Good luck to my tote bag!

Just the other day I was on my way to an interview with a recruiter.

I was standing at Gordon station when a very non-obliging bird decided to swoop down UNDER THE SHELTER mind you and drop faeces on me.

On my tote bag, that is.

I checked carefully and it didn't get my clothes, and the only bit of me it got was my hand (the hand that was placed on my tote bag).

Yelping, I made my way to the station toilets, swearing "shit shit shit". I felt that at least I should use appropriate language for the moment. Then I tried using the only available accessories (toilet paper, water and soap) to rid my bag of birdy-poo. Oh, and my hand, too.

I missed that train but caught the next and I decided not to regale the recruiter with this amusing story of birdy-droppings at the interview.

However, I have heard the old adage that if a bird chooses to drop its droppings on you, it's good luck! Is this meant to be an omen? Will I get a job with this recruiter? Or does it simply mean I will get no more bird plops?

Or does it mean that my TOTE BAG is to receive the good luck? Will it be a very lucky and fortunate tote bag, that has lots of happiness and longevity in its toting life?

I'm a little confused, but very optimistic!

What's a Mouse's Unlucky Number?

Recently, we've been having a bit of a Mousy problem at our house. It started with my sister spotting a mouse in the kitchen. My Mum is deathly afraid of anything she classes as pests (cockroaches, snakes, lizards, mice, me) and has been petrified ever since.

Dad invested in a small mousetrap which did bugger all until we decided to haul in the big guns, and invest in the bigger, the more expensive trap.

Then we caught Mouse #1. We've naturally been sealing everything in the pantry and we always wash every piece of crockery and cutlery thoroughly before we eat from it, in case micey paws have been scampering across it.

Soon later, though, someone said they saw Mouse #2, and my Dad set a trap, and again we caught the second mouse.

It wasn't till a while later someone thought they saw Mouse #3, and just the other night, we caught him. Fat bastard, too, I think we've been feeding him too well.

Mum has been growing more and more upset, but we assured her that should be the end of it, till we were eating dinner last night and my brother said, "Hey, I saw a mouse!"

No my brother is known for his practical jokes, but I turned to look anyhow and I saw a mouse too, making a dash for the pantry, cheeky thing! And just when we'd caught his mousy mate the day before!

So we're after Mouse #4 now, and my mother got all mad and wanted to buy some new pest control gadget but Dad wouldn't let her. It's called Pestrol but it claims to drive pests out from their hiding places. It doesn't say anything about killing them.

"What happens if we drive them out and they get driven into tyour bedroom, will you like that?" he asked. "At least we know they fall for the mousetrap!" ... even if it is slow!

Unfortuantely, the mousetrap is a slow way of killing them, and we can't figure out how they get inor whether they're breding or they are sitting around in a mousy colony somewhere laughing their heads off. I hope their heads are rolling off, it might work for us.

I asked my Dad what Number Mouse he thought would be the last, what his lucky number was. "Lucky Number 5" he said. I'm glad his lucky number wasn't 7, 198 289 or something.

Anyone got some better ideas of how to get rid of mice. I don't have anything against mice per se - just against mice in the kitchen (or indeed anywhere in the house).

Dad doesn't want to use poison in case it poisons the humans as well - they're in our pantry among food and food equipment.

Any other ideas, folk?

(By the way we are using mousetraps with cheese. It's a boring cliche but it seems mice fall for boring cliches just as much as we humans do.)

Equal Rights for Pet Owners

I read a little piece by Clover Moore that pointed out that many pets travel free on public transport in other states, however they don't in NSW. In fact they aren't allowed at all except Guide Dogs (who are often called Blind Dogs. Are Blind Dogs blind versions of Guide Dogs, I've often wondered?)

The piece did say Clover would fight to make pet owners equal citizens and look at pets travelling on public transport subject to certain conditions.

So what would 'em conditions be?

Personally I am looking on with bated breath because I am looking forward to escorting my own pet hippopotamus on the next CityRail carriage. I think my brother is thinking that the entire family could claim free transport as a sub-human pet-species.

Anyhow, again, I am looking forward to those conditions. Will they cart out the usual boring conditions?:

1. All cats and dogs must give up their seats for older cats and dogs
2. Please be respectful and mind your yapping, barking, meowing, tweeting etc into your mobile phones.
3. Please poop in the station litters provided

Or something a little more creative?

Some suggestions:

1. If feeling the need to chew at a bone during the trip, please make sure it is not attached to another (live) passenger's torso. Penalties apply. Fines scaled depending on whether gnawed passenger was travelling on a concession or full fare.
2. Parrots, mynas etc are requested not to annoyingly mimic and repeat other passengers' conversations, especially that of schoolchildren. We've heard it enough.
3. Please take any eggs you may lay on the trip with you. Lice are requested to respect the hair of other passengers.
4. Please do not walk along the train tracks, even if you have nine lives.
5. The term "bitch" will not always be used literally in public spaces.

Meeting my Spiritual Animal

I'm reading an essay now - Spiritual Animals, Guardians, Guides and Others Places by R.J. Stewart (published in Psychology & the Spiritual Traditions, edited & introduced by R.J. Stewart Element Books, 1990)

Anyhow, I'm reading a bit about how I may meet my spiritual animal guide.

In fact, according to Stewart I don't go out and find my animal guide so much as I let my animal guide find ME. This could be a little scary to me, because if I'm just wandering around letting an animal find me, just say it turns out to be something like a pugnacious bulldog or ferocious lion? Shouldn't I be on guard?

Stewart says (my interpretation and summary):

Start off with a period of stillness and awareness. You intend to enter into a visualisation where you will meet an animal
The animal will be your companion and will lead you to a journey of power
The animal guide will choose you

(of course there is more to it than this - moving through worlds, feeling certain powers, you receive a gift from your companion)

I haven't tried this experiment. I have felt some strong affinity for some animals but I could say this has a lot to do with social/cultural elements or just because they're cute! I'm a big fan of monotremes for instance. On the other hand, is this the whole point of animal guides, that they can be attached to your emotional and cultural responses and are not supposed to be divorced from them?

If I had a very nice echidna or platypus leading the way in my life ... well I could see that. On the other hand, I'm quite keen on turtles too. Gosh, can't one have an animal guide for every mood?

If we're man's best friend, why do you still call us bitches?

The heading is my answer to the question "What would dogs say if they could talk?", but I'm sure plenty of people out there have their own idea about that.

The question was spun out by HarperCollins, and winning answers won a Selby pack - mine got me a pack, but I really thought it wouldn't, because Selby is a children's series and I thought the bitches bit might exclude me. Seems not.

A Selby pack was a copy of Duncan Ball's Selby Santa, a dog plush toy and a Selby cap. It's childish, but then Selby's a favourite of mine. I got the first Selby book when I was a kid (even then it was a simple read for me) and the series is still going strong. And I must admit that I catch up on Selby's adventures every now and then when I'm in bookstores!

For those who haven't had the joy of Selby in your life, the premise is this:

Selby is a normal dog, who lives with his owners, Dr Trifle, a somewhat eccentric inventor/scientist, and his wife Mrs Trifle, Mayor of Bogusville. Then one day Selby realises he understands human language. He decides to teach himself to speak it. After acquiring language skills, he thinks it'll be a great idea to reveal his secret to his owners as a Christmas present.

He's just about to do it, when he overhears a conversation that makes him realise that if the Trifles (lovely people though they are) knew that he were an intelligent, conversant dog, he'd lose his laidback, leisurely life. He'd be running errands, answering phonecalls, and in general being a slave.

He's best off keeping his secret a secret and using it to his advantage when he can, but keeping his old life where he can laze about the house and be the adored and looked after pet with no responsibilities.

Of course, this isn't easy, because Selby's ability to understand language makes him a sensitive, feeling, understanding, intelligent dog with curiosity, ambition, worries ... and the ability to get himself into a lot of trouble, all the while trying not to give his secret away while trying to use his skills to his advantage when he can.

There must be something like 30 Selby books out there now.

I find Selby fun - maybe also because in the whole thing, he's incautious, and just a bit up-himself! Just as many kids like their books - the adults around him are kind of gormless, even if one's a scientist and one's the Mayor, and Selby the talking dog is far wittier than them - and knows it - and doesn't try to hide it.

In Selby's Secret, Selby kisses himself in the mirror, saying "Oh you perfect pooch! You're my kind of dog."

He's my kind of dog, too!

They Were Such Big-Spirited Reindeer, Weren't They?

I never quite related to the Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer song.

There's Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, see. And then there's Rudolph, see. The Classic odd one out. The school nerd. The one with the big fat red nose, the one who gets kicked around in the playground in the playground and teased by all his peers.

That part I get.

Then one day, according to the song, Santa comes along and says Rudolph is actually fantastic, and won't he be the Captain of the team and lead the other reindeer around by the nose, so to speak?

And the song says "Then all the reindeer loved him, and they shouted out with glee, 'Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, you'll go down in history!'"

That bit I don't get.

If the bullied school nerd goes one second from nerd to teacher's pet and gets to lead the popular kids around simply because teacher says so, do you reckon the popular kids would be loving him and jumping for joy?

I think not.

I think the popular kids would dump on him even more, and call him Mr-Suck-Up, and plot evil ways to do away with him. But no, the song goes, they loved him.

Such big-hearted reindeer.

Osama Got Run Over By a Reindeer

Inspired by TimT's post on Christmas Carols I thought I'd add a carol I'd heard on radio recently.

Usually I'm not big on carols that are Aussified versions of the original carol. Mostly they aren't that well sung, and not very witty.

On the other hand, this was a modern American version of a carol, and while it doesn't bring the "Joy to the World" that "Silent Night" or "Jingle Bells" does, the lyrics are worth a peek, I think.

(chorus)
Osama got run over by a reindeer
Walking out of his cave Christmas eve
You can say there's no such thing as Santa
But as for we in America, we believe

He'd been blowing up too many buildings
So we said he had to go
But he hid in his cave in Afghanistan
Defiant as he was, he said, "Hell, no!"
When we found him Christmas morning
It was clear he'd been attacked
There was a note stuck to his forehead
It said, "Either give up now or we'll go bomb Iraq!"

(repeat chorus)

Now we're all so proud of George Bush
He's been taking this so well
See him in the Oval Office
Knowing that Osama's really going to Hell
It's not Christmas with bin Laden
Nor for Saddam in Iraq
And we just can't help but wonder
Should we go bomb Baghdad in a sneak attack?
(Bomb Iraq!)

(repeat chorus)

Now the cards are on the table
See George W. dance a jig (Ah!)
And the red, white, and blue candles
(Gore thought that the election had been rigged!)
I warned all you stinkin' terrorists
Better watch out for yourselves!
They should not make hijacking weapons
Out of stuff that you would find upon the shelves!

(repeat chorus)

Sing it, George W.!

(repeat chorus)

Election '07: I like worms

Mr Rudd has just agreed to an election debate with Mr Howard, and there's going to be a worm. At first Mr Howard didn't want the worm, but Mr Rudd said, "Why punish the worm? Everyone likes the worm."

Hmm. Well, there's a song about going eating worms, but I know lots of people who don't like worms. They haven't been given a good wrap in the past. All this stuff about being slurmy and slimey and grubby and dirty. Like that was a bad thing. However I was just browsing through some pictures the other day and I thought about how unfair a generalisation that was. It's a bit like the one the Liberal Party is spruiking about union leaders - they're not all grubs. There are some, in fact quite a few, who look quite down and groovy to get with.

What we need to do is divest ourselves of some of the common worm myths we have in society. Not all worms are scary worms, like this:

Some, in fact, are very hardworking, congenial worms, who contribute a lot to Australian society and ought to be celebrated. The fact that they wear rather cool hats helps a lot:

Speaking of cool hats, a worm with this hat on has to have a keen sense of humour:

Some worms just keep smiling and keep the whole world smiling too!

And some just are trying very hard to assimilate into the Aussie way of life ...

Truly give them credit. There are some very cool worms out there. Vote 1 The Worm!

The Tale Of The Control-Freak Office Manager

I have just recovered from a weekend of irreverent slobbish lazying, DVD-watching and honey-macadamia nut gorging, and reluctantly crawl out to the real virtual world.

I am glad to report that I have indeed finished the 75 days of Law placement - hurrah! I walked back down Liverpool Street with my fellow law clerk on my last afternoon, having an emotional farewell every few steps, and then reminding myself I had a celebratory Japanese dinner awaiting me (early booking) so I couldn't keep doing this, so I dashed off after the 473rd hug and promise to keep in touch by mobile, SMS, email and to pop in at lunch times for no particular reason.

Some things, though I won't miss about work:

1. Waking up early by my alarm
2. Waking up again by my second alarm because I dozed off after my first
3. Running to catch the bus
4. Running to catch the bus in the rain
5. Chain smokers
6. No time to blog
7. This one pop song that I don't know the name of but I know the tune by heart and I know one line by heart. It must come on the radio at least four times a day, and every time it does, my office manager starts singing it out loud. Badly. And shrieks out one line piercingly. Help!
8. My office manager

Yes, my office manager is one of the chain smokers.

Perhaps my Office Manager can best be explained through a little, dare I say, moral story?

The Tale Of The Control-Freak Office Manager

Once upon a time there was an Office Manager who managed a little office where there were some animals working for her. They were not stupid animals, but she treated them as though they were stupid, and she gave them rather confusing orders, which made them look stupid.

At least to her.

One day an iguana came to work for the Office Manager.

"You must not answer the telephone, unless I am too busy to answer it," said the Office Manager.

The iguana ignored the telephone. "Why aren't you answering the telephone, I am busy!" screamed the Office Manager, getting rather red.

The iguana was rather confused, as the Office manager had been playing solitaire on the computer and having a smoke. But next time she answered the phone. "Put it down, I told you not to answer it!" shrieked the Office Manager.

Poor Iguana!

It was like this for the Pretty little Hen upstairs, and the horse, and even the Lion was cowered even though he was supposed to be king. The Office Manager shrieked and confused them all. A rabbit gave her resignation, and a giraffe proudly walked out the door - or would have looked very proud if he hadn't had to bend his neck a lot to get out.

Very soon it was just the Office Manager sitting there with her solitaire and her smokes.

Wondering what she - how she - did manage.

P.S. I rather liked to be an iguana, at least just once in my blogging life!
P.P.S. Yes, Mr Coffee and I did watch 'Miss Potter' as our celebratory end of Law Placement DVD. Recommended.

Other Uses For Stegosauruses

The giant inflatable stegosaurus has long not been recognised for its many practical uses. It's been highly underrated for millions of years. Not only is it a great kisser and is it good to watch telly with over a plate of vegetarian dip and crackers, but ...



a stegosaurus is a great companion at yoga ...







and is a great barricade between good and evil. If dangerous thieves plunder your house, a giant inflatable stegosaurus may prevent personal injury.

There should be more stegosauruses in the world. Support this fragile, and what seems to be a dying, breed.

Who Would You Pash?

Whom from history would you meet and pash if you could choose?

I'd choose a stegosaurus.

No competition.

I'm A Poor Employed Bum

I'm overjoyed to report to readers that not only has blogging resumed, but I'm now a productive member of society. I've joined the workforce. All that plodding to crazy interviews finally paid off, and I've found a job.

At the interview, the lady said, "Of course, we don't pay for this sort of thing, though we do give you a bus ticket ... and the dog seems to like you ..." and I was in. Yes sirree. Getting along with pooches is a plus in life.

I'm not getting paid, but I'm excited. I've finally found someone willing to take full advantage of me, 5 days a week. I've been rushing about telling people about my climb up the scial ladder. Recently, Myer even considered that I'd be a safe bet on a credit card, even though I don't own a house, a car, have an income or have any other credit cards. I'm a woman of status.

So, what is my job like? Hmmm, well, my first day. The computer broke down, so the challenge for the week has been how to remain busy and to do intelligent seeming-stuff without a computer. In the 21st century. So, how to glam up a job that is largely filing papers and tying string around manila folders and photocopying?

"Paperwork consultant" "File Processor" "Administrations Manager" ...

The real pain so far in the job has been the lack of the computer - I haven't been able to blog in between work sessions (or vice versa). The withdrawal symptoms haven't been good for me. I've had a hungry, crazy look in my eyes lately and I've been tripping over that dog a few more times than usual (it's a tiny quiet little pooch - I disclaim responsibility) and I'm growling ...

Have A Porker of A Chinese New Year!

Out with the Dog, and in with the Pig! Happy Chinese New Year to everyone, and may you all have a very piggy New Year.

By the way, that's all meant to mean good stuff.

We, in the West, unfortunately have some negative assumptions about Chinese symbols. For instance, a recent very scientific poll (I asked some friends plus a few people on my bus) led me to believe that the Snake, Rat and Pig weren't considered as fun and cute and therefore as desirable as say, a Dog. And Dragons weren't cute but fire-breathing properties were highly sought after - I think it's these Northern Europeans in cold climates and their household fireplaces.

On the other hand, people recoil from pigs.

I think George Orwell has a lot to answer for.

Let us focus on some great aspects about pigs.

For one thing, pigs are often depicted as pink. They are not always pink, but they often are. Some are white or brown or white with black spots. In fact, these are actually quite pleasant designs. If I saw pig designer fabrics, they'd probably look pretty neat.

Pigs are often plump, but I haven't heard of a pig with an image problem. We have a lot to learn from pigs. In an age of young girls craving to look like anorexic models, the plump but content pig stereotype is something to marvel at.

Hmmm, piggy banks.

Pig's tails. If you have ever had the pleasure of seeing an excitable pig dance and jump about, its tail curls and wags rather becomingly.

Pigs find truffles.

Bacon actually tastes good.

Ponder the benefits of a pig-filled world, and then cheer in the piggy New Year!

Red Faces

I never wanted to be boiled alive.

When it came to deaths, I didn't think of it as a pleasant way to go.

That's why I've never envied lobsters (among some other reasons, such as them not having the most amiable expressions I've come across, and their pincers being a bit cumbersome looking).

When the old psychological (or often comedy) test gets wheeled out "Which animal would you like to be if you couldn't be a human?" I've given a variety of answers, but never "lobster". Snake, hippopotamus, giraffe, platypus, kangaroo, aardvark, moose, pterodactyl, butterfly, turtle, komodo dragon - but never lobster.

Unfortunately, recently I discovered the lack of joy inherent in being a lobster.

Yes, foolishly, I went a-wandering recently without full protection from the sun's rays (I knew there was something to global warming!) and came home looking like I'd been swimming in red paint, instead of frolicking innocently and briefly in a park.

'Tis a strange things the sun's rays can be at once so beautiful and yet so insidious. I did not even think of the possibility I had become fried like pork crackling. In fact, when my friend mntioned I looked a little red (an understatement if there ever was any, I later found) my immediate reaction was to wonder if I'd eaten anything that day that I might have had an allergic reaction to.

"I wonder if I've become allergic to chocolate?"

Well, I suppose at least that tragedy at least has been averted, because I'm not sure if life would have been worth living for a chocoholic such as myself.

Instead, I've become some sort of freak fairground attraction, with people stopping to say to me "Darn, what happened to you?" Or, "Looks like you got caught out in the sun! HAHAHAHA!"

It's interesting that people feel at liberty to comment on your abnormal ugly skin in this manner. If I were abnormally obese, I imagine some sort of social protocol would prevent people from walking up to me and giggling, or saying, "Wow, you look fat!" or saying, "Hey, Looks like you got stuck into the chocolates, turkey and pudding at Christmas - HAHAHAHA!"

At any rate, now I empathise with lobsters.

While this strengthens my resolve never to wish to be a lobster again, I will look upon them with more kindness from now on.

Children, this is a moral lesson for you. Bring the sunscreen. And dancing rays of sunlight are often cruel. The most beautiful creatures in the world are those you cannot trust.

You shall have no problem trusting me. Especially now, with this sunburnt skin.

The Story Of An Organic Turkey

This Christmas I will be eating an organic turkey. This is a new experience for me. I usually have the regular turkey, the plain turkey. I wonder whether it will be an emotionally uplifting experience.

We didn't buy an organic turkey for altruistic reasons, mainly there weren't any other turkeys left that didn't weigh the size of a small vehicle and since we had to transport the turkey home in a small vehicle, this did make them a tad inconvenient.

So we went for Mr Organic Turkey.

He's sitting in the freezer ready to be trussed up. Hello. Every so often, I go and have a peek.

"Hello, Mr Organic Turkey. How do you feel in there?"

"It's OK, I guess. I'm getting used to the cold, even in summer. I wish global warming would have hurried up."

"I'm afraid you mightn't see that, you see, we're planning on eating you in a couple of days. But we'll be sticking you in a warm oven before we do."

"How considerate of you."

"Being organic hasn't stopped you being sarcastic, has it?"

"I had to go for years without antibiotics to deal with anything, lady. Do you know how that feels? I've got a right to feel just a little peeved right now."

"Hmmm ... I thought organic food was supposed to be better and happier and more natural. I thought you'd be one pleasant pheasant, you know?"

"When you know you're going to end up tied up on a plate and you don't get a little something to calm your nerves, what do you think? I'm not that kinky! When you see those other turkeys who get the growth hormones looking plump and proud and you're the runty looking one, how would that make you feel ...? Do you know what I go through? Can you feel?"

"Oh dear."

"Do you know what it feels like to be passed over by more than 90% of consumers because you're a bit too expensive and runty and a bit funny looking where the beautiful airbrush-looking, straight out of Vogue Turkey types get plucked off the shelves before you can say "Jingle Bells"? Do you know what it feels like to hear shoppers ask for a 'normal, not organic' turkey? Do you know what that feels like? Do you? It makes you feel like a pariah! An outcast!" *wild strangled cries*

"Uh .... mmmm. There there. If it's anything to you, you look beautiful to me. Good enough to eat. Really."

"Thanks." *still sobs* "I guess it's just a phase. Self-esteem. Image problem. You know."

"Don't worry, you'll be over it soon!" *thinks: damn!*

"Being organic isn't so bad," said my turkey through his tears. "It's just like everyone else, we need to feel loved and appreciated too."