I'll just have the platelets, hold the blood ...

Has anyone ever been inspired by one of these posters (found outside the Red Cross, in Sydney's Clarence Street), to burst into the donation centre, and say,


"Hi, I'd like to donate a large number of platelets, you can take a moderate amount of plasma, but no blood. Cool with you?"?

Frostbitten Mittens

I have recently taken to singing Christmas songs, and it's driving Mr Coffee crazy, not just because I can't hold a note to save my life, but because I'm really early or really late for Christmas, depending on whether you're a cup half-full-or-half-empty type of person.

But it's not my fault, it's because of all those mulchy Christmas symbols with snowmen wearing Christmas caps and houses covered in white. My hands are getting frostbitten, and I'm beginning to think it's a whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite Christmas. I'm also wondering at how I'm actually going to get to the end of this post. Every so often I have to sit on my hands and hope this warms my hands up just so I can type a few more letters, otherwise there would be no more post.

I don't know how the Eskimos can stand it. They say they had 42 words for snow or something, but what's the use of them if your fingers are so frozen you can't write any of them down?

Little Zeno

I just received something that's just like an ipod, only it's cheaper, and smaller. The cheaper makes it a great deal more lovable in my eyes, and I've been jumping about with glee for the past few days. Oh, happy bargain electrical goods! There is never a better day when you can spend a whole lot of money knowing you've given a large corporation more money to do so! I've been ecstatic ever since.

My little object of affection is called a Zen Neeon, or Little Zeno as I call it, partly because I think it sounds cute, but mostly because I'm suffering temporary dyslexia, or somefing.

I'm welcoming my little Zen. It gives me piece of mind.

Happy Birthday Lexicon Harlot!!!!

On this day, long ago - or at least, err hum, some time ago, Lexicon Harlot was born, and the world was not the same ever again. Turmoil. Chaos. Political Protests. Puns. Dog Photo Galleries. Turquoise scarves. Mushroom growing kits. Which is why there is much celebration going on this end of town. I'm in Sydney right now, and Ms Harlot's in Melbourne.

This is time to reflect on Ms Harlot's eminent earlier years. I met her when she was much younger and shorter and actually ate chunky beef bits that weren't made of vegetable, they were made of meat. I also knew her when she had a whole lot more hair.

I remember birthday numero twenty five when a drastic haircut was her celebrarion and she went from long-haired maiden to cropped, and I told her she looked like Young Einstein.

That was rather cruel, but it was even crueller when she soundly beat me at Scrabble that day so I guess we're even.

Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday

Congraduations To Me!

For those who've been wondering where I've been - the one of you (um, mainly me) - I've been basking in the glory of my post-graduation phase. That's right, I've joined the ranks of those who can officially say that they've paid a stupendous amount of money on top of their Uni course and compulsory union fees to have an hour or so poncing about in a black tent and a flat topped hat to celebrate their liberty from librariness and their relief that they've now got to go out into the workforce and contribute most of that to HECS fees for the next few years to justify their existence.

Yippeee for me, I say!

I was told by so many how proud I looked, as I left the stage clutching my testamur. Mostly it was because I had managed not to fall flat on my face wearing those new heels I'd bought for the occasion.

Mr Coffee bought me some purple roses - my fave colour - for the event, to prove that I have a significant audience on my blog, reading my biography. One is a very significant number in quite a few cultures.

Mum got her share in the flowers too - a fair smack - literally. Ready - aim - strike - see photo. After all, my graduation was just before Mother's Day so I had to take advantage of the time before the day where I was obliged to be perfectly nice to her. A lesson I learnt in University is that you should never miss an opportunity. Actually I learnt that in kindy when I really wanted a great book on witches and this girl with a long plait left it alone for a minute while she was fiddling with her hair, but that's another story.

There is a lovely photo of my father and I. He is grimacing - or smiling with his mouth shut, because he's gappy. I tried to sing him the gappy song, but after several verses, I feared for my life. It's a pity because there are so many advantages to being gappy - he can do a great whistle now that he couldn't do before. I'd show the photo but I've been "requested" not to. Usually little Maria here would rebel, but since Dad has developed the gap-toothed temper to go with the tooth, I'll humour him.

Now it looks like I have no excuse to sit around as an unemployed bum, or student, as the polite term may be. Perhaps I'll take up another degree.

Your Choice In The Skinny Dip

Here's a letter I read in that bastion of unsensationalism, The Daily Telegraph :

Seeing pictures of thin young models makes me wonder why designers would want such people to model their clothes.

I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but does anyone find beauty in skinny models? It may be natural, as they claim, but to me, models such as Jennifer Hawkins or Elle MacPherson are more attractive and would show off the designs to the best advantage.

It is probably unrealistic for most women to have such beautiful bodies as those of Jennifer and Elle, but does anyone want to look like the thin models?

Bev Martin, Mona Vale - Tuesday, May 8, 2007, p18


Does anyone want to look like the thin models? Um, try asking any of the people diagnosed with anorexia nervosa or bulimia.

Truly, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Recently, comments such as "Megan Gale looks like a horse" "Angelina Jolie - doesn't do it for me" - "Jennifer Hawkins - pretty ordinary" - "I can't stand big breasts" "I'm a boob man" "Redheads!" and so forth, I've read and heard all over the place. There's a company that wanted all "ordinary bodied-woman" - plumper, round-figured women to model.

Why would a designer put clothes on a skinny model?

Honey, if it works for their clothes business. That's why.

Sonata To A Gappy Man; Or, When You're Gappy And You Know It

Recently my Dad had a tooth removed. This has given him a whole new perspective on life, or, has given others a whole new perspective into his mouth. He's kept tight-lipped, literally, on the topic, but it's a life-changing time for him. Mum's softening him and his meals up, but apart from chew really savagely on a large bone with the right front side of his mouth, there isn't a lot he can't do. When you've lost a tooth, you can still do many things - wiggle your hips, say hurrah, stomp your feet, save the environment and I'm sure you could run for PM too. And there's no reason why you shouldn't put passion into it, and broadcast your new life's purpose - or recycled old life's purpose - with music.

Despite Lexicon Harlot's endearing comment, "Music is not Maria's pianoforte", I hope you'll bear with my joyous little ditty writen in celebration of my Dad's missing tooth. You never know, it may become the anthem for the Paralympics one day, and you'll be able to say you sang it here first. Sing along!

Generic Gappy Happy Opening Verse
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
When you're gappy and you know it and you really want to show it,
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!

Next verse for the Environmentally Aware Gappies, who can do anything
When you're gappy and you know it plant a tree!
When you're gappy and you want to grow it, plant another three,
When you go to the loo, don't flush unless you've done a poo,
When you're gappy and you want to slow it (really slow it) take public transport too!

Next verse for the shopaholic gappies
When you're gappy and you know it, max out your credit card!
When you've got someone else's do it double, c'mon it's not that hard!
Dentures these days cost so much, it's not as if going into debt is difficult as such,
When you're gappy your credit card is your crutch!

Put your gap to use, gappies!
When you're gappy and you know it you can whistle a darn good tune,
When you're gappy and you use it that gap's a boon,
When you make it work to a tee, you'll be whistling do-re-mi delicately,
When you're gappy and disciplined that day'll be soon.

For the sadists out there
When you're gappy and you know it you can make people cry,
When you're gappy and you're sadistic you can curl your lip and look them in the eye,
People get distraught and their faces they all contort,
When you're gappy and you practised you could make them die.

Gappies - the world is your oyster! Be prepared for many more verses ...

Stupid Question, Stranger...

Why is it with spam email, it's always someone with a stupid name like "PINKYBOO" or SPOTTYUMBRELLAQUEEN" from an email address you've never heard on who sends you a forwarded group email telling you something along the lines of:

WARNING! This is REALLY IMPORTANT! If you receive an email from [UNKNOWN EMAIL NAME, USUALLY A STUPID SOUNDING ONE] at [UNKNOWN EMAIL ADDRESS] then delete it at once! It is a hacker! They will have access to your address book, IP address, all your details, everything, and they will be able to send out harmful viruses to everyone! This is VERY IMPORTANT for the security of your computer! Forward this email on to everyone in your address book so they don't get caught out either!

???

On A Serious Note ... ANZACs, Turks, and Japanese

On the day after ANZAC Day, I watched Andrew Denton's ANZAC Day special, in snippets. He'd been to Gallipoli; his father had written a book on the Boer war and he had taken a significant role in ANZAC ceremonies and made a documentary on it.

In the documentary, he said his response was not sadness but anger at the waste of lives. But what was more poignant to me was when he asked one man whether he was aware of the difference between respecting the flag and having national pride, and the dangers of wrapping oneself in the flag and being driven by nationalism.

The man recounted a story about listening to a young man from the Allied Forces, having been told that the Turks suffered so many more tragic deaths than the ANZACS, said proudly, "Yeah, we really kicked their butts, didn't we?" The man said this was a rather dangerous attitude, and pointed out that these people, too, were people with real lives who had suffered as well.

Too right.

When it comes to ANZAC Day, I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. One of the reasons I am not too eager to get involved in much of the marching hype is because I'm not too sure about how what it is meant to represent. There has been some confusion about whether it is more meant to represent the futility of war or the glorification of the military. For instance, the marching of conscientious objectors has been prevented, which puts forth the notion that it is more about the honour and glorification of the military.

While I acknowledge that people in the military suffered terribly, this does not mean I really feel that they were the only ones who did suffer - nor that we should see them as the foundation stone of Australian history.

But even more importantly were the mixed feelings about nationalism I have about it. The comment about the "nationalism" that the man on the documentary made brought back some memories.

When whaling began as a hot topic in the news, I read a few letters to the Editor saying that it was just typical of the Japanese to whale, and what could you expect since they'd tortured Australian Prisoners of War. I also read a few letters suggesting that Australia not give any aid to Japan should there be a natural disaster (such as a hurricane or tsunami) and no Japanese person was deserving of Australian help, considering the way "they'd" treated Australian Prisoners of War.

Will people never get over a wartime grudge? When I even called it a grudge, (and I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking it sounds like some petty playground grudge) some people got mad as hell at me and told me to "read my history books, march on ANZAC Day and be proud". Proud of what? That I can hate someone a bit more?

Yes, people did some awful things in war - it's pretty disgusting. Every side does some pretty awful things in war. You look back at the deaths and destruction and it's an indictment on both sides - humanitarian-wise.

(Note: When you say "well, plenty of innocent people in Japan died horribly from atomic bombs dropped by the Allies" there's always a large number of people who will jump up and tell you that these were necessary to be dropped to end the war and gain peace, and therefore somehow 'more humane', whereas torturing PoWs was unnecessary and therefore brutal.

Note to those people: Dropping atomic bombs was not more necessary in itself, it just happened to work. The Allies' technique happened to work and the Japanese technique did not, but there was no agreement "If I bomb you, you will surrender, but if I torture your Prisoners of War, you won't". Both sides simply heaped on brutalities - upon people with real lives - with both sides suffering terribly, and waited for one side to give in.)

Mandarins, Oranges And Chocolates

Some people believe that, simply because of the name of this blog, I am solely an orange juice drinker and an orange eater. This is a misguided belief. Never judge a book by its cover, or a blog by its URL.

It's utterly ridiculous, because even though I'm passionate about oranges, they could not be my sole source of enrichment. Like every human being, I need variety. It's vital to my soul, vital to my knowledge, my imagination, my existence on Earth, my happiness, and especially vital to regular bowel movements.

Lately, mandarins have been going into my system just as often as oranges. Orange Juice Snob turned Mandy Muncher. My verdict on mandarins right now is they are good. Very gooooood.

As an employed person right now (gosh I love saying that) I find the mandy extremely great for portability - no messing around with a knife, not much juice squirting, just a simple peel and eat. Mandy's are to oranges what individually wrapped Kraft Singles were to block cheese - without the funny plasticky processed taste.

I give the mandarin a Special Gold Star Award for Innovation and Practical Creativity By A Fruit - coming up with a delicious citrussy flavour that is similar to an orange, but managing the individually wrapped slices inside an even larger, portable, and aesthetically pleasing, easy to carry, easy to unwrap, orange peel. Well done!

Next, the hot chocolate.

Caught today in the pouring rain, I ducked into a busy cafeteria, cold, where many were having coffee or tea. Why is it that there is such an array of coffees and teas, but only one way to do an orange juice?
Cold as it was, I pleaded for a hot beverage, and was served up a hot chocolate, complete with little chocolate sprinkles in frothy milk and a marshmallow on the side.

Now - that felt good! Sweet, satisfyingly warm, right to the bottom of my stomach!

I give the Fill 'Er Up, Baby Award to the hot chocolate, for most adequately substituting an orange juice in cooler weather.

And now for the thank you speeches ...

I call it mousse

I described my bloglessness at work previously as something like an elusive chocolate mousse.

I am proud to say that while I haven't exactly managed to recover blogging at work of late, I have managed to make meself a rather fine choc mousse. And oh, what a fine choc mousse that was! And oh, what an accomplishment for a gal whose previous kitchen accomplishments include washing lettuce with soap, and burning omelettes.

YAY for me.

I studied the choc mousse recipe carefully before beginning. Melt chocolate, it said, over a very high heat saucepan, over boiling water. I chose a chocolate block and popped it in the saucepan.

And waited.

And waited.

Here is a question for Chocolate Trivia Buffs.

Why is it, when a chocolate, whether it be Flake, or Mars Bar, dark or white, or a little shell chocolate, even on a cool day, if you wish to take it out with you to munch on at a picnic or at work and are looking forward to it, will turn to a gooey uneatable mess within the space of usually under half an hour (and usually have seeped out to ruin that lovely expensive novel you were reading, and that unreturnable silk shirt you just bought) ...

Yet when you wish to melt a chocolate bar and stick it on high heat over a stove for an hour, the darn thing stays as solid as a brick?

"Soften up! Soften up!" I cried.

I really ought to have taken the bar to work with me and gazed at it for 15 minutes greedily, and popped in a Booker winning novel and a silk shirt to hurry up the melting process.

Next step "two eggs, separated".

This seems to be a farcical instruction. Two eggs already ARE separated. That is why they are two and not one. They have different shells.

I managed to whisk up the eggs without too much drama and throw in some cream, and what resulted was very chocolatey ... stuff.

I'll call it mousse. Chocolatey is good, anyhow. I have broken down the barrier between chocolate mousse and myself. It's been a long, and delicious battle.

I still don't blog at work though. One more barrier to go.

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.

Bludging Without Blogging

Work or "work" has been an eye-opener for me in the last two weeks.

It's not, at the moment, that taxing - I've mastered the art of putting papers in alphabetical order which is a big part of the job here (handling paperclips is also a major art, as is kicking the photocopier, and I must give myself an A+ in all departments). So I've got plenty of time to myself.

Just ... no ... blogging ...!

What are lunch hours, spare moments at work for, if not for the joy of roaming the web and leaving half-witted spew on other people's rants and quarter-formed-thought-spaces? What are they for but to post drivel that you regret later, when similarly-minded individuals point out your inconsistencies and stupidities and mock you also? It's pain, I tell you.

I have a computer sitting right on my desk; unfortunately, the darn thing does not switch on. It's a mockery. It sits there to haunt me; to remind me that blogs exist but I can't reach them. I feel as though it's a very tempting chocolate mousse, but each time I reach out to grab hold of it, it darts away, just a centimetre away from me, and I am spending my time all day at work, jumping across the table, my arms flailing, as this chocolate mousse races away from my grasp, but I can never grab hold of it and stuff my face, because it's out of my reach, it's just not quite there, it's ... yep, it's been a slow chocolate week too.

I've been trying to comfort myself with doing the sudoku and the crossword, and reading the mindless entertainment and fashion/celebrity parts of the newspaper (hoping it will numb my braincells to the point of insensitivity to pain). It's not working.

Oh, for internet connection at work! How did people do without it? I guess they just ... worked?

What a horrible idea. No wonder people got addicted to cigarettes.

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 ...