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Jun. 2nd, 2009 @ 03:29 pm
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How did I ever watch any commercial breakfast tv?
ABC2. News Breakfast. Tell it like it is. News while you Breakfast. Gold.
Two gorgeous nerdy hosts. Special nerdy guests. Nothing but news, news and more news. And some weather, then more news.
No tarting up the news for them. The other day I saw them doing the "front page stories" segment, and Darwin's paper had a croc on the front page (a weekly occurrence I've learned.) The headline was something like "Croc Stalks Nude Beach!" The host smiled and said:
"Which lends itself to any number of obvious puns, none of which you'll be hearing from us."
I loved it! They know they could be funny, but they know they're not going to be.... the jokes are for us to make, the news is for them to give.
ABC News Breakfast! Get some into ya! |
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Teachers: Failure to Fail
http://blogs.news.com.au/couriermail/education/index.php/couriermail/comments/viewpoint_teachers_failure_to_fail/
Isn't it funny how nursing has written stacks on how when they "fail to fail" their students they do the community at large a disservice....but education doesn't seem to want to discuss it at all. |
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The beach is covered in dogs.
Today I saw two couples with four small white dogs between them.
As the passed each other on the beach the dogs became entwined,
A ball of fluff and cute and sharp teeth.
It was confusing to watch.
They chased each others tails mistaking them for their own.
They were close to identical.
Four small white dogs.
Four people.
On the beach.
The husbands ran around trying to separate their white dogs from the other white dogs
Which was no easy feat.
The wives watched on, no doubt wondering whose dogs they'd go home with.
Unless they were focusing on their husbands, lest they should become mixed up.
Eventually the wives walked away, in opposite directions down the beach.
The husbands followed.
The dogs followed too.
I assume it was the right husbands,
and the right small white dogs. |
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So today I woke up and said to myself "What on earth are you going to do to fill in the time today?" I then, in a slightly different voice, replied "I know, why don't you scan your portfolio of precious certificates. That way they'll be digitally safe even in the event of fire or flood."
So I scanned. And I scanned. And I scanned. Then I realised something was missing. I used to have two separate degrees, all the better to jam under wonky chairs. And for some reason I couldn't locate my B.Ed. It wasn't in my portfolio, which made sense, because I got my teaching job before I graduated - they didn't care for bits of paper. It wasn't in my teaching folio either.
It wasn't in the many big yellow envelopes in the storage boxes under my bed, although I did find my prac teaching reports, 101 assignments from all disciplines and a longwinded poem about Idalia, with the Terror Cow interjections. I also found my vintage Fight Club postcards and scanned them for fun.
I found my "copies of crap I keep at school" folder, full of bureaucratical nightmares to and from HR, and it did have a photocopy of my B.Ed, so then I knew I did actually end up getting one. But not the real one. And it wasn't in the folder with 101 weird certificates I got before I turned 14. I could clearly see it in my head, being inside a plastic sleeve. I also had visions of the big yellow envelope too.
I looked in the crate of crap ontop of my wardrobe. Coloured pencils, playdough, pink fluffy star antenna headband, crayons, another folder of 10 depressive poems from 2002, but no B.Ed.
Where oh where oh where could it be? I scanned a few more random things. Bibs, bobs, that sort of thing. I looked in three other storage boxes under my bed, but they were just full of cool books I'd forgotten I even owned. I nearly gave up. I nearly even called UQ to ask for a new one - I don't know why I would have done this, as nobody has ever asked to see the damn thing. I was so unimpressed by it I never even shook for it or properly attended the ceremony. I think I had it posted to me, whence such strong visions of yellow envelopes.
Finally, after what felt like a prolonged and somewhat pointless search, I decided to look in a hidden greenbag perched beside the notorious crate full of crap.
And there it was.
In a big yellow envelope, in a plastic sleeve. The only thing remotely exciting was that I'd forgotten that the Academic Transcript was printed on A4 fifty dollar note paper. Not even close to HECS value. Then came the other things in the same envelope..... the infinitely cooler things.
Next was my S1 rating letter. EQ has since done away with S-ratings, so in some ways its historical. They've apparently also done away with telling teachers what their rating is. Great? Crapolla? You'll never know! Then, as I scrutinised the letter about how I was once a great teacher, I couldn't help but see the date.
666
Thats right. 06/06/06.
While I was seeing The Omen (with dobermans instead of rottweilers) I was being issued an omen.
So I pondered on the poignancy of this for a while, and the fact that I'd been completely unaware where my stupid degree had been. I wondered just how symbolic all of this could be. Then I found the third and final thing living in that big yellow envelope.
The SNAKES ON A PLANE flight safety instruction card!
I vaguely remember putting it in there with my degree because the nice stiff card that came with the degree would keep my Snakes card safe! Because when I saw it I was in love - as in love as I was with the Fight Club safety cards. I still remember when Bec gave it to me - and you can see how much I treasure it - I was more excited to find it than I was to find a piece of paper that took me two whole freaking years to get.
For those of you who've read this far.... I don't think there is a moral.
So here is a link to a SNAKES ON A PLANE flight safety card:
http://moviesmedia.ign.com/movies/image/article/722/722537/SOAP-Safety-Card_1154479886-000.jpg
And here is the link to the FIGHT CLUB flight safety card:
http://fc18.deviantart.com/fs29/f/2008/103/2/6/Fight_Club_Airline_Safety_Card_by_phillipthe2.jpg
I guess the moral could be "onwards and upwards." |
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It makes me wonder aloud.
I know I'm on long holidays. But doing what you love doesn't count. And if you get paid for it, well, the more the merrier.
I love watching breakfast television. TODAY. On nine. I don't know how I ever used to Koshie and Mel.
I love having lunch at 12 with that fabulously funny blonde lesbian. Don't tell Portia. I love you ELLEN.
I love going wandering whenever I want.
I love being wherever I want on any given day. No schedules. No timetable.
I love ranting about random things in words and sending it off.
I love that people pay money for that. What's not to love about that?
So I guess I'm beginning to think maybe I can make "a career" out of all these things. I mean even if its not super profitable, the fun factor has massive dividends. |
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Deep sleep and twisted dreams play about my mind.
Always the breath beside me, the rhythmic sigh, inhalation.... exhalation.... annihilation....
Loneliness ceases to exist.
The past brought tender words and fleeting touches.
The now brings tender touches and fleeting glimpses.
The future stands alone in unknown quantity.
Is understanding ever fully perfect and can futures be mapped like coastlines of a still to be explored land?
And should they?
What is this continent I stand upon?
Its beauty is spectacular.
Am I alone?
It doesn't seem so.
And who has land rights?
.....? |
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And, just like that, all the sand ran out.
I turned off the tap and started to drip dry.
A sack of money
A year off
A blank slate.
Who knows what will happen?
But I can't wait to find out.... |
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Like blue sands through the hour glass, the days of our lives slip away. Every once in a while we must upend ourselves and see how the sand flows in a new location.
I'm currently in an occupational situation where some imperfection has clogged my timer. I could say there forever, until the water goes cold and my skin goes pruney, but I know its not a four minute shower. We all know it's not.
Or, alternatively, I can turn it over and see if the sand runs better from the other way. Or even turn it sideways and prevent the time from going anywhere.
At the end of the day, once you know you can't get any cleaner, it's time to bail out.
The dirt is gone. The water is lukewarm. ...I'm outa here!! |
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I was amazed at the revolutionary new testing technique of “sharing” depicted in the photo accompanying the article on the QCS test in Saturday’s paper. In my day, passing notes between students during exams was frowned upon, or even considered CHEATING. But there it is. Second desk back on the right a girl passes the boy next to her a sheet of paper. Judging by the look on his face, the content is pretty amusing.
Maybe it was just a note between lovebirds, or corrections to his/her writing task, or maybe one of them finished in record time and decided to help out the other by writing their entire piece for them. Revolutionary! Maybe next year QCS could be opened up to include phone-a-friend option and everyone taking the test could vote with buzzers on the correct answers in the multiple choice section.
On a more serious note, I can only hope that now this blatant cheating is out in the open the two students involved will have their test result revoked. I also expect that next year the school shown will adhere to the strict QSA guidelines that state there must be 1.5m between all students. Perhaps they should also enforce the accompanying rules that forbid all forms of communication and the passing of materials between students at all times during the QCS test. One wonders how many schools have not met these basic criteria for administration of the test and how this has altered the average grades at those schools.
(photo accompanied "The numbers have it" by James O'Lean. It was a QCS special in the Saturday 6 September Courier Mail. Sadly, photo not available online, unless someone wants to scan it.) |
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Of course I say so much bad stuff about the bad stuff that I forget there are good things.
Delightful things in my life that wrap entirely around me.
Things that protect me from a range of evils.
That keep me warm and light candles.
So that I may see in the dark.
Those things are nice. |
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Its all happening.
Thoughts of desertion and abandoned ships and of becoming a rat just so I can flee.
I never wanted to be a captain.
I have cabin boy fever. I need to get out and see the world without so much of my time being taken up with buggery.
All but signed my paperwork.
AWOL thoughts rise tsunami like above this stinking tub. |
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Go here: http://www.mypersonality.info/
They are the two free tests at the top of the page. |
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"You can't pick on me I'm just a kid."
"I'm pretty sure you're a teenager, pick it up."
"I'm not a teenager. How old do you have to be to be a teenager anyway."
"Start counting from one."
"....ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen...."
Dawn is a beautiful facial expression. |
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I often walk into work in the morning and say I'm just not feeling the love.
Today I got my letter.
They want to "deploy" me to a remote location.
So those who have "served" in a remote location can have my spot.
I forgot I joined the army.
At least the army would give me army greens.
While I understand the "challenges" they face, I disagree with their solution of forced rotation. Monetary incentive would be a more effective way to solve rural shortages.
I also feel that I am probably not the "Jooe" they addressed the letter to. Can they "deploy" a non-existent person?
Is a "request" to fill in an unnecessary form and order?
Is one week really enough notice to expect me to meet all their demands?
And if I only get one week, how come they get until September to make their judgement?
At the end of the day there are many other jobs that don't require me to leave town.
Cause Brisbane is where the love is. |
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So I thought I'd check out Greyhound buses and see what their rates and efficiency levels are for the weekly trip to Briz.
When I searched for trips on a Saturday I found this most perplexing trip.
Sat, 3 May 2008
$95.00 10hr, 15min
GX512
Coolum
07:00 (7:00 AM)
to
Byron Bay
13:15 (1:15 PM)
GX249
Byron Bay
15:00 (3:00 PM)
to
Brisbane
19:00 (7:00 PM)
We're wondering how many geographically challenged backpackers click the "book now" option. Or how much demand there is for this sort of trip.
I have saved a screen capture of the incident for anyone who wants real proof. |
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I found a job I really like the sound of.
But they won't give out a salary range.
So I guess I have to apply and learn to negotiate.
"Does anyone else want to negotiate?"
I don't hate my now job.
I even spent Friday tidying my desk.
But it'll end up screwing me over.
I've seen enough screwed over already.
So really, I have to look to the future.
No guarantee they'll like my application anyway.
Met another quitter (and a thinking of quittinger) on the weekend.
Quitting goes around quite a bit in this job.
Long time without posting.
Everything is going well.
Happiness negates the need for emo lj postings really.
As you can tell.
Till next I feel the time is right to let you know I'm alive. |
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The other night I accompanied my wonderful husband on a trip to a show his band was playing at. The show just happened to be the after party of a tattoo festival at Acacia Ridge. Unfortunately it did seem very "after" the party by the time they went on, but thats another story.
While I was sitting around with band girlfriend #2 we noticed something somewhat .... toward.
I guess at a tattoo show its just really normal to go around taking photos of other peoples tattoos, and if you hear they have a great one they're very happy to just show you what they've got.
This was how Girlf#2 and I found ourselves staring at a completely naked man in the middle of the pub. From behind it did admittedly look like he was wearing a green and blue jumpsuit of sorts, being tattooed completely from knee to neck. But he wasn't wearing any pants, all the same. Girlf#1 asks
"Do you reckon they kind of separate the butt cheeks and tattoo in between?"
Neither of us knew...
... until he bent over to pick up his pants from round his ankles.
The answer is yes.
We never did see who claimed the long lost trophy for "Best medium large black male." I would have slipped it in my bag if I wasn't so scared I'd have a chair thrown at me. |
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Being sick is something that doesn't happen to me terribly often. When it does I find it in some way cathartic. Illness flowing through my veins and penetrating every breath, the aches, the pains, the red raw throat. I even like it when my voice begins to disappear. In fact, I love it when my voice disappears.
I love waking up in the middle of the night with my head shouting "hallelujah, you're cured."
I hate it when its not actually true and I can't go back to sleep cause I'm still all hyped up on pseudoephidrine. Thats right, none of that pansy hemiphrene or whatever its called for me. If I don't have to show my license, then it can't be any good as far as I'm concerned.
The best bit is knowing that when I'm properly better everything will taste great, sparkle more and be wondrous. |
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Delicious moments linger in the mind
And weekends seem to few and far between.
But between them is the waiting
And the waiting makes for wanting
And the absence makes the presence ever so sweet.
Even a dodgy PE teacher
Even sandpaper on my cheek
Even sand in my bed
Even five hours on a train
Even a week in the rain
Even Bunnings having no dead plants
Cannot put a dampener on this.
Smiling is forever. |
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