About a month or so ago my housemates, Mr and Mrs Fungus, got Foxtel hooked up here at the house. Lofty and I aren't taking part in the paying for it—quite the waste of money as far as I'm concerned—but it's there, I'm largely incapacitated, so I've been availing myself of the vast array of absolute shite it has to offer.
I watched a bit of Hawaii Five-0 last week, and I confess it was a bit of an eye-opener. Not only were the fellas very caring, sharing Nineties kinda guys (not something I generally expect to see in Seventies telly cops), but the main protagonists of this particular story were very engaging in their own ways. The bad guy, for example. Steve and Danno spent some time telling us just what a hard-arsed, bad news grub he is, so I nearly choked when his mug finally made it on to the screen: it was Luis from Sesame Street! All wrong! And the visiting good guy du jour looked familiar, and his name in the credits rang a distinct bell, too: Gil Gerard. Known later to some as Buck Rogers. All this, and the infinite pleasure of the Hawaii Five-0 theme song. Beautiful.
It's remarkable who turns up on these old shows. Recent episodes of M*A*S*H have turned up Patrick Swayze, Shelley Long, Barry Corbin (better known to me as Maurice from Northern Exposure), Pat Morita, Brian Dennehey and Ron Howard. Spotting them has become a sport.
The creme de la creme of appalling Foxtel dross, though, would have to be Hong Kong schlocker, The Mighty Peking Man. What a hoot! Best seen with a bunch of kitsch-lovers in the mood for a few beers and some convulsive laughter.
But when all is said and done, I still wouldn't pay for any of this guff.
16 January 2007
9 January 2007
If I Only Had a Brain
Email received this morning:
There is so much to write about: the death of James Brown; Tony Abbott's allocation of funding to a Catholic organisation for "pregnancy counselling"; severe water restrictions in SEQ while Tarong and Swanbank power stations continue to chew through 55 million litres a day to produce electricity to sell to NSW; Christmas consumption; the sad, sad show that was The Ashes.... but my brain just isn't able to process these topics to any coherant level. Sorry about that.
I've been reluctant to turn this into a pregnancy diary, but perhaps that's what's going to have to happen if anything's to be written. That's all my brain can focus on for the time being. Those not interested can find the door on their own, I'm sure.
Do you realise you didn't post a blog for the whole of December?Hmph. Yeah, I know. The trouble is that I have no brain. Seriously. These two "creative projects" I'm carrying about have been sucking my creative energy dry.
Man, I’m ripping up my subscription!! Surely it can’t be that hard to knock out some creative genius that titillates the great unwashed??!! Up the duff issues aside, your public needs you. So, get crackin’ slacker!!!
There is so much to write about: the death of James Brown; Tony Abbott's allocation of funding to a Catholic organisation for "pregnancy counselling"; severe water restrictions in SEQ while Tarong and Swanbank power stations continue to chew through 55 million litres a day to produce electricity to sell to NSW; Christmas consumption; the sad, sad show that was The Ashes.... but my brain just isn't able to process these topics to any coherant level. Sorry about that.
I've been reluctant to turn this into a pregnancy diary, but perhaps that's what's going to have to happen if anything's to be written. That's all my brain can focus on for the time being. Those not interested can find the door on their own, I'm sure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My latest pregancy joy is heartburn/reflux. I've never had it before, but a hot/cold burning in my throat is now my constant companion, particularly in the middle of the night. I don't know where I've put my packet of Tums, a product I discovered whilst in Canada, and now available in Australia, but only in the orange flavour. They make a nice change from the minty products. I must track it down before I turn in for the night.
On a better note, lying in bed Christmas eve I felt them moving for the first time. It was quite exciting. I'd been wondering when I might feel them, and thought I probably had already but not recognised it. That night it was unmistakable. Lying on one side Betty would drum away, roll over and Bob would take a turn. (Have I mentioned here that we have one boy and one girl? I'm not sure that I have.) Then, on New Year's Day, they were boogie-ing away enough for Lofty to feel them, which was a buzz, too. A couple of nights ago I could make out what seemed to be a leg poking up under my skin. It's a very odd experience, but the thoughts of the dinner scene from Alien are becoming less and less frequent.
It was a bit of a relief to feel them being active since I'd had a minor scare a day or two before. I'd had some painful belly cramping, enough to send me trotting off to the hospital to have it checked out. The staff were excellent. They checked me over and kept me in overnight just to keep an eye on things. No great conclusions on what caused it, but everything seems to be fine, and they encouraged me to come back if I was concerned about anything at all. We like to bitch about our public hospital system here--and heaven knows it could do with some improving--but my experiences have been quite satisfactory to date.
The ward they had me in was the actual maternity ward--my window had a nice view of my workplace, hurrah!-- so I was surrounded by wailing babies and their exhausted mothers. One woman who stands out was baggy-eyed and waddling alarmingly down the hall. I don't know the circumstances of the birth she'd had, but I can't say it looked too comfortable. But hey, what comes comes, so there's no point dwelling on it. I'm just trying to avoid birthing horror stories at the moment. I don't see the point in getting uptight about it, despite the world's seeming desire for me to do so. People seem to have a keen desire to get me to blanch or get all wobbly-kneed by telling me horrific stories. Or by laughing when I mention that it's twins. Well, to those in the latter group I say, can it be any worse than dealing with a newborn along with an attention-seeking two-year-old or two? I don't think so. And to the horror story brigade I say this: fuck off. Seriously. Take your morbid, thoughtless stories and jam them sideways. I really don't care that your friend's friend's sister-in-law's neighbours organs all dropped onto the floor just before their dog ate their baby, who had already died of SIDS anyway. Really. Why would I want to hear that story? It doesn't make me fearful, it just makes me think of you as a sad, maladjusted, self-absorbed, ambulance-chasing idiot. So let's just keep that a suspicion, rather than you confirming it, eh?
This Friday will mark 25 weeks. Although it's beginning to feel as though I've been pregnant forever, it also feels as though it's cracking along very quickly. Good grief, if all goes according to plan, we'll have two squealing pot roasts on our hands in around twelve weeks or so. Ha, and you think my blogging is sad now?
On a better note, lying in bed Christmas eve I felt them moving for the first time. It was quite exciting. I'd been wondering when I might feel them, and thought I probably had already but not recognised it. That night it was unmistakable. Lying on one side Betty would drum away, roll over and Bob would take a turn. (Have I mentioned here that we have one boy and one girl? I'm not sure that I have.) Then, on New Year's Day, they were boogie-ing away enough for Lofty to feel them, which was a buzz, too. A couple of nights ago I could make out what seemed to be a leg poking up under my skin. It's a very odd experience, but the thoughts of the dinner scene from Alien are becoming less and less frequent.
It was a bit of a relief to feel them being active since I'd had a minor scare a day or two before. I'd had some painful belly cramping, enough to send me trotting off to the hospital to have it checked out. The staff were excellent. They checked me over and kept me in overnight just to keep an eye on things. No great conclusions on what caused it, but everything seems to be fine, and they encouraged me to come back if I was concerned about anything at all. We like to bitch about our public hospital system here--and heaven knows it could do with some improving--but my experiences have been quite satisfactory to date.
The ward they had me in was the actual maternity ward--my window had a nice view of my workplace, hurrah!-- so I was surrounded by wailing babies and their exhausted mothers. One woman who stands out was baggy-eyed and waddling alarmingly down the hall. I don't know the circumstances of the birth she'd had, but I can't say it looked too comfortable. But hey, what comes comes, so there's no point dwelling on it. I'm just trying to avoid birthing horror stories at the moment. I don't see the point in getting uptight about it, despite the world's seeming desire for me to do so. People seem to have a keen desire to get me to blanch or get all wobbly-kneed by telling me horrific stories. Or by laughing when I mention that it's twins. Well, to those in the latter group I say, can it be any worse than dealing with a newborn along with an attention-seeking two-year-old or two? I don't think so. And to the horror story brigade I say this: fuck off. Seriously. Take your morbid, thoughtless stories and jam them sideways. I really don't care that your friend's friend's sister-in-law's neighbours organs all dropped onto the floor just before their dog ate their baby, who had already died of SIDS anyway. Really. Why would I want to hear that story? It doesn't make me fearful, it just makes me think of you as a sad, maladjusted, self-absorbed, ambulance-chasing idiot. So let's just keep that a suspicion, rather than you confirming it, eh?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This Friday will mark 25 weeks. Although it's beginning to feel as though I've been pregnant forever, it also feels as though it's cracking along very quickly. Good grief, if all goes according to plan, we'll have two squealing pot roasts on our hands in around twelve weeks or so. Ha, and you think my blogging is sad now?
26 November 2006
Change of Season
Ssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.......chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, CHIP, CHIP, CHIP!
Ssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.......chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, CHIP, CHIP, CHIP!
There’s a message going out on the cicada telegraph; that message is that summer is coming. At only
I had my first surf swim of the season yesterday, and, as it is every time this year, I underestimated the fierceness of the sun and came home with sunburn. I was alert enough to save my shoulders, face and arms with sunscreen, but my big round belly is now a big round RED belly. Naked I look like one of those strawberry and cream lollies. And with scorched knees, of all things. Sun dodging seems to be a lesson I need to learn afresh each year.
Tanya brought baby Thomas into the world this morning. His life is beginning at this very
Congratulations, Mike and Tan. You’ll be great parents.
20 November 2006
Everything's Just Swell
Have you ever grown tomatoes? If you have you may know the phenomenon where a plant suddenly gets a whole lot more water than it’s used to, and so the fruit swells so much that it splits: that’s how I feel right now. When it’s quiet you can hear my seams creaking. Seriously, if I stand still long enough and watch my belly I swear I can see it growing. Lofty is adamant that on awaking each morning he notices a difference. And I’m not even half way there yet! Surely something has to give soon. How embarrassing to be in a meeting or on the bus when—rip!—and my innards cascade out onto the floor like a dropped bucket of wet snags.
What’s the etiquette in that situation?
15 November 2006
Holy Holey
I do love a Face-of-Jesus/Mary-on-Everyday-Object. I really do. Some of you may recall my own good fortune with the blessed Gummy Virgin, and my excitement over the Holy Mother of Cheeses toasted sandwich. Well, my friends, I do believe they've both been surpassed: I received this in the mail today... I'm sure you'll be as awe-struck as I was.
Peace be with you.
Peace be with you.
27 October 2006
Tagged
Well, something had to be done to get this blog a-rollin' again. I've been tagged by the lovely Debra. So. Five little-known things about your correspondent.
1. The first one is well-known to many, but perhaps not to all who read here. I'm pregnant. With twins. Their due date is a source of contention, but all seem to be agreed that it's late April or early May.
2. In 2001 I won the Garden Gnome painting competition during Canberra's spring festival, Floriade. So I am a prize-winning artist. I won a book on Frida Kahlo and tickets to see an exhibition of her work that was showing at the National Gallery at the time. It was a good prize.
3. My first real job after leaving home was as a best boy. A best boy means leading workshop hand and trainee, in a hot glass studio in this case. The traineeship came to a halt when the blower's arch enemy was promoted within the college and locked our studio. Permanently. I took away with me a greater understanding of petty politics, an enhanced love of very, very hot things, and a fondness for Santana.
4. I've had one genuine act of chivalry done in my cause: a boy on my school bus spit in another boy's face (OK, in his mouth) as punishment for a vile infraction upon my character. I was nearly sick, but deeply moved. The cad in this story was a scurvy dog, to be sure, and he deserved every last thick drop of it. I'm sure one reader will know who my deranged hero was if I say "P.Q.".
5. I've always wanted to learn tap dancing. Maybe it's the outfits.
OK, time to tag. I nominate Fatuous One, Tim, and Cheryl. I'm not going to tell them, just to see if they're still reading. I would have tagged Chris, but, at a guess, she'd never get around to doing it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1. The first one is well-known to many, but perhaps not to all who read here. I'm pregnant. With twins. Their due date is a source of contention, but all seem to be agreed that it's late April or early May.
2. In 2001 I won the Garden Gnome painting competition during Canberra's spring festival, Floriade. So I am a prize-winning artist. I won a book on Frida Kahlo and tickets to see an exhibition of her work that was showing at the National Gallery at the time. It was a good prize.
3. My first real job after leaving home was as a best boy. A best boy means leading workshop hand and trainee, in a hot glass studio in this case. The traineeship came to a halt when the blower's arch enemy was promoted within the college and locked our studio. Permanently. I took away with me a greater understanding of petty politics, an enhanced love of very, very hot things, and a fondness for Santana.
4. I've had one genuine act of chivalry done in my cause: a boy on my school bus spit in another boy's face (OK, in his mouth) as punishment for a vile infraction upon my character. I was nearly sick, but deeply moved. The cad in this story was a scurvy dog, to be sure, and he deserved every last thick drop of it. I'm sure one reader will know who my deranged hero was if I say "P.Q.".
5. I've always wanted to learn tap dancing. Maybe it's the outfits.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OK, time to tag. I nominate Fatuous One, Tim, and Cheryl. I'm not going to tell them, just to see if they're still reading. I would have tagged Chris, but, at a guess, she'd never get around to doing it.
14 September 2006
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