Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Hit, or Not Hit
Do you already know the latest stats joke?
Probably...
Three statisticians go hunting. When they see a rabbit, the first one shoots, missing it on the left. The second one shoots and misses it on the right.
The third one shouts: "We've hit it!"
Okay. So there's a bit of a point to all this. I was at Scumbag Headquarters (aka The Yard) the other day, wasting time as is the norm when you're on shift in The Yard. The resident old fart mechanic turned turned around at one point not realising I was behind him. He made a point of saying sorry to me.
What for? says Vic.
Well, I almost touched your breast when I swung around there.
Oh. I don't see my tits as a sexual thing at all. There annoying lumps of fat I'd rather do without. The guys just don't seem to be able to comprehend that though. So I come back with:
You know what the difference between almost touching a breast and being a fucking mile away is, don't you?
No? He says.
And to that I replied: Absolutely none. Whether you're a mile away or an inch away you still haven't touched, so who gives a fuck?
Probably...
Three statisticians go hunting. When they see a rabbit, the first one shoots, missing it on the left. The second one shoots and misses it on the right.
The third one shouts: "We've hit it!"
Okay. So there's a bit of a point to all this. I was at Scumbag Headquarters (aka The Yard) the other day, wasting time as is the norm when you're on shift in The Yard. The resident old fart mechanic turned turned around at one point not realising I was behind him. He made a point of saying sorry to me.
What for? says Vic.
Well, I almost touched your breast when I swung around there.
Oh. I don't see my tits as a sexual thing at all. There annoying lumps of fat I'd rather do without. The guys just don't seem to be able to comprehend that though. So I come back with:
You know what the difference between almost touching a breast and being a fucking mile away is, don't you?
No? He says.
And to that I replied: Absolutely none. Whether you're a mile away or an inch away you still haven't touched, so who gives a fuck?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Scumbags find Pebbles
Pebbles?
No, not of the small stone variety.
Of the large, decaying variety.
For some reason one of our scumbag teams was sent out to pressure clean a machine part - the crowd rack, or "sticks", which is the bit that the bucket is attached to - on Pebbles. We spent an hour sitting around waiting at the workshop for directions because nobody was sure where the hell it actually was. Finally, somebody who had been around for a while recalled where Pebbles was stashed. As it turned out she was over in a nicely deserted and overgrown back corner of the mine.
See? There's her name right up there above the driver's cab.
Three scumbags, a beautiful day, and a bunch of stuff that had been dumped. How much better can it get?
Exactly as the writing on the track frame says. What now?
There's another old shovel sitting around at a mine we go to. A while back I asked around about it. What's it sitting around there for? Parts? Scrap? Turns out the thing has been there for years and isn't able to be butchered for parts. To scrap it will cost too much. So... it just sits there gathering rust and mud. I guess eventually it'll become part of a hill.
At least Pebbles gets to watch the grass grow where she lies.
No, not of the small stone variety.
Of the large, decaying variety.
For some reason one of our scumbag teams was sent out to pressure clean a machine part - the crowd rack, or "sticks", which is the bit that the bucket is attached to - on Pebbles. We spent an hour sitting around waiting at the workshop for directions because nobody was sure where the hell it actually was. Finally, somebody who had been around for a while recalled where Pebbles was stashed. As it turned out she was over in a nicely deserted and overgrown back corner of the mine.
See? There's her name right up there above the driver's cab.
Three scumbags, a beautiful day, and a bunch of stuff that had been dumped. How much better can it get?
Exactly as the writing on the track frame says. What now?
There's another old shovel sitting around at a mine we go to. A while back I asked around about it. What's it sitting around there for? Parts? Scrap? Turns out the thing has been there for years and isn't able to be butchered for parts. To scrap it will cost too much. So... it just sits there gathering rust and mud. I guess eventually it'll become part of a hill.
At least Pebbles gets to watch the grass grow where she lies.
Quote of the Day
The universe is full of magical things, patiently
waiting for our wits to grow sharper.
- Eden Phillpotts (1862-1960)
waiting for our wits to grow sharper.
- Eden Phillpotts (1862-1960)
Monday, June 22, 2009
Getting Around With The Scumbags
Working for Scumbag Industries has some perks. We might have to be leaving the workshop at 4:30am to get to our prospective work sites, but once you get there you can end up having a pretty cruisey day.
Take this day, for example.
We arrived at 6:30am and snoozed at the gate of the mine for about an hour waiting for the guys on site to say it was okay to approach the machine. Then we get there and lo and behold... the thing still isn't ready. So you either snooze, talk shit, or take photos of the whole process.
Here we have a 4WD taking on a shovel (the shovel is that big sucker on the left).
And here we have a guy wondering how the hell he's meant to turn this thing off. Can't see him? Just on the left of the bucket there.
Half a pack of cigarettes later and we're finally allowed to go to work. Some of the guys you'll have to prod awake and watch them sleepily get ready. But hey, we're all getting paid for it. It's stuff like this that makes work worth going to.
Take this day, for example.
We arrived at 6:30am and snoozed at the gate of the mine for about an hour waiting for the guys on site to say it was okay to approach the machine. Then we get there and lo and behold... the thing still isn't ready. So you either snooze, talk shit, or take photos of the whole process.
Here we have a 4WD taking on a shovel (the shovel is that big sucker on the left).
And here we have a guy wondering how the hell he's meant to turn this thing off. Can't see him? Just on the left of the bucket there.
Half a pack of cigarettes later and we're finally allowed to go to work. Some of the guys you'll have to prod awake and watch them sleepily get ready. But hey, we're all getting paid for it. It's stuff like this that makes work worth going to.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Awww
Okay. I'm trying... Let me see...
How about: Ahem. Excuse me? Uh, I think you may have missed a letter in that statement? Or perhaps you would like to take the option of inserting an apostrophe on the end of "somethin" to at least make it look like you meant it?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The Death of Myrtle [Part II]
Where we left off...
Next morning I tried to start the beast and it had a bit of life in it. Holy shit! She's still kicking!
I'd had a night camped on the side of the road next to my car. It was shitty tent-pitching ground, so all I had was a swag with the canvas pulled up over my head to keep out the elements and anything else that might wish to intrude while I'm in drunken slumber.
Pretty early that night I'd managed to scare myself half to death when something plopped onto the canvas relatively close to my head. There was a bit of weight in it, and I lay there frozen trying to figure out what danger I had just encountered and how to deal with it. Since it had actually plopped onto my makeshift bed, I reasoned that it wasn't a snake. Good news there! So I psyched myself up to fling the canvas aside and found my assailant. Laying there, innocent and not threatening at all, was the empty beer bottle I had stashed next to the bed.
I woke at another point and realised the flaw in my plan to get a good night's sleep. When getting drunk, liquid consumed has to go somewhere. Ahhh. Nothing like squatting in the dark for a bush pee when you're completely unsure of your surroundings. After my earlier freakout experience, my overactive imagination was supplying me with images of myself pissing directly onto a snake and consequently having a snake bite me on the arse. Or worse.
When I emerged in the morning it was already light. The rest of the night had passed without incident and I had slept soundly until after eight. Fuck. What do I do now? I thought. So I tried the car just in case. And as we already know, she started. I checked the dipstick and it barely had anything on it after the litre I dropped into it. I went off in search of more.
There's got to be farms somewhere around here and where there's farms there's usually oil. A couple of kilometres, three unoccupied houses and one complete arsehat later, I came across a father-son combo who gave me four litres of lawnmower oil. I offered to pay but they wouldn't take it at all, which was sweet. Things were looking up! To top it off, I thumbed a lift almost immediately on the preety much deserted road that I'd been walking along.
The guy who gave me a lift had a travelling companion - a small dog who had his own little bowl set up on the passenger side floor. They were a great pair. The dog ran around and had an explore while old mate kindly waited with me at my car to see if it would still go.
She fired, and we waved our goodbyes. I was on my way... but the fun wasn't over yet.
Next morning I tried to start the beast and it had a bit of life in it. Holy shit! She's still kicking!
I'd had a night camped on the side of the road next to my car. It was shitty tent-pitching ground, so all I had was a swag with the canvas pulled up over my head to keep out the elements and anything else that might wish to intrude while I'm in drunken slumber.
Pretty early that night I'd managed to scare myself half to death when something plopped onto the canvas relatively close to my head. There was a bit of weight in it, and I lay there frozen trying to figure out what danger I had just encountered and how to deal with it. Since it had actually plopped onto my makeshift bed, I reasoned that it wasn't a snake. Good news there! So I psyched myself up to fling the canvas aside and found my assailant. Laying there, innocent and not threatening at all, was the empty beer bottle I had stashed next to the bed.
I woke at another point and realised the flaw in my plan to get a good night's sleep. When getting drunk, liquid consumed has to go somewhere. Ahhh. Nothing like squatting in the dark for a bush pee when you're completely unsure of your surroundings. After my earlier freakout experience, my overactive imagination was supplying me with images of myself pissing directly onto a snake and consequently having a snake bite me on the arse. Or worse.
When I emerged in the morning it was already light. The rest of the night had passed without incident and I had slept soundly until after eight. Fuck. What do I do now? I thought. So I tried the car just in case. And as we already know, she started. I checked the dipstick and it barely had anything on it after the litre I dropped into it. I went off in search of more.
There's got to be farms somewhere around here and where there's farms there's usually oil. A couple of kilometres, three unoccupied houses and one complete arsehat later, I came across a father-son combo who gave me four litres of lawnmower oil. I offered to pay but they wouldn't take it at all, which was sweet. Things were looking up! To top it off, I thumbed a lift almost immediately on the preety much deserted road that I'd been walking along.
The guy who gave me a lift had a travelling companion - a small dog who had his own little bowl set up on the passenger side floor. They were a great pair. The dog ran around and had an explore while old mate kindly waited with me at my car to see if it would still go.
She fired, and we waved our goodbyes. I was on my way... but the fun wasn't over yet.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Death of Myrtle [Part I]
Finally, after months of legging it and fare evasion, I have a new car. It's burgundy. It's a station wagon. It's a Subaru with roof racks and a tow ball. Since I'm such a short-arse I can sleep in the back of it. AND the existing stereo is pretty damn good. I am in love with it's leather seats and sticking power windows.
I don't think I ever wrote about the demise of the last car. I'd just lost permanency in my job due to a stupid decision to douse an idiot with a cup of coffee. Said idoit was a relation of the boss, so I was lucky to be kept on as a casual. Anyways, I was driving this car around unregistered. The brakes were pretty shot - actually they were totally fucked to the point of grinding for ages after you atempted to use them - so I was using the gears to slow the car and babying it along. Since I'd gone from earning a grand a week to less than half that I had no chance of fucking the car off for a new one, so I was driving a bomb.
And it wasn't even registered in my name. I had no idea that I had to swap the rego over to my name when I bought it. I thought the dealer I bought it from would do that. Anyway, as things turned happened, that little oversight worked out well for me.
I was planning a night's stay a few hours drive away to meet up with friends kelsuperstarsinger and Icepick to take in the glorious And Difranco in concert. I'd been thinking about how the hell to get there a little more safely in my unregistered bomb. [Public transport? Pffft. Australia's a big place, and we don't have trains everywhere.] The plan came about that rather than taking the police-laden traffic haven of the highway straight up the coast, I would take in the longer, infinitely more scenic journey through the mountains on all the old back roads. In fact, stuff it, I might as well leave a day early and camp out on the way.
Shit happened that made me leave very late. I can't remember what exactly. I know I was near breaking point mentally with life and my job (or lack thereof) so I was operating on the flee instinct. I packed the car with my camping gear, gave it a bit of oil and set off into the dark.
The problem with taking a mountain route is that they tend to be pretty windy. I'd forget to use the engine to brake and instead use the stuffed brakes, producing a heart-wrenching grind that just seemed to get worse. The oil-light came on, which was no big drama because the beast has had a slow oil leak since I got her and it's perpetually coming on. Nothing open now out here, I thought. I'll put a bit more in tomorrow. So I kept on going, winding my way through the darkness with a spiralling head and a car with fucked brakes.
They got worse and worse, the brakes, or so I thought. And then it happened. I was on my way up one of the larger inclines when the engine seemed to chew itself to shreds. I stopped. No forward, no backward. No start what-so-fucking-ever. Dead in the middle of the road. In the middle of the night. With guard rails on one edge of the road and a cliff on the other. Shit.
All I could do was let it roll back down the hill until there was enough room on the side to pull over. I pooped the bonnet to check it out and my heart sank. There was oil everywhere. And my oil cap, sitting exactly where I'd left it when I took it off to top up the oil before leaving. Three hundred kilometres later and the fucking thing was still sitting there being a final reminder of my ineptitude.
I flagged down a passing car and they sold me a litre of oil for fifteen bucks. Rip-off bastards! But I obviously needed it. I put it in in the hope of reviving my poor dead vehicle but no dice. Luckily I was prepared to camp! I had the essentials for a decent night's sleep in any situation - a swag... and plenty of beer.
Next morning I tried to start the beast and it had a bit of life in it. Holy shit! She's still kicking!
I don't think I ever wrote about the demise of the last car. I'd just lost permanency in my job due to a stupid decision to douse an idiot with a cup of coffee. Said idoit was a relation of the boss, so I was lucky to be kept on as a casual. Anyways, I was driving this car around unregistered. The brakes were pretty shot - actually they were totally fucked to the point of grinding for ages after you atempted to use them - so I was using the gears to slow the car and babying it along. Since I'd gone from earning a grand a week to less than half that I had no chance of fucking the car off for a new one, so I was driving a bomb.
And it wasn't even registered in my name. I had no idea that I had to swap the rego over to my name when I bought it. I thought the dealer I bought it from would do that. Anyway, as things turned happened, that little oversight worked out well for me.
I was planning a night's stay a few hours drive away to meet up with friends kelsuperstarsinger and Icepick to take in the glorious And Difranco in concert. I'd been thinking about how the hell to get there a little more safely in my unregistered bomb. [Public transport? Pffft. Australia's a big place, and we don't have trains everywhere.] The plan came about that rather than taking the police-laden traffic haven of the highway straight up the coast, I would take in the longer, infinitely more scenic journey through the mountains on all the old back roads. In fact, stuff it, I might as well leave a day early and camp out on the way.
Shit happened that made me leave very late. I can't remember what exactly. I know I was near breaking point mentally with life and my job (or lack thereof) so I was operating on the flee instinct. I packed the car with my camping gear, gave it a bit of oil and set off into the dark.
The problem with taking a mountain route is that they tend to be pretty windy. I'd forget to use the engine to brake and instead use the stuffed brakes, producing a heart-wrenching grind that just seemed to get worse. The oil-light came on, which was no big drama because the beast has had a slow oil leak since I got her and it's perpetually coming on. Nothing open now out here, I thought. I'll put a bit more in tomorrow. So I kept on going, winding my way through the darkness with a spiralling head and a car with fucked brakes.
They got worse and worse, the brakes, or so I thought. And then it happened. I was on my way up one of the larger inclines when the engine seemed to chew itself to shreds. I stopped. No forward, no backward. No start what-so-fucking-ever. Dead in the middle of the road. In the middle of the night. With guard rails on one edge of the road and a cliff on the other. Shit.
All I could do was let it roll back down the hill until there was enough room on the side to pull over. I pooped the bonnet to check it out and my heart sank. There was oil everywhere. And my oil cap, sitting exactly where I'd left it when I took it off to top up the oil before leaving. Three hundred kilometres later and the fucking thing was still sitting there being a final reminder of my ineptitude.
I flagged down a passing car and they sold me a litre of oil for fifteen bucks. Rip-off bastards! But I obviously needed it. I put it in in the hope of reviving my poor dead vehicle but no dice. Luckily I was prepared to camp! I had the essentials for a decent night's sleep in any situation - a swag... and plenty of beer.
Next morning I tried to start the beast and it had a bit of life in it. Holy shit! She's still kicking!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Welcome to Scumbag Industries
Work has been my social outlet for a long time now. The roster varies from day to day, and so does the work. Crews of varying number get sent out all the time, so it's almost pot luck who you end up with. Some weeks you'll spend sixteen hours a day with the same four people. Other weeks you'll turn up for work excited because you're rostered on with somebody you haven't seen for a month.We call each other scumbags. It's been known to be yelled from truck windows to fellow workers. It's been known to be yelled on the street. It's our form of greeting. A term of endearment. We spend hours rammed into a truck like sardines to get too and from the mine sites. We drag our sorry arses into the yard at 4am to get ready for the day, where the conversation is thin and sleepy. We crawl into spaces that you can't even sit up in and scrape out bag after bag of grease and dirt and dinosaur shit. We share a beer on the way home, rammed into that four-wheel sardine can, sweaty, filthy and giving each other shit all the way.
A scumbag will liberate anything that is apparently "forgotten". I have a toolbag that I've only bought one item for. Everything else in there has been liberated. Relocated. Rehoused. Even the bag itself. That bag is my scumbag pride and joy. You want a tool for the job? I've more than likely got it. And if not? Well... I'll probably have it by the end of the day. Scumbag.
Rearing Up My Ugly Head
I'm back. Same old Vic, farts and all.
Expect drivel, pictures, music, more drivel and the occasional illustration.
Continue at your own risk.
Expect drivel, pictures, music, more drivel and the occasional illustration.
Continue at your own risk.
Monday, May 25, 2009
View Whore
I joined a Flickr group a while back purely because I like their concept. Each day they pick a random group to "invade". They all join it for a day, bomb it with photos relating to that group, and then fuck off again. It's random, it's creative, it's inspiring, it's completely juvenile and it's totally me.
Yesterday's group was an easy one. My Photo Is Crap But I'm A View Whore. It's a great little dig aimed at those people who submit photos to heaps of groups because they get off on the number of times people have viewed their photos.
So I did a shot taking the piss out of these people. In particular one woman out of the local group of photographers who I think is a self-centred egotistical twit. She's the butt of many household jokes about photographic technique and talent or lack thereof. She's also the reason I don't go out to local photography group meetings. I can't stand her in virtual reality so I think I'll be tempted to punch her in real life.
The list I created was with her in mind, and the shot based around those trying to be her, but not quite making it.
Yet... I am a view whore too.
This is my single most viewed photo to date. It pisses all over everything else I've uploaded for the amount of times people have clicked on it. And I'm addicted. I keep checking back to see how many more people have looked at this picture. Even by posting it here I am tricking myself into thinking it's more popular.
Go ahead... Click on it... You know you want to...
Yesterday's group was an easy one. My Photo Is Crap But I'm A View Whore. It's a great little dig aimed at those people who submit photos to heaps of groups because they get off on the number of times people have viewed their photos.
So I did a shot taking the piss out of these people. In particular one woman out of the local group of photographers who I think is a self-centred egotistical twit. She's the butt of many household jokes about photographic technique and talent or lack thereof. She's also the reason I don't go out to local photography group meetings. I can't stand her in virtual reality so I think I'll be tempted to punch her in real life.
The list I created was with her in mind, and the shot based around those trying to be her, but not quite making it.
Yet... I am a view whore too.
This is my single most viewed photo to date. It pisses all over everything else I've uploaded for the amount of times people have clicked on it. And I'm addicted. I keep checking back to see how many more people have looked at this picture. Even by posting it here I am tricking myself into thinking it's more popular.
Go ahead... Click on it... You know you want to...
Friday, May 8, 2009
Showers and Lecturers
Yet another expedition into pissing off my University Composition lecturer. Each semester we got a list of ideas to select from and write a couple of pieces to conform to, or rather, "be inspired by".
We spent a while looking at pieces for instrument and "pre-recorded tape". To me this is an outdated idea. Something used in the early seventies by composers trying to be different to the norm and introduce an element of the booming world of popular music into their compositions. I argued that it's a dying or even dead form. My picture of a modern equivalent would be a live at-computer mixing event to go with a set instrumental performance. Or, at least, fuck the tape idea off and go to CD. Even that's getting too old now.
This is my way of saying fuck you, lady to the lecturer. For my "instrument and pre-recorded tape" piece I recorded two fantastically boring minutes of me having a shower. I overlaid it with various water sounds from my sink and produced the whole thing on CD, titled Don't Forget to Wash Your Armpits. The problem was that I had far too much fun doing the recording and put no thought whatsoever into the composition. My argument there was that it was meant to be inconsequential anyway.
Here we go:
Don't Forget to Wash Your Armpits for Piano and CD.
Piano performed by the crappy midi on my computer at the time, because I never got the piece performed in reality.
We spent a while looking at pieces for instrument and "pre-recorded tape". To me this is an outdated idea. Something used in the early seventies by composers trying to be different to the norm and introduce an element of the booming world of popular music into their compositions. I argued that it's a dying or even dead form. My picture of a modern equivalent would be a live at-computer mixing event to go with a set instrumental performance. Or, at least, fuck the tape idea off and go to CD. Even that's getting too old now.
This is my way of saying fuck you, lady to the lecturer. For my "instrument and pre-recorded tape" piece I recorded two fantastically boring minutes of me having a shower. I overlaid it with various water sounds from my sink and produced the whole thing on CD, titled Don't Forget to Wash Your Armpits. The problem was that I had far too much fun doing the recording and put no thought whatsoever into the composition. My argument there was that it was meant to be inconsequential anyway.
Here we go:
Don't Forget to Wash Your Armpits for Piano and CD.
Piano performed by the crappy midi on my computer at the time, because I never got the piece performed in reality.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Bass Music from the Archives of Vic
Back to the exciting days of Composition studies once again. This is one I really should do over again, and multitrack it by myself. It's called Big Bottom in an obvious hommage to Spinal Tap, but also in an yet another attempt to piss off my composition lecturer with my assumed frivolity.
At the time I had to submit any sort of recording of one of my peices, so three of us got together in a room with a mic and pressed play. The balance between the basses terrible. One of the players was my girlfriend at the time, who I knew (even before I started to go out with her) was an overbearing player prone to making mistakes and not caring, and not having an iota how to listen and perform in a group dynamic. But she was a captive bass player who could read music. There weren't that many in town.
It's noisy, it's poor quality, but at least a recording exists, and that's what you're getting.
At the time I had to submit any sort of recording of one of my peices, so three of us got together in a room with a mic and pressed play. The balance between the basses terrible. One of the players was my girlfriend at the time, who I knew (even before I started to go out with her) was an overbearing player prone to making mistakes and not caring, and not having an iota how to listen and perform in a group dynamic. But she was a captive bass player who could read music. There weren't that many in town.
It's noisy, it's poor quality, but at least a recording exists, and that's what you're getting.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Headline
Not long ago, a new headline popped up on my feed reader. All the swine flu pandemic media hysteria was bunted (tempoarily, I'm sure) down a notch to be replaced by:
They too must have an OH&S advisor.
Sri Lanka army ordered to stop using heavy weapons
They too must have an OH&S advisor.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
PhotoHunt: Protect(ion)
PPE:- Personal Protective Equipment
Here's Shooter, one of my workmates. He's exhibiting the typical PPE we're required to wear for the job. Hardhat, safety glasses, lace-up steel-capped boots, and because we tend to work with grease and chemicals, a disposable "sperm suit". Or, as Shooter likes to call them instead, an Oompaloompa suit.
Seems a bit over the top. Mostly. Until two days ago, that is, when I caught myself a beauty at a moment without the hardhat on. Consequently I buried an adjustment screw on a grease injector block more than a centimetre into the top of my head. A hell of a lot of incident reports, reviews and a suture later, I'm beginning to like the idea of having a chin strap to keep the thing permanently on my head.
Here's Shooter, one of my workmates. He's exhibiting the typical PPE we're required to wear for the job. Hardhat, safety glasses, lace-up steel-capped boots, and because we tend to work with grease and chemicals, a disposable "sperm suit". Or, as Shooter likes to call them instead, an Oompaloompa suit.
Seems a bit over the top. Mostly. Until two days ago, that is, when I caught myself a beauty at a moment without the hardhat on. Consequently I buried an adjustment screw on a grease injector block more than a centimetre into the top of my head. A hell of a lot of incident reports, reviews and a suture later, I'm beginning to like the idea of having a chin strap to keep the thing permanently on my head.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Get Your Listening Caps On
Yes, you read that right. Get your listening caps on! Time to delve into the archives of Vic's Composition years.
This is the first piece I wrote for University. It's one I'm pretty fiercely proud of, too. The lecturer was a completely uninteresting woman who would demand all pieces to be played in class so that we students could "get input". Yet, the only input she seemed to give was to ask what the title was and what it meant.
She was a very accomplished pianist. I can barely get past Three Blind Mice when it comes to playing, so I asked if she would perform this one for me. Well... I don't think the old cow liked being put on the spot with that, because rather than the usual nothingness response she would give, she absolutely tore this one apart. Thanks, it's my first effort. Ever hear of positive reinforcement?
Anyway, despite her comments I like it. And to spite her, when we (our class) toured to another city to perform a selection of our pieces, I scammed this one into the program.
So crank up the listening caps and tell me what you think:
Catastrophe for Piano performed by Georgena Cooper.
This is the first piece I wrote for University. It's one I'm pretty fiercely proud of, too. The lecturer was a completely uninteresting woman who would demand all pieces to be played in class so that we students could "get input". Yet, the only input she seemed to give was to ask what the title was and what it meant.
She was a very accomplished pianist. I can barely get past Three Blind Mice when it comes to playing, so I asked if she would perform this one for me. Well... I don't think the old cow liked being put on the spot with that, because rather than the usual nothingness response she would give, she absolutely tore this one apart. Thanks, it's my first effort. Ever hear of positive reinforcement?
Anyway, despite her comments I like it. And to spite her, when we (our class) toured to another city to perform a selection of our pieces, I scammed this one into the program.
So crank up the listening caps and tell me what you think:
Catastrophe for Piano performed by Georgena Cooper.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Mum and LittleTyke
Ah yes, more from the recent archives of Auntiedom. My Easter weekend was spent visiting my gorgeous sister Kat and hubby Mike. And of course, the little bundle of wonderfulness that is my niece. LittleTyke.
Everyone was sick and overtired. Pretty much worn out. Poor LittleTyke was pretty ill and giving everyone a hell of a lot of stress trying to figure out how to best look after her, when she'd be fine one second and screaming the next.
Awww.
Kat kept apologising to me that LittleTyke wasn't her normal self. I didn't mind one little bit. As far as I'm concerned, I want to know all the little nuances of who she is. If she's sick, that's her normal self at that time. That's how she expresses it. She wasn't the usual million miles an hour. She was placid, slow and sleepy interspersed with major tears.
Mostly, could tell that she just wanted to be near her mum. Awwww.
Everyone was sick and overtired. Pretty much worn out. Poor LittleTyke was pretty ill and giving everyone a hell of a lot of stress trying to figure out how to best look after her, when she'd be fine one second and screaming the next.
Awww.
Kat kept apologising to me that LittleTyke wasn't her normal self. I didn't mind one little bit. As far as I'm concerned, I want to know all the little nuances of who she is. If she's sick, that's her normal self at that time. That's how she expresses it. She wasn't the usual million miles an hour. She was placid, slow and sleepy interspersed with major tears.
Mostly, could tell that she just wanted to be near her mum. Awwww.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Anatomy of a Linkfest
First up: Let's hit Google up about what the advantages of going gluten-free are.
In the descriptions we find this:
Many people may benefit from a gluten-free diet, including those with Celiac disease, MS, brain fog, seizures, arthritis, osteoporosis, autism, diabetes, ..
Brain fog? What the fuck is this?
Google? I feel a linkfest coming on...
According to Dr. Wilson:
Brain fog is extremely common. It affects thousands of people, children as well as adults. It contributes to school and work problems, low self-esteem, accidents, unhappy relationships and even crime and delinquency. Although it is common, it is not a recognized diagnosis, either in medicine or psychology.
Some people have been this way for most of their life and think this is normal. In other cases, it comes on slowly or perhaps almost overnight.
Fog? Maybe that's what's wrong with England.
According to what's-his-face, brain fog can be casued by just about anything from the wiring in your home to copper, to chronic illnesses, to food, to lack of grounding and even spinal problems. What a range.
But what do we mention here? Adrenal burnout?
And what's-his-face says:
Adrenal burnout can be the best thing that happens to a person. It is a wake up call. Often, some area of life is out of balance or alignment.
Addressing burnout is often the starting point for a deeper exploration of self. Rather than just existing as a programmed zombie, adrenal burnout may be the beginning of real living.
This was the case for me, and for many patients I have worked with. I suffered from adrenal exhaustion for a number of years. As I began to understand the condition better, I made many changes in my diet, lifestyle and most critically, my thinking.
I forced myself to do coffee enemas, to walk every day and to meditate daily, although I did not enjoy doing any these things, at first.
Woah. Back up. Coffee enemas? And saying that you didn't enjoy this at first implies that you sure did later. Sicko!
But what the hell? Google?
So the article in Wikipedia states that:
Coffee enemas are the enema-related procedure of inserting coffee into the anus to cleanse the rectum and small intestines.
No shit. Oh well, yes, shit. Definately. But tell me something I didn't figure out on my own!
Gerson said that coffee enemas had positive effects on patients with tuberculosis, and later even cancer. He claimed that unlike saline enemas, the caffeine traveled through the smooth muscle of the small intestine, and into the liver. This, he said, cleared even more the gastro-intestinal tract and removed more toxins and bile than a normal enema.
Yeah right? I still prefer my caffiene orally, thankyou.
But what's this reference article? "Colonic irrigation and the theory of autointoxication: a triumph of ignorance over science". Ha! This sounds like a cracker! Let's go!
Unfortunately I hit a brick wall there - the article is blocked to anyone who isn't a subscriber to the Journal of Clinical Gastroenterology. Damn. But I think I proved a valuable point today. See how little time it takes on the internet for genuine research of a topic to link on to shit? Literally!
In the descriptions we find this:
Many people may benefit from a gluten-free diet, including those with Celiac disease, MS, brain fog, seizures, arthritis, osteoporosis, autism, diabetes, ..
Brain fog? What the fuck is this?
Google? I feel a linkfest coming on...
According to Dr. Wilson:
Brain fog is extremely common. It affects thousands of people, children as well as adults. It contributes to school and work problems, low self-esteem, accidents, unhappy relationships and even crime and delinquency. Although it is common, it is not a recognized diagnosis, either in medicine or psychology.
Some people have been this way for most of their life and think this is normal. In other cases, it comes on slowly or perhaps almost overnight.
Fog? Maybe that's what's wrong with England.
According to what's-his-face, brain fog can be casued by just about anything from the wiring in your home to copper, to chronic illnesses, to food, to lack of grounding and even spinal problems. What a range.
But what do we mention here? Adrenal burnout?
And what's-his-face says:
Adrenal burnout can be the best thing that happens to a person. It is a wake up call. Often, some area of life is out of balance or alignment.
Addressing burnout is often the starting point for a deeper exploration of self. Rather than just existing as a programmed zombie, adrenal burnout may be the beginning of real living.
This was the case for me, and for many patients I have worked with. I suffered from adrenal exhaustion for a number of years. As I began to understand the condition better, I made many changes in my diet, lifestyle and most critically, my thinking.
I forced myself to do coffee enemas, to walk every day and to meditate daily, although I did not enjoy doing any these things, at first.
Woah. Back up. Coffee enemas? And saying that you didn't enjoy this at first implies that you sure did later. Sicko!
But what the hell? Google?
So the article in Wikipedia states that:
Coffee enemas are the enema-related procedure of inserting coffee into the anus to cleanse the rectum and small intestines.
No shit. Oh well, yes, shit. Definately. But tell me something I didn't figure out on my own!
Gerson said that coffee enemas had positive effects on patients with tuberculosis, and later even cancer. He claimed that unlike saline enemas, the caffeine traveled through the smooth muscle of the small intestine, and into the liver. This, he said, cleared even more the gastro-intestinal tract and removed more toxins and bile than a normal enema.
Yeah right? I still prefer my caffiene orally, thankyou.
But what's this reference article? "Colonic irrigation and the theory of autointoxication: a triumph of ignorance over science". Ha! This sounds like a cracker! Let's go!
Unfortunately I hit a brick wall there - the article is blocked to anyone who isn't a subscriber to the Journal of Clinical Gastroenterology. Damn. But I think I proved a valuable point today. See how little time it takes on the internet for genuine research of a topic to link on to shit? Literally!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
More Meme Slackness (Deal With It)
"Here's the rules--mention the person that tagged you (did that). Complete the lists of 8's (see below). Tag 8 of your wonderful blogger friends (usually don't do this, but I will!). Go tell them you tagged them (if I have time)!"
Now we all know that this is Vic's World.
Vic says:
Fuck the rules.
This is Blogville after all.
In a world without boundaries, rules are somewhat irrelevant.
So I'm not tagging. If you want to be as pathetic as I am and do the meme, go ahead and steal it. I did. Go ahead. Trust me, it feels good.
8 Things I Am Looking Forward To:
1. More sunshine. I was driving along with my arm hanging out the window this morning, feeling right and summery. The tunes were good and the weather was fine. Now it's all up and pissed off in order to make way for a preview of winter.
2. Watching LittleTyke continue to grow and learn. Auntiedom... It's made me fall in love with a baby. LittleTyke is the best. She can do no wrong.
3. The invention and wide distribution of intravenous coffee.
4. Making fresh gourmet pizza. Who knows when, but every time I think of it my mouth waters.
5. Gardening. I don't have a veggie plot yet, but the ideas are germinating. Let's hope they hurry up and take root because I need to get some seeds for winter crops germinating, too.
6. Losing enough weight to be able to look in the mirror and not think ugh, for fuck's sake you have to lose some weight
7. Beer. Always.
8. The day after tomorrow.
8 Things I Did Yesterday:
1. Yet again scored a free ride on public transport. I love that my station has no ticket machine. I get to raise my middle finger to the authorities and also spend the money I would have spent on a ticket on something far more worthwhile, like sushi.
2. I walked into a local photography gallery. Not much of a surprise, really. But this one was holding an exhibition of works by local photographers who are members of the flickr community. I got out of my shell enough to strike up a conversation with the founder of the gallery about it. We had a really open, easy conversation in a setting where normally I would have feared intimidation. I think how easily the conversation came kind of took me by surprise and made me forget to be self-conscious. The outcome: the guy looked me up on flickr and told me that he liked my work. I'm pretty chuffed.
3. Sadly, I did not invent intravenous coffee.
4. Drank tea instead.
5. Cursed my manager many, many times. I try to make an appointment with his boss, and he gives me every excuse under the sun as to why I can't. I try to resolve issues with him instead, and he palms it off on to his boss, who he has made completely unreachable. Good stuff. Much appreciated.
6. Ate sushi.
7. Grinned like a fool for having eaten sushi.
8. Resolved to continue to lose more weight.
8 Things I Wish I Could Do:
1. I wish I could settle on a plan for a garden and just get to it. I spent hours today doing drawings and contemplating where the sun goes the most. I need to revert to a good gardener friend's method of "just stick it in and if it grows it grows". As Nike says, Just Do It.
2. For one week I wish I could actually have a penis. I would have so much fun being given a whole new body part. I'm bored with all the other bits.
3. I wish to invent intravenous coffee. It's a winner, for sure.
4. Wave a magic wand and make it spring. I wasted summer and now it's raining and cold. This signifies icy mornings, multiple layers of clothes, miserable drizzly short dark days and massive power bills. The only positive I see being offered up by winter is the prospect of snuggling up under more than one doona. In fact a mound of them.
5. Retire the poor old Fuji FinePix for a more superior model camera.
6. Dammit, but I wish I could play guitar and sing simultaneously. Occasionally it works out okay, but I could never get a gig doing it. What's weird is that I can play and sing a little on guitar, but give me bass and all ability to even speak while I'm playing just disappears.
7. I wish I could be travelling. Right now. Tomorrow. Every day.
8. I wish I could think of something else to write.
8 Shows I Watch:
Huh? I don't even own a television. I worm my way into other people's lives to watch hours of Bones and the occasional other crime type show.
Stupid, stupid question.
It's Vic's World, so let's change it.
8 albums I'm granting listening time to lately:
1. Jason Mraz - We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things
Okay, so it's a bit poppy/easy listening. But it's just appealing that way. The music is cruisey enough to flow right into your soul and make something move inside you with you even being consciously aware that it's going to happen. Worth a listen on a warm summer evening.
2. Dave Matthews Band - Everyday
I keep coming back to this album, even though I am really only rocked by roughly half of it. The rest is clever but doesn't stick me right to the core in the way that some of the more brilliant Dave Matthews efforts do.
3. Lily Allen - Alright, Still
She cracks me up. The music is tongue in cheek. The lyrics are sassy. I'm in love... but I think she'd slap me.
4. Lily Allen - It's Not Me, It's You
Latest album: Sadly, not as good as the first. There are still golden moments on this effort, just they're less in number than on the first album. In adolescent style, I've fixated on one track with a sweetly sung little chorus of Fuck you, fuck you very, very much. The plus is that I'm not the only one. It's now our work anthem.
5. Medeski, Martin and Wood - Note Bleu
A nice best of album that just keeps me coming back. Funky, interesting, sometimes completely weird. It's everything I like to be, with a little more confidence.
6. Counting Crows - August and Everything After
This is an old friend that I bring out like a well-worn pair of jeans. I can slip into it like a second skin and feel completely at home with every inch of it.
7. Panic at the Disco - Pretty. Odd.
Apart the fact that Nine in the Afternoon shits me to absolute tears, I've been pretty clinically fascinated with this album. There's a real Sgt. Pepper feel to it. I'm not happy with committing to liking it yet. I think it's more one of those things you have to stare at and poke for a while to work out what it is, but you cannot just walk away from and forget about. Eventually you figure it out and make the decision to go with well that was a complete waste of time or perhaps the opposite of hey, that's really cool. Judgement is pending.
8. Black Eyed Peas - Elephunk
This is great for just rocking out to when you come home from work. I tend to like funky sounds when I hit the shower, but not overly complex ones. This is perfect. I challenge anybody to listen to Let's Get Retarded and not be moving along with it. You're just not human if you don't.
8 People I Tag:
This is Vic's World, remember? Steal away. You know you want to.
Now we all know that this is Vic's World.
Vic says:
Fuck the rules.
This is Blogville after all.
In a world without boundaries, rules are somewhat irrelevant.
So I'm not tagging. If you want to be as pathetic as I am and do the meme, go ahead and steal it. I did. Go ahead. Trust me, it feels good.
8 Things I Am Looking Forward To:
1. More sunshine. I was driving along with my arm hanging out the window this morning, feeling right and summery. The tunes were good and the weather was fine. Now it's all up and pissed off in order to make way for a preview of winter.
2. Watching LittleTyke continue to grow and learn. Auntiedom... It's made me fall in love with a baby. LittleTyke is the best. She can do no wrong.
3. The invention and wide distribution of intravenous coffee.
4. Making fresh gourmet pizza. Who knows when, but every time I think of it my mouth waters.
5. Gardening. I don't have a veggie plot yet, but the ideas are germinating. Let's hope they hurry up and take root because I need to get some seeds for winter crops germinating, too.
6. Losing enough weight to be able to look in the mirror and not think ugh, for fuck's sake you have to lose some weight
7. Beer. Always.
8. The day after tomorrow.
8 Things I Did Yesterday:
1. Yet again scored a free ride on public transport. I love that my station has no ticket machine. I get to raise my middle finger to the authorities and also spend the money I would have spent on a ticket on something far more worthwhile, like sushi.
2. I walked into a local photography gallery. Not much of a surprise, really. But this one was holding an exhibition of works by local photographers who are members of the flickr community. I got out of my shell enough to strike up a conversation with the founder of the gallery about it. We had a really open, easy conversation in a setting where normally I would have feared intimidation. I think how easily the conversation came kind of took me by surprise and made me forget to be self-conscious. The outcome: the guy looked me up on flickr and told me that he liked my work. I'm pretty chuffed.
3. Sadly, I did not invent intravenous coffee.
4. Drank tea instead.
5. Cursed my manager many, many times. I try to make an appointment with his boss, and he gives me every excuse under the sun as to why I can't. I try to resolve issues with him instead, and he palms it off on to his boss, who he has made completely unreachable. Good stuff. Much appreciated.
6. Ate sushi.
7. Grinned like a fool for having eaten sushi.
8. Resolved to continue to lose more weight.
8 Things I Wish I Could Do:
1. I wish I could settle on a plan for a garden and just get to it. I spent hours today doing drawings and contemplating where the sun goes the most. I need to revert to a good gardener friend's method of "just stick it in and if it grows it grows". As Nike says, Just Do It.
2. For one week I wish I could actually have a penis. I would have so much fun being given a whole new body part. I'm bored with all the other bits.
3. I wish to invent intravenous coffee. It's a winner, for sure.
4. Wave a magic wand and make it spring. I wasted summer and now it's raining and cold. This signifies icy mornings, multiple layers of clothes, miserable drizzly short dark days and massive power bills. The only positive I see being offered up by winter is the prospect of snuggling up under more than one doona. In fact a mound of them.
5. Retire the poor old Fuji FinePix for a more superior model camera.
6. Dammit, but I wish I could play guitar and sing simultaneously. Occasionally it works out okay, but I could never get a gig doing it. What's weird is that I can play and sing a little on guitar, but give me bass and all ability to even speak while I'm playing just disappears.
7. I wish I could be travelling. Right now. Tomorrow. Every day.
8. I wish I could think of something else to write.
8 Shows I Watch:
Huh? I don't even own a television. I worm my way into other people's lives to watch hours of Bones and the occasional other crime type show.
Stupid, stupid question.
It's Vic's World, so let's change it.
8 albums I'm granting listening time to lately:
1. Jason Mraz - We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things
Okay, so it's a bit poppy/easy listening. But it's just appealing that way. The music is cruisey enough to flow right into your soul and make something move inside you with you even being consciously aware that it's going to happen. Worth a listen on a warm summer evening.
2. Dave Matthews Band - Everyday
I keep coming back to this album, even though I am really only rocked by roughly half of it. The rest is clever but doesn't stick me right to the core in the way that some of the more brilliant Dave Matthews efforts do.
3. Lily Allen - Alright, Still
She cracks me up. The music is tongue in cheek. The lyrics are sassy. I'm in love... but I think she'd slap me.
4. Lily Allen - It's Not Me, It's You
Latest album: Sadly, not as good as the first. There are still golden moments on this effort, just they're less in number than on the first album. In adolescent style, I've fixated on one track with a sweetly sung little chorus of Fuck you, fuck you very, very much. The plus is that I'm not the only one. It's now our work anthem.
5. Medeski, Martin and Wood - Note Bleu
A nice best of album that just keeps me coming back. Funky, interesting, sometimes completely weird. It's everything I like to be, with a little more confidence.
6. Counting Crows - August and Everything After
This is an old friend that I bring out like a well-worn pair of jeans. I can slip into it like a second skin and feel completely at home with every inch of it.
7. Panic at the Disco - Pretty. Odd.
Apart the fact that Nine in the Afternoon shits me to absolute tears, I've been pretty clinically fascinated with this album. There's a real Sgt. Pepper feel to it. I'm not happy with committing to liking it yet. I think it's more one of those things you have to stare at and poke for a while to work out what it is, but you cannot just walk away from and forget about. Eventually you figure it out and make the decision to go with well that was a complete waste of time or perhaps the opposite of hey, that's really cool. Judgement is pending.
8. Black Eyed Peas - Elephunk
This is great for just rocking out to when you come home from work. I tend to like funky sounds when I hit the shower, but not overly complex ones. This is perfect. I challenge anybody to listen to Let's Get Retarded and not be moving along with it. You're just not human if you don't.
8 People I Tag:
This is Vic's World, remember? Steal away. You know you want to.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Quote of the Day
May you always have success in your quest to irritate those who you despise. -Ben Goode
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