This fatigue is getting really out of hand. I realised today that I have been spending roughly 50 per cent of my life in bed: sleeping, reading, typing, thinking, worrying, taking "breaks". I don't nap - I can't fall asleep in the middle of the day - but I've been regularly going to "have a lie-down" that can last anything from five minutes to two hours. I finally realised this is not a good thing on Saturday, when I went to have a lie-down about half an hour before I needed to leave for work. I am not in control of my own body.
I'm sorry to everyone who has been having to deal with floppy semi-sleeping me. I am going back to the doctor tomorrow to complain that I'm still broken.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Quote Unquote.
It's occurred to me that I constantly engage in compulsive behaviour.
Not like, is the door locked? Is the door locked? Is the door locked? Is the door locked? I'm not a compulsive person (compulsions require effort, which is a known cause of sweating). But there's this one thing I do. All. The. Time.
I quote. Pathologically. I mostly quote excellent TV shows that I have watched too many times (The Simpsons, Black Books, Buffy) and the occasional deeply-cherished movie (Edward Scissorhands, Mystery Men, all the Monty Python movies). Sometimes I quote because it's relevant and funny and people will get it. Other times, I just cannot help myself. Someone says part of a phrase that corresponds to a line from a TV show that I love, and even though that TV show is old, and the quote is not topical, and the reference is obscure, and the person I'm talking to doesn't have a TV, I must quote.
With tea on my mind so much lately, I have often been channeling Mrs Doyle from Father Ted. I can't find the exact clip on YouTube, so here's a different one which is also adorable, but I will never forget her marvelous Tea Soliloquy:
In decades past, being able to quote literature was a sign of a strong education and an ability to recognise art in life. For centuries, a person quoting Shakespeare could get instant admiration. Today, would The Simpsons come close? I can't claim to be well-read, but I am well-viewed.
I have a bizarrely good memory for spoken quotations (but not written ones), and when I quote, I tend to adopt the accent and precise delivery of the original speaker. (Therefore the above speech must be delivered in an Irish brogue.) What possible use can this talent have? And why do I have it? I know I appreciate good use of language. I know I have a passion for distinctive turns of phrase. But if this was the only reason, surely I'd remember written words just as well, and I don't.
I'm also not particularly interested in quotes by "wits". Oscar Wilde, for sure he was cool. But "I've nothing to declare but my genius" (a paraphrase, by the way) does nothing much for me.
I did remember an old remark by Tallulah Bankhead the other day which I always quite liked: "My father warned me about men and booze. But he never mentioned a word about women and cocaine." There's some utter 1930s-culture delight in that one.
Nevertheless, I'm rarely drawn to quotables-by-notables. And yet the words of Ralph Wiggum and Bernard Black are immortal to me.
Not like, is the door locked? Is the door locked? Is the door locked? Is the door locked? I'm not a compulsive person (compulsions require effort, which is a known cause of sweating). But there's this one thing I do. All. The. Time.
I quote. Pathologically. I mostly quote excellent TV shows that I have watched too many times (The Simpsons, Black Books, Buffy) and the occasional deeply-cherished movie (Edward Scissorhands, Mystery Men, all the Monty Python movies). Sometimes I quote because it's relevant and funny and people will get it. Other times, I just cannot help myself. Someone says part of a phrase that corresponds to a line from a TV show that I love, and even though that TV show is old, and the quote is not topical, and the reference is obscure, and the person I'm talking to doesn't have a TV, I must quote.
The playful splash of the teaWhat a beautiful piece of poetry it is.
As it hits the bottom of the cup
The thrill of adding the milk
And watching it settle for a moment,
Before it filters slowly down
To the bottom of the cup
Changing the colour from dark brown to...
A lighter brown
Perching an optional jaffa cake on the saucer,
Like a proud soldier, standing to attention
Beside a giant... cup of tea!
In decades past, being able to quote literature was a sign of a strong education and an ability to recognise art in life. For centuries, a person quoting Shakespeare could get instant admiration. Today, would The Simpsons come close? I can't claim to be well-read, but I am well-viewed.
I have a bizarrely good memory for spoken quotations (but not written ones), and when I quote, I tend to adopt the accent and precise delivery of the original speaker. (Therefore the above speech must be delivered in an Irish brogue.) What possible use can this talent have? And why do I have it? I know I appreciate good use of language. I know I have a passion for distinctive turns of phrase. But if this was the only reason, surely I'd remember written words just as well, and I don't.
I'm also not particularly interested in quotes by "wits". Oscar Wilde, for sure he was cool. But "I've nothing to declare but my genius" (a paraphrase, by the way) does nothing much for me.
I did remember an old remark by Tallulah Bankhead the other day which I always quite liked: "My father warned me about men and booze. But he never mentioned a word about women and cocaine." There's some utter 1930s-culture delight in that one.
Nevertheless, I'm rarely drawn to quotables-by-notables. And yet the words of Ralph Wiggum and Bernard Black are immortal to me.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Everything's gonna be all right.
Universe, things are pretty cool for me lately. Thanks for that.
I guess I'm somewhat adrift at the moment, but I feel okay with that. I still live with my dad and I still haven't got a job I'm not embarrassed to admit to. But I do have a really, really wonderful new lady friend and a surprisingly successful hobby business I'd never have guessed at.
My blogging muscles are slightly atrophied, but I'm going to work them back into shape. My baking muscles too. Now that I know about vegan egg replacement powder, I don't have to worry about having run out of eggs whenever I want to make a cake. (66 servings per packet - sah-weet!) And there are a lot of reasons why I haven't been writing, but most of those reasons are gone now - only that much of my creativity is being channeled into the whole jewellery shebang.
My mood is stable. Got a plan to go off the meds - me and the doc have agreed I shall be liberated by May. And I really know I'm okay again, because I'm finally addressing a couple other little health concerns I've had for years and just ignored for lack of motivation. I'm back, baby.
Now the only problem is, my lady friend lives over the hills and far away, and due to my silly tendency to get attached, I'm beginning to miss her terribly when she is not around.
Lady Friend with her funky purple hair and her pretty smile and her advanced-level geekdom and conservative naivety and open-hearted understanding and voracious appetite for knowledge and hope for wisdom.
Argh, but we are separated in so many ways! Not only physical distance, but religious views, and dietary habits, and sleeping patterns... for instance, she is almost certainly asleep right now, and I am not, and probably won't be for several hours. Will I change? Will she? How shall we reconcile it all?
Stupid goofy puppy love. If my brain was in charge, it'd be telling me, "Miriam, sweetheart. She's a lovely girl, but best just to be polite and avoid complex discussion." But instead I go and get a big crush, and all I can think is I can't wait to get inside her head and discover everything.
I guess I'm somewhat adrift at the moment, but I feel okay with that. I still live with my dad and I still haven't got a job I'm not embarrassed to admit to. But I do have a really, really wonderful new lady friend and a surprisingly successful hobby business I'd never have guessed at.
My blogging muscles are slightly atrophied, but I'm going to work them back into shape. My baking muscles too. Now that I know about vegan egg replacement powder, I don't have to worry about having run out of eggs whenever I want to make a cake. (66 servings per packet - sah-weet!) And there are a lot of reasons why I haven't been writing, but most of those reasons are gone now - only that much of my creativity is being channeled into the whole jewellery shebang.
My mood is stable. Got a plan to go off the meds - me and the doc have agreed I shall be liberated by May. And I really know I'm okay again, because I'm finally addressing a couple other little health concerns I've had for years and just ignored for lack of motivation. I'm back, baby.
Now the only problem is, my lady friend lives over the hills and far away, and due to my silly tendency to get attached, I'm beginning to miss her terribly when she is not around.
Lady Friend with her funky purple hair and her pretty smile and her advanced-level geekdom and conservative naivety and open-hearted understanding and voracious appetite for knowledge and hope for wisdom.
Argh, but we are separated in so many ways! Not only physical distance, but religious views, and dietary habits, and sleeping patterns... for instance, she is almost certainly asleep right now, and I am not, and probably won't be for several hours. Will I change? Will she? How shall we reconcile it all?
Stupid goofy puppy love. If my brain was in charge, it'd be telling me, "Miriam, sweetheart. She's a lovely girl, but best just to be polite and avoid complex discussion." But instead I go and get a big crush, and all I can think is I can't wait to get inside her head and discover everything.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Don't Believe the Hype.
So I've learned something interesting - maybe everyone else already knows it, but it seems like a valuable piece of knowledge to me.
The Australian Christian Lobby doesn't represent... well, anybody.
They aren't affiliated with any churches. Their board members are Christian, of course, but more than anything they appear to be businessmen with a desire to meddle in politics. According to Wikipedia they have good Pentecostal support, but the Pentecostal Church represents 1.7 per cent of Australian Christians (ABS website - scroll down to S7.5). Which is, like, not a lot.
Considering how much fuss this lobby makes, and how loud its voice seems to be, I really had assumed they were more representative of Christian views in this country. Of course, M'mselle Preston has set me straight.
Anyhow, I got up this morning to read no less than three articles from yesterday's Age concerning religious issues, and the ACL got quoted in every single one.
Peter Garrett considers establishing funding for secular school chaplaincy? ACL says "he's muddying the waters." Muddy? Do they not see what a poor choice of words that was? My goodness, we mustn't expose our children to the impure heathens.
(NB. Only 0.01 of chaplains are non-religious - not because agnostics don't want the job, but because "Schools must exhaust all possibilities of finding a suitable religious chaplain before they are able to apply for a secular person.")
Federal anti-discrimination laws will be extended to cover sexual orientation and gender identity? ACL says "The homosexual community is now determined to punish the church." The ACL will be lobbying for religious exemptions to these laws.
The Victorian Government will be relaxing its anti-discrimination laws - yes, really - to grant exemptions to religious organisations. ACL rejoices. It's a happy day for "freedom of religion", because now Victorian Christian companies (not just churches) will be able to fire single mothers and divorcees and fags for no reason. Doesn't that sound nice?
Why does Australia listen to this group? They are extreme, bigoted and completely non-representative of the religion they claim to uphold. I'm not saying all Christians are warm, fuzzy and inclusive. But the ACL are deeply misrepresenting them, and in my eyes, this is tantamount to fraud.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Force of Nature.
The other day, I watched the BBC documentary Walking With Cavemen and found myself getting increasingly irritated by it.
Robert Winston strolled through prehistoric plains telling me about all sorts of early hominids. He and I observed a herd of hairy men chewing on grass bushes and squawking at each other. Winston pointed out that though this race could use tools, that race could harness fire, and the other race could plan a hunt, there was something fundamentally different about them. They were missing that something special that would have made them truly human. But it all seemed kind of arrogant, really.
Look, I think humans are pretty amazing. We have incredible mental faculties and we've achieved astounding things. And I know the point of the documentary was to examine how apelike tree-dwelling primates might have evolved into chatty bighead human beings. But what makes us more special than tree-dwelling primates, anyway?
Humans are a form of life. We have the faculty of speech, but so do howling wolves and cawing crows - they just make different kinds of noise which we don't understand. We build things, but so do nest-making birds and web-weaving spiders. I just read that there are octopuses that collect coconut shells and use them as armour. As I once mentioned, the male blanket octopus will tear the stingers off a man-o-war and use them as body decoration.
So are we special? Humans have vastly more skills than any other single species, and when our bodies can't physically perform a skill, we invent technologies that can. But that's not to downplay the enormity of the fact that a tiny simple arthropod can weave a massive, intricate web of silk, first time every time, creating a pattern of radiating lines and parallel concentric strokes, strategically adding drops of adhesive gloop and remembering where it put them so it doesn't get stuck in its own trap.
Life. Life is just mind-boggling. There are vast balls of flaming gas roaring and consuming and burning for billions upon billions of years before collapsing outward in great blasts of stellar light that shine brighter than everything in the galaxies around them. But there is nothing so magnificent as a living thing. A single celled organism is more incredible than a supernova, because it lives. Why is life so amazing?
I was reading The Blind Watchmaker, one of Richard Dawkins' early books (Lady Friend won't be happy as she thinks he is a monster) and it suddenly hit me.
But life? Life fights. Only the living can fight against the forces of nature. We all, eventually, lose - but we will fight to survive, and everything we are, everything we have become, is ammunition for the battle of our lives. Our bodies are capable of magnificent things; our brains, even more so. But all our abilities are simply complex ways of attempting to harness and master the laws to which we are bound.
Our bodies work to warm themselves: the temperature around us is rarely an appropriate temperature for inside us (for the record, normal human temperature is about 37 degrees, which means occasionally in Melbourne, room temperature oughta be perfect).
Our limbs work to fight gravity: we consume and process and burn energy in the service of muscles that can lift themselves up and away from the ground and stand and leap and fly.
Our cells regenerate and our wounds mesh themselves back together and our women get all goofy about having babies - all fighting the natural forces of chaos and disintegration that would have us land where we fall, come apart as our chemistry reacts, and eventually merge into one with our surroundings.
If humans are special, it is because we have actually harnessed the natural world and reprogrammed it to be on our side. We have taken control of the nonliving and used it as a weapon in our fight. We take metal and fire and clay and the knowledge of science that we have learned, and we mould the world in our own image.
Robert Winston strolled through prehistoric plains telling me about all sorts of early hominids. He and I observed a herd of hairy men chewing on grass bushes and squawking at each other. Winston pointed out that though this race could use tools, that race could harness fire, and the other race could plan a hunt, there was something fundamentally different about them. They were missing that something special that would have made them truly human. But it all seemed kind of arrogant, really.
Look, I think humans are pretty amazing. We have incredible mental faculties and we've achieved astounding things. And I know the point of the documentary was to examine how apelike tree-dwelling primates might have evolved into chatty bighead human beings. But what makes us more special than tree-dwelling primates, anyway?
Humans are a form of life. We have the faculty of speech, but so do howling wolves and cawing crows - they just make different kinds of noise which we don't understand. We build things, but so do nest-making birds and web-weaving spiders. I just read that there are octopuses that collect coconut shells and use them as armour. As I once mentioned, the male blanket octopus will tear the stingers off a man-o-war and use them as body decoration.
So are we special? Humans have vastly more skills than any other single species, and when our bodies can't physically perform a skill, we invent technologies that can. But that's not to downplay the enormity of the fact that a tiny simple arthropod can weave a massive, intricate web of silk, first time every time, creating a pattern of radiating lines and parallel concentric strokes, strategically adding drops of adhesive gloop and remembering where it put them so it doesn't get stuck in its own trap.
Life. Life is just mind-boggling. There are vast balls of flaming gas roaring and consuming and burning for billions upon billions of years before collapsing outward in great blasts of stellar light that shine brighter than everything in the galaxies around them. But there is nothing so magnificent as a living thing. A single celled organism is more incredible than a supernova, because it lives. Why is life so amazing?
I was reading The Blind Watchmaker, one of Richard Dawkins' early books (Lady Friend won't be happy as she thinks he is a monster) and it suddenly hit me.
Nonliving things accept the forces that bring them into equilibrium with their surroundings.Rocks obey the gravity that pulls them to earth. They absorb the temperature of the air around them. Come wind or water, they erode. In time, they disintegrate and become other things, whether dust or ash or mountains or diamonds. The laws of physics are their master, and rocks accept their master's commands.
But life? Life fights. Only the living can fight against the forces of nature. We all, eventually, lose - but we will fight to survive, and everything we are, everything we have become, is ammunition for the battle of our lives. Our bodies are capable of magnificent things; our brains, even more so. But all our abilities are simply complex ways of attempting to harness and master the laws to which we are bound.
Our bodies work to warm themselves: the temperature around us is rarely an appropriate temperature for inside us (for the record, normal human temperature is about 37 degrees, which means occasionally in Melbourne, room temperature oughta be perfect).
Our limbs work to fight gravity: we consume and process and burn energy in the service of muscles that can lift themselves up and away from the ground and stand and leap and fly.
Our cells regenerate and our wounds mesh themselves back together and our women get all goofy about having babies - all fighting the natural forces of chaos and disintegration that would have us land where we fall, come apart as our chemistry reacts, and eventually merge into one with our surroundings.
If humans are special, it is because we have actually harnessed the natural world and reprogrammed it to be on our side. We have taken control of the nonliving and used it as a weapon in our fight. We take metal and fire and clay and the knowledge of science that we have learned, and we mould the world in our own image.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Beverage Review 2010
You might remember a little blog post I wrote about tea. Well, I can assure you tea has far from dropped off my radar since then. Beverages come and go, but tea is the one I can always depend on.
It's true, I have a long-standing relationship with coffee. I have a beautiful home espresso machine - a 21st birthday present, two years old now - that makes me the most wonderful coffees and mochas. Here are some of the first photos I ever took of that marvelous contraption.
However, man cannot live by coffee alone.
Okay, so there's been a lemon tree in Dad's backyard ever since he moved in about six years ago. I know it's there, but it's sort of quiet and nonchalant and doesn't really draw attention to itself.
Anyway, this December Lady Friend noticed it and asked if she could have some lemons to take home. And I finally put two and two together.
I have a lemon tree.
It makes lemons.
I have unlimited free lemons.
Honestly, Miriam, you used to be smart.
It helped that Mum gave me this rockin' lemonade jug for Christmas (found in Grandma's house, like everything else I've been playing with lately). So, I made lemonade. Then I made more lemonade. And more! And more! Because homemade lemonade rocks. And I can control the fizzy quotient! I can make the lemonade entirely non-fizzy! The power is mine!
Because I am not a great fan of fizzy drinks, it pleased me greatly to hear that my workplace was planning on acquiring a Frozen Coke machine to coincide with the summer rush. As a member of staff I am entitled to $3 large drinks, which are one whole litre in size - but the only liquid you can fill them with is soda postmix. Which I absolutely cannot drink because it's horrid. But frozen soda is okay, because the carbonation kinda gets iced out.
However, summer marches defiantly on, and this fabled Frozen Coke machine has not materialised. They'd better get a move on, or autumn will come and no one will want Frozen Coke anymore.
Except me. Dammit, I want my $3 litre.
And so we return to the subject of tea. I think I have rather cleverly maneuvered myself into friendship circles that value a cuppa over a pint. What a wonderful state of affairs, when each of your friends has the unsophisticated hospitality to welcome you in and offer you a cup of tea!
At Rabia's I drink Earl Grey, though she keeps a herbal alternative infused with lavender. At Lady Friend's, there are black tea leaves and peppermint and samurai and all manner of herbal concoctions. At Tom's there's a great glorious box of T2 samples. At Ruth's, the joy is in the teacups themselves, a collection of antique and vintage bone china from England and Canada, nestled in matching saucers: a unique cup for everybody at the table.
Well, as I've told you before, I've taken possession of a beautiful set of gilded Queen Anne teacups myself. Here again is the picture (which doesn't do any justice at all to the gorgeousness of these cups - I should probably just go nuts and do a photo shoot):
It may be time for me to throw a little tea party.
It's true, I have a long-standing relationship with coffee. I have a beautiful home espresso machine - a 21st birthday present, two years old now - that makes me the most wonderful coffees and mochas. Here are some of the first photos I ever took of that marvelous contraption.
However, man cannot live by coffee alone.
Okay, so there's been a lemon tree in Dad's backyard ever since he moved in about six years ago. I know it's there, but it's sort of quiet and nonchalant and doesn't really draw attention to itself.
Anyway, this December Lady Friend noticed it and asked if she could have some lemons to take home. And I finally put two and two together.
I have a lemon tree.
It makes lemons.
I have unlimited free lemons.
Honestly, Miriam, you used to be smart.
It helped that Mum gave me this rockin' lemonade jug for Christmas (found in Grandma's house, like everything else I've been playing with lately). So, I made lemonade. Then I made more lemonade. And more! And more! Because homemade lemonade rocks. And I can control the fizzy quotient! I can make the lemonade entirely non-fizzy! The power is mine!
Because I am not a great fan of fizzy drinks, it pleased me greatly to hear that my workplace was planning on acquiring a Frozen Coke machine to coincide with the summer rush. As a member of staff I am entitled to $3 large drinks, which are one whole litre in size - but the only liquid you can fill them with is soda postmix. Which I absolutely cannot drink because it's horrid. But frozen soda is okay, because the carbonation kinda gets iced out.
However, summer marches defiantly on, and this fabled Frozen Coke machine has not materialised. They'd better get a move on, or autumn will come and no one will want Frozen Coke anymore.
Except me. Dammit, I want my $3 litre.
*
And so we return to the subject of tea. I think I have rather cleverly maneuvered myself into friendship circles that value a cuppa over a pint. What a wonderful state of affairs, when each of your friends has the unsophisticated hospitality to welcome you in and offer you a cup of tea!
At Rabia's I drink Earl Grey, though she keeps a herbal alternative infused with lavender. At Lady Friend's, there are black tea leaves and peppermint and samurai and all manner of herbal concoctions. At Tom's there's a great glorious box of T2 samples. At Ruth's, the joy is in the teacups themselves, a collection of antique and vintage bone china from England and Canada, nestled in matching saucers: a unique cup for everybody at the table.
Well, as I've told you before, I've taken possession of a beautiful set of gilded Queen Anne teacups myself. Here again is the picture (which doesn't do any justice at all to the gorgeousness of these cups - I should probably just go nuts and do a photo shoot):
It may be time for me to throw a little tea party.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Beard Review 2010
So here's what I think.
The beard is back.
I have been carefully observing male facial stylings over the past twelve months and it is clearly evident that beards were and continue to gain exponential popularity following Robert Downey Jr.'s portrayal of the smouldering begoateed Tony Stark. Shut up, Spellcheck, begoatee is a legitimate verb.
The trend was given powerful foundation by everybody's Hollywood dreamboat-next-door Brad Pitt when he was seen about town sporting this magnificent mane. The women's magazines protested, but they still printed all the photographs.
And why? Because, come on. How virile is your sex god?
Anyway, so the beard began to grow. Not only Brad's - but the World Beard itself. I knew I wasn't imagining things when it turned up amongst the cerebral twists and turns of Inception...
...and even 3D supervillian Megamind...
...but the moment of ultimate truth came when I went to see the latest Disney princess confection and discovered they had created their first ever begoateed Prince Charming.
Beard, your time is now: grow forth and multiply. But fashions come and go, and there's no guarantee that 2011 will sustain this glorious trend. And so, men of the world, I say to you: eat, drink, and be hairy, for tomorrow we shave.
The beard is back.
I have been carefully observing male facial stylings over the past twelve months and it is clearly evident that beards were and continue to gain exponential popularity following Robert Downey Jr.'s portrayal of the smouldering begoateed Tony Stark. Shut up, Spellcheck, begoatee is a legitimate verb.
The trend was given powerful foundation by everybody's Hollywood dreamboat-next-door Brad Pitt when he was seen about town sporting this magnificent mane. The women's magazines protested, but they still printed all the photographs.
And why? Because, come on. How virile is your sex god?
Anyway, so the beard began to grow. Not only Brad's - but the World Beard itself. I knew I wasn't imagining things when it turned up amongst the cerebral twists and turns of Inception...
...and even 3D supervillian Megamind...
...but the moment of ultimate truth came when I went to see the latest Disney princess confection and discovered they had created their first ever begoateed Prince Charming.
Beard, your time is now: grow forth and multiply. But fashions come and go, and there's no guarantee that 2011 will sustain this glorious trend. And so, men of the world, I say to you: eat, drink, and be hairy, for tomorrow we shave.
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