Curiosity

Wednesday, December 21st, 2005 | Culture Clash, Insanity, University | No Comments

When I was a student, I had a small fridge in my college room. Within this fridge, I kept beer, chocolate and emergency food supplies for when the Russians invaded Toowoomba.

I shared this college lifestyle with 20 other people - other Engineering students, drunk Nurses, bleached and dyed Art students and the occasional Mad Science student.

It was widely understood that most of the students did not possess the sophistication to use utensils when they ate, nor did they wash their hands after visiting the toilet. In effect, we were a band of smelly bipeds who read books and dallied about in Lecture theatres. Monkey’s gaining education.

Many other people in my college had fridges, in addition to the common-room fridge. All except the Science students. These people used the Common-Room fridge with sole exclusion. It was their Petri dish.

Some claimed that the Common-Room Fridge contained the only culture in the college. Some of the bacteria had evolved intelligence, and had commenced a Bachelor of Education.

Now that I’ve graduated, I find that fridges are my friend. Mostly.

At present, I have two fridges, my old college friend, and a newer and slightly larger kitchen fridge. Both of which, are overflowing due to my recent Christmas Cooking episodes.

I made 24 mince pies the other night! All of this cooking must go somewhere, and this somewhere happens to be the freezer. To the expense of all else.

To my utter horror and revulsion, Mr Frog found a lonely recycled margarine container sitting on the top of the fridge last night. How long it had been there was anybody’s guess. I’m guessing that it was over 3 weeks.

This container had been displaced by Christmas Cooking and container had once contained frozen bacon. What was now contained in this margarine container had evolved to a state where it was learning to play Christmas Carols on the banjo. I’ve seen bipeds with less coordination than the contents previously known as Bacon, now known as George.

After a brief discussion, Mr Frog and I agreed to set George free. George was thrilled with this arrangement, but demanded that we provide him with a suitcase, some pocket money and a bus ticket.

Disgusted by his audacity, we threw George out on his arse.

Thankfully, the garbage men are coming around to collect George today, so we wont have to listen to his muffled cries for mercy from the bottom of the wheelie bin.

Destiny - Fiona McIntosh

Tuesday, December 20th, 2005 | Reading | 4 Comments

The finale of the Trinity series. Picked it up a little while back and I’m already half the way through it. V.V.good.

Cracked!

Tuesday, December 20th, 2005 | Idiocy | No Comments

I have a ‘heel fissure’. It sounds like some gaping black hole. Some terrifyingly demonic blot on the world, where fanged creatures escape through the vents of time and space. A slippery, and slimy stain on all that’s good and wholesome in this world, emanating evil smells and nasty gurgling sounds.

Or, it could just mean that my feet are in mortal need of a good old pedicure.

The dried up skin on the bottom of my feet that I take for granted, and literally walk all over, has decided to give me an early Christmas present.

By splitting itself in twain.

Painfully.

e-Podiatry is telling me that I need to rub oil into my feet. I’m going to modify this slightly, and tell Mr Frog that he needs to rub oil on my feet.

The strangest thing is that my heel split while I was sleeping, not while I was running or putting undue pressure on my fissure. I remember waking up through the night with this twang in my foot (not a pleasant experience) which corresponded to my dream of walking over a bed of nails, barefoot.

As a result, I’m no longer going to be taking my feet for granted. I shall engage them in meaningful conversation and treat them with respect. While my toes are painted prettily, my feet will now be lathered in the finest quality oils and treated to caviar and champagne.

It seems my purpose in life is to serve as an example to others - Do not neglect your feet.

I only hope that they ‘heel’ quickly.

Master of Quilts

Monday, December 19th, 2005 | Uncategorized | No Comments

When people arrive at work on Monday morning, the usual conversation starter is the usual “So, what did you do on the weekend?”

At which point, most people reply something akin to the following:

• I went shopping
• I went to the movies
• Nothing Much

Well, I spent the weekend on the Sunshine Coast. I wasn’t sunbathing, or swimming, or fishing. I spent the weekend assembling a QuiltMaster v2. Sewing Machine for Macho types. The granddaddy of automated needle movements.

However, large as this monster may seem, we were assured that even an 80 year old, armed only with a screwdriver and a pair of her best spectacles, would be able to build this machine.

To that, I say ‘Poppycock’.

Mr Frog is a bit of a manufacturing Guru. I have unshakable faith in his manufacturing prowess. And it was telling that even he, Demi-God of Building-stuff-like-MacGuiver, had some head-scratching moments in order to get this machine to look like it did in the pictures.

I pity the poor 80 year old that was forced to put this thing together in order to satisfy her burning desire to Quilt.

I am slightly concerned that Cyclone Joan now has a QuiltMaster V2, as I fear that I wont see her for the next 5 weeks. And when I do, she’ll be covered in Quilted Clothes, with a Quilted cape living in a Quilted Lair looking like a Batman Villain;

“The Mad Quilter”

So, next weekend, instead of assembling an oversized sewing machine or celebrating Christmas, I can only assume the next big plan is to

Take over the world
Muahahahaha.

Patchwork Shops of the Sunshine Coast - beware.

Cyclone Joan is inbound

Friday, December 16th, 2005 | Cyclone Joan | 2 Comments

Cyclone Joan is inbound, with a Tropical Storm classification of 4.

Stay tuned for updates.

Of all the things that I can say about my mother is - I’m always excited to see her.

Whenever I’m flying, or driving towards her, I’m always happy that I’m doing it. It’s quite a nice experience to know that you’re going to see your Mummy in a short while.

Of course, as soon as I see her I remember that we are -exactly- the same and she knows me so well and knows every single button and presses them with reckless abandon.

Within 30 seconds of being in the same room, we assume the ‘Exasperated Mother’ and ‘Frustrated Teenager’ routine that we lived through over a decade ago.

“Jac, have you…”

“No.”

“Don’t you think you should?”

“No.” Because I spent 20 years doing it that way, and now, I’m doing it this way. Just for shits and giggles. Or just to irritate you. You pick.

“Oh.”

Having said that, I know I’m my mothers daughter. I have inherited many things from her. I’ve inherited her intolerance of idiots. I count teaspoons. I iron pillowcases. I like to think I inherited some of her intelligence, and I’m going grey early.

But, now that I’m living on the same side of the world, I’m now a bigger part of her life. I get to pick her up from the airport, I get to meet her for lunch, I get to spend Christmas with her and I get to share her excitement over buying a new patch working machine.

I’m meeting my Mummy at the train station this afternoon, as she’s just got home from spending 6 weeks in Victoria. As always, I’m excited to see her, but also aware that within 30 seconds we’ll be firing verbal missiles at each other.

Hurrah!

Winston Churchill says:

Thursday, December 8th, 2005 | Thinking | No Comments

A fanatic is one who can’t change his mind and won’t change the subject.