-mail, and don't know which website to go to, whether they have a Paradise e-mail account or a Yahoo, a Hotmail or whatever. 

One woman yesterday didn't know because her computer at home has been set up to download e-mails straight to Outlook - and she didn't  know her password either.

A little old lady (God bless 'er) was game to use e-mail, but didn't understand the difference between the Caps Lock key and the Shift key.  When she had finished typing in her e-mail, she tried to push the Send button with her finger!!

I can just imagine that, with Word etc available, we're going to be inundated with people who don't know where they've saved (or not saved) their documents, people who try to overwrite system files and people who can't understand why it's taking so long to download that lovely 3Mb photo of their grandchild....

I'd make a terrible teacher.

So it was nice to find Buffy Downunder.

My friend Tama drew this one - I can't wait for his exhibition. 

books and what people say about them

I've been collecting a list of book recommendations from the library staff, with the intention of doing a little display during NZ Library Week.   My idea was to get them to tell me the name and author of a book they recommend (it has to be available at this library), plus one or two sentences explaining why.

It's interesting what people choose to recommend, and how they express themselves about it.  For instance, I'd prefer if their choices are not books which are already popular - why bother pushing a book which is already being read by all?  Some of the staff have chosen well-worn chestnuts like Bridget Jones' diary, for example.  It's actually inconvenient, because it means I can't get hold of the book (it'll be on loan) to scan the cover in for the wall display, and to display the actual book.

Also, some people have sent me literally one or two sentences; some have very little to say (e.g. 'It's just good'); others have sent me one or two sophisticatedly worded paragraphs which look like the blurb you see on the inside cover of some high-brow 'classic'.

One of my co-workers has been very enthusiastic, suggesting obscure titles by Albert Camus, Paul Auster and a Swedish bestseller ("It's very funny, especially if you're Swedish!"). 

 

When it's so busy you can't even take five minutes to go to the toilet...

Busy-ness
One of my workmates rang in sick today, which meant the rest of us had to cover for her.    I didn't have time to even consult my diary, which meant I forgot to mail off my cheque for the electricity bill which is due tomorrow.  Hell, I didn't even get to use the toilet until 4.55pm...

It's going to be busier than this next week, because there'll be two Information staff away - my boss (who's handy for doing each weeks roster, as well as the occasional information desk), and one of the three of us who drive the library bus.  Whenever a bus-driving staff member is away you can guarantee the rest of the team are in for a hectic time.

technophobia
When I got back from driving the bus this afternoon, I discovered that the IT guy and the systems librarian were in the process of setting up a brand new laptop, to replace the one used on the bus (the one which I use for my MLIS audio-conference).  It was quite fortunate, really, because I was in the process of trying to start up Internet Browser on the old laptop, and it wasn't working.  Who ever heard of a person not being able to start up Internet Browser!  Anyway, we got my dial-up Internet connection set up on the new one in time for me to be just half and hour late. 

 

good grief

Yesterday my boy's nannadied in the UK, and he was a bit cut-up about it.  He thought he'd be used to people dying on him, because he's lost one or friends in the not-too-distant past.  But I don't think anyone gets used to the idea of death when it affects people they care about.   He told me it made his think that his parents would be next, though they aren't actually very old.  But I don't like to think of loved ones dying either.  The thought of my fairly fragile mother trying to cross a busy street, squinting to see whether it's safe to cross, makes me anxious and fearful.   Back when my sister-in-law's great aunt died, I felt bad that, when we'd visited her in hospital, I found it extremely difficult to find something to say to her.

Is it possible to be comfortable with death (not your own)?

when computer networks go bad...

Apparently, the network connection between our branch library and the main servers was down most of last week (Wednesday through to Saturday).  This meant that, while books could be issued out by noting the appropriate barcodes on a piece of paper, returned books and transit books were stacked in the back room instead of being checked in.

Whoever got to 'man' the branch library on the first day that the network was up again, was in for a busy day of checking in and shelving.

That person was me.

I don't know how many books there were, but I do know that I only got a little over half of them checked in and shelved in the four hours that I was there.  I would've got the rest done too, except the customers were taking up my time as well...

I was so busy I didn't even get time to surf the 'Net, as I usually do when at the branch (which is normally fairly quiet most of the time).

comic book movies

We were in a comic book shop yesterday, and while I waited for the boy to finish browsing and selecting his purchases I noticed that most of the major comic book characters have by now  made it to either television, or the big screen - Howard the Duck, Tank Girl, Superman, Wonderwoman (who is probably due for a big screen update, one without all the dogmatism and patriotism), Batman, X-Men, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Hell Boy, Ghost World...

In fact, I had a really hard time trying to find a comic book which wasn't a manga, and which hadn't been translated onto film or tv.

So which one is going to be next?

DIY-mad

We aren't at the level of DIY-ness where we're tearing down bits of the house with intentions of remodelling and redecorating; but we are having fun with our week-old power drill.  Last weekend it was the bookcase in the living room, this weekend it was my new computer workstation (if I'd forseen it's arrival I wouldn't've done so much rearranging two weeks ago).  Next week I'd guess it will be a wardrobe-organiser for the boy's 'den' (the spare room).  After that I may be able to think of places to put up shelves.  It isn't that I'm so keen on getting a whole bunch of kit-set stuff done - it's more that the boy seems really eager to put the power drill to use. 

 

fear of fainting

These things make me faint:

1. drinking alcohol. 
I no longer drink because it makes me wheeze.  Sometimes when I've had only one or two drinks, I'd go all light-headed and then fall over in inappropriate places.  It might happen in the pub, which is embarrassing; it might happen at home in the kitchen, in front of the bench top so that I hit my head on the edge as I descend, which is worse. 

2. really hot baths.
Okay, I've never actually fainted in the bath tub.  But I have gotten really dizzy.

3. too-intense exercise, too soon after I've eaten.
This morning, I had a bit of toast and set off for the gym soon after.  My new work-out programme focuses on cardio work, by including a fair bit of interval training i.e. alternating cruisy intervals with all-out sprint intervals.  After a mere five minutes of doing this on the bike, I was light-headed and had to stop several times during the next exercise in case I fell over someone doing sit-ups.

4. drinking alcohol after a big meal.
The difference between this and 1. is that people normally eat before going drinking because it stops them from getting drunk too quickly.  I think when I have a big meal all the blood rushes to my gut, leaving very little resource to deal with any B52's which follow.

I've never tried wearing a really tight corset, but I'll bet that would be number 5.

Vengeance was not to be mine...

I have a tendency towards righteous indignation; for example, once when I was angle-parking in the city the driver of the car in the next space opened his door quite suddenly - resulting in little damage to his car door but a mighty big dent in the front corner of my car.  I was able to afford the panel-beating bill without much pain, but I wouldn't rest until I'd had him taken to the small-claims court (and won my money back).

So when I find that someone has parked their car across my driveway, preventing me from getting my car out of the garage and going to work, I get mad and I want to get even.  Several times over the last two or three years, I've had the satisfaction of seeing the offending vehicle towed away at the owner's expense.  It's fun, even.

This morning I had the opportunity to experience the same feeling - that of seeing some thoughtless driver get their just desserts.  I had to wait half an hour in the freezing cold for the Parkwise people to come by and assess the situation, and they rightly called the towing firm soon after. 

Unfortunately, the driver of the car turned up mere minutes before the tow truck did, no doubt thinking he'd escaped a hefty fine.  This was just what I didn't want.  I ran down my back steps, elbowing my boyfriend out of the doorway (who had only just got dressed for some important phone call), shouting 'Hey you! Are you the owner of this car?! ... etc'  The portly middle-aged man who'd snuck into the car seemed undisturbed by my exclamations, though my boyfriend seemed certain I was putting myself in danger of being knocked on the head. 

Although I was deprived of my revenge (the thought of this man returning for his car, only to find an empty space, then having to fork out eighty bucks to get it back from the towing firm), at least I was able to vent some of my anger on him (and without getting knocked out by the sizable recipient of my wrath).  Plus the Parwise guys, who were still sitting in their nice warm car, reassured me that the evil bastard would still be receiving his fine in the mail.  So all's well that ends well.

imperfect skin

If you want to believe I'm utterly fabulous-looking, you'd better skip the following paragraph...
 
What scare I gave myself this morning at work, when I looked at my face in the mirror.  The light moisturizer which had, until now, been adequate for keeping dryness at bay, didn't work today.  The foundation which I'd applied before leaving home, and which looked perfect at the time, was all caky - I looked like the surface of some drought-stricken African mud-flat.  There were no emergency containers of foundation or moisturizer available, so I had to make do with picking off the flakiest bits and dabbing on a bit of tapwater for hydration.  This meant I had to walk around all day with naked zit scars on my chin.  I am a Libran after all, and I hate to not look my best.

doing distance

Today was when I got my chance to try out Chatterbox, and audio-conferencing in general, for my MLIS class.  In the process of setting up the equipment, I discovered that the cheap headset I'd bought especially, didn't work. 
 
The class only took one hour and fifteen minutes, which isn't very long considering the on-campus class for the same paper is two hours.  It was probably long enough for me though, because the headset which did work didn't fit my head at all and I had to hold it to my right ear for the entire time.  It made typing very slow, and discrete snacking awkward.
 
It'll take a few sessions before my workmates remember  to leave all the lights on when they go home at 5.30 pm on Wednesdays, and perhaps a little longer to remember not to shriek expletives and rude stories to each other after 5pm.  And maybe next time my boss will refrain from pushing an empty steel trolley in and out of the lino-covered room during that time.  As for me - after I've been out to the garage to put stuff back, I'll know not to panic when the card swipe outside the library building doesn't seem to want to let me back in (because I found out it does work after hours).

Trying to get interested in the Olympics

I'd set aside some display space for the Olympics, for next month; I'd assumed that the clever clog who thought it would be a great idea to have an Olympics display, would actually take on the responsibility of getting all that ready. 
 
I'm probably the person least interested sports events in the whole country; this used to surprise people, because us local-born Chinese were once known to go really overboard on the rugby-racing-beer-sports-mad thing just to be accepted as Kiwis.  Not only do I disapprove of gambling (therefore disapproving of racing too), have always preferred spirits to beer and am bored by rugby of all codes, but I can count on the fingers of one hand the sporting moments which have excited me:
 
1. the infamous underarm bowling incident.  If you're from a non-cricket-playing country, you can skip this and go right to number 2.  If you're  Australian or a Kiwi, you either remember it vividly or heard about it from your parents.
 
2. John Walker winning the 1500m at the Olympics back in.......it was a long time ago.
 
3. The first time a non-US yacht won the Americas Cup.  We weren't excited about the boat race as such, but we were excited about a non-American winning something off the Americans.
 
4. That time when I was playing an indoor Ultimate match; against all odds, my short self leaped and managed to grab the frisbee from aloft and away from the hands of my taller competitors, to land in the goal zone.
 
5. During the last Olympics, the NZ women's hockey team did bloody well, surprising everbody when they beat a whole bunch of other teams (only to fail towards the semis).
 
And that's five.
 
Anyway, back to this display at the library.  I thought I'd have three weeks to identify and chase up the person who'd find exciting and interesting books and pictures for the display.  However, all the schools in the area have given their pupils assignments on the Olympics already.  So I was asked very nicely to cobble together what I could, enough for a display starting today.  I, the most un-Olympically interested person in the country, had to find books'n'pictures about the Olympics.   I moaned and tried to fob it off to the only male library assistant; he did, after all, willingly do a display on the Wimbledon tennis.  But he pointed to a spreadsheet and tried to look busy.  In the end, I accepted this was going to be one of those things I have to do because someone has to do it.  And funnily enough, I started enjoying myself anyway...
 
 
 
 

Wasn't the end of The Amber Spyglass an anti-climax?

The boy and I were taking turns on reading Phillip Pullman's The Amber Spyglass, and I finished it the other evening.  I have to say that the ending was a little disappointing; there was quite a build-up and a witches' prophesy to fulfill, but what happened wasn't at all what I was looking forward to.  In fact, the ending to the His Dark Materials trilogy reminded me of the ending to the film The Fifth Element.  Like the movie, Pullman's story has a wildly imaginative setting and an interesting plot.  Like the movie, at least part of the ending made me think 'What??!?!?!'.....
 
Meanwhile, I've picked up The Girl from Purple Mountain (one of those memoirs of someone's grandmother in China who was unusually pretty and well-educated, and from a rich family - why has no-one written any stories about women from China who are actually representative of it's population i.e. illiterate, average-looking and dirt-poor?). 
 
I've also picked up A Magpie Stole My Heart, which is a collection of short stories and poems by graduates of the Whitireia creative writing programme (because a cousin and a friend have each contributed to it). 
 
And just to make my life even busier, I'm also about to start Vampire stories by Women; you can blame BtVS for my interest in vampires, witches and the occult.
 
That Management of Information Services reading is just going to have to wait...

Unintentionally AWOL

On Saturday, between a late breakfast and a determined trip to the hardware store (I was about to return something, and was ready for a fight), I got a call.  It was one of those phone survey callers.  I told him I wasn't interested in doing a survey but, perversely, he needed to determine whether I fell into the correct demographic first, before he would let me reject his questionnaire.
 
Less than five minutes after that doubly-annoying call, the phone rang again.  Expecting either my mother (perhaps there was a big discount on fresh meat at the supermarket and she wanted a ride) or that pesky telephone surveyor, I answered with less-than-dulcet tones.
 
It was someone from work.  Did I know that I was supposed to be manning the sole-charge branch library today?  Dang, I knew I should've checked the Saturdays roster this week!  The branch library opens for only two hours on Saturdays, and it was already an hour in.  If I left straight away, I would've got there just in time to turn on the computers and the lights for about ten minutes before closing up again.  So my quick-thinking co-worker covered for me, since she was only fifteen minutes drive away.  That left the main library with only the shift leader and two circulation staff, but fortunately it wasn't a monster-busy day at Central.
 
So the first thing I did when I arrived at work today (after apologising to my workmate and my boss) was to note down all my rostered Saturdays in my diary.

Two movies, a mailbox and a bookshelf

Last night we went to see Aaltra, a French-language film about two guys who hate each other but end up spending a whole lot of time together.  It starts out with the guys as neighbours-from-hell in the country; one is a farm hand and the other is a sad-sack who's trying out telecommuting.  They end up having a big scrap, a little too close to a large and unsafely-designed farm vehicle, and both end up in wheelchairs.  To cut a long story short (and it is quite long, at almost 2 1/2 hours), both wheelchair-bound men are on their way out of town when they are mugged and left without any money.  They get by on the kindness of strangers, but they're both obnoxious, greedy and inconsiderate sods who take advantage of anyone who'll help.   Aaltra is the name of the firm which manufactured the piece farm equipment which fell on them, and it's where the men both arrive at by the end of the story.  Far from being a feel-good story about foes who unite through common adversity, it's more of a dark comedy of two foes who... unite...um... through common adversity.
 
And tonight, we went to see Hero, by Zhang Yimou (the director of Raise the Red Lantern).  It's a visually gorgeous movie about a small group of master swordsmen (and woman) whose goal is to assassinate the man who's been conquering all the Chinese states.  Like The Emperor and the Assassin, it's  basically about China's first emperor and some of the multitudes of people who wanted him dead.  The usual fighting-in-the-air, characteristic of traditional Chinese martial arts movies, is there.  The thing which really stands out though, is not the fighting nor the story - it's the cinematography.  Beautiful colours, billowing curtains, divinely lovely gardens, armies which would have required thousands of extras, this film is truly a spectacle.  I'm a bit cynical of the way the emperor is portrayed though - he's shown as a basically good man who just wants his country to be one peaceful nation - I read elsewhere that he was power-hungry and ruthless (he once ordered 450 scholars to be buried alive, just to prove a point).
 
Just in case you decide to go see Hero, I'd be interested to know whether you agree with me that Zhang Ziyi, who plays the servant Moon, really does look like a Chinese Winona Ryder.
 
The mailbox saga has ended.  Yesterday we: wrenched the sexy-but-useless new mailbox off my fence; I returned it to Placemakers and got a refund; I found an absolutely fab new mailbox at Heartlands which is just as sexy as the previous one but doesn't have the flawed key'n'lock system.  I don't normally get excited about mailboxes but this one will end all my mail woes.  Hurrah.
 
I had to buy an electric drill gun in order to get the latest mailbox mounted up on the fence, so we decided to put some shelves up while we were at it.  In the end, we settled for a kitset bookshelf.  At last we can house most of my books, plus all of the boy's DVDs and videos.  Unfortunately, we had to rip off the old too-small bookshelves which were painted onto the wall, and now we have some exposed ugly wallpaper in the shape of the old bookshelf.
 
Not the most fun weekend, but certainly the most productive.
 

Birthday wishes

The other day, my boy asked me what I would like for my birthday.  It's not for another three months, but it's a 'big' birthday and he wanted to give me time to think of something.  I've decided to do a list of things I might possibly ask for:
 

1. a car stereo
2. an engagement ring (ha!)
3. The Return of the King on DVD, extended version (which may be released by then) - however he will probably buy it anyway.
4. a clothes shopping spree
5. a party - one which I don't have to do any work towards the organising of
6. a flatscreen monitor
7. a flash weekend away during which I can leave my credit card at home
8. a subscription to the Journal of Popular Media (I think that's what it's called.  There are lots of articles on Buffy in them).

 

Bad Santa

hmmm....Blogger has changed the toolbar somewhat, but the "italicize" doesnt seem to work.  Nor does the "Font" change-y thing....
 
Anyway - Friday night at the movies.
We went to see Bad Santa.  It's a Coen Brothers movie, so it's about as twisted as you'd expect of them.  I thought it sounded like a bit of a laugh, and the boy came along without knowing what to expect.  This movie is the funniest, darkest story this year.  In fact, it's almost funnier than Zoolander (not really a fair comparison, since Zoolander isn't dark at all).  The boy was slapping his thighs and laughing his head off.  He doesn't do that at any old comedy.
 
Billy Bob Thornton plays an alcoholic Santa whose partner-in-crime is a dwarf; they're a Santa-and-elf team.  At the end of each Christmas season, they break into the department store where they've been working, and Santa cracks the safe while the elf runs around collecting luxury items specified by his girlfriend.  Santa is mostly drunken, violent, foul-mouthed and impatient with the children who come to sit on his knee and tell him what they want for Christmas. 
 
I won't tell you what happens because I want you to go and see it.  It is pretty dark, and there are many scenes which will make you cringe and blanch (as well as laught), but there is a happy ending that won't make you feel all cynical. 

All about Chinese in New Zealand

In a last-ditch attempt to find something about the effects of Chinese emigration to NZ, on China, I went back to Steven Young's Chinese website.  I didn't find anything there, since most of the articles were focussed on how the migrants fared once they arrived.  But I ended up e-mailing him and he very nicely replied with his thoughts on the subject. 
 
So anyway - if you have a burning desire to know what's being written about us Chinese Kiwis, there's a heap of interesting stuff here.

Times when I realise I still have a lot of learning to do on the job

My favourite part of my job by far is doing reference work. We don't have a reference desk, so all enquiries come to the Information Desk. So it's kinda frustrating when I've got a meaty reference question to work on, but can't devote much time to it because there is a queue of people waiting to:

1. get their newspaper crosswords photocopied,
2. have their lost membership cards replaced,
3. ask if there are any Mary-Kate and Ashley books in,
4. ask me to ring a taxi for them or
5. use the desk phone to ring home.

The reference-y things I tried to work on, but failed to have time to do properly, were:

1. Find a large, clear picture of a charging bull - unhampered by the presence of matadors, farmers, or cows. I found a guidebook on New Zealand bulls, but the animals were just standing around posing.

2. Find information on how Chinese emigration to New Zealand affected their respective hometowns in China - I'm sure the schoolgirl was supposed to work it out by reading what she already had, but she wanted something that explicitly answered the question for her.

3. Find a book containing diagrams and details of a UHF television aerial, sufficient to build one from - I did find a website all about different types of television aerials, but I didn't have time to read all the text on every page out loud to him (that's right, he claimed he couldn't read fast enough). He wasn't interested in noting the website address to read in his own time, because he was a cyber-phobe.

I suppose it didn't help that two of my customers gave up after the first ten minutes. Good info takes time...

high anxiety

This is when you're stuck in traffic on the way home, you still have half an hour's driving ahead of you....and you think you've got diarrhoea...

Film Festivities

Last night I got a call from an old friend of mine whom I've known since I was about sixteen. She was a Taiwanese immigrant who was way ahead of the rest of the class in maths, but struggling to make herself understood in English. Since then, she's become a teacher, gotten disillusioned with today's kids taking education for granted, then emigrated to Hong Kong to teach at an international school where she gets paid big bucks to teach studious pupils.

I didn't know it at the time, but this friend is the one who introduced me to 'real' coffee, arthouse movies and good restaurants. Without her influence, perhaps I would've been a McDonalds-eater, an action-movie and chick-flick watcher, and a Starbucks regular. My friend is in New Zealand for the next four weeks, so we get to catch up in person really soon - cool.

We're both into the International Film Festival which is due to start on Friday - the boy and I are booked to see five films and she is planning to attending fifteen. We couldn't get tickets for Fahrenheit 9/11 as it was booked out, but it's no big deal because it's bound to come back on general release. I'm nore disappointed about missing out on Supersize Me, the documentary about a guy who eats nothing but McDonalds for a whole month to see what havoc it wreaks on his body. It's not that it's sold out, but that I booked tickets to see Bad Santa (Billy Bob Thornton plays a drunken department store Santa who is surly to children and has sex with his customers in the store) for the same night and didn't even realise that Supersize Me was in the programme.

Happy anniversary to me
I managed to get away with not telling anyone at work about it being my one-year anniversary at the library...until I was outed by a co-worker; she worked it out because her own one-year anniversary is exactly a week after mine. So my my attempts to avoid putting on morning tea for everybody may have been foiled.

Bad start to class
My first ever audio-conference, and first Management of Information Services class, were cancelled today due to technical difficulties with the university's Chatterbox server. I didn't find out until I'd parked the library bus and rushed in with the laptop and it's power pack - the manager told me. I was really quite disappointed, because everything was ready and I'd already worked through my lunch hour to make up for the time I was meant to be at work.

Unreality tv
I have realised that there's a huge gap in the way cosmetic surgery is depicted, between American and British television. On Extreme Makeover, when the patient gets liposuction or breast enhancement or whatever, all you see of the procedure is the initial consultation and a shot of the patient with marks all over their body. Next time you see the person, they're out of surgery and covered in bandages.

In a British documentary I saw last night about teens getting cosmetic surgery, you get shown so much more detail. I watched an eighteen-year-old getting a breast enhancement - I saw the flesh being cut, the surgeon's hand going into the incised area and shaking it around to make a pocket, a close-up of the saline bag being positioned under the breast muscle, and a final shot of a pair of breasts both completed save for the huge gaping wounds which hadn't yet been sutured. Small wonder that there's a whole lot more cosmetic surgery going on in the States than in the UK.

Today's goings on

The Mailbox saga Tonight I discovered that I can get into my mailbox, using a fish-slice and with the help of my handy Civil Defense torch. The boy had a go at getting the key in the lock, but he, too failed. We can't actually take it off the fence to show the people at the shop though - it's bolted on and the bolts are inside the mailbox...which we can't open because it's locked...

So it's definitely a stern call to Placemakers tomorrow.

Left Luggage A homeless guy asked to leave his stuff behind the Information Desk this morning. Usually we don't mind if customers do this as long as they realise that we don't accept responsibility if it gets nicked. The homeless guy wasn't actually using the libary though, except as a no-cost left luggage office. He'd been traipsing in and out of the building all day, delving into his backpack or the pockets of his two jackets.

He'll be annoyed when he comes back for his gear tonight, to find the library closed.

(We took his stuff to the police station across the road.)

Learning management stuff Tomorrow is my first Management of Information Services class. Because the on-campus class is scheduled for around midday, I've enrolled as a distance student. Instead of going to the university for 1pm, I run off the library bus clutching the laptop and cable at 4.45pm and hurriedly set it all up in the library workroom, just in time for a 5pm audio-conference session.

I wonder if it means anything that my first class of this trimester coincides with my one year anniversary at the library. (After tomorrow, I can say I've got a year's worth of library experience without feeling like I'm stretching the truth.)

I wonder if it means anything that the very last class of the trimester coincides with my birthday. Probably not, but I suppose I'll have two things to celebrate that weekend...

A very bad mailbox

A bit of a rant, I'm afraid...

Last month, when I had the new fence put up, I was in need of a new mailbox. The one I already had wouldn't do; it's one of those little metal boxes which you have to open by lifting the roof of it up, and wouldn't work on a high fence.

So on the Sunday before the fence was due to be completed (and the old mailbox rendered unusable), I set off to find a new one which would suit a high fence i.e. one which didn't have to be perched on top of a post.

There's a fancy kind of mailbox which I've seen advertised a bit, which is basically a large, flattish green box with a lid on top and a lockable door at the side. You fix it to the wall or outside of the fence, at any height you like. It retails for around three hundred bucks I think, so it was always a nice-to-have rather than a must-have.

I went to Placemakers, and found that most of their mailboxes weren't any good - they were mostly variations of the chalet-shaped one I already had.

I did spot one particularly striking one, though; it was stainless steel and looked remarkably similar to the big green beastie which I couldn't afford to buy. Apart from the difference in materials, it was smaller, and instead of a lockable opening at the side there was a lock which opened up the whole front of the mailbox (thus making it impossible to leave it unlocked without leaving it useless in the mail-holding department).

But it looked pretty cool, it would be able to hold a fair amount of mail, it was lockable, and it was a couple of hundred bucks cheaper than the green beastie - so I bought it.

I had problems from the start. Once in the lock, the key was often hard to turn, so it was either hard to open or hard to shut. This was frustrating, because it now took about ten minutes of patient manipulation to get my mail at the end of a long day at work. But I persisted, because I'd already bought it and it was already bolted to my fence. Yesterday I seemed to have a break-through. I'd been told by a key-cutter that if you have problems getting your key into a lock you should scrape a bit of pencil lead against the key. I tried this bit of advice, and sure enough, the key went in smoothly. I had no problem opening and closing the mailbox.

Tonight though, was a nightmare. I couldn't even get the key more than halfway in the lock. I am furious. I paid a hundred bucks for a mailbox which I can't even open to retrieve my mail. For all I know, streetkids may have been playing about with the lock, but I don't know. I just know it's really quite crappy that I will now have to break into my own mailbox.

I really hope Placemakers will give me my money back.

Just when I thought it was going to be an uneventful day at work...

On Mondays, I alternate having a later start/evening with a normal start and an afternoon at the branch library. Today is the day I do the latter, so I was cheerful in anticipation of an early-ish finish to the day.

I heated up my lunch in the microwave, got the transit books ready, put everything in my car and checked the mobile phone for messages. There was a message, but, to my annoyance, the phone had already used up all of it's prepaid credit. So I'd have to wait until I got to the branch, and use the phone there.

While I ate my lunch outside the library, I was still wondering how I could use ten dollars' worth of phone credit in one week. I was still thinking about it when I realised that I'd locked my car keys in the car. My wallet, the key to the branch library, all the transit books - these were now all out of reach, locked away in the car.

Lucky for me, I had a mobile phone. Even luckier, I could contact the AA via an 0800 number (i.e. a free one). Luckier still, I was able to find the number because a library patron had arrived half an hour before opening time and could lend me her AA membership card with the phone number on it.

In the end, the libary was opened 10 minutes late. It could have been so much worse...

Holiday photos

It took most of the afternoon (and that was just doing the file transfers!), but here they are - the photos from our holiday.

While Adobe's photo gallery maker is convenient, it's not the greatest tool when you want to make a collection of pictures to add to an existing website. For one thing, the HTML is not that familier to me so it's not that easy to customise the result. Perhaps next time I'll go back to laboriously creating individual HTML pages myself; at least it'll look better. Hope you like the pictures...

books books books

Nothing much happened today (I went to the gym, we had lunch at a noodle house, we went to Spiderman 2), so I've decided to write about books. These are some of the books I've read recently:

Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley - it took me quite a while to get into this book, because it's really quite wordy. To me, it's about the arrogance of mankind in attempting to interfere with nature, our irresponsible attitude towards nature, and how easily a creature who is full of good feelings, thoughts and intentions, can be coerced into becoming someone scary and murderous, through ill-treatment. I liked it.

Northern Lights, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass, by Phillip Pullman - I convinced the boy to buy me a copy of Northern Lights after hearing great things about it from kids in the library, a co-worker who's a fan of Young Adult fantasy, book reviewers and bloggers. We were both hooked after reading the first in this trilogy, and went on to buy the other two. I haven't yet finished The Amber Spyglass, but I know this - the story is really really good.

There's dark matter (the stuff which astrophysicists know must exist everywhere in the Universe but can't find), witches, the Church, bears who wear armour and talk, multiple worlds and people whose souls exist in the form of an animal (like a witches familiar).

Pullman's story could be interpreted as a thinly-veiled attack on the real-life Church, since they are the principle villians in the story. For another example, the heroes, two 12-year-old children, visit a world of the dead and find that there is no Heaven or Hell - when people die their ghosts simply exist in a grey, bland world of the dead forever.

It seems pretty damn sophisticated reading for children - though I suppose they are more sophisticated nowadays than when I was at that age (I read the Narnia stories, for instance, and they weren't so dark). Several of the characters are not clear-cut heroes or villains; in fact, the 'bad' guys do 'good' things and vice versa. I've had a hard time in the third book trying to figure out whose side certain people were on.


Heating Update
Meanwhile, I have a temporary, partial solution to my heating problem - I've rearranged some of the stuff in my art/computer/storage room, which is away from the kitchen and under an insulated ceiling. Now I have room to study in here as well as paint or use the computer. The more time I spend in here, with the little fan heater on, the less time I spend in the hard-to-heat lounge/kitchen. It'll do.

Home non-heating

I'm really going to have to do something about the non-heating situation at home. It's really quite chilly when it hasn't been raining (and often quite chilly when it has).

I have a 'character' home; it's almost one hundred years old, and it's design is not conducive to an evening of warmth and fluffy comfort.

For example, my kitchen is a lean-to (this means it was built onto the house some time after the house itself was completed), which means that the floor is on a slightly different level from the room next to it. It also means that it has no ceiling space which could have accomodated some nice, cosy blocks of insulation.

The Victorian (I think) house design was meant for sun-avoiding Victorian English people, which means they've cleverly arranged the windows in such a way that very little sun enters the house. I'm sure this is why, in the Winter, it is often colder inside the house than it is outside (in the frost!).

Like most staunch Kiwis, I have refused to consider installing central heating. Central heating is for softies and rich folk. Perhaps if electricity or gas were available cheaply, and the cost of installing central heating were lower, I would do it. Perhaps if I read a refereed scientific study which confirmed that New Zealand winters were indeed just as numbingly cold as those in Edinburgh, I could do it without feeling like a big softie.

So I get by on a 7-fin oil column heater in the lounge/kitchen. Notice I said lounge/kitchen, not lounge - remember that the kitchen bit is uninsulated, so that heat's going to go kitchen-wards and sky-wards.

Also, the boy's a smoker, and while he's considerate enough to smoke outside he isn't considerate enough to close the door behind him. He smokes in the kitchen doorway, which leads out into the cold, wild yonder (my backyard).

I've tried to think of a solution to this problem:
1. build a false ceiling to house the insulation (this leaves about seven feet of head space from the floor)
2. get assertive and close the door behind him every time the boy goes out for a smoke
3. Get a much, much bigger heater - or an outdoor heater even - for the lounge/kitchen
4. get used to walking around with an alpine sleeping bag on my back
5. move to a newer, more energy-efficient home (but I like my house, it's my first and only home-of-my-own; besides, I'm not ready for the stress of house-hunting again - it's only been thirteen years)

Help!

Travels with my mother

I'm referring, not to a horrible nightmare of mine, but a book by Peter Calder. It's (so far, anyway) a funny/sad memoir describing a trip to the UK undertaken by the fifty-something author and his eighty-something mother.

When I read it, I find so much I can relate to:
"I found it hard to be around an often cantankerous and controlling old woman [who] grew up regarding herself less as a New Zealander than as an Englishwoman marooned in an alien land." She also talks at the top of her voice in public (and she's not even Cantonese!) and makes unconsciously racist remarks (also in public, and at the top of her voice).

I'm only about a fifth of the way through, but I bet that in the process of escorting his grumpy mum around the UK Calder re-discovers her lovable side. Just for taking on this task though, he's a better person than I.

Slack

I said earlier that I wasn't as relaxed as one would expect, following a holiday; I wasn't entirely accurate. My muscle tone is quite relaxed and thanking me for letting it lay about doing very little. I got myself to the gym today (much to my parner's chagrin, for it means I wouldn't be home till late), and even my gym gear is slightly tight (I'm not talking about lycra, I'm talking about baggy elastic-waist pants).

I suppose I've got to that age when takes less time to lose fitness and gain weight, and more effort to regain one's fitness and figure (if it ever happens). I'm even contemplating watching what I eat, but I've been brought up in a culture which values good food and the sharing of meals as a social act and an act of love. Rejecting my mother's large carbohydrate-laden meals is in fact impossible; it's tantamount to rejecting her.

Perhaps I have to consider just being a bit fat.

wot holiday?

It's only Tuesday, and it already feels as though I never went away. People come back from holidays and tell me they feel rested. I didn't. I was antsy on the day I got back, and I haven't been sleeping very well since. Rested, I am not.

What I didn't realise was that one of my team-mates has taken off on her own holidays, meaning that we are once again short-staffed. It means that this week I'll be driving the library bus four days out of five - this is a nuisance if I want to go to work in a skirt. It's also the school holidays, so the place is buzzing with children and their parents; I don't remember the last time I signed up so many new library members in the space of an hour.

The good news is that I got a pay rise. I hadn't been expecting anything much, because the staff had all been warned that normally the only pay increases we would get would be cost-of-living increase i.e. one-point-something percent. But I, and no doubt several co-workers too, have had a pay rise of about eleven percent. In actual fact, its still peanuts - but it's quite a few more peanuts than before; almost as many peanuts as library assistants in big cities get paid.

behemoth in the rain

First day back from my holiday, I was scheduled to take the library bus out to the 'burbs for an evening visit. What made this a mildly daunting prospect were:

1. until tonight I had never ever driven a bus in the dark
2. I had only ever been to this place once before, two weeks ago, and in broad daylight
3. it's been two whole weeks since I even thought about driving a bus
4. at the time I take the bus out, it's rush hour and I'd have to cross lots of heavy traffic
5. it was raining heavily
6. my experience of driving the bus on the motorway, at motorway speeds, was limited

But I did it though. My fellow library-worker who accompanied me on the bus wasn't familiar with this spot before either, but we narrowly avoided taking a completely wrong turn which would probably have resulted in plentiful cussing in the dark. Crossing the heavy traffic didn't mean quite as long a wait as I'd anticipated, because I crossed over at the slightest hint of a gap - but this probably only works when I'm driving a bus and the traffic I'm fighting consists of cars.

So that's another scary thing I've conquered. Whew.

Back to reality

Well, that was my holiday for the rest of 2004. Fortunately, our first holiday together ever didn't result in big fights (well, we did have a tiff while we had a rental car and the boy forced me to navigate even though he knows I have no sense of direction and can't read maps). I did learn this about us; that he relaxes by playing computer games and reading, whereas I relax by sightseeing and doing touristy stuff. He's come back with some clearer sense of what he wants to do with his career, I've come back flabbier and impatient to get back to the gym. (As I've gotten older, I've lost fitness faster if I stopped excercising, and taken longer to get back into shape afterwards - to my dismay.)

The house has stopped smelling like it's been sealed up for the last couple of weeks (which it had), although the bedclothes still smell like a musty second-hand clothes shop (no doubt because they haven't been changed for three weeks). Yuk. It was enough to put me off my sleep last night.