Confessions Part 1

I am disgrace.

But please, let me explain.

I have to take my blood pressure every morning and night (and input the data into the ridiculous Excel spreadsheet compulsively set up by Jesse). Needless to say, the honeymoon period for this mind-numbing practice concluded quite quickly. And so it came to pass that, in order to lessen the boredom of this process, I took up playing Spider Solitaire whilst pressuring away.

Ok, so perhaps that is understandable.

But my real confession is that I have recently found myself playing Spider Solitaire at times when... I'm NOT taking my blood pressure. I sometimes find myself just thinking about those neat little stacks of cards. Imagining what's underneath them. That queen of hearts I've been hanging out for? Surely not another five of clubs!



I shall just sit in the corner and quietly beat myself now.

A Rose By Any Other Name

There are some truly inspirational job titles floating around at the moment. I thought Jesse's new-found position as a 'Solutions Architect' was a bit of a toss. But at least it doesn't lend itself to too many derogatory mutations.

It's not as if he's, say, the 'Applications Solutions Specialist'* - no cigar for working some magic on the acronym there. And what about the pitiful sod who slaved his way up the slippery corporate ladder to attain the illustrious title as 'Head of Tools'*. I mean it's bad enough being one of the ordinary Tools, but to be Head of Tools must be truly something.

*Do not doubt, my children. These are real titles employed by some of Australia's most trusted financial institutions.

Blow This

Enough! Where do those QR kiddies get off blowing their nut-cracking train whistles every time they leave a station? It freaks the begoogles out of me!

• Is it to alert the station master in case he's not looking out the window?
• Is it to notify mice and assorted losers to get off the tracks??
• Or is it just to hurt me???

Honestly. It's not like we're all standing there after the gong going, "Ooh. Will you look at at that. A train. Here. At a train station. Fancy."

The Calling

I have had a realisation. Nay, a revelation!

I want to live on a FARM!

Not just any farm mind you. None of that digging things up or putting animals down rubbish. Oh no! I want to be a BERRY farmer!!

For not only are berries the very masters of the fruit world, but I could work from home, reside beyond a capital city and have tourists pay ME for the privilege of picking the little buggers themselves! Talk about the Australian way of life. Genius...

Nerdburglar

This one is for the benefit of those poor poor souls who have not yet made the long trek to the right-hand sidebar to visit The Afe Blog. Much as I hate pinching cool stuff from our buddies' blogs, I can't resist subjecting the talents of this website to another posting.

Now, to explain. As you have no doubt already recognised, the visual below is a graphical representation of the migration of pygmy frogs after heavy rainfall in the Western Sahara. However, what you may NOT have so rapidly deduced my smug little bunnies, is that it ALSO represents the migration of Paris Hilton after a night on the turps... AND THIS VERY BLOG! Baha!!

If you're a complete nerdburger, you may be interested in knowing the following key:

• Blue - links
• Red - tables
• Green - the DIV tag (whatever, nerdburgers...)
• Violet - pickies
• Yellow - forms
• Orange - linebreaks and blockquotes
• Black - the HTML tag
• Gray - all the random stuff (lots of this)

Otherwise, just enjoy the colour and movement...

Quick Robin! To the batdog!!

Sometimes I feel sad for Bindi... Not often mind you, (like now, as she scratches the life out of the back door). But when she's out on the deck playing with her best friend Mr Rope Toy, or second best friend Mr Random Rock From the Garden, I sometimes wonder if perhaps she would like a real, live, 'nother doggy to play with.

Jesse and I did actually give serious consideration to the possibility of a second pup - particularly as we'd recently seen our favourite 'ewok dog' out and about. But then, in an attempt to identify the true breed of the 'ewok dog' we googled around the net and found this...



We will NOT be getting a second dog.

Videomania!

I am proud to announce that, in an unprecedented burst of laziness, we hired not one, not two, not even one more than two... but FOUR DVDs over the weekend! The hitlist stood as follows:

• Wallace & Gromit : Curse of the Were-Rabbit
• Pride & Prejudice
• Howl's Moving Castle
• 2064

Now I'm not one to foist my views upon others (everyone nod), and I have to admit that we didn't actually get around to seeing 2064, but I must say that this was actually quite a fine collection of flicks.

Kicking-off, Curse of the Were-Rabbit was yet another entertaining romp with Wallace and Gromit. Lots of ridiculous people and events, and even more amusing than I remember W & G being previously. So if you're into play-dough, rabbits, or both (like me), this film could be just the right way to gloss over a Friday night.

Next off the mark was P & P - the latest remake of this classic tale. Upfront, I must admit that I don't really have a soft spot for Keira Knightley (I can't even say her name in my head without putting on an outrageously snooty accent), so the odds were stacked against this film. However, in usual period drama style a la 'Emma' and 'Sense & Sensibility', I soon found myself wound up in the many comings and goings of this tale. A warning from Jesse though: The beginning is a bit hard-going what with too many young girls squealing and gibbering on, but if you focus and repeat if necessary, you should pull through fine.

Last, and my personal favourite, was Howl's Moving Castle. What a wicked animated film! Once again, I am embarrassed that I haven't delved into this genre earlier... but I'm now happily converted. Although a bit on the long side, this story had a lot of surprising humour, an imaginative premise and lots and lots of sparkly magical stuff! SOLD!!

Aaanyway, that's my wrap-up of events. It's not David & Margaret, but what is? If anyone has any other recent film recommendations, please feel free to comment. And if anyone wants to disagree with the views expressed in this post, please feel free to sod off. Thank you.

Week of the Devil

It is a bad week. A bad bad week. And I have had enough of it.

As a chaser to the coffee debacle that was Tuesday, and in an extremely unsurprising (or should I say 'unORIGINal') turn of events, a not-to-be-named gas company has destroyed my front garden.

The short version is that, under the laughable guise of moving our gas meter to the front of the house, an unruly mob of bumbling, Neolithic, putrid-orange-clad (and you know how I detest orange) bastards crash-tackled my garden. Not just any garden, mind you. My special newly-established garden which I have painstakingly watered with a crappy little watering can every day for the last 3 months.

Now although flipping completely off the hinge is not a common pastime for me, this wee shenanigan pulled the trigger. I had the phone at the ready and I wasn't afraid to use it. If only the damn complaints line was open beyond business hours. (Ha! Like 'business' hours even apply. 'Scum-sucking monopoly' hours perhaps, but I digress...)

The point is, I am now an angry angry little munchkin, with no garden and no meaningful avenue for revenge. In fact, my only solace comes in knowing that this is, without doubt, the Week of the Devil (oooooohhh); and if I can just make it through one more day, peace will return, balance will be restored, and those repugnant bastards will get hit by a tractor-trailer.

The Great Flood of '06

I have just spilt my very very full cup of coffee all over my desk!

BUGGER!

Bloody twisted phone cord knocked it over!!

I don't usually shout myself a special non-instant coffee, but this morning I splurged. And for what? For a sticky pool of sludge all over everything!!! My phone, my files (eek), my pens, bulldog clips, holepuncher, business cards... (And no, it doesn't help that I am an absolute grot when it comes to putting away things on my work desk.)

Aaanyway, I have embarrassingly made numerous trips to the bathroom/kitchen to get paper towels to mop this mess up. So my desk now looks better than ever - pity about the distinctive smell though... I wonder if anyone will notice...

Just Throwing It Out There

That last post was disgustingly serious, wasn't it? Really. Who am I to tell you where you should and shouldn't breakfast over your weekend? It is your truckin' weekend after all, isn't it??

Well, perhaps. But I'm not quite done with the cafe scene yet...

My concern now rests with the latest trend of people rating themselves on the strength of their coffee of choice. You know what I'm talking about. How many times have you heard someone comment on how strong their coffee is? All the time! (Though these people only whisper their comments quietly to their fellow sippers, and it goes no further than the table.)

Now, consider those people who actually complain to the wait staff about their coffee. Those special special people who should really just spare everyone the drama and inject their caffeine in the privacy of their own home. No coffee is too strong, too tough, nay, too packed with manly bitterness, for these kids. Milk is a soft option and sugar (cubes or otherwise) is for pussy-boys.

And so it goes that, because these junkies are so outspoken and such a hassle for cafe staff to deal with, I cop a super-concentrated cup of ruddy tar every time I order a skinny cap (weak with extra milk and sugar).

Well, I'm not whispering about how strong my coffee is any more! People! I'll give it to you straight! STOP MAKING REALLY REALLY RIDICULOUSLY STRONG COFFEE!!

And as for those jumped-up coffee Nazis out there who'd rather lose an eye than admit that their extra-caffeinated cuppa tastes like c**p, just take a second to put your fat head aside and think about the rest of us the next time you're about to go loco.

I will say no more than that. You know who you are.

Serendipity Baby

Woohooo! It's Saturday. Even though this particular Saturday also heralds state election day and blood test day in my books (double youch), the sun is shining, the birds are singing and it's a snappy damn day.

Partial credit for my enthusiasm today must go to a cute little spot Jesse and I hit for brekkie this morning - 'Serendipity' - tucked away in a wee corner of Kedron Brook Road. You could be forgiven for not noticing this quaint coffee bar. Between the big pizza joints, Coffee Club and assorted retail outlets, it sits quietly; biding its time until some unsuspecting customer stumbles upon one of its sunny spots and pulls up a pew. Which is precisely what happened to Jesse and I.

With an unpretentious breakfast menu which won't hurt the wallet, I was immediately hooked. Lovely genuine salt and pepper grinders adorned the little tables, together with white bowls filled with, (hurrah!), the now seemingly endangered sugar cubes.

After squandering sufficient time sunning ourselves and reading the papers, I couldn't help but wonder why more people don't frequent small privately operated cafes over the large chain brands cropping up everywhere. I mean, I appreciate that if you visit a chain store, you're probably going to find something you like and something consistent. But, to my mind, the consistency of such places is usually in the mediocre level of their service, quality and atmosphere.

So come on Brisbaninianses! Take a page out of Melbourne's book and, next weekend, instead of rushing to your local American styled coffee joint, seek out a hidden gem of charm and authenticity, and post a comment letting everyone else know just how good the little independent guys can be!

Please Explain

As a general rule, I hate awards shows. I hate the glitz. I detest the glamour. And I boo the less than witty banter of the hosts.

But when I stumbled upon this photo from the recent MTV video music awards, I began to wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, I was missing something.

The women squashed like so many shameless hussies into the bottom of the above picture constitute the all-singing all-dancing "Pussy Cat Dolls," who in this shot had just won an award for doing the best bump-n-grind in a music video this year.

Now ordinarily, I would be somewhat perturbed by this whole situation, and would launch into some aimless rant about music these days, and why is it such rubbish, and what do the 17 other Pussy Cat Dolls do anyway. But instead, I found myself drawn to the blinding message MTV was sending to the world. A single word. The word which, so I hear, has been voted funniest common English word for three years running. PANTS!

Odd. Because I'd put money on the bet that the Pussy Cat Dolls were not wearing pants. They did not talk about pants. They didn't even thank "pants" for making this award possible. In fact, I bet they only infrequently think of pants in any meaningful way, if at all.

Yet there it was. Pants. Deep.

Make Poverty History

This is what happens when you put a gummi bear in water.

"Oooooohhh..." I hear you gasp.

Well, oooohhh indeed. Not only is this latest wonder of science visually impressive, but it may just represent the next natural leap in making poverty history.

Just for a second, imagine the implications of this photo in the circumstance that you are lucky enough to scoff a couple of gummi bears over morning tea. Upon digestion, your naughty indulgence would become a snack. What then, about a handful of gummies? Why, that's lunch. And dream, just dream, of what could become if the Gummi factory were to air-drop tonnes of gummies over those struggling third world nations....

Goodbye poverty. Hello diabetes. Aaaaahhh...