Themis

Serge you are a very clever snag.
And a libra to boot.

Salome?

Ha Ha Salome your secret is out. My friend, the person formerly known as K has decided upon Salome for her blog alias.I have been doing some intense research and have come up with some conclusions based on the following text.

"Salome - (1) The daughter of Herod Philip and Herodias (Matthew 14:6-8: Mark 6:22; cf. Josephus, "Antiq. Jud.", XVIII, v, 4), at whose request John the Baptist was beheaded."

Or more recently;

"Wilde's play became the source and inspiration for Richard Strauss's one-act opera also named Salomé, first produced in 1905. Herod's lust for Salome is emphasized, which Salome uses to gain her wishes by performing the famous "Dance of the Seven Veils." Salome, in turn, desires to have John the Baptist -- a new interpretation of the original myth. In the end, the only way Salome may have any part of John, quite literally, meant that she must demand his head be given to her. Salome fulfills her passion by kissing the dead lips of John's decapitated head, who had previously rejected her. This new and more familiar version of Salome depicts her as a seductress of her stepfather and a murderer of a saint, thereby becoming a symbol of the erotic and dangerous woman, the femme fatale."

Conclusion 1) I really really believe that my Salome has no inklings to be seduced, or seduce her step-father.

Conclusion 2) I have never seen my Salome do the Dance of the Seven Veils. I have, however, seen her do the dance of the seven caftans. Tis a very beguiling dance in its own special way.

Conclusion 3) Using the more traditional research, I believe the words "John the Baptist" should be substituted by the words "John the Belgian".


I eagerly await an explanation

Pleeeeease be careful Skippy

"Hullo. Frank Walker from National Tiles here."
When you read the words on paper (or on screen as it were) they look fairly innocuous. However these words are from the most cringeworthy radio ad I have ever heard. Possibly only people from Victoria will know this guy. I swear I wake up to this almost every morning. It's the way he says it. I might try and get a sound file and attach it to this blog so I can share this with the rest of the world. It's a surefire way to make you get off your bed and turn the alarm off, and really quite an unpleasant way to start the day.
To my beloved friend and avid blog reader, the woman formerly known as Hildegarde. I had a brainwave as to your blog alias. You will have to explain the ThoThemis reference - I dont have a clue, except that when you say it there's a really neat spit-spraying effect.
From this day forth you will be known as Serge. Her Dad calls her Serge, and also something to do with sausages, I forget but I know it is amusing. Her dad is also prone to gobbling like a turkey REALLY LOUDLY in confined spaces (like the front cabin of a very small ute with all the windows wound up). When explaining why he called her Serge, he said that he felt a surge of love whenever he was with her. How great is that!
Serge and another wonderful friend K(who I'm going to have think very hard about an alias for) are going to start a blog. Now this will be a cack. I can hardly wait. I'll be linking gals.
Well I might mention a few things about my weekend. On Saturday I went to the horse races in Caulfield in Melbourne. C did not want to come because he was being a stinky bum. I took the Intern and the Midget and had a fairly decent time with the folks from work. I am very pleased to note that the Midget has quite a knack for picking winners on the track. I'm cutting her a percentage of the prize money (mostly in Chupa Chups) but as her agent (and chauffeur)I get to keep most of it.
She picked a horse with the name "Smart Arch" which is quite a funny play on words and repeated it loudly to everyone who would listen. However "Smart Arch" is still running and we didn't score with that one. Perhaps they should change his name to CrackerUpHis Arch and he may do better. Rule Britannia! (By the way, my father, whose name is Arch, taught me that song at a very tender age).
My lovely boss is so Catholic that he would not bet on a horse named "Evil Agent" even though it was trained by his favourite trainer and highly respected. He instead went with an old nag named "Joseph" which is also still running.
On an interesting and different pious note, I have never seen more Jewish people in my life as I did walking down Glen Eira Road in Caulfield that day, some in Hasidic dress. I dont think I ever
saw a Jewish person in Darwin. So it was a very interesting sight for me.
On Sunday I took the Midget to see the latest Herbie movie. Oh yuk. What happened to Herbie??????!!!! Wail.....Those movies used to be fun.
At one stage the Midget was in tears because Herbie was going to get mashed by a monster truck in a demolition derby. I thought I was going to have to take her home. I had flashbacks to the very first TV show I ever watched - picture this - 1972 - brand new TV - Skippy alone in the city - bouncing through the traffic - Edna completely traumatised - Edna banned from watching TV for quite some time. I actually remember this very clearly.
Back to Herbie. The most prominent part of the movie, I thought, was Lindsay Lohan's breasts. I have never seen a movie aimed more at teenage boys in my life. Fast cars, big boobs and tiny skirts. Even Lindsay's racing outfit was unzipped provocatively. You know, just to there, as it would be. You see, girls are protected from fire ravaging their breasts in a car crash by it's ingenious design.
Matt Dillon played the bad guy, and luckily for him, he is ageing gracefully. However I still cannot forgive him for acting in a movie called "Rebel", which is the only movie that I have ever walked out on in my entire life.
A note came home in the Midget's bag from school today - "Your child has made it to the final audition for the Australian Youth Choir". I was ecstatic, excited, thrilled in a way only the truest of stage mothers know. Cross-examination of the midget revealed that every one in her class received the same note. :<( .Not so exciting. I'll let you know the outcome of that one. Audition Day is August 13th. I now suspect it is some kind of marketing sham.
Shortlist of blog alias for aforementioned friend K
1) Sunflower
2) Fish'n Chips
3) "He's dead, he died"
4) Caftan-a-rama
Other suggestions welcomed Serge & K.
That's all for now.

Croc Bait

I'll shortly continue with the Irish escapades. However there are a number of things I'm going to mention first about today.
1) I told an old friend about my blog. I hadn't previously told any people that I know personally about my blog (except for Yaksox but we dont know each other that well). And then she commented on it in an email to me.
"bizarre" - ouch
"amazing" - Ok I think
"witty" - I can handle that one
"bordering on exhibitionism" - ouchy ouch ouch ouch
Aaaah what the hell, I'm letting it all hang out after years of cloistered boredom.
I really respect this woman - "she has a fine legal mind" (that is a line from one of her references). Seriously she has the smarts big time. She has an amazingly important job in the legal system in Australia. I cant say any more - she would have my guts for garters(and then sue me). Anyway, Serge's opinion (do you like that one S?) means a lot to me. So I'm bemused.
2) I REALLY lost my temper tonight playing netball. I hate dirty players and I HATE being patronised by the umpire who told me to "learn the rules".AAAARGGHHHH. I nearly chucked a "John McEnroe". Then I used the "f" word within hearing of my daughter and I'm quite ashamed of myself. I'll feel better tomorrow.
3) Dervala commented on my blog - I'm chuffed
4) I need some help with the English language. I'm confused between amended and emended. Now Serge or Dervala, help me out. One of the girls I used to go to school with works on the Oxford Dictionary (in Oxford of all places - imagine that!)but I'm sure as hell she wouldn't read my blog. If you send someone an invoice that has been altered, are you sending them an amended invoice or an emended invoice? I say "amended". The other looks wrong. Help!

OK back to the story at large.

So Olga had changed. She had this really hard edge. I craved the instant comfort that you get from an old friend (I get that from Serge except when she is commenting on my blog - lol).But she was scary. And jetlagged. And pissed off.
The next night we decided to go out to a nightclub that I had spent most of my formative years in. It would make me cry to count the money that I had spent over that particular bar. This nightclub was pretty much past it.However, it was the only place that played even moderately alternative music in the whole town. In its heyday, it was UNBELIEVABLE, but at the time of Olga's return it was just dark, sleazy and boring.
I had raved about this place, and we sat there bored as all hell, almost uncomfortable in each other's presence. There was nothing else for it but to become horrendously drunk. And then....I found her again.
She had an urge to feel the ocean. She hadn't swum in the ocean for years in Ireland. So at about two in the morning, tanked to our eyeballs, we caught a cab to the beach. And the tide was waaaaaay out.
At this point I must digress slightly to tell you about the seaside in Darwin, so that you can understand the full scope of our stupidity.
In the tropical parts of Australia, you can only swim in the ocean between the months of May and October. Any other time of year, there are what the locals call sea-wasps floating en masse around the inner shore. The proper name for them is "box jellyfish" and these nasty little buggers can KILL you.
Darwin Harbour is also infested with saltwalter crocodiles, and these nasty big buggers will KILL you (and then eat you).
So there we were, Olga, another lass named Angie, and I, waist deep in the ocean, in our underwear, with ZERO visibility out to sea or in to shore. It seemed like such a laugh at the time .......(whimper).
Not too long after that, Olga got a job at the local Casino as a trainee croupier. And I boarded a Greyhound Bus for a five month sojourn to southern climes to say my goodbyes to my beloved aunt who was dying of cancer.
This is becoming a very long story.
OK. I'm going to cut quite a lot of detail here. I came back from South, I had a huge argument with the woman who was destined to become my step-mother (fisticuffs included)and moved into a house with Olga, Robyn and Robert.
Insert "Lots of drinking, laughter, high-jinks and lack of sleep."
Olga and her mother decided they would like a free trip back to Ireland (and I was so itching to go too). So Olga decided to enter the local "Rose of Tralee" pageant. With a lot of histrionics, a complete change of looks and image (external only), and much mother-daughter arguing between Olga and her ma, she bloody well won the thing. Twas off to Ireland for us. Stay tuned....

Olga the Irish Punk

I'm probably going to make any Irish people reading this blog guffaw at the naivety of the crap I'm about to write. But hey, blogs are a free world.
This post has been inspired by reading quite a lot of an enchanting blog at dervala.net. She speaks for herself, I'm not going to rant and rave, but I just really like it.
Her family are based in Limerick. Now I have spent some time and drunk many a pint in Limerick, and this is part of that story.....
Alrighty then.
It starts in grade 10 when a crazy Irish girl named Olga started attending my high school. I think she was asked to leave the only Catholic High School in town on account of her wonderfully outrageous behaviour. I loved her exuberance and devil-may-care attitude. She already knew some of the girls in our group so her arrival was such an easy transition, she just fitted us like a glove.
She was madly obsessed with Adam & The Ants. She drew pictures and designed logos endlessly and talked of marrying Stuart Goddard (the head ant guy). She was arty farty and interesting and I hero-worshipped her.
I remember this mad sleepover party at her house. We ran down the street in the middle of the night and threw rocks on the roof of the geekiest girl in our class (I'm sorry Regina). We skinny-dipped in the above-ground pool in her front yard and pretended to kiss each other with hands over each others mouths. (Quite pseudo-lesbian really, I didn't think that we were suppressed until I think about it now.)
There was another party that looms large in the memories of all my friends - it was our watershed, our coming-of-age. I think I'll do a whole blog post about that party another time. Anyway Olga got hideously drunk at that party and there were rumours of behaviour with boys (only Lee B can verify if it was true - Lee are you out there?) and scandal and vomiting and coffee in the shower and me trying to carry her home and her being too loud and wanting to smoke cigarettes in the spare bedroom of my house when my parents arrived home. Aaaaah, memories. And that was only her role at the party! Wait till I tell you what happened to everyone else.......(another time).
Then there was the poor girl we victimised out of the school who made the mistake of pashing off with Olga's (newly)ex-boyfriend after roller-skating one Saturday night. I couldn't wait to offload my information with glee to Olga. Oh we were such spiteful cows together....(Justine, I am truly, truly sorry - I read your letter at the school re-union some years ago and it made me cry).
Half way through these exciting times, Olga's parents decided that they wanted to return to Ireland. For some reason, Australia just had not turned out the way that they had wanted it to. There was an excruciatingly pathetic airport scene with much blubbering and hugging and holding hands and pledging eternal friendship. And then she was gone. Just like that. And our lives were much quieter. And the parties weren't quite the same for some years.
We heard from her every now and then. She moved from Cork to Annacotty, just outside of Limerick. She left school and started studying ceramics at Limerick School of Art and Design. She was head of the Limerick division of Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. She told us tales of her loathes and loves, and it all sounded very foreign and exotic. And meanwhile we got on with our lives.
She was gone for five years. And then a letter was received - she was returning!Mum and Dad did think that Australia was OK after all!
Most of our gang had moved on. Some of the gang didn't care. I cared! I was so damned excited! I turned up at the airport at 3am after a night of clubbing with "vows of eternal friendship" intact. Dewy eyed, I waited outside customs! There she was - spiky pink hair, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and pissed off as all hell because her suitcase had gone to Timbuktu. Was disillusionment setting in?
Stayed tuned for the next exciting episode.....
Cos I'm off to bed. Tell ya more next time.

Picnic at Hanging Rock

"What we see and what we seem is but a dream, a dream within a dream."

Ooooh. Creepy. I went to see "Picnic at Hanging Rock" at the Darwin Cinema, all by myself, at the age of 9. What was my mum thinking? It was school holidays and I think she trusted my judgment. I came out feeling enormously uneasy. This is probably the first film I ever felt "touched" by. Even now, when I hear pan pipes, I get a chill down my spine.

Today we took a leap into the great outdoors, and actually went to Hanging Rock, about an hour-and-a-half's drive from here. It was everything and more that the movie showed it to be. Spiritual, eerie, enchanting, beautiful. I had my own "oh my God I'm spinning out" moment when I looked up at the sky and the clouds were moving so quickly against the bleakness of the rocks. I felt dizzy and nearly fell over.

I could almost imagine Joan Lindsay's story to be true. I had to catch myself from looking for skeletons of 105 year old corpses dressed in white stuck in crevasses and gullies.

The climb was difficult in places, particularly when the paving trailed away to the summit of the rock. C, the Intern and the Midget were in their glory running ahead and seeing what they could discover next. I preferred to contemplate (and catch my breath) as I went along. The landscape looked a little different from the movie. We were visiting in mid-winter, whereas the film takes place on Valentine's day, in the harshest part of the Australian summer. The rocks were covered in moss and lichen and there were many puddles from recent rainfall in the area. It was a truly delightful walk, with not too many other walkers to spoil the atmosphere.

I took some photos with my brand new camera (a late (unexpected but very welcome) birthday gift) and will endeavour to post them on here soon.

After the walk we went down to the cafe at the foot of the rock. It was heated by a lovely woodfire, painted in warm colours and filled with lots of homely eclectic furniture. I had warm scones, jam and cream, and they were to die for. The boys had apricot crumble and bruschetta, and the Midget had a toasted sandwich (simpler tastes).

In the distance we could see some people looking at a kangaroo on the picnic ground. We decided to go down and have a look, and it turned out that she had a huge joey in her pouch. He stuck his head at at just the opportune time for everybody to see. We couldn't have asked for a more Australian experience for the intern.

"Everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place."

Crikey Moses

Hello world. (I can't quite do it the same way John Laws does it, but then again I wouldn't want to).
How is everybody?
Hey Yaksox how do I contact you?? Thanks for the comment, it was really nice to hear from ya. Do you miss dancing? We dont go much any more. It got a bit boring, and I got cranky at a (youngish) woman whose first name starts with J for flirting with C too much. I'm not sure if you ever noticed that.
Had a funny experience last night. I chanced upon a blog of a woman in Texas and I swear I was reading exactly what I felt about so many things! Politics, being an only child, fair-weather friends,stay at home motherhood, and the list goes on. There were so many similarities, it was captivating. I posted a couple of comments - fairly inane - sympathetic, slightly humorous, nothing offensive there. Then I started reading her archives. I was reading for maybe half an hour, maybe more then all of a sudden I am locked out, and the site is asking for a password. I was so paranoid! I thought I had offended the woman. I actually was thinking about trying to email her. But then I thought maybe I had violated some unwritten "link" law. I put a link on my site, basically as an easy way for me to read her blog in the future. I was thinking, maybe you're not meant to do that unless you ask? Please let me know anyone. So I took the link off and republished and went to bed feeling really weird.
It turns out (this is Douglas Adams' favourite connecting phrase - I love it too) that she had thought that somebody she had referred to, in not the best light, in her blog had found her. If she ever comes back to my blog, "I do not know you at all". Have never been to Texas. I was thinking about leaving another comment but then I'm also paranoid about being over-eager! I think I'll just leave it for now.... Never mind. I really liked her blog.
Do people make friends from blogs? Does it get further than just leaving inane comments occasionally? I quite enjoy reading other peoples blogs (voyeurism?), but I can never think up anything terribly interesting to write in a comment. Like everyone else, I'd probably like more comments, but I do understand the difficulty. Just say hello. Go on.
I guess it's a bit like having old-fashioned penfriends. I bet that hobby has taken a huge whooping now we are in the age of computers. It's not the same emailing back and forth. In letters you can sum up what happens in a month, and not be expected to have to write back for a few weeks. There are personal touches, handwriting, stamps. The delicious feeling of finding a letter in your mailbox. The old email in-box is just not so exciting. There is always way too much crap in there.
My day was fine. No housework tonight, have just played netball. Have had our arses kicked as per normal. A good game though. A couple of our regulars are away on holidays. One of the fellows is such SUCH a bad sport. Has been thrown off the court a few times for mouthing off at the umpire. It's just too embarrassing. I just want to play the silly game, not be embarrassed by someone I dont know and to be "linked" to that person.
Anyway, without this regular guy away, it was great to actually play the game and just accept the umpire's rulings, whether they were bad decisions or not. The umps are always going to make mistakes, but usually they penalize both sides incorrectly, so it usually evens out in the end.

NEW TOPIC

The media are calling the London bombing incident "London 7/7". That shits me to tears mostly cause it's my birthday. I guess the many people who have their birthdays on Sept 11 have more grievances than I ever will. I cannot understand the huge over-emphasis of remembering something by its date and morbidly reliving the whole thing on the anniversary every year.
A few months ago I happened upon Rosie O'Donnell's blog for the first (and last) time. It was the anniversary of her mother's death on St Pat's day and she referred to it as "dead mommy's day". Basically she intoned that her whole life shut down on this day and it took her all her might to get through it every year. I just dont understand that. I have a "dead mommy's day",I remember the date (it also makes me remember my friends birthday which is also on that date) and I certainly think about mum, but it is not debilitating. My mum died in her sleep when I was 14. It was overwhelmingly traumatic, then (and still now), but I dont dedicate a sad day to her memory. I use all my will and might to think about great times. I still miss her dreadfully, even though I have been alive a lot longer without her in my life than with her. I remember her birthday and Christmas and on my birthday I think about her a lot. I refuse to commemorate the day she died. That day does not mean anything.
I've only been to her grave three or four times. Visiting a grave doesn't really mean anything to me. It's not her, the essence of who she was.
Hmmm. This has got me thinking. Maybe I haven't been to her grave that much because I was appalled at the headstone my father picked for her. Completely unsentimental and plain, so typical of my common-sense father. That really shouldn't matter at all. Hey but it does. I have just discovered something about myself. Inner psychology unravelling blog-style. If I ever have a lot of money, I'm definitely going to change it. Would that make me visit more often? I dont know. Probably not. Weird. Would I be doing it for her? For her memory? For other people perusing in the cemetery? I can't work it out.

Other People's Lives

...are so damn interesting compared to mine. I'm sick of winter (here in Australia) and this freezing house and not doing anything exciting and creative.
I've just been reading other people's blogs. I'm not writing a PHD dissertation or having a baby, or not having a baby, or in some new and exciting or weird country or have extreme political views and quote lengthy newspaper articles with links and whizz-bangs and hows your uncles.
I'm going to work every day in an accountancy firm, coming home, preparing dinner, doing pre-bed things with a six year old, writing a little boring drivel in this blog and then collapsing into bed. I guess many other people do it also. I guess everybody at my accountancy firm does it. But they watch TV at night and at least talk about that. I just smile inanely because I dont know the first thing about what's happening in TV land.
Instead of watching grass grow, I'm watching my hair turn grey.
Sick of reading my whinging yet?

Miss Over Eager Beaver Retriever

I've overdone it now. Trying to be eager at work that is. I'm now appearing like a complete dill and I think I'm being laughed at behind my back. But screw it, I have absolutely squat to lose.
I think I broke the record for the most internal emails generated in one day. FFS. What a try hard.
Apart from that, and one conspicuous stuff-up, I had another good productive day, but ran out of steam at about 4.30pm. I'm going to forego lunch tomorrow and get all the really crap jobs out of the way first. I'm saying this now, but I'm nearly sure that I wont do it.
Was also productive on the home front - more cooking and washing -0 gasp!! That's three days in a row.

Grooviness is beyond my reach

I wanted this blog to be all humorous and witty but I've just run out of puff with it. If I sit down to think of something funny I just lose interest and then I get nagged to death by C. For some reason this is really important to him, not so to me.
I just had a look at yaksox's blog for the first time in ages. I just love the watermelon helmet. Yaksox you are my hero. I wish I knew how funny you were when you lived a few streeets away from me. www.sunnybreaks.org. Have a geek - he's a cack. I'm not sure how teaching English in a Christian girls high school in South Korea is treating him. He sounds a trifle on edge.
Anyway, back to my blog dilemmas. I've decided it's going to be a boring diatribe of the days events until I can think of something funnier.
I was MOTIVATED today. Quite rare. Felt bloody good, have to keep the energy going. Worked hard, till I ran out of puff at about 5pm. Came home, bought washing in off line. Did more washing. Baked cookies and tuna bake, for an interesting dinner combination. Did even more washing and have clean school uniforms ready for bub for tomorrow. Have clean underwear and clothing for myself. Oh my God it is a bloody miracle.Bub was bathed, hair washed and blow-dried!
I enjoyed work today, no drama, no stress, everything under control. Ready for the boss to return tomorrow and throw my life into disarray. I have to take notes however, or I will never remember what he wants me to do.
I had a nice evening with little bub. I love that angel so dearly. She helped me cook a little bit and then we did reader-cover and did the mermaid thing in the bath with the washing of the hair.
The house still has a boring air. Can't get the computer geeks out of the computer room. Hate the coldness of the house. Would just love to watch half an hour of mindless television.
Away now to put washing in the drier and have a two minute shower. Did I tell you how much I hate having a water tank that does not cope with four people living in this house, particularly in winter when the only relief from the cold is a steamy shower??

Three Whole Months

Hello blogging infinity. It has been three whole months since I even opened this little treasure. Baaaah. Another three months of wasted time in this oh so short life.
I turned 38 the other day. Bugger that is an obnoxious age. Pushing 40. Aaargh. Frustrated. Unhappy. etc. Undecided, etc. However........nearly out of debt......! The next big leap awaits. As to what that shall be...hmmm....
Have been listening to a lot of Douglas Adams book tapes lately. Damn funny man. A great procrastinator, truly one of my own ilk. Dreadfully sad that he karked it at only 49 and with young kids.
So I had better do something within the next 11 years tomake things really count....