There's a version of this on facebook, called "Hello, my name is..." but I think this is more fun. Considering I am trying to come up with my 'Bond name' for Nick's birthday, I consider this to be a perfectly cromulent procrastinatory exercise!
1. My rock star name (first pet and current car)
Tasha Pulsar
2. My gangsta name (ice cream flavour plus cookie, or biscuit)
Macadamia Mania Monte Carlo (I am CLEARLY a Mafia Gangsta)
3. My fly girl name (first letter of first name, first three letters of last name)
N Mae
4. My detective name (favourite colour, favourite animal)
Pink Tiger (sounds like a stripped name to me...)
5. My soap opera name (middle name, city of birth)
Rana Murwillumbah (Bollywood soap starlet)
6. My Star Wars name (first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name)
Mae-Na
7. My superhero name (second favourite colour, favourite drink, add “the”)
The Black Tea (I think this is more villainous. It's probably the 'Black' part... but I see a very 'proper' middle aged villain who poisons people mid cucumber sandwich at high tea...)
8. My Nascar name (first two names of my two grandfathers)
Robert James (or James Robert, I guess. Or Bob Jim, as both used abbreviations more than their full names. Or Jim Bob! Hee hee, having fun with this one...)
9. My stripper name (favourite perfume, favourite sweet)
Stella Valrhona- oh YEAH. Hott.
10. My witness protection name (mother’s and father’s middle names)
Shirley Donaldson
11. My weather anchor name (fifth grade teacher’s name, a major city beginning with the same letter)
Hutchins Hobart
12. My spy name (favourite season/flower)
Autumn Lily (aw, pretty)
13. Cartoon name (favourite fruit plus garment you’re wearing, with an “ie” or “y” added)
Nectarine Cardie (Cardy-ie or Cardigan-y just sounds SILLY!)
14 Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast plus favourite tree)
Muffin Flame Tree
15. Your rockstar tour name (favourite hobby plus weather element, with “the”)The Dancing Thunder (sounds like another hippie name)
Well that was fun :) I expect a whole stack of these in my comments field, so I know the best way to address you at Nick's party. I'll either be my rock star name, stripper name, or spy name. Oh hang on. Bond name may = spy name. I guess you can call me Autumn Lily.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Apathetically hip
I marvel at the way people in dreary jobs funk themselves up; as though having a wacky hairstyle (an odd angle here, a splash of outrageous colour there), or super groovy accessories (BRIGHT glasses frames, jewellery made exclusively of buttons and the skulls of small animals) or a slightly offbeat dress sense will make up for the drudgery of their workaday life. This phenomenon seems to be especially present in government jobs. If you don't have to suit it up, it seems, the dress code is instead to go a bit visually kooky.
Now I probably sound like a mega bitch right now. With an asymmetrical haircut, I also sound a bit like a hypocrite. And many of my friends reading this may well be looking at their outfits and thinking, shocked, 'Does she mean me?' No. I don't. I swear! I LOVE your outfits, and you. I'm not actually sniping at the way these people look; often I am in fact coveting various items.
I am temping at the moment (oh bane of my life), and have once again found myself recept-ing for a Minister's office. Now it seems that some of the most achingly quirky people I have seen work in senior government; they are also bitingly rude and dismissive. I guess my problem is seeing these outfits that scream 'Personality' on people who won't even look me in the eye as I do something for them, let alone smile or throw me a stray word. I can't help but suspect they may wear exciting clothes to make up for their lack of character, or to desperately inject some colour into their lacklustre worlds.
Of course, I may be completely wrong. If one of them would speak to me, they could well prove how fascinating they are in their own right. But until then, I shall sit alone at my boring reception desk, imagining how I too can make my work life a little more exciting. Maybe pink streaks in my hair?
Now I probably sound like a mega bitch right now. With an asymmetrical haircut, I also sound a bit like a hypocrite. And many of my friends reading this may well be looking at their outfits and thinking, shocked, 'Does she mean me?' No. I don't. I swear! I LOVE your outfits, and you. I'm not actually sniping at the way these people look; often I am in fact coveting various items.
I am temping at the moment (oh bane of my life), and have once again found myself recept-ing for a Minister's office. Now it seems that some of the most achingly quirky people I have seen work in senior government; they are also bitingly rude and dismissive. I guess my problem is seeing these outfits that scream 'Personality' on people who won't even look me in the eye as I do something for them, let alone smile or throw me a stray word. I can't help but suspect they may wear exciting clothes to make up for their lack of character, or to desperately inject some colour into their lacklustre worlds.
Of course, I may be completely wrong. If one of them would speak to me, they could well prove how fascinating they are in their own right. But until then, I shall sit alone at my boring reception desk, imagining how I too can make my work life a little more exciting. Maybe pink streaks in my hair?
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Presenting ME! In all my lameness
This is Lisa's fault.
List five things that other people may consider to be 'totally lame,' but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it. Tag five others.
1. I find brushing my teeth therapeutic.
Yeah, this is weird, I know. I can't exactly explain it. Maybe the vigorous motion helps to expel my frustration. Maybe it's the shiny clean feeling of my molars afterwards. Maybe it's the promise of a clean start to the day (or the pretense of restarting a day, if I am brushing my teeth mid-day). I hate to leave the house without brushing, and I am such a vigorous brusher that my dentist has banned me from having an electric toothbrush or even a hard bristled brush, for fear of the damage I may do.
2. I have an ongoing obsession with Safeway roast chickens.
Any time I go past the roast chickens at the deli, or the newfangled hot chicken counters, I feel a compulsion to buy a chicken. It's my main impulse buy (well, except for chocolate). I think it's because the other tempters don't have a scent... And it's got to be Safeway chickens. Coles chickens are too dry. Leo's do very yummy organic chickens, but that's only for days I feel rich.
3. I lo-o-o-o-ve tea.
At the height of my tea collection, I had over 70 different types of tea. This is more than some tea stores exhibit! I'm quite finicky about tea and its preparation; for example, you must use water off the boil to prepare green tea (Boiling water burns the delicate green leaves). I have different tea pots for different purposes, and different cups for different types of beverage. I have to avoid the tea aisle in the supermarket, I cross the road away from specialty tea stores to avoid spending all my money on an absolute glut of tea. I have no shame in driving all the way to the Dandenongs just to visit my favourite tea store, Tea Leaves.
4. I am a word nerd.
I am an English teacher, a spelling pedant, a grammar Nazi. I read blogs by book people. I watch Book Club tv shows. I am fascinated by word origins, and loved studying Old English, as it taught me the roots of our language. I am intrigued by linguistics and base languages; while I'd love to learn Portuguese and Spanish, and improve my Indonesian, my real desire is to learn Latin. And yet, for all my word-nerdiness, I am shocking at Scrabble...
5. I secretly want to be on Idol.
I know that Idol is not cool. I know that the contracts you have to sign suppress any musical independence. I know that being on Idol doesn't guarantee you a career (I'm not even sure I want a music career). But damn it, it looks like fun, and I am sure I could do it. Then again, that's probably what all the tragics humiliated on those embarrassing grabs thought before they went on and screeched, I mean sang their little hearts out. But I doubt I'll ever get around to auditioning- Years of music lessons simply don't equip you with the skills to stand in line all day, trying to stand out from the crowd of other desperate hopefuls.
I don't actually know many people who blog, so I'll be tagging people through email. Hayley, Jackie, Dom, Paul, Nick.
List five things that other people may consider to be 'totally lame,' but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it. Tag five others.
1. I find brushing my teeth therapeutic.
Yeah, this is weird, I know. I can't exactly explain it. Maybe the vigorous motion helps to expel my frustration. Maybe it's the shiny clean feeling of my molars afterwards. Maybe it's the promise of a clean start to the day (or the pretense of restarting a day, if I am brushing my teeth mid-day). I hate to leave the house without brushing, and I am such a vigorous brusher that my dentist has banned me from having an electric toothbrush or even a hard bristled brush, for fear of the damage I may do.
2. I have an ongoing obsession with Safeway roast chickens.
Any time I go past the roast chickens at the deli, or the newfangled hot chicken counters, I feel a compulsion to buy a chicken. It's my main impulse buy (well, except for chocolate). I think it's because the other tempters don't have a scent... And it's got to be Safeway chickens. Coles chickens are too dry. Leo's do very yummy organic chickens, but that's only for days I feel rich.
3. I lo-o-o-o-ve tea.
At the height of my tea collection, I had over 70 different types of tea. This is more than some tea stores exhibit! I'm quite finicky about tea and its preparation; for example, you must use water off the boil to prepare green tea (Boiling water burns the delicate green leaves). I have different tea pots for different purposes, and different cups for different types of beverage. I have to avoid the tea aisle in the supermarket, I cross the road away from specialty tea stores to avoid spending all my money on an absolute glut of tea. I have no shame in driving all the way to the Dandenongs just to visit my favourite tea store, Tea Leaves.
4. I am a word nerd.
I am an English teacher, a spelling pedant, a grammar Nazi. I read blogs by book people. I watch Book Club tv shows. I am fascinated by word origins, and loved studying Old English, as it taught me the roots of our language. I am intrigued by linguistics and base languages; while I'd love to learn Portuguese and Spanish, and improve my Indonesian, my real desire is to learn Latin. And yet, for all my word-nerdiness, I am shocking at Scrabble...
5. I secretly want to be on Idol.
I know that Idol is not cool. I know that the contracts you have to sign suppress any musical independence. I know that being on Idol doesn't guarantee you a career (I'm not even sure I want a music career). But damn it, it looks like fun, and I am sure I could do it. Then again, that's probably what all the tragics humiliated on those embarrassing grabs thought before they went on and screeched, I mean sang their little hearts out. But I doubt I'll ever get around to auditioning- Years of music lessons simply don't equip you with the skills to stand in line all day, trying to stand out from the crowd of other desperate hopefuls.
I don't actually know many people who blog, so I'll be tagging people through email. Hayley, Jackie, Dom, Paul, Nick.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Festival of Fringe
Of late, I have been sporting a fringe. Straight down, straight across, and hanging anywhere from just above my eyebrows to poking me in the eye, depending on whether I'd trimmed it lately.
"I'd trimmed it." These are the fateful words which trigger our sad tale. Being a penny-pincher right now, I refuse to go to a hairdresser just to pay them to make three broad snips along my eyebrows. I have been trimming my own fringe, and most of the time, doing an ok job. But once, just once, my hairdressing skills clearly absented me. It was a dark day on which I decided to employ creativity into my shearing routine.
I'd been feeling bored with my hair. I'd been feeling confident about my snipping skills. I'd been watching far too many back episodes of 'Love My Way'. And so, when I picked up the scissors, I was certain I had the skills to emulate Claudia Karvan's fringe.
I did not.
Do you know how difficult it is to swallow your pride, call around hairdressers, explain your 'fringe emergency', and hope they can fix it for a reasonable budget price? It's not easy, I can assure you. I was so glad I went to Nick's hairdresser. There a lovely European lady reassured me that everyone cuts their own hair at some point in their lives (sure, but they're normally about five years old), and that I actually hadn't done too bad a job of it. She talked me through all my (two) options, advised what she thought was the best, and patiently snipped away, explaining all the time what she was doing and why.
When she stepped back (after a free blow dry!), I was amazed. My mission had been achieved. I had a choppy asymmetrical fringe, and wispy layers around my face. Sadly, I hadn't become a gorgeous, respected actress (a la Claudia) or a kooky, damaged yet talented artist ( a la Frankie, Claudia's LMW character), but I did have some very funky hair which I REALLY liked.
And all it cost me was $33, a night of panic, and a chunk of self-respect.
"I'd trimmed it." These are the fateful words which trigger our sad tale. Being a penny-pincher right now, I refuse to go to a hairdresser just to pay them to make three broad snips along my eyebrows. I have been trimming my own fringe, and most of the time, doing an ok job. But once, just once, my hairdressing skills clearly absented me. It was a dark day on which I decided to employ creativity into my shearing routine.
I'd been feeling bored with my hair. I'd been feeling confident about my snipping skills. I'd been watching far too many back episodes of 'Love My Way'. And so, when I picked up the scissors, I was certain I had the skills to emulate Claudia Karvan's fringe.
I did not.
Do you know how difficult it is to swallow your pride, call around hairdressers, explain your 'fringe emergency', and hope they can fix it for a reasonable budget price? It's not easy, I can assure you. I was so glad I went to Nick's hairdresser. There a lovely European lady reassured me that everyone cuts their own hair at some point in their lives (sure, but they're normally about five years old), and that I actually hadn't done too bad a job of it. She talked me through all my (two) options, advised what she thought was the best, and patiently snipped away, explaining all the time what she was doing and why.
When she stepped back (after a free blow dry!), I was amazed. My mission had been achieved. I had a choppy asymmetrical fringe, and wispy layers around my face. Sadly, I hadn't become a gorgeous, respected actress (a la Claudia) or a kooky, damaged yet talented artist ( a la Frankie, Claudia's LMW character), but I did have some very funky hair which I REALLY liked.
And all it cost me was $33, a night of panic, and a chunk of self-respect.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Insufferable intolerance
As a child, I remember hearing of the most horrible allergy I could imagine; a friend of mine could not eat chocolate! At eleven, I was aghast. Not eat chocolate? Why bother living? At twenty-five, my feelings on the matter have, if anything, probably intensified.
When I returned to France having spent six weeks travelling other parts of Europe, I experienced stomach pains I hadn't suffered since I was last in Paris. Trying to pinpoint what could be wrong (I mean, I know I'd always insisted I wasn't interested in Paris, but surely I couldn't be allergic to it???), I realised that something had been added to my diet when I joined my friend Lisa in her second home; cheese feasts.
Living in France, Lisa had discovered the joy that is French cheese, and had developed somewhat of an addiction. In fact, she suffered severe cheese withdrawals as we travelled further away from French fromage. Upon return to Paris, we enjoyed a picnic on the Champs du Mars, sampling saucisson, wine and a variety of delicious cheeses. Since her return to Melbourne, Lisa and I generally meet over a newly discovered cheese, in the hope it may live up to the lofty heights of its French cousin. I'm coming to suspect that the feeling in my stomach is not disappointment, but perhaps something far more sinister.
Lactose intolerance is a fairly common development as humans age. It occurs when the body stops producing lactase, the enzyme which breaks down lactose (milk sugars). In fact, most mammals stop producing lactase once they are weaned, making humans quite unique in the prolonged dairy consumption. However, societies with a low dairy consumption, such as Asian or Aboriginal communities, have a greater tendency towards lactose intolerance. In Caucasians or those of European descent, lactose intolerance occurs in about 5% of people.
Now I have a confession to make. I am a dairy tart. I get around in the dairy section of the supermarket; my beloved chocolate, yoghurt, cheese, icecream, milk, sour cream, and what's a cake without a dollop of cream? I love dairy. So this niggling thought has been ignored for a long time. But the stomach pain after each dairy binge is a little too coincidental.
The easiest way to test for lactose intolerance is to cut out all dairy products from the diet for a few weeks, and then slowly reintroduce items to establish which cause the biggest problems. With best intentions, I poured soy milk onto my Vita Brits and began my first lactose free day.
I'd fallen off the wagon by recess. I reasoned with myself that I didn't get stomach pain after yoghurt, so maybe the bacteria in it was countering the lactose? At lunchtime, I just HAD to eat the rest of that Mars Bar. And when we went out for pizza, well it would have been unfair of me to deny Nick a pizza with cheese. And that one with mascarpone, fetta and mozzarella did look good...
Today I started again. Fruit for breakfast. I discovered that one of my tea blends was perfectly complemented by soy milk. Then a bagel topped with... um... does goat's cheese contain lactose? After a tantrum at the realisation that I couldn't even have jam and butter (have to buy some Nuttelex), I decided to throw today's race, and ate the chevre goat cheese (yum). Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll cut out dairy. But I can't help wondering if such painful self-denial will really be worth it...
When I returned to France having spent six weeks travelling other parts of Europe, I experienced stomach pains I hadn't suffered since I was last in Paris. Trying to pinpoint what could be wrong (I mean, I know I'd always insisted I wasn't interested in Paris, but surely I couldn't be allergic to it???), I realised that something had been added to my diet when I joined my friend Lisa in her second home; cheese feasts.
Living in France, Lisa had discovered the joy that is French cheese, and had developed somewhat of an addiction. In fact, she suffered severe cheese withdrawals as we travelled further away from French fromage. Upon return to Paris, we enjoyed a picnic on the Champs du Mars, sampling saucisson, wine and a variety of delicious cheeses. Since her return to Melbourne, Lisa and I generally meet over a newly discovered cheese, in the hope it may live up to the lofty heights of its French cousin. I'm coming to suspect that the feeling in my stomach is not disappointment, but perhaps something far more sinister.
Lactose intolerance is a fairly common development as humans age. It occurs when the body stops producing lactase, the enzyme which breaks down lactose (milk sugars). In fact, most mammals stop producing lactase once they are weaned, making humans quite unique in the prolonged dairy consumption. However, societies with a low dairy consumption, such as Asian or Aboriginal communities, have a greater tendency towards lactose intolerance. In Caucasians or those of European descent, lactose intolerance occurs in about 5% of people.
Now I have a confession to make. I am a dairy tart. I get around in the dairy section of the supermarket; my beloved chocolate, yoghurt, cheese, icecream, milk, sour cream, and what's a cake without a dollop of cream? I love dairy. So this niggling thought has been ignored for a long time. But the stomach pain after each dairy binge is a little too coincidental.
The easiest way to test for lactose intolerance is to cut out all dairy products from the diet for a few weeks, and then slowly reintroduce items to establish which cause the biggest problems. With best intentions, I poured soy milk onto my Vita Brits and began my first lactose free day.
I'd fallen off the wagon by recess. I reasoned with myself that I didn't get stomach pain after yoghurt, so maybe the bacteria in it was countering the lactose? At lunchtime, I just HAD to eat the rest of that Mars Bar. And when we went out for pizza, well it would have been unfair of me to deny Nick a pizza with cheese. And that one with mascarpone, fetta and mozzarella did look good...
Today I started again. Fruit for breakfast. I discovered that one of my tea blends was perfectly complemented by soy milk. Then a bagel topped with... um... does goat's cheese contain lactose? After a tantrum at the realisation that I couldn't even have jam and butter (have to buy some Nuttelex), I decided to throw today's race, and ate the chevre goat cheese (yum). Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll cut out dairy. But I can't help wondering if such painful self-denial will really be worth it...
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