Despite my suggestions for a big long walk today, the boy once again turned our "big walk" into a stroll around the zoo. The zoo covers quite a large area, so there's a big of walking to do - but the Inca Trail it is not. Perhaps I was still feeling the grumpy after-affects of accidentally spilling my cup of hot water all over myself at McDonalds (why on earth do they put a tight-fitting lid on the cup of hot water and milk, but leave the teabag out?). The cutest things were the tamarin monkeys, little kitten-sized creatures with cream- or gold- manes, and the new red panda.
Afterwards I started to go into exercise-withdrawal, so I went for a walk to the video shop (in my defense, it does take about twenty minutes each way) to return the DVDs we got out last night. The Dawn of the Dead remake was okay, but I got bored.
The Station Agent was superb - it was a funny/sad film, not at all in the Hollywood tradition, with interesting, appealing characters: Fin is the trainspotting dwarf who moves to a tiny town, initially just wanting to keep to himself; Joe is a socially-starved Manhattenite (if that's the right word) who has moved to look after his sick father and temporarily take over his father's snack caravan; Olivia is the ditzy artist who accidentally runs Fin off the road. Twice.
Today I decided to make a start on doing something creative with my travel photos. I removed the best of the photos in the two albums which have that sticky back thing, then decided to leave them to flatten under a couple of acid-free pages of a sketchbook. In the meantime, I excavated a box full of my old travel souvenirs. Amidst the bags of shoes, a broken umbrella, an ancient Walkman and a small collection of never-used sex toys (they were a present, okay?), were the shopping bags full of old street maps and brochures around Europe and the travel journals from several overseas trips. I've decided to create some sort of illustrated travel diary, which will be a combination of stuff out of the original travel journals and the photos I've taken from that time. I doubt that, once it's finished, anyone will look at it except me. But the thing is to do it, so that I can remember what I did, what I saw, who I met, blah blah blah. This is important now that I don't get to travel any more.
Anyway, after typing out a selection from two weeks' worth of jottings in India, I discovered that - although last week's wrist injury doesn't affect my bus driving it sure as hell affects my typing.
Monday, October 25, 2004
on the news today
Play School was one of those kiddies' shows I remember pooh-poohing when I was a kid, just old enough to know it wasn't "cool" to watch it. Apparently a Play School reunion is planned, although Big Ted and Gemima haven't been answering their respective phones.
Horror of horrors, the British Navy has allowed a Satanist sailor to practice his religious beliefs at sea.
Aaargh! The first Hooters restaurant has opened in China, encouraging young Chinese women everywhere to ask for breast implants as well as the ever-popular leg-lengthening operation at the plastic surgeon's office.
Horror of horrors, the British Navy has allowed a Satanist sailor to practice his religious beliefs at sea.
Aaargh! The first Hooters restaurant has opened in China, encouraging young Chinese women everywhere to ask for breast implants as well as the ever-popular leg-lengthening operation at the plastic surgeon's office.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
happy Diwali
All day today I'm been feeling unmotivated, un-energetic and listless - the perfect candidate for one of those multivitamin sales talks, I think. I'm sure it's the hayfever having it's effect on me, since I've been sneezing a bit too. A big mug of coffee mid-afternoon helped though, and we were able to go into town to have a look at the Diwali celebrations.
Despite my fears, it wasn't just full of non-Hindu tourists; there were Indian faces all over the place, including the guy who runs the corner dairy where the boy buys his cigarillos). There was a series of traditional dances on at one of the venues and we managed to catch the end of a men's performance, before the children took over. Those Hindi men sure know how to shake their booty.
Unfortunately, not only did we miss out on tickets to the Bollywood dance competition finals, but we missed all the heats too. I suppose that's what happens when you don't get hold of a programme early on.
Indian and Sri Lankan food stalls surrounded the competition venue. I took a chance on a roti and dhal combination which reaffirmed my belief that Sri Lankan cuisine is inferior to Indian cuisine (regardless of which part of the sub-continent the chef is from). I took home a box of Indian sweets, only on the way home I found out they are made by a local group of Hare Krishnas. I can only wonder whether the boy's Ganesh statuette was made in China...
Despite my fears, it wasn't just full of non-Hindu tourists; there were Indian faces all over the place, including the guy who runs the corner dairy where the boy buys his cigarillos). There was a series of traditional dances on at one of the venues and we managed to catch the end of a men's performance, before the children took over. Those Hindi men sure know how to shake their booty.
Unfortunately, not only did we miss out on tickets to the Bollywood dance competition finals, but we missed all the heats too. I suppose that's what happens when you don't get hold of a programme early on.
Indian and Sri Lankan food stalls surrounded the competition venue. I took a chance on a roti and dhal combination which reaffirmed my belief that Sri Lankan cuisine is inferior to Indian cuisine (regardless of which part of the sub-continent the chef is from). I took home a box of Indian sweets, only on the way home I found out they are made by a local group of Hare Krishnas. I can only wonder whether the boy's Ganesh statuette was made in China...
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Let down by the weather
Today is the first day of the first long weekend since Queen's Birthday back in June. This is obviously the reason for the lacklustre weather today, compared with the gloriously sunny and summer-like day we had two days ago.
That chill moisture in the air has meant that the family's latest attempt to visit my dad's grave for a spot of biannual ancestor worship has come to nothing. Nothing that is, except grumpiness; grumpiness on my mum's part because she gets all wired up when it's to that time of year but the weather isn't playing along; grumpiness on my brother's part because I know he'd rather be doing something else; grumpiness on my part because the two of them will arrange some time to call each other and decide whether it's windless enough to make the trip, but leave me completely out of the loop so that I'm sitting by the phone thinking "What the f*?".
Finally, just after midday I got the phone call to confirm that it's all off until the next forecast sunny Saturday. So - and this is getting to be a foolish habit - the boy and I went out shopping. I found some "sensible shoes" (see my previous post) in a red leather with straps and rounded toes; the boy went one better and bought two pairs of bloke's shoes. Then we went to an upmarket department store (the kind most frequented by people who think they have "old money" or a lineage that goes back further than us common folk), where he bought a designer wool sweater. Which he has promised to handwash himself and never never put into the laundry basket (because after that it transforms into a garment which will fit only me).
The extended Return of the King will be out on sale soon, but - hey, as though we don't have enough stuff to spend our money on...
That chill moisture in the air has meant that the family's latest attempt to visit my dad's grave for a spot of biannual ancestor worship has come to nothing. Nothing that is, except grumpiness; grumpiness on my mum's part because she gets all wired up when it's to that time of year but the weather isn't playing along; grumpiness on my brother's part because I know he'd rather be doing something else; grumpiness on my part because the two of them will arrange some time to call each other and decide whether it's windless enough to make the trip, but leave me completely out of the loop so that I'm sitting by the phone thinking "What the f*?".
Finally, just after midday I got the phone call to confirm that it's all off until the next forecast sunny Saturday. So - and this is getting to be a foolish habit - the boy and I went out shopping. I found some "sensible shoes" (see my previous post) in a red leather with straps and rounded toes; the boy went one better and bought two pairs of bloke's shoes. Then we went to an upmarket department store (the kind most frequented by people who think they have "old money" or a lineage that goes back further than us common folk), where he bought a designer wool sweater. Which he has promised to handwash himself and never never put into the laundry basket (because after that it transforms into a garment which will fit only me).
The extended Return of the King will be out on sale soon, but - hey, as though we don't have enough stuff to spend our money on...
Friday, October 22, 2004
Shoes, buses and television
My recent flirtation with high heels may soon be over, to be resurrected only for nights out with the boy. It's ironic really, because mostly I've been wearing heels because he seemed to approve of them so much. After the umpteenth foot rub and re-location of dislocated toes (apparently, though they didn't hurt that much), he advised me to start wearing "sensible shoes". I already have some flat-soled combat boots that I wear on bus-driving days, as well as some unfashionable but perfectly comfy boat shoes for summer bus-driving - I may now need to shop for some library-style flat-heeled shoes. It’s just a pity that I don’t see the styles around like the ones Sensible Shoes proudly shows off.
I had my bus-driving assessment today. I was on my best bus-driving behaviour of course, but I’m sure he expected that. Apart from the fact that I don’t seem to check the side roads enough when driving, he said that I passed with flying colours. He even seemed impressed with my hill-starts on narrow curvy driveways, my ability to pull over to the kerb leaving only an inch of space between it and the tires, and the way I handled the tight roundabouts. I also noticed that my hurt wrist has not affected my driving, so my bus-driving days are far from over. From now on I promised to be much more shifty-eyed while driving…
After the last few Tru Calling episodes, I’m going to have to take back my earlier rave. The first episode was creepy, because of the dead people in the morgue who open their eyes and talk. It was weird, because of the Groundhog Day effect. But as I’d predicted, these aspects have long worn off on me. It’s still interesting to watch, but for a different reason – trying to figure out how the dead person really got to be that way, and what Tru has to do to save him.
I had my bus-driving assessment today. I was on my best bus-driving behaviour of course, but I’m sure he expected that. Apart from the fact that I don’t seem to check the side roads enough when driving, he said that I passed with flying colours. He even seemed impressed with my hill-starts on narrow curvy driveways, my ability to pull over to the kerb leaving only an inch of space between it and the tires, and the way I handled the tight roundabouts. I also noticed that my hurt wrist has not affected my driving, so my bus-driving days are far from over. From now on I promised to be much more shifty-eyed while driving…
After the last few Tru Calling episodes, I’m going to have to take back my earlier rave. The first episode was creepy, because of the dead people in the morgue who open their eyes and talk. It was weird, because of the Groundhog Day effect. But as I’d predicted, these aspects have long worn off on me. It’s still interesting to watch, but for a different reason – trying to figure out how the dead person really got to be that way, and what Tru has to do to save him.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
job hazard
Yesterday I hurt my wrist badly enough that today I've been feeling pain whenever I move it. Would you like to know how it happened?
It didn't occur during an altercation with a teenage computer geek overstepping the bounds of what's allowed at the library computers.
It wasn't caused by major haste to get outside of the olfactory zone of a particularly odorous patron.
I wasn't hit by a free-flying Shorter Oxford Dictionary.
I didn’t stumble and fall on the edge of the Information Desk during an alcoholic staff dinner.
It didn’t happen in ‘Nam.
I strained my wrist trying to push a teeny-tiny lever which is located underneath the driver’s seat of the library bus; a lever which is not only a long way to reach for me but which is also annoyingly stiff. All I was trying to do was push this lever so that I could swivel the driver’s seat around to face the back of the bus, so that I could sit down and face the patrons at the same time.
There will be an Occupational Health and Safety form to complete and send to the appropriate people, a doctor’s visit to make and possibly several subsidised trips to a conveniently placed physiotherapy clinic too.
I’m sure that in time it’ll heal almost completely, although on days preceding especially wet weather it will ache as though to warn me to pack my raincoat in the morning. But if I’m lucky I will get a week or two’s break from being a bus driver, allowing me to spend more time on other stuff (I’ll think of something).
It didn't occur during an altercation with a teenage computer geek overstepping the bounds of what's allowed at the library computers.
It wasn't caused by major haste to get outside of the olfactory zone of a particularly odorous patron.
I wasn't hit by a free-flying Shorter Oxford Dictionary.
I didn’t stumble and fall on the edge of the Information Desk during an alcoholic staff dinner.
It didn’t happen in ‘Nam.
I strained my wrist trying to push a teeny-tiny lever which is located underneath the driver’s seat of the library bus; a lever which is not only a long way to reach for me but which is also annoyingly stiff. All I was trying to do was push this lever so that I could swivel the driver’s seat around to face the back of the bus, so that I could sit down and face the patrons at the same time.
There will be an Occupational Health and Safety form to complete and send to the appropriate people, a doctor’s visit to make and possibly several subsidised trips to a conveniently placed physiotherapy clinic too.
I’m sure that in time it’ll heal almost completely, although on days preceding especially wet weather it will ache as though to warn me to pack my raincoat in the morning. But if I’m lucky I will get a week or two’s break from being a bus driver, allowing me to spend more time on other stuff (I’ll think of something).
"Home" again
We were watching the X-Files Season Four extras the other night, when I found out that the episode "Home" (the one with the chronically incestuous Peacock famil) had been banned in the States. So...did the Americans have to watch it on cable or what?
It is a personal favourite episode, though Small Potatoes is another favourite; that's the one where a less-than studly janitor is able to shape-change into any other person, including Fox Mulder, and nearly seduces Scully in the process.
And there are other favourites too, like the one at a freak show with a tattooed man called Enigma.
It is a personal favourite episode, though Small Potatoes is another favourite; that's the one where a less-than studly janitor is able to shape-change into any other person, including Fox Mulder, and nearly seduces Scully in the process.
And there are other favourites too, like the one at a freak show with a tattooed man called Enigma.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
last-minute friends
One of my co-workers is leaving the library, and town, to work in an Auckland library. Although, like me, she's into computers and science fiction (and the original Star Trek, no less), we've never become friends. In fact, I remember once bumping into her at a geek shop (Dick Smith Electronics, to be exact) in the weekend, and feeling a little slighted when she ignored me after an initial 'hello'.
Someone told her last week that I have a blog; perhaps because she's relatively new to blogging, she was keen to talk about blogging with me. This morning she even complimented my blog, then eagerly described a funny story to me (about a recorded episode of Rainbow, a children's show, which apparently sounds hilariously suggestive to adult ears).
While I don't feel like we've become great mates suddenly, I now feel slightly sorry that I'll be missing out on a potential friendship. This isn't the first time it's happened. I can recall several people who I never got to know at all until just before their leaving parties, when I suddenly started having interesting conversations with them and liking them.
What the hell is it with that?
Someone told her last week that I have a blog; perhaps because she's relatively new to blogging, she was keen to talk about blogging with me. This morning she even complimented my blog, then eagerly described a funny story to me (about a recorded episode of Rainbow, a children's show, which apparently sounds hilariously suggestive to adult ears).
While I don't feel like we've become great mates suddenly, I now feel slightly sorry that I'll be missing out on a potential friendship. This isn't the first time it's happened. I can recall several people who I never got to know at all until just before their leaving parties, when I suddenly started having interesting conversations with them and liking them.
What the hell is it with that?
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Dreams
I bet I'm not the only one who has dreamed of her teeth crumbling in her mouth. Here's an interpretation.
Drinking seawater
I think I have the answer to whether and how drinking seawater can cause madness. Funnily enough, a similar question was already answered in The Straight Dope - "What would happen if I drank seawater?"; I managed to put in the wrong search words or something when I tried to find it.
That madness ensues is only implied though, in a quote from Bill Bryson which effectively says that the severe dehydration causes your brain cells (among other things) to break down.
Which leads me to think that the saying really ought to go "drinking seawater makes you really really sick and maybe die".
That madness ensues is only implied though, in a quote from Bill Bryson which effectively says that the severe dehydration causes your brain cells (among other things) to break down.
Which leads me to think that the saying really ought to go "drinking seawater makes you really really sick and maybe die".
What're those books?
When I was chatting to Make Tea not War, she told me about her current favourite author who writes about a person who can enter books and change the course of the plots. I cannot for the life of me remember the name of the author; I want to add it to my list of books/authors to read next time I have a chance to read for pleasure (that is, after I've finished Middlesex, The Da Vinci Code and The Simpsons and Philosophy).
Does anyone know the author or one of the books? Otherwise I'm gonna have to ask her directly.
Does anyone know the author or one of the books? Otherwise I'm gonna have to ask her directly.
Spare time
Last night I didn't sleep a wink. Well, maybe just a couple. But in the end I was sitting in the lounge at 4.30am because I'd gotten bored with tossing and turning in bed. I watched Six Feet Under which I'd taped from last Tuesday, had some toast and a hot drink, and eventually returned to bed when my feet got too cold.
So I was dead to the world when my alarm went off this morning. The boy was really concerned that I should stay in bed, so he rang my boss to say I wouldn't be in. But after I woke up again mid-morning I realised that if I let myself sleep right through I'd be hopeless tonight when it's time to go to sleep again. So I got up.
I do love web-surfing; it's like an easier way to browse countless magazines. I revisited The Straight Dope, and posted a question that bugged me over the weekend -
Does drinking seawater really make you insane, and how exactly does this happen?
While awaiting an answer, I offer you the reply to the question of how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood..., apparently a classic from the man's collection.
So I was dead to the world when my alarm went off this morning. The boy was really concerned that I should stay in bed, so he rang my boss to say I wouldn't be in. But after I woke up again mid-morning I realised that if I let myself sleep right through I'd be hopeless tonight when it's time to go to sleep again. So I got up.
I do love web-surfing; it's like an easier way to browse countless magazines. I revisited The Straight Dope, and posted a question that bugged me over the weekend -
Does drinking seawater really make you insane, and how exactly does this happen?
While awaiting an answer, I offer you the reply to the question of how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood..., apparently a classic from the man's collection.
Monday, October 18, 2004
a sigh of relief
I have my assignment almost ready for handing in tommorow, and then I'm academia-free for about four weeks. I'll be able to get stuck into Middlesex, which was one of my birthday presents (I also got The Da Vinci Code which means I'm going to have to read it after all).
It was an eclectic collection of prezzies, including CDs by Ray Charles and the Newmatics, a girl beach bag, an assortment of stationery and a belly-dancing kit. When the latter was unwrapped, there was a fair bit of encouragement on the part of the guests to make use of the equipment inside (a long, thin veil, four finger-cymbals, some forehead jewellery and a CD of appropriate music - and a set of instructions), but it's been too long and I don't think my hips would thank me for it.
It was a surprisingly sober event, though holding it in the afternoon may have had something to do with it. And one of the few people who did drink was horribly sick in the bathroom sink (you know who you are and it's okay).
But I have found a fellow-blogger in one of our visitors, and she's pretty cool so that'll be addition to my sidebar in the near-future. It's Make Tea Not War.
It was an eclectic collection of prezzies, including CDs by Ray Charles and the Newmatics, a girl beach bag, an assortment of stationery and a belly-dancing kit. When the latter was unwrapped, there was a fair bit of encouragement on the part of the guests to make use of the equipment inside (a long, thin veil, four finger-cymbals, some forehead jewellery and a CD of appropriate music - and a set of instructions), but it's been too long and I don't think my hips would thank me for it.
It was a surprisingly sober event, though holding it in the afternoon may have had something to do with it. And one of the few people who did drink was horribly sick in the bathroom sink (you know who you are and it's okay).
But I have found a fellow-blogger in one of our visitors, and she's pretty cool so that'll be addition to my sidebar in the near-future. It's Make Tea Not War.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
jazzyhands
This story of two lads and a peep show had me cackling in quite an unladylike fashion. Try it, it's the October 16 post at jazzyhands.
the worst thing about having a birthday this time of year
I remember the first time I held a party for myself in my own place. It was an outdoor day-time event, and I'd borrowed my best friend's boyfriend's barbeque for the occasion. Too bad that, as is usual in Spring, the wind was howling, the clouds threatened to open up and it was cold enough to keep the heater on.
The highlight of that party was when the neighbours thought putting the barbeque under the lemon tree constitued a fire hazard, and called the Fire Department. Fortunately I knew that the fireman knocking at the door wasn't the stripper I'd been warned about.
Last week the friend who recently got married rang me to say that she and her new husband were on their way to my birthday party. I was glad she rang, because she was a week early.
This afternoon, I was trying to finish my assignment which is due on Tuesday (talk about terrible timing), when the doorbell rang. Different couple, this time only one day early for the party. They left their juice and chippies with me, but didn't stay long - I suppose so that they'd have something to talk about when they come back tomorrow. Then again, they'd been unfortunate enough to turn up just when the boy was making funny noises in the bathroom so maybe they were a little uncomfortable...
We went out to dinner at a Singaporean restaurant, with a couple of friends. I ordered a whole fish (as you do - no, really you do. It's good luck or long life or something). Just to gross them out I told them about how the fish eyes are quite a delicacy. Then I flicked out the fish's left eyeball, dug around the socket and put some of the gooey stuff in my mouth. Well, S. was pretty disgusted - in fact she had her eyes covered - but P. was surprisingly keen to have a go at the other eye. I was impressed.
Anyway, the worst thing about having a birthday at this time of year is that:
a) it's Spring so the weather is really dodgy and my hayfever always threatens, and
b) it coincides with exams and assignments, so I can't really relax in time for the festivities.
So now you know.
The highlight of that party was when the neighbours thought putting the barbeque under the lemon tree constitued a fire hazard, and called the Fire Department. Fortunately I knew that the fireman knocking at the door wasn't the stripper I'd been warned about.
Last week the friend who recently got married rang me to say that she and her new husband were on their way to my birthday party. I was glad she rang, because she was a week early.
This afternoon, I was trying to finish my assignment which is due on Tuesday (talk about terrible timing), when the doorbell rang. Different couple, this time only one day early for the party. They left their juice and chippies with me, but didn't stay long - I suppose so that they'd have something to talk about when they come back tomorrow. Then again, they'd been unfortunate enough to turn up just when the boy was making funny noises in the bathroom so maybe they were a little uncomfortable...
We went out to dinner at a Singaporean restaurant, with a couple of friends. I ordered a whole fish (as you do - no, really you do. It's good luck or long life or something). Just to gross them out I told them about how the fish eyes are quite a delicacy. Then I flicked out the fish's left eyeball, dug around the socket and put some of the gooey stuff in my mouth. Well, S. was pretty disgusted - in fact she had her eyes covered - but P. was surprisingly keen to have a go at the other eye. I was impressed.
Anyway, the worst thing about having a birthday at this time of year is that:
a) it's Spring so the weather is really dodgy and my hayfever always threatens, and
b) it coincides with exams and assignments, so I can't really relax in time for the festivities.
So now you know.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Sex, craziness and real life
I'm the self-made editor of the library's book reviews page. My workmates send me their recommendations, and I publish them (judiciously edited, if necessary) on the web site. I've always intended to publish my own recommendations, of course - but mostly I've been reading textbooks.
Currently I'm reading a memoir called Running with Scissors, by Augustin something-or-other. It's really quite readable. I don't think it'd be a good choice for the website though, because it's about the thirteen year old gay son of a delusional poet who goes to live with her psychiatrist - who happens to run a very non-conformist household. The children are completely out of control, the psychiatrist invites his patients to live with his family, the place is a mess...
It's also got some really distasteful stuff in it too - like when the boy befriends the family's older, mentally unstable, gay adopted son - who rapes him and then falls in love with him.
I suppose that's where the book's title comes in.
Currently I'm reading a memoir called Running with Scissors, by Augustin something-or-other. It's really quite readable. I don't think it'd be a good choice for the website though, because it's about the thirteen year old gay son of a delusional poet who goes to live with her psychiatrist - who happens to run a very non-conformist household. The children are completely out of control, the psychiatrist invites his patients to live with his family, the place is a mess...
It's also got some really distasteful stuff in it too - like when the boy befriends the family's older, mentally unstable, gay adopted son - who rapes him and then falls in love with him.
I suppose that's where the book's title comes in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)