Friday, August 15, 2003

I just realized how very Michael Jackson it is to want to name children after inanimate objects (Blanket! I mean really!)
I’m hoping this isn’t indicative of the path in store for my young nephew. I’d better keep an eye out for any funky dance moves…


Thursday, August 14, 2003

I’m all excited today, because tomorrow I am going to be an aunty (again) with the birth of my second nephew. At least they say it is a nephew, it would all be a bit surprising if it turns out to be a girl. After complications with her first pregnancy, my sister in law has had to schedule a caesarian, which kind of takes away the “surprise” factor, but at the same time makes the whole thing easy to plan (one thing you can control in childbirth!).

My first nephew is three and a half, and I’m not really sure that he quite understands what is about to happen. He is a quite an outgoing and opinionated three year old, so he may get a little touchy about someone stealing his thunder. But what is most interesting is his opinion on what to call the new baby. The general conversation goes something like this:

Me: What will we call your new baby brother?

Him: Bum Bum (laughs uproariously)

Me: That’s not a very nice name; maybe you could think of another?

Him: (Looks around the room for the first inanimate object he can spot) What about toaster?

Me: Hmmm, would you like to be called toaster?

Him: Ok – um – vacuum cleaner?

Me: That’s a bit of a mouthful!

Him: I know! What about Buzz Light-year?

It all usually degenerates about here and any ridiculous name he can think of comes up.
Unfortunately for poor un-named baby, the family has adopted Bum Bum as a temporary nick name, which will no doubt stick until the poor child is twenty or so. Don’t you just love older brothers? Already causing problems and embarrassment before you have even exited the womb!


Tuesday, August 12, 2003

For the past couple of years, I have had a subscription to the Melbourne Theatre Company.

On the whole this has been a fabulous experience, and I highly recommend it to anyone even slightly interested in theatre. I wouldn’t call myself an avid fan, but I enjoy a good show, and the subscription means that you see shows you wouldn’t normally choose to see. I haven’t loved every show, but they have all had something to offer, and some have been just brilliant.

So last week I went to the latest show, a play called “Metamorphoses”. This is basically a telling of many of the classic Greek Myths (based on Ovid’s interpretations), made more interesting by setting the show in a pool of water. The theatre had a purpose built pool, maybe 8m square, which would be around 10cm deep at the shallow end, and then 60cm or so deep at the deep end. Thankfully we were not sitting in the first few rows, because there was quite a bit of splashing, although these audience members were thoughtfully provided with towels.

My ridiculous problem with these plays is that most of the actors are recognisable from one of a variety of Australian television shows. As a helpless sucker for bad television, I spent most of the play thinking
“Ah-ha! That’s the ugly guy from Secret Life of Us who Gabrielle had an affair withs’ wife!"
Or “that’s the lass from Blue Heelers who slept with Ben and is Inspector Falcon Price’s wife!”
Or “ He’s the guy that Richie had raunchy sex with in a toilet block in Secret Life!” Or “that’s the guy from that ad for beer!”
and then also the annoying one “I know them from somewhere but I cant think where….”

So all is going along swimmingly (Ha! Get it? Water, swimming! – Ok, sorry) until one scene, where an actor plays the part of Eros (I think that’s who he was – I fully confess to knowing nothing about Greek mythology). He enters the stage and is wearing only angel wings and a blindfold, and he then wades through the water to a raft floating in the middle. He then gets on to the raft and curls up into a little ball. As he was doing this curl, all I could think about was the poor people at the other side of the theatre that would have had a view right up his unmentionable as he bent over. Hmmm.

But regardless of that, it was a great show, and the water was used to great effect. My advice is don’t sit in the front or on the side closest to the door, unless you want to have your hair washed or an extra special view!


Friday, August 08, 2003

My little Sis (lets call her Sparkly C) is home this weekend, (she is currently living in Auckland NZ) so in honour of her visit I thought I’d share a couple of stories of silly things from her past. It’s always fun to laugh at others. Sparkly C is one of those people that say the first thing that comes into their head, rather than thinking them through first. This is an endearing quality, and has given her family much hilarity over the years.

When Mr. R and I bought our house, I was explaining to Sparkly C about the house, how many bedrooms etc. The conversation went kind of like this:

Sam: And so there is a garage, and also a little garden shed.

Sparkly C: Cool

Sam: Except the garden shed isn’t much use to store things in because there is no door.

Sparkly C: No door? Well how do you get in then?

Of course, I meant that there was a doorway, just no door to close…..

And another gem was when we were watching the news one night.

News Man: And now to Hobart, where the annual Twelve metre yacht race was launched today.

Sparkly C: Twelve meters? That’s not a very long race!

Ah – kills me every time. So welcome home Sparkly C, for a weekend of us having fun at your expense!!


Thursday, August 07, 2003

In case anyone was wondering – I didn’t win. Bastards.

Tuesday, August 05, 2003

Spelling mistakes.

Don’t you just hate them? I am guilty of many myself, I can be a little dyslexic at times, when I type something completely different to what I actually see in me (see? That should have been my!) head. And I forget to use spell check – it usually drives me mad when it is set to the US spell version and keeps trying to change all of my “se” words to “ze” – like analyse. I’m sure that if I re-read some of these entries there will be plenty of mistakes.

However, if I am reading something and there is a spelling mistake, I go crazy and rant about kids these days and how computers have ruined the ability of people to spell correctly ever again. The old do what I say and not what I do. Last week I sent an email to a senior manager with the word “lastest” in it. I meant “latest” of course, but it just didn’t come out right. I am now deciding whether to send him an email to apologise (the spell check will try and change that one to apologize), or hope he auto-corrected in his head as he read it, so didn’t even notice.

But a few weeks ago, when channel surfing on a cold Sunday arvo, my confidence in the future spellers of society was restored when I happened across the Australian National Spelling Championships on TV.

It was your basic knockout competition, and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The participants were young (Primary School or early High School) and each had a personal coach (usually Mum or Dad) pepping them up between rounds. As the rounds progressed, the words got harder (I tell you that I would have been knocked out after 5 minutes) and more and more were eliminated. It had all the ingredients that make great television – tension, drama, bad haircuts and gushing tears when words were missed. I was barracking for the 11yr old girl, up against the 14yr old boy who had only learnt English two years ago. Incidentally, his coach was his grandfather (I think) who didn’t speak any English, so I’m not sure what he was saying to help him out between rounds, maybe reminding him in Chinese of the bizarre spelling rules (Ha! Rules!) around English words.

The rounds went on and on and in the end, the girl missed a word and the boy was victorious. It was great, I was jumping around the lounge room cheering for the future of Australian literacy and spelling. Must make sure to keep an eye out for next years’ event – and concentrate on getting it right myself…


Friday, August 01, 2003

Renovating woes

I think I mentioned down there somewhere at the start of this blog, that we were renovating our house. Looking at the dates, that was in May, and here we are in August and we are still going.

I’m kind of getting used to the thick layer of dirt and mud that greets me when I open the front door every evening. And the empty coke bottles littering the yard. The constant background noise of hammering and sawing and drilling has gotten tot the point where I don’t really even hear it anymore, just like living next to a train line.

But there is one thing that I cannot get used to. And that is the builders using our toilet. Mr R thinks that I am mad – he couldn’t care who uses the toilet – but when you get home at night and there is a newspaper next to the toilet that isn’t yours, the idea of someone else sitting there makes me feel a little ill. It doesn’t help that the only toilet we have at the moment is in our half renovated ensuite, that has no door and sort of open walls, so its kind of like someone sitting in the middle of my bedroom perusing the sports section whilst, well I don’t really want to get too graphic!

So I’m hoping that it will all be over soon. Or that we can escape to the US when I win my trip.


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