My angry side comes out during basketball, mostly. I sometimes wonder what the girls doing score-bench think (being current students at my school) when they see me giving incredulous looks at the ref and arguing calls.
I dunno what it's like in the men's league (Jon and Morgan?) but the women's league has what we call 'family rules' where certain teams are pretty much all cousins with the referees. So they get away with pushing you in the back when you're cutting, yanking your arm when you're getting a rebound, breaking early on free-throws, etc. It's annoying.
Tonight was our semi-final. We were playing a team that we've actually beaten the last two times we played them, in fairly close games. I think we surprised them both times - they're a pretty savvy, experienced bunch and they play a physical game. So we knew they were going to come out really intensely tonight - they even did a proper lay-up drill during warmup time (while we sat around going, 'Pfffft - we're not wasting our energy..... (uh, we don't even have a ball anyhow)').
I got angry when I said to the ref, before a free-throw, 'Can you watch the breaking, please?' really polite-like..... to which the ref said, 'I have been' hautily... and proceeded to let someone go in blatantly before the shooter had released the shot, right in front of me.... at which point I just stood still, thinking, 'Well he HAS to call that - I just pointed it out to him - he's the base-line ref....' Nope. Grrr. Family-rules. That player tipped the ball and her team got the rebound. For flip's sakes - that's one of the easiest calls in basketball.
The satisfying part was scoring 7 of our 23 points (which is a pathetic total, really) on decently strong inside moves and holding them to 29 (which obviously means they won, but we were within four for the last few minutes, which is winnable, and not a lot of those points came from inside, so I did my job decently). I blocked lots of shot again.
We get a second-chance final next week, which is against an easier team (who somehow finished ahead of both of our teams). They're a team full of those annoying players who have awful, unbalanced, unco-looking shots they just kinda throw up randomly, but an unfairly large proportion of them go in.
* * *
Had parent interviews tonight. They were fine.
It's awkward when you get the end of what you have to say about a kid..... but the parent just kinda sits there, expecting more..... and you just say, 'So uh yes, she's doing fine,' and they nod, but don't budge. I think they're trying to take their full 5 minutes.
Seriously - I teach their kid 5 hours a fortnight, at the same time I'm teaching 28 or so other kids. I can remember the basics (clever/average/below-average/noisy/quiet/organised/lazy), and refer to a few notes in my markbook.... but I don't have a photographic memory of every piece of work she's done all year.
I think they're used to primary school where they have teachers who may have had them for several years, or who have them for most of the day, or at least teach them every day of the week. I teach about 140 kids.
I'm just happy I know all of their names (most of the time, as long as they sit in their regular seats).
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
I felt a bit like a fire-fighter at work today - and every time I put out one little fire, an new one would spring up.
My form class of 13 year olds have issues you wouldn't wish on a kid. Luckily none of it is behavioural and it's not issues they have with each other, but by lunch-time I was understanding what it must feel like to be a counsellor. Poor little things.
I am feeling warmly towards them right now - I even bought them chocolate, just 'cause. They're still coming to school, wearing good uniform, doing work in class. And being generally pretty nice to each other. They're like my own little band of Lost Girls (Peter Pan styles).
* * *
I am looking forward to going to the ballet! Did I already say that? I will have to wear something girly.
* * *
People who like their jobs are much more fun to be around. I have realised this in the past and remembered it again recently.
I remember dating guys who hated their jobs, and I'd innocently ask, 'How was your day?' and get either grunts or rants. You kinda stop wanting to ask after a while.
I like my job. I was out at dinner with three teachers from other schools on Friday night - it was nice. We joke about the kids, but underneath it there's definitely affection.
Quite at the other end of the spectrum, I was then talking to Damon about his work project and he has copious amounts of enthusiasm for all that mysterious coding and testing.
My form class of 13 year olds have issues you wouldn't wish on a kid. Luckily none of it is behavioural and it's not issues they have with each other, but by lunch-time I was understanding what it must feel like to be a counsellor. Poor little things.
I am feeling warmly towards them right now - I even bought them chocolate, just 'cause. They're still coming to school, wearing good uniform, doing work in class. And being generally pretty nice to each other. They're like my own little band of Lost Girls (Peter Pan styles).
* * *
I am looking forward to going to the ballet! Did I already say that? I will have to wear something girly.
* * *
People who like their jobs are much more fun to be around. I have realised this in the past and remembered it again recently.
I remember dating guys who hated their jobs, and I'd innocently ask, 'How was your day?' and get either grunts or rants. You kinda stop wanting to ask after a while.
I like my job. I was out at dinner with three teachers from other schools on Friday night - it was nice. We joke about the kids, but underneath it there's definitely affection.
Quite at the other end of the spectrum, I was then talking to Damon about his work project and he has copious amounts of enthusiasm for all that mysterious coding and testing.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Film Fest and Live Events and Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah
Sam couldn't make it at the last minute to 'We Live in Public'. So, it being too late to give his ticket away to anyone, I sent out a text to Svend. And like I'd just sent out the Bat Signal, he appeared seconds later to take up my offer of better leg-room and some prime company.
That was a highlight. I don't think I've seen Svend since last year's Fest, when I had a between films snack and post-film drink with him.
Always a thing of beauty to see him manage his time and consult, with biblical dedication, his wee time-table (which has the smallest font ever!) and whisk himself off mid-director's-speech afterwards. The show must go on - the opening credits wait for no man.
Anyhow, this was a doco about ..... internet stuff. Hard to explain. It focused on a guy who was what they called a 'visionary', combining different mediums before most people (very early attempts at online cable stations and a Big Brother type experiment, with guns). He was essentially a bit of an ass, which the director admitted, when asked in the Q and A.
He was that typical child who grew up without involved parents (travelling father and alcoholic mother) and was left to sit alone with his beloved TV most of the time. So Gilligan's Island became his family. Then he became a dot.com millionaire, lived amongst the trendy art-crowd (having never been popular before), and crashed heavily a few years later.
I didn't find it enjoyable to watch, per se. It was kinda gruelling, wading through this wasteland of reality-tv type footage (from his web-cam experiments) and listening to this rather egocentric guy justify himself. It assaulted the senses, rather than being a gentle little ride.
But the messages coming through were pertinent. What struck me was how hedonistic the people living on cameras were. They quickly regressed to orgy-like behaviour and extravagance, once the cameras were on. So, in a way, that Big Brother (TV show) type atmosphere actually links back to really ancient behaviour. To be a civilised society maybe we need boundaries. Once we take down boundaries, and see each other peeing and showering - what else is there to lose? People who think they're living in totaly freedom (and it's quite an illusion) can do whatever they want - but this is the behaviour they choose - running around naked, having sex on camera, over-indulging in basic pleasures.
And, as Svend said in his review, it was interesting how the dynamics of a relationship played out when he filmed every angle of his house for 6 months, leading to his girlfriend leaving him. The couple would have a fight, then retreat to their respective computers to see whose side the audience was on, rather than talking it out. It's taking a basic human response, but amplifying it to a whole new level. It's the girl who calls up her best friend to talk about what a dick her boyfriend is being - but now it's 100 people on the internet, and none of them really know her at all. Which means they can tell her exactly what she wants to hear.
There was a nice statement about how crap he felt when his viewers dwindled from hundreds, even thousands, to ten measly people, towards the end. This became an ever-present mirror of his dwindling self worth - listen to me, pay me attention.
And this was before we all started counting our Facebook friends or followers on Twitter. It is interesting having measurable popularity.
There was a tiny bit at the end about how internet advertisers use our emails, chats and profile details in ways we don't even realise. They'll take a couple of key words from something we've posted and put up an ad on our page that matches them. What we generally consider 'private' communications are anything but. I don't even like having a loytalty card at the supermarket because I hate the thought of my buying habits being analysed and exploited - but at least you know they're doing it. A lot of marketing going on with the internet is almost subliminal, it's so seamlessly integrated into what you're already doing. Though, as Rich pointed out, we are all getting very good at scanning the page and almost not registering the advertising at all, once we know the patterns. I would've liked to see more about this point, but it was only a one-minute tag-on at the end.
The director was interesting to listen to afterwards - she was really candid and open and told a great narrative. Someone would ask the simplest question and she would spin it into an interesting anecdote. While I probably 'got' the messages of the film, listening to her speak about it crystallised them. If only the directors could do that after every film we watched!
Essentially it was modern society, need for fame/attention, technology, willingly losing privacy, inherent dangers.
I like it when someone, sounding very gung-ho and idealistic, asked the director how we could stop this from happening. I think he wanted the magic answer, the gem of wisdom. But she just kinda laughed. She acknowledged that you can't stop it, and that it's weaving itself more and more into our daily lives. It just is. We just have to be aware of the pitfalls as well as the good things.
Anyhow..... I'm glad I saw it, from a Media teacher point-of-view, even though it wasn't beautiful.
* * *
Live Theatre
I'm going to the ballet this weekend! Fun.
I was having a discussion with some English dept colleagues after school on Friday. They were talking passionately about their favourite ever theatre experiences and the shows that changed their lives. I sat quietly, hoping nobody would ask mine (I was totally blank about what I could offer up), but it came around to me and I said, 'Uh.... I saw Les Mis in San Francisco.... that was fun. I remember being fascinated by the attachments on the back of the seats that held opera glasses.'
I'm really a failure as an English teacher in this regard! It's during discussions like that that I feel very much like the daughter of an accountant, who liked doing maths at high school. Not like some dreamy Arts student.
I don't go to shows so much for the show itself, I just like the experience of live theatre. I like the feel of the seating, rationing my supply of chocolate raisins to try and last the entire film, trying to figure out where the stage entrances are hidden, watching the ushers guide late comers in with their torches. I could quite often have more fun observing and trying to figure out these kinds of things than I actually have watching the show.
I'm slightly Asperger's in spirit, in that I barely ever get carried away with the emotions of a show - I watch in a very detached, analytical manner. I could count the number of times I've cried during a film on one or two hands. I was reading a book by a guy with Asperger's who explained that he could feel sad for things that directly affected him, but could only ever fake being truly empathetic for other people going through the same thing.
For this reason, I'm that person who'll go to pretty much anything. I hold the ballet I'm going to on Saturday in fairly equal regard with the wrestling I went to, or the opera singer I saw for free during the holidays, or the school play I went to last year.
I like it when it's really amazing quality and you can appreciate the costumes and the charisma and the precision of it. But I also like the amateur.
I'm oversimplifying things there - I'm not totally heartless. It just seemed on the spectrum of things, I was a long way away from my booth full of passionate career-English teachers sharing a drink on a Friday afternoon.
That was a highlight. I don't think I've seen Svend since last year's Fest, when I had a between films snack and post-film drink with him.
Always a thing of beauty to see him manage his time and consult, with biblical dedication, his wee time-table (which has the smallest font ever!) and whisk himself off mid-director's-speech afterwards. The show must go on - the opening credits wait for no man.
Anyhow, this was a doco about ..... internet stuff. Hard to explain. It focused on a guy who was what they called a 'visionary', combining different mediums before most people (very early attempts at online cable stations and a Big Brother type experiment, with guns). He was essentially a bit of an ass, which the director admitted, when asked in the Q and A.
He was that typical child who grew up without involved parents (travelling father and alcoholic mother) and was left to sit alone with his beloved TV most of the time. So Gilligan's Island became his family. Then he became a dot.com millionaire, lived amongst the trendy art-crowd (having never been popular before), and crashed heavily a few years later.
I didn't find it enjoyable to watch, per se. It was kinda gruelling, wading through this wasteland of reality-tv type footage (from his web-cam experiments) and listening to this rather egocentric guy justify himself. It assaulted the senses, rather than being a gentle little ride.
But the messages coming through were pertinent. What struck me was how hedonistic the people living on cameras were. They quickly regressed to orgy-like behaviour and extravagance, once the cameras were on. So, in a way, that Big Brother (TV show) type atmosphere actually links back to really ancient behaviour. To be a civilised society maybe we need boundaries. Once we take down boundaries, and see each other peeing and showering - what else is there to lose? People who think they're living in totaly freedom (and it's quite an illusion) can do whatever they want - but this is the behaviour they choose - running around naked, having sex on camera, over-indulging in basic pleasures.
And, as Svend said in his review, it was interesting how the dynamics of a relationship played out when he filmed every angle of his house for 6 months, leading to his girlfriend leaving him. The couple would have a fight, then retreat to their respective computers to see whose side the audience was on, rather than talking it out. It's taking a basic human response, but amplifying it to a whole new level. It's the girl who calls up her best friend to talk about what a dick her boyfriend is being - but now it's 100 people on the internet, and none of them really know her at all. Which means they can tell her exactly what she wants to hear.
There was a nice statement about how crap he felt when his viewers dwindled from hundreds, even thousands, to ten measly people, towards the end. This became an ever-present mirror of his dwindling self worth - listen to me, pay me attention.
And this was before we all started counting our Facebook friends or followers on Twitter. It is interesting having measurable popularity.
There was a tiny bit at the end about how internet advertisers use our emails, chats and profile details in ways we don't even realise. They'll take a couple of key words from something we've posted and put up an ad on our page that matches them. What we generally consider 'private' communications are anything but. I don't even like having a loytalty card at the supermarket because I hate the thought of my buying habits being analysed and exploited - but at least you know they're doing it. A lot of marketing going on with the internet is almost subliminal, it's so seamlessly integrated into what you're already doing. Though, as Rich pointed out, we are all getting very good at scanning the page and almost not registering the advertising at all, once we know the patterns. I would've liked to see more about this point, but it was only a one-minute tag-on at the end.
The director was interesting to listen to afterwards - she was really candid and open and told a great narrative. Someone would ask the simplest question and she would spin it into an interesting anecdote. While I probably 'got' the messages of the film, listening to her speak about it crystallised them. If only the directors could do that after every film we watched!
Essentially it was modern society, need for fame/attention, technology, willingly losing privacy, inherent dangers.
I like it when someone, sounding very gung-ho and idealistic, asked the director how we could stop this from happening. I think he wanted the magic answer, the gem of wisdom. But she just kinda laughed. She acknowledged that you can't stop it, and that it's weaving itself more and more into our daily lives. It just is. We just have to be aware of the pitfalls as well as the good things.
Anyhow..... I'm glad I saw it, from a Media teacher point-of-view, even though it wasn't beautiful.
* * *
Live Theatre
I'm going to the ballet this weekend! Fun.
I was having a discussion with some English dept colleagues after school on Friday. They were talking passionately about their favourite ever theatre experiences and the shows that changed their lives. I sat quietly, hoping nobody would ask mine (I was totally blank about what I could offer up), but it came around to me and I said, 'Uh.... I saw Les Mis in San Francisco.... that was fun. I remember being fascinated by the attachments on the back of the seats that held opera glasses.'
I'm really a failure as an English teacher in this regard! It's during discussions like that that I feel very much like the daughter of an accountant, who liked doing maths at high school. Not like some dreamy Arts student.
I don't go to shows so much for the show itself, I just like the experience of live theatre. I like the feel of the seating, rationing my supply of chocolate raisins to try and last the entire film, trying to figure out where the stage entrances are hidden, watching the ushers guide late comers in with their torches. I could quite often have more fun observing and trying to figure out these kinds of things than I actually have watching the show.
I'm slightly Asperger's in spirit, in that I barely ever get carried away with the emotions of a show - I watch in a very detached, analytical manner. I could count the number of times I've cried during a film on one or two hands. I was reading a book by a guy with Asperger's who explained that he could feel sad for things that directly affected him, but could only ever fake being truly empathetic for other people going through the same thing.
For this reason, I'm that person who'll go to pretty much anything. I hold the ballet I'm going to on Saturday in fairly equal regard with the wrestling I went to, or the opera singer I saw for free during the holidays, or the school play I went to last year.
I like it when it's really amazing quality and you can appreciate the costumes and the charisma and the precision of it. But I also like the amateur.
I'm oversimplifying things there - I'm not totally heartless. It just seemed on the spectrum of things, I was a long way away from my booth full of passionate career-English teachers sharing a drink on a Friday afternoon.
Capping - turning unpopularity into a game!
Update: First elimination has happened. I have calculated six more reasonably easy eliminations to come. Then it would get harder.
When I first joined Facebook my 'friends' list increased exponentially in those first few weeks. Then I reached 50, 60, 70. It slowed down then - I'd 'friended' the people I liked from high-school, a few uni and t-coll friends, couple of people from work, flatmates, netball friends..... I stagnated around 80 and limped towards 100. Rather than feel friend-envy when I look at people like Morgan and Fish, with their hundreds and hundreds of friends, I have decided to market myself as 'exclusive'.
Yeah.... I'm not unpopular..... I'm just picky......
I have decided to put a cap on my Facebook friends.
I am going to remain steady at 80 friends. It's a modest total, but I seem to keep culling back towards it, so maybe it's my optimum number of contacts.
Any time I get a new 'friend' request, I will have to delete someone who has been idle.
It's like that theory on keeping your house clutter free (every time you buy something new, you have to get rid of something else).
I mainly like it because I will get to enact my own little game of Survivor. KATE HAS SPOKEN! And for the most part, the eliminated competitors will be none the wiser.
I have already had my first round of eliminations, to get from about 85 down to 80. It was mainly people I'd met once at a party, or people I wasn't even really friends with at high school, and haven't seen since. People who I suspect are using me to bulk up their own numbers. People who have never commented on anything of mine, or left a message or chatted to me. People whose inane quiz results annoy me. People who probably haven't noticed they're not my 'friends' anymore anyhow. People whose status updates, notes, photos, events and fan-groups don't interest me.
It was a good trade. The new 'friend' has already commented on my stuff several times. It makes me feel popular and interesting. While I have only met the guy twice, he's thus-far earning his place on my 'friends' list. I may even invite him to my next 'event' or maybe tag him in a meme-thingie I do. He does take a lot of quizzes, though, so his active Facebooking has a negative trade-off.
If you read my blog, you are probably not on the chopping block because you are in my sphere of actual contact (maybe). For now.
Now I just have to sit back and wait a few months til my next new friend comes along.........
* * *
And I just followed a link from My Little Teapot which is hilarity and genius using an old-school book about cats and a manic little girl. Nothing more.
When I first joined Facebook my 'friends' list increased exponentially in those first few weeks. Then I reached 50, 60, 70. It slowed down then - I'd 'friended' the people I liked from high-school, a few uni and t-coll friends, couple of people from work, flatmates, netball friends..... I stagnated around 80 and limped towards 100. Rather than feel friend-envy when I look at people like Morgan and Fish, with their hundreds and hundreds of friends, I have decided to market myself as 'exclusive'.
Yeah.... I'm not unpopular..... I'm just picky......
I have decided to put a cap on my Facebook friends.
I am going to remain steady at 80 friends. It's a modest total, but I seem to keep culling back towards it, so maybe it's my optimum number of contacts.
Any time I get a new 'friend' request, I will have to delete someone who has been idle.
It's like that theory on keeping your house clutter free (every time you buy something new, you have to get rid of something else).
I mainly like it because I will get to enact my own little game of Survivor. KATE HAS SPOKEN! And for the most part, the eliminated competitors will be none the wiser.
I have already had my first round of eliminations, to get from about 85 down to 80. It was mainly people I'd met once at a party, or people I wasn't even really friends with at high school, and haven't seen since. People who I suspect are using me to bulk up their own numbers. People who have never commented on anything of mine, or left a message or chatted to me. People whose inane quiz results annoy me. People who probably haven't noticed they're not my 'friends' anymore anyhow. People whose status updates, notes, photos, events and fan-groups don't interest me.
It was a good trade. The new 'friend' has already commented on my stuff several times. It makes me feel popular and interesting. While I have only met the guy twice, he's thus-far earning his place on my 'friends' list. I may even invite him to my next 'event' or maybe tag him in a meme-thingie I do. He does take a lot of quizzes, though, so his active Facebooking has a negative trade-off.
If you read my blog, you are probably not on the chopping block because you are in my sphere of actual contact (maybe). For now.
Now I just have to sit back and wait a few months til my next new friend comes along.........
* * *
And I just followed a link from My Little Teapot which is hilarity and genius using an old-school book about cats and a manic little girl. Nothing more.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Spree
I just went into town with the thought in mind that I had a healthy bank balance and deserved to treat myself.
And that I did. Boys may want to stop reading now.
Stop 1: Magnolia (Tory St)
Finding that Miss Wong was closed, I popped into Magnolia.
Purple Necklace: You keep necklaces forever. They're a good investment. And it was fairly cheap ($25) and the colour of the season! And it kinda clinks when you move.
Cards: Cheap way to jazz up your walls at home. I already have one from this series.
Stop 2: Eyeball Kicks (Upper Cuba St)
Print: I was in there earlier in the holidays and saw a series by some local artist. Have not stopped thinking about them - so bit the bullet and bought one. Pretty. Need to get it framed now. The artist seems to specialise in domestic scenes, done from bird's eye or high-angle views, focusing on the objects and rooms, rather than the people and faces. I like how they look - there are lots of other ones I'd get if I was feeling more extravagant. The scene seems familiar. Sushi party at home or in a local restaurant. Bottles of wine, a camera sitting on the table ready to take some snaps. It captures a slice of my life and I like how all the little objects tell a story. And it has pretty greens.
Stop 3: Madame Fancy Pants (next door to previous)
Stop 3: Madame Fancy Pants (next door to previous)
Notebook: To give my colleague as a present when she finally launches her book. It's very cute with flowers and stuff on it. I figure it's an appropriate gift for writer - and it was 15% off.
New skirt - very full, with spots. I may regret that purchase. It looks kinda different at home, more 'hippy'- maybe at least I'll wait a few kgs til I give it an outing..... The changing room in the shop was kinda limited, so I think I didn't get a great angle.... Or maybe I was feeling optimistic. Anyhow, I have way too many black/dark-grey skirts, so it's a nice change of colour and pattern. It'll work in summer and spring.
Stop 4: Frutti (Cuba St)
I love Frutti. While its stuff is not necessarily the best quality (some of it is, but they have heaps of different local designers, so it varies, and it's all pretty affordable) you can get really interesting colours and cuts.
Green top - It has a giant pouch pocket and drapes really nicely. I am a sucker for anything that comes with pockets (shirts, dresses, skirts)! Essential. I like to think it matches my eyes. And it's what I like to call a 'fat-day-friendly-top'. Can't get enough of those!
Purse -I like the vintage look fabric in muted greens and blues. I like it because it's more of a clutch sized purse - a good size for going out at night. And it has a little strap just big enough to put it over your shoulder. Bags are another thing a girl can invest in and keep for years and years. It's the kinda thing you often scrimp on, but you use it every day - so might as well have one that makes you smile when you see it (yes - I am a consumer).
Scarf - A bright pashmina. It's nice to see and it's soft to touch. And I'm sick of wearing greys and blacks every day. Bring back a bit of colour! It smells pretty too.
And then I figured I should go home before I spent any more. Hooray for being a grownup with money! I really should have gone to the shoe shop first and just bought that pair of brown boots I was meaning to get to..... maybe next week....
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Film Fest Cont.
Adventureland
Saw the second of my four planned Film Fest outings with Rich and Sam.
I liked it! Quite different to the other one - this fell gently into the 80s nostalgia rom-com category, but it was nicely done. It didn't 'tell' too much and had cute characters. The main character, James, reminded me of guys I've dated. Smart, nice, and with a certain look.
It certainly brought back memories of awkward, but gorgeous, fumbles into romance I had in my 20s. I miss that. Dating now is so.... transactional? Dates seem more like job interviews than organic things.
There were lots of other relatable moments too. I liked that the main character was trying to find a summer job, but realised that while he had an ivy league degree in comparative literature, he wasn't even qualified for manual labout (hence having to work at 'Adventureland'). I have an English degree - similar thing. And the main girl character's mum had just died and she was dealing with the home situation after that (photos of the new wife, but none of her mother up anymore), which I was sympathetic to.
We agreed that the ending was a bit convenient. Maybe would have worked if it hadn't ended as happily, rather just with the 'it was one of the best summers of my life, even though I never saw her again' message.
Saw the second of my four planned Film Fest outings with Rich and Sam.
I liked it! Quite different to the other one - this fell gently into the 80s nostalgia rom-com category, but it was nicely done. It didn't 'tell' too much and had cute characters. The main character, James, reminded me of guys I've dated. Smart, nice, and with a certain look.
It certainly brought back memories of awkward, but gorgeous, fumbles into romance I had in my 20s. I miss that. Dating now is so.... transactional? Dates seem more like job interviews than organic things.
There were lots of other relatable moments too. I liked that the main character was trying to find a summer job, but realised that while he had an ivy league degree in comparative literature, he wasn't even qualified for manual labout (hence having to work at 'Adventureland'). I have an English degree - similar thing. And the main girl character's mum had just died and she was dealing with the home situation after that (photos of the new wife, but none of her mother up anymore), which I was sympathetic to.
We agreed that the ending was a bit convenient. Maybe would have worked if it hadn't ended as happily, rather just with the 'it was one of the best summers of my life, even though I never saw her again' message.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Diving Back In
Pros
1. I achieved a lot more by 1pm than usual.
2. I am teaching 'Amelie' to my Year 12s and that's a delight - they like it. They were actually physcially excited to be doing a film study.
3. Some of my naughties were doing grammar work in a write-in book and said it was 'fun'. Heck yeah - prepositions and conjunctions rock.
4. I got to hear lots of feedback from staff and students about the new Harry Potter film, which I haven't seen yet. It's all good.
5. Cute assignment with ribbons, put together in a booklet that folds out like an accordian.
6. My time-table this term has 5/10 days where I have last period off! I can go shopping or get home in time to enjoy sunlight.
7. I did a collage on my rollbook cover at the end of last term, and it still makes me smile. Pretty colours.... shiny.....
Cons
1. Work emails. Ugh. They're all telling me about meetings and new projects and usually they're sent twice because people forgot the attachments.
2. People asking, 'So did you have a good holiday? Do anything exciting?'
3. Children who were away, possibly with the swine, at the end of last term and come up to me when I'm in the middle of calling the roll to ask if they can have any work they missed.
4. Timetable changes that mean my class didn't realise they had English today and came without their folders.
5. Children who haven't properly started their assessments (due in two weeks), thus worrying me slightly.
6. Parent interviews are this week. Oops - forgot about them.
1. I achieved a lot more by 1pm than usual.
2. I am teaching 'Amelie' to my Year 12s and that's a delight - they like it. They were actually physcially excited to be doing a film study.
3. Some of my naughties were doing grammar work in a write-in book and said it was 'fun'. Heck yeah - prepositions and conjunctions rock.
4. I got to hear lots of feedback from staff and students about the new Harry Potter film, which I haven't seen yet. It's all good.
5. Cute assignment with ribbons, put together in a booklet that folds out like an accordian.
6. My time-table this term has 5/10 days where I have last period off! I can go shopping or get home in time to enjoy sunlight.
7. I did a collage on my rollbook cover at the end of last term, and it still makes me smile. Pretty colours.... shiny.....
Cons
1. Work emails. Ugh. They're all telling me about meetings and new projects and usually they're sent twice because people forgot the attachments.
2. People asking, 'So did you have a good holiday? Do anything exciting?'
3. Children who were away, possibly with the swine, at the end of last term and come up to me when I'm in the middle of calling the roll to ask if they can have any work they missed.
4. Timetable changes that mean my class didn't realise they had English today and came without their folders.
5. Children who haven't properly started their assessments (due in two weeks), thus worrying me slightly.
6. Parent interviews are this week. Oops - forgot about them.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Weekend Things
1. Film Fest - Off to a Rip Roaring Start
I saw my first fil-um (two syllables) last night with Richard and Sam. It was the sci-fi thriller, 'Moon'. To be honest, I'd had very low expectations. Whenever people had asked what I'd be seeing, they looked at me strangely, as if to say, 'And that's something you want to see? Why?'. I just kinda shrugged and mumbled, 'I dunno. Film Fest.'
But I really liked it. It's a neat little low-budget ($5m, 33 day shoot) film. I've never seen the whole of 2001 but I imagine it has similarities. I read that he was in a way paying homage to those older space sci-fis of the 70s. It was a true sci-fi, rather than the lesser space-opera genre (which, other than Star Wars, I avoid). The special effects were really old-school - they actually used miniature models for the outside scenes of the moon, which worked surprisingly well. Kinda quaint.
The look of it all was minimalist. While it was stark, sterile white there was a grittiness to it, with what I assume was moon-dust coating the space suits and drips of coffee smeared on the GERTY computer which kept the astronaut company. I like that GERTY and the other technological aspects were also fairly low-tech things you could imagine being made right now on earth. If anything they were even more low-tech that what is already achieveable, keeping that old-school feel. No hovercrafts or conveyor belt footpaths. Even the graphics on the computer screens looked like something from a C64, in a good way. I liked that - a lot of sci-fis get so distracted with coming up with new, slick gadgets and trying to make the CGI convincing that they lose site of trying to have an actual plot to support their visual cleverness.
The film has lots of psychological and ethical issues that it explores. According to IMDB, the tagline is 'Moon: It's the last place you'd expect to find yourself'. That works on a few levels. Essentially, the film is about the sole man working up on the moon harvesting H-3, some kind of wonder-helium that now powers 70% of the world. This is something they are actually working on at NASA, where the film had a special showing at the request of a boss-man there.
He is coming to the end of his 3 year term and is understandably feeling the effects of having been isolated so long. He is an employee of some international corporation that seems to be cutting corners and is reluctant to upgrade the base. He spends most of his days talking to the plants (who have names) that he is lovingly growing and watching reruns of Bewitched on a tiny screen. Always in his slippers.
The film rests heavily on the performance of Sam Rockwell, who I have to admit I'd never heard of before. He's great! His character has to convey a lot of layers and changes, and he does it well. I liked him best in his degenerative state, where he constantly has blood dripping down the side of his face, soaking into his t-shirt and spends most of his time playing with a ratty bandage that is half coming off his hand. It adds some nice black humour to the film.
It's a film where you have to care about the fate of the characters, and I did. It does get thrilling as you discover a few twists and watch to see how they affect things. All the while, Kevin Spacey's monotonous voicing of the GERTY computer provides an interesting and comical side-kick to the lead character.
Anyhow, really good film. It was better than most of the things I saw at last year's festival. It's the first film from a young British director who happens to be David Bowie's son (though I only found this out after researching it a little last night - it wasn't part of the advertising of the film, with the kid we knew growing up as 'Zowie Bowie' now going by 'Duncan Jones', a rather more sensible sounding name).
2. Our Animated, Fun-Loving Prime Minister
I really don't like having John Key as our nation's leader.
I have seen him several times in the last few weeks doing 'silly' things. The media seems to love showing him in this 'personable' light. He is at a kindy, caught in the middle of a tiff between two boys, smiling away. Then he's getting down and dirty tackling a sheep, or kicking a rugby ball. A few weeks ago he was drinking kava on a tropical island.
The media seems intent on showing him as this kind of mild-mannered, fun-loving everyman.
When was Helen Clark ever afforded this image? She may not have angled for quite so many cutesy PR events, but if she did I doubt it would have got quite so much coverage. I guess she might've had more of that stuff when she was a 'new' prime minister. Certainly all I have in my recent memory banks is footage of her having to grimly defend herself against criticism. No frolicking with animals and children allowed.
There was a nice bit on her on stuff today, though. It emphasises that she was much nicer in person, but didn't cash in on that image in public, where she was stern and serious. Maybe a statement on how women have had to put on that brave face, rather than act silly with the media, in order to be taken seriously?
Under this kooky exterior, Key is meanwhile making awful policies that hurt the average New Zealander. He's cutting funding to the arts, reversing the focus of our whole educational system. Pretty much running our country like it's a billion dollar business, forgetting (or consciously avoiding) the other obligations of a responsible government. I think this 'fun' media coverage is a cheap distraction from all of the serious, hugely affecting changes he has very quickly pushed through with relatively little debate.
In some way it may be the fault of the new Labour leaders that there isn't much of an opposing voice out there. They seem to lack the charisma or political nous to get themselves heard very effectively. It pains me to think this way, but I have my moments of wishing Darren was a more senior member. Despite some of my arch-nemesis interactions with him at school, I've never questioned his ability to speak eloquently, with humour and with a charisma that belies his somewhat homely looks.
Key reminds me of George Dub-Ya. At first I thought he was this harmless, kinda idiotic seeming man. He was depicted in the media this way. Then I found out that beneath that kindly-uncle-like exterior he was doing all kinds of awful, immoral things. The fact that he did them all with that bumbling, placid exterior made them all the scarier. It was like the horror films of the 1970s where cute little kids and leprachauns were becoming villians.
It makes me grate my teeth. I miss Helen. At least she spoke in a way that didn't make me cringe in shame of our accent.
Footnote: This Finlay Macdonald article is actually critical of Key. Some logic! I think Finlay is one of my favourites.
3. I will Not Tolerate Lactose
I am developing a theory that I may be lactose intolerant. I was googling it last night and a couple of the symptoms sounded familiar.
I'm going to start experimenting on myself.
I'd quite like to have one of those trendy, new-age dietary issues. If this works out for me, I might look into that whole gluten thing next.
I saw my first fil-um (two syllables) last night with Richard and Sam. It was the sci-fi thriller, 'Moon'. To be honest, I'd had very low expectations. Whenever people had asked what I'd be seeing, they looked at me strangely, as if to say, 'And that's something you want to see? Why?'. I just kinda shrugged and mumbled, 'I dunno. Film Fest.'
But I really liked it. It's a neat little low-budget ($5m, 33 day shoot) film. I've never seen the whole of 2001 but I imagine it has similarities. I read that he was in a way paying homage to those older space sci-fis of the 70s. It was a true sci-fi, rather than the lesser space-opera genre (which, other than Star Wars, I avoid). The special effects were really old-school - they actually used miniature models for the outside scenes of the moon, which worked surprisingly well. Kinda quaint.
The look of it all was minimalist. While it was stark, sterile white there was a grittiness to it, with what I assume was moon-dust coating the space suits and drips of coffee smeared on the GERTY computer which kept the astronaut company. I like that GERTY and the other technological aspects were also fairly low-tech things you could imagine being made right now on earth. If anything they were even more low-tech that what is already achieveable, keeping that old-school feel. No hovercrafts or conveyor belt footpaths. Even the graphics on the computer screens looked like something from a C64, in a good way. I liked that - a lot of sci-fis get so distracted with coming up with new, slick gadgets and trying to make the CGI convincing that they lose site of trying to have an actual plot to support their visual cleverness.
The film has lots of psychological and ethical issues that it explores. According to IMDB, the tagline is 'Moon: It's the last place you'd expect to find yourself'. That works on a few levels. Essentially, the film is about the sole man working up on the moon harvesting H-3, some kind of wonder-helium that now powers 70% of the world. This is something they are actually working on at NASA, where the film had a special showing at the request of a boss-man there.
He is coming to the end of his 3 year term and is understandably feeling the effects of having been isolated so long. He is an employee of some international corporation that seems to be cutting corners and is reluctant to upgrade the base. He spends most of his days talking to the plants (who have names) that he is lovingly growing and watching reruns of Bewitched on a tiny screen. Always in his slippers.
The film rests heavily on the performance of Sam Rockwell, who I have to admit I'd never heard of before. He's great! His character has to convey a lot of layers and changes, and he does it well. I liked him best in his degenerative state, where he constantly has blood dripping down the side of his face, soaking into his t-shirt and spends most of his time playing with a ratty bandage that is half coming off his hand. It adds some nice black humour to the film.
It's a film where you have to care about the fate of the characters, and I did. It does get thrilling as you discover a few twists and watch to see how they affect things. All the while, Kevin Spacey's monotonous voicing of the GERTY computer provides an interesting and comical side-kick to the lead character.
Anyhow, really good film. It was better than most of the things I saw at last year's festival. It's the first film from a young British director who happens to be David Bowie's son (though I only found this out after researching it a little last night - it wasn't part of the advertising of the film, with the kid we knew growing up as 'Zowie Bowie' now going by 'Duncan Jones', a rather more sensible sounding name).
2. Our Animated, Fun-Loving Prime Minister
I really don't like having John Key as our nation's leader.
I have seen him several times in the last few weeks doing 'silly' things. The media seems to love showing him in this 'personable' light. He is at a kindy, caught in the middle of a tiff between two boys, smiling away. Then he's getting down and dirty tackling a sheep, or kicking a rugby ball. A few weeks ago he was drinking kava on a tropical island.
The media seems intent on showing him as this kind of mild-mannered, fun-loving everyman.
When was Helen Clark ever afforded this image? She may not have angled for quite so many cutesy PR events, but if she did I doubt it would have got quite so much coverage. I guess she might've had more of that stuff when she was a 'new' prime minister. Certainly all I have in my recent memory banks is footage of her having to grimly defend herself against criticism. No frolicking with animals and children allowed.
There was a nice bit on her on stuff today, though. It emphasises that she was much nicer in person, but didn't cash in on that image in public, where she was stern and serious. Maybe a statement on how women have had to put on that brave face, rather than act silly with the media, in order to be taken seriously?
Under this kooky exterior, Key is meanwhile making awful policies that hurt the average New Zealander. He's cutting funding to the arts, reversing the focus of our whole educational system. Pretty much running our country like it's a billion dollar business, forgetting (or consciously avoiding) the other obligations of a responsible government. I think this 'fun' media coverage is a cheap distraction from all of the serious, hugely affecting changes he has very quickly pushed through with relatively little debate.
In some way it may be the fault of the new Labour leaders that there isn't much of an opposing voice out there. They seem to lack the charisma or political nous to get themselves heard very effectively. It pains me to think this way, but I have my moments of wishing Darren was a more senior member. Despite some of my arch-nemesis interactions with him at school, I've never questioned his ability to speak eloquently, with humour and with a charisma that belies his somewhat homely looks.
Key reminds me of George Dub-Ya. At first I thought he was this harmless, kinda idiotic seeming man. He was depicted in the media this way. Then I found out that beneath that kindly-uncle-like exterior he was doing all kinds of awful, immoral things. The fact that he did them all with that bumbling, placid exterior made them all the scarier. It was like the horror films of the 1970s where cute little kids and leprachauns were becoming villians.
It makes me grate my teeth. I miss Helen. At least she spoke in a way that didn't make me cringe in shame of our accent.
Footnote: This Finlay Macdonald article is actually critical of Key. Some logic! I think Finlay is one of my favourites.
3. I will Not Tolerate Lactose
I am developing a theory that I may be lactose intolerant. I was googling it last night and a couple of the symptoms sounded familiar.
I'm going to start experimenting on myself.
I'd quite like to have one of those trendy, new-age dietary issues. If this works out for me, I might look into that whole gluten thing next.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
A Day of Etiquette
Laundromat
I went to the laundromat today. I had a load of sheets and my duvet cover. It had to be dried, ASAP.
I had driven past last night at 10pm, thinking it would be dead. Not the case. Evidently, Reidun tells me, there is a late night laundry culture in H-town that I have been oblivious to. It's the crowd that go after the kids are in bed. I had to sleep with (gasp) no duvet cover! My duvet was naked and vulnerable.
Anyhow, I went today instead and found it very stressful. I like a quiet, empty laundromat, where I can read my book or watch my all the clothes spinning around peacefully. Today it was packed - there were queues of baskets waiting for driers and little kids running around and people eyeing up my drier as soon as it started slowly down. I had a moment of understanding why someone would be claustrophobic. Home seemed like a nice, distant haven.
There is a strange, largely unspoken, etiquette in place at the laundromat. I am mostly a stranger to it, but I am beginning to understand. Discussing it with Reidun, again, we came up with some grey areas where people seem to push the boundaries.
1. The Slow-Unloader
I observed two young kids unloading a machine. I thought, 'Goodie - I'm can use that in a minute or two.' But they took forever. Every towel was painfully folded and carefully put in the basket. And the kids kept looking expectantly over at some adult, over by the washing machines. They finished unloading, closed the door to the empty drier, but wouldn't move away. They stood guard in front of it. I realised their parent had another load in the washing machine, which was up to spin cycle, so they'd been killing time, protecting their drier for the next load.
Is that ethical? Can you bags a drier over multiple loads when there are people waiting, even thought it's sitting there idly?
Not knowing the etiquette well enough, I sat and waited.
2. The Multi-Loader
How many driers can one person take up? I understand that if you get there and there are several empty, and nobody is waiting, you can go crazy. Put one sock in each one, for all I care. But as soon as there is a queue, should you be allowed to grab any more driers than what you're already using? Should you be allowed to jump up as soon as another one becomes free, ahead of someone who's come in after you with only one load?
There seems to be a bit of this going on too. People have rubbish bags full, and more in the car.
3. Who's Next?
There is no obvious system. I like a lineal arrangement, or numbered tickets. At the laundromat you just have to remember who walked in, in what order. You sit randomly across the room, depending on what chairs are free. While some chairs face the driers, others face the washing machines, so you're having to constantly crane your head back to glance for driers slowing down. If you miss that five second window of opportunity, you go to the back of the line again. Nobody's gonna say, 'I think you're next' if you have your head down in the book. It's a free for all. And then the matter of multi-load washers confuses the order even more.
I find that once someone has unloaded their drier, you wait a few seconds, then stand up. That signals you are interested. If more than one person stands, it's a face-off. Sometimes the person who's just unloaded their machine will look around and give someone the nod, if they have a favourite person in queue. So it's good to make laundry-buddies.
4. The Fake Finish
I don't trust coin operated machines. I strongly suspect that if I put four coins in at the beginning, it would still stop after five minutes and I'd have lost my precious $1 coins. So I put in two coins to start with, then one at a time after that. This means that there are intervals where my machine stops. At these times I feel the eyes of the laundromat simultaneously turn towards my machine. I have to stand up and open the door and do the over-acted action of 'checking if it's dry'. Give it a good pat down, take out a few items, then kinda shake your head. Feed in another coin and feel the collective groan of the onlookers. I feel a little guilty to fake them out like that.
If it was a sci-fi film, they'd all turn out to be zombies and pounce on me at that moment.
Lido
After my stressful afternoon at the laundromat I headed in to town to meet a couple of friends for dinner and drinks before some opera singing at the Town Hall. We agreed to meet at six.
I know this is a tricky time to get a table there, but luck would have it that as I entered, a table of four was leaving. So I grab my table. Enough seats for me and my two friends. Phew. Now all I have to do is hold it until they arrive. Let the battle begin.
I waited for 20 minutes until the first one arrived. In the meantime I had deja vous of my evil laundry stares. Everyone who came into the restaurant, which was full, would eye up my empty seats. The waitors anxiously came over and asked if I was waiting for people, then went away, several times. I felt like announcing, 'I was on time! We agreed to meet at six! It's not my fault they're late!'
A couple came over and said, 'Do you mind?' as they started pulling away one of the tables. I reached out desperately and said, 'Uh sorry - I have friends coming.' The lady continued pulling, saying, 'When are they coming?' in an accusing tone (I kid not) and luckily at that moment one of them turned up and I was able to say, 'Uh - one of them's right behind you.' She grumbled at me and went off to sit back at the bar.
I felt very unpopular. Then the other friend didn't come for another half hour and people eyed up the other two empty seats, jealously.
It's all too stressful! Next time I'm going to purposefully be the late one :) No more seat-saving for me.
Opera
Then, we got to the Town Hall, and were happy to realise our seats were all next to each other (we'd got them free at work). Row A, seats 17, 18 and 19. It took us quite a while to figure out what door to go in, assuming we were up the top, towards the back or something.
Turns out we were in the very front row, exactly in the middle. We were literally underneath the singer's microphone. We could see up her skirt, see the sweat drip down the side of her face. We had to crane our necks up, like we front row at a multi-plex cinema. Evidently that's where they sit the free-tickets people. I felt like I was one of the commoners at The Globe penny-seats.
Quite exciting in a way - none of her the nuances of facial expression were lost on us. No sir.
But the bad bit was that it meant we had to be angels. No texting. No fidgeting. No yawning. No whispering. We had to look up intensely and act touched by the emotion of it all (none of us being opera regulars understood anything that was going on and the first half was all in non-English). All of the more serious fans were up in the gods [correction, the dress cirlce, thanks Andrew], having purchased tickets before they announced there were free ones for staff. So it was just us free-loaders in the front row, with all our colleagues looking down from above. We had to be serious! And the three of us are the ones who usually sit in the back corner during staff meeting, doodling and stifling giggles. We are not front row people. Someone was trying to punish us.
At the interval we got ice creams. But then the dinging sound started, so we had to go back to our seats. We immediately looked at each other and said, 'We have to eat our icecreams in front of her! Is that etiquette?' Through her first two songs we sat there, eating our tiny tubs of icecream with our tiny spoons, trying to catch the drops of chocolate syrup before anything disastrous happened. All underneath the eyes of the diva herself. It felt wrong.
It was fun though and the Town Hall was packed. She sang two hours or so of opera classics and jazz songs. She's an old girl from our school and earlier this year won the same NZ contest Malvina and Kiri won on their rise to stardom.
I liked all her pretty outfits. She had five costume changes.
I went to the laundromat today. I had a load of sheets and my duvet cover. It had to be dried, ASAP.
I had driven past last night at 10pm, thinking it would be dead. Not the case. Evidently, Reidun tells me, there is a late night laundry culture in H-town that I have been oblivious to. It's the crowd that go after the kids are in bed. I had to sleep with (gasp) no duvet cover! My duvet was naked and vulnerable.
Anyhow, I went today instead and found it very stressful. I like a quiet, empty laundromat, where I can read my book or watch my all the clothes spinning around peacefully. Today it was packed - there were queues of baskets waiting for driers and little kids running around and people eyeing up my drier as soon as it started slowly down. I had a moment of understanding why someone would be claustrophobic. Home seemed like a nice, distant haven.
There is a strange, largely unspoken, etiquette in place at the laundromat. I am mostly a stranger to it, but I am beginning to understand. Discussing it with Reidun, again, we came up with some grey areas where people seem to push the boundaries.
1. The Slow-Unloader
I observed two young kids unloading a machine. I thought, 'Goodie - I'm can use that in a minute or two.' But they took forever. Every towel was painfully folded and carefully put in the basket. And the kids kept looking expectantly over at some adult, over by the washing machines. They finished unloading, closed the door to the empty drier, but wouldn't move away. They stood guard in front of it. I realised their parent had another load in the washing machine, which was up to spin cycle, so they'd been killing time, protecting their drier for the next load.
Is that ethical? Can you bags a drier over multiple loads when there are people waiting, even thought it's sitting there idly?
Not knowing the etiquette well enough, I sat and waited.
2. The Multi-Loader
How many driers can one person take up? I understand that if you get there and there are several empty, and nobody is waiting, you can go crazy. Put one sock in each one, for all I care. But as soon as there is a queue, should you be allowed to grab any more driers than what you're already using? Should you be allowed to jump up as soon as another one becomes free, ahead of someone who's come in after you with only one load?
There seems to be a bit of this going on too. People have rubbish bags full, and more in the car.
3. Who's Next?
There is no obvious system. I like a lineal arrangement, or numbered tickets. At the laundromat you just have to remember who walked in, in what order. You sit randomly across the room, depending on what chairs are free. While some chairs face the driers, others face the washing machines, so you're having to constantly crane your head back to glance for driers slowing down. If you miss that five second window of opportunity, you go to the back of the line again. Nobody's gonna say, 'I think you're next' if you have your head down in the book. It's a free for all. And then the matter of multi-load washers confuses the order even more.
I find that once someone has unloaded their drier, you wait a few seconds, then stand up. That signals you are interested. If more than one person stands, it's a face-off. Sometimes the person who's just unloaded their machine will look around and give someone the nod, if they have a favourite person in queue. So it's good to make laundry-buddies.
4. The Fake Finish
I don't trust coin operated machines. I strongly suspect that if I put four coins in at the beginning, it would still stop after five minutes and I'd have lost my precious $1 coins. So I put in two coins to start with, then one at a time after that. This means that there are intervals where my machine stops. At these times I feel the eyes of the laundromat simultaneously turn towards my machine. I have to stand up and open the door and do the over-acted action of 'checking if it's dry'. Give it a good pat down, take out a few items, then kinda shake your head. Feed in another coin and feel the collective groan of the onlookers. I feel a little guilty to fake them out like that.
If it was a sci-fi film, they'd all turn out to be zombies and pounce on me at that moment.
Lido
After my stressful afternoon at the laundromat I headed in to town to meet a couple of friends for dinner and drinks before some opera singing at the Town Hall. We agreed to meet at six.
I know this is a tricky time to get a table there, but luck would have it that as I entered, a table of four was leaving. So I grab my table. Enough seats for me and my two friends. Phew. Now all I have to do is hold it until they arrive. Let the battle begin.
I waited for 20 minutes until the first one arrived. In the meantime I had deja vous of my evil laundry stares. Everyone who came into the restaurant, which was full, would eye up my empty seats. The waitors anxiously came over and asked if I was waiting for people, then went away, several times. I felt like announcing, 'I was on time! We agreed to meet at six! It's not my fault they're late!'
A couple came over and said, 'Do you mind?' as they started pulling away one of the tables. I reached out desperately and said, 'Uh sorry - I have friends coming.' The lady continued pulling, saying, 'When are they coming?' in an accusing tone (I kid not) and luckily at that moment one of them turned up and I was able to say, 'Uh - one of them's right behind you.' She grumbled at me and went off to sit back at the bar.
I felt very unpopular. Then the other friend didn't come for another half hour and people eyed up the other two empty seats, jealously.
It's all too stressful! Next time I'm going to purposefully be the late one :) No more seat-saving for me.
Opera
Then, we got to the Town Hall, and were happy to realise our seats were all next to each other (we'd got them free at work). Row A, seats 17, 18 and 19. It took us quite a while to figure out what door to go in, assuming we were up the top, towards the back or something.
Turns out we were in the very front row, exactly in the middle. We were literally underneath the singer's microphone. We could see up her skirt, see the sweat drip down the side of her face. We had to crane our necks up, like we front row at a multi-plex cinema. Evidently that's where they sit the free-tickets people. I felt like I was one of the commoners at The Globe penny-seats.
Quite exciting in a way - none of her the nuances of facial expression were lost on us. No sir.
But the bad bit was that it meant we had to be angels. No texting. No fidgeting. No yawning. No whispering. We had to look up intensely and act touched by the emotion of it all (none of us being opera regulars understood anything that was going on and the first half was all in non-English). All of the more serious fans were up in the gods [correction, the dress cirlce, thanks Andrew], having purchased tickets before they announced there were free ones for staff. So it was just us free-loaders in the front row, with all our colleagues looking down from above. We had to be serious! And the three of us are the ones who usually sit in the back corner during staff meeting, doodling and stifling giggles. We are not front row people. Someone was trying to punish us.
At the interval we got ice creams. But then the dinging sound started, so we had to go back to our seats. We immediately looked at each other and said, 'We have to eat our icecreams in front of her! Is that etiquette?' Through her first two songs we sat there, eating our tiny tubs of icecream with our tiny spoons, trying to catch the drops of chocolate syrup before anything disastrous happened. All underneath the eyes of the diva herself. It felt wrong.
It was fun though and the Town Hall was packed. She sang two hours or so of opera classics and jazz songs. She's an old girl from our school and earlier this year won the same NZ contest Malvina and Kiri won on their rise to stardom.
I liked all her pretty outfits. She had five costume changes.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Bible Names = Good
This article in Stuff today seemed to me to have maybe a teensy-weensy-giantastic ethno-bias to it.
1. Good Names
Take the three names sinlged out as 'safe' to give boys. Joshua is apparently not a common name for crims to have - it means 'God is my salvation'. Michael means 'like God'. And Christopher means 'followers of the Christ'. Co-incidence? Hmm.
Then take some of the baddie names. The ones to avoid!
2. Bad Names
They danced around the topic but I know who the most famous Kareem in the western world is and I know when and why he changed his name.... He's black. Proudly black. And Malcolm X, co-incidently, also has a criminal's name, huh. And I'm trying to think of the most famous Tyrell I know.....
Though it's not just black names they're pointing out there - Britney's baby's name is in the top ten. White trash names also lead to criminality.
3. A Criminal by any other Name..... would be as guilty?
Yet there is little reference to 'other' factors. What percentage of the prison population are black? How many are from low socio-economic backgrounds? And who are these names 'uncommon' to - maybe the target audience of Fairfax? Hmmm.
Don't go running into those bad neighbourhoods preaching to pregnant teenagers that they should call their unborn sons 'Michael' and all will be well.
They maybe need to look more closely at the cause and effect there, before readers start scratching 'Luke' off their baby-names lists (not that they'd have it on their list in the first place, obviously - sounds like a mechanic or something - uh, I mean so 'uncommon' and 'feminine').
I'm sure that article caused a chuckle though. Uncle Peter pointing it out to Auntie Margaret, saying they always knew those relatives with the 'made-up' names who live out the Hutt somewhere were bound for trouble. Made-up names. Tsk-tsk.
'Clayton' is a kinda girly name. Maybe that's what turned him to the dark side..... Maybe he can accuse his parents of provocation now.....
My dad's name is 'Mervyn'. I'm gonna see what's buried under the house next time I'm home. He can't possibly be law-abiding with a name like that.
* * *
Unrelated Success
And my very unevil step-mother, Lynne, has won a writing competition! I mentioned her a couple of blogs ago. This is her first 'win'! It's a foot in the door.
She is being flown up to Auckland for a ceremony next week, her and my dad's accommodation paid for.
Very proud.
I know some talented, creative people. A lot of them are English teachers.... Co-incidence? I think not.
1. Good Names
Take the three names sinlged out as 'safe' to give boys. Joshua is apparently not a common name for crims to have - it means 'God is my salvation'. Michael means 'like God'. And Christopher means 'followers of the Christ'. Co-incidence? Hmm.
Then take some of the baddie names. The ones to avoid!
2. Bad Names
They danced around the topic but I know who the most famous Kareem in the western world is and I know when and why he changed his name.... He's black. Proudly black. And Malcolm X, co-incidently, also has a criminal's name, huh. And I'm trying to think of the most famous Tyrell I know.....
Though it's not just black names they're pointing out there - Britney's baby's name is in the top ten. White trash names also lead to criminality.
3. A Criminal by any other Name..... would be as guilty?
Yet there is little reference to 'other' factors. What percentage of the prison population are black? How many are from low socio-economic backgrounds? And who are these names 'uncommon' to - maybe the target audience of Fairfax? Hmmm.
Don't go running into those bad neighbourhoods preaching to pregnant teenagers that they should call their unborn sons 'Michael' and all will be well.
They maybe need to look more closely at the cause and effect there, before readers start scratching 'Luke' off their baby-names lists (not that they'd have it on their list in the first place, obviously - sounds like a mechanic or something - uh, I mean so 'uncommon' and 'feminine').
I'm sure that article caused a chuckle though. Uncle Peter pointing it out to Auntie Margaret, saying they always knew those relatives with the 'made-up' names who live out the Hutt somewhere were bound for trouble. Made-up names. Tsk-tsk.
'Clayton' is a kinda girly name. Maybe that's what turned him to the dark side..... Maybe he can accuse his parents of provocation now.....
My dad's name is 'Mervyn'. I'm gonna see what's buried under the house next time I'm home. He can't possibly be law-abiding with a name like that.
* * *
Unrelated Success
And my very unevil step-mother, Lynne, has won a writing competition! I mentioned her a couple of blogs ago. This is her first 'win'! It's a foot in the door.
She is being flown up to Auckland for a ceremony next week, her and my dad's accommodation paid for.
Very proud.
I know some talented, creative people. A lot of them are English teachers.... Co-incidence? I think not.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
In a 'small world' incident last night.....
Turns out a friend of my flatmate's lives next door to where my ex-boyfriend used to live. And she heard him and a mate sitting outside smoking, discussing two girls he was 'juggling'.
One of those girls was me.
Ouch.
Makes me glad to be well clear of that situation now. F***er.
Turns out a friend of my flatmate's lives next door to where my ex-boyfriend used to live. And she heard him and a mate sitting outside smoking, discussing two girls he was 'juggling'.
One of those girls was me.
Ouch.
Makes me glad to be well clear of that situation now. F***er.
Monday, July 13, 2009
80s Games
I used to love playing 'Summer Games' on the C64. It's where I learnt all my national anthems. I would always have characters called 'Leo', 'JJ', 'Joe' and 'Kate' (back in those days I was called Katie, so 'Kate' seemed very grown up).
I liked diving and gymnastics. I didn't like the running event because my brother always whined that I was jiggling the joystick too hard and that it would break. We had two joysticks - the old black and grey one which was a bit rickety and the new red and black one with two buttons, instead of just one (revolutionary).
I kinda like that you used to have to type in the instructions.... Load, "*"...... I forget exactly how it went but I vaguely recall 'list' and 'start' being in there.
Our friends used to come over in the weekends and I remember sitting there discussing which game we'd like to play first. There was Jumpman, Whiz Ball, Bruce Lee, Commando, Mission Impossible.... And then later we might go for a bike ride on our BMXes. Or watch a tape of 'The Creep Show'. Maybe go to the dairy and get some 1c lollies.
I don't get the whole Playstation culture - I guess it's not my generation. I'm all about pixels and arcade music.
I liked diving and gymnastics. I didn't like the running event because my brother always whined that I was jiggling the joystick too hard and that it would break. We had two joysticks - the old black and grey one which was a bit rickety and the new red and black one with two buttons, instead of just one (revolutionary).
I kinda like that you used to have to type in the instructions.... Load, "*"...... I forget exactly how it went but I vaguely recall 'list' and 'start' being in there.
Our friends used to come over in the weekends and I remember sitting there discussing which game we'd like to play first. There was Jumpman, Whiz Ball, Bruce Lee, Commando, Mission Impossible.... And then later we might go for a bike ride on our BMXes. Or watch a tape of 'The Creep Show'. Maybe go to the dairy and get some 1c lollies.
I don't get the whole Playstation culture - I guess it's not my generation. I'm all about pixels and arcade music.
Vicariously Happy
One of my department buddies finally got her book of poetry published (it's been in the system for over a year now - so she's had to get excited and then hold-off several times while things were delayed - excruciatingly so). I pester her every few weeks, asking how it's going cov- hast the cover been finalised? has it come back from printing in Hong Kong?
It is now safely in her hands. With her name on the pretty cover. How proud! I imagine a new book never felt or smelled quite so good.
I officially can't wait to see it - she writes beautiful stuff. I'd like it even if I didn't know and like her personally. I will recommend it whole-heartedly to anyone who likes good, economical, delicate, observant, smart poetry.
That's made my day. Yay for her.
It must be a funny thing being a poet. From what I've seen they're quite introspective people, observers of life - comfortable sitting back quietly watching. Yet, their work is so intimate and revealing. How brave of them.
I like people of substance.
I know other people who toil away writing, aiming to be published in various forms, so I can appreciate what an incredible milestone this is for her. Hooray again.
* * *
As a footnote, my step-mother, the Lovely Lynne, has had two stories sold to a radio station. She is entering every short story competition out there and is branch secretary of some society for NZ authors, where she gets to email, meet with and be mentored by all kinds of kiwi authors, whose names I know through teaching and studying. She's been shortlisted a few times in good competitions - she will get there! She used to be an English teacher too :) What a fantastic breed we are.
It is now safely in her hands. With her name on the pretty cover. How proud! I imagine a new book never felt or smelled quite so good.
I officially can't wait to see it - she writes beautiful stuff. I'd like it even if I didn't know and like her personally. I will recommend it whole-heartedly to anyone who likes good, economical, delicate, observant, smart poetry.
That's made my day. Yay for her.
It must be a funny thing being a poet. From what I've seen they're quite introspective people, observers of life - comfortable sitting back quietly watching. Yet, their work is so intimate and revealing. How brave of them.
I like people of substance.
I know other people who toil away writing, aiming to be published in various forms, so I can appreciate what an incredible milestone this is for her. Hooray again.
* * *
As a footnote, my step-mother, the Lovely Lynne, has had two stories sold to a radio station. She is entering every short story competition out there and is branch secretary of some society for NZ authors, where she gets to email, meet with and be mentored by all kinds of kiwi authors, whose names I know through teaching and studying. She's been shortlisted a few times in good competitions - she will get there! She used to be an English teacher too :) What a fantastic breed we are.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Bing Bong
She got on my bus. I walked away. It was my bus. My scarf tightens.
* * *
Coconut bread with grilled banana and blueberry mascarpone. And a lukewarm latte. Watching the golden retreiver tied to a lampost, shivering, outside.
* * *
Listening to Paulo Nutini in the car. Windows fogging up. Tank a quarter full.
* * *
Mulled wine with orange slices sinking to the bottom. Warm sweet cough syrup.
* * *
Coconut bread with grilled banana and blueberry mascarpone. And a lukewarm latte. Watching the golden retreiver tied to a lampost, shivering, outside.
* * *
Listening to Paulo Nutini in the car. Windows fogging up. Tank a quarter full.
* * *
Mulled wine with orange slices sinking to the bottom. Warm sweet cough syrup.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
A Slippery Slope
So, having become jealous of my female flatmates padding about the house in their cosy slippers (and Cal wearing hers out to dinner), I succombed and got my own. I have had only fleeting relationships with slippers over the years and I thought it was about time I gave it another go.
I went to the Warehouse one night after work, on impulse (because my feet were cold as I drove home) and got some Ug Boots (tall ones, like Pamela Anderson wears) . I had a choice between pale pink or black. I will let you guess which one I chose.
I can categorically say that I have never worn slippers out in public (except maybe once on a dare - but it was in Newtown, they don't even look twice at that kinda thing around there). Now I am faced with the tricky conundrum of how far I'm willing to push it with public slipper wearing - they are bloody comfortable and I am finding I don't want to take them off. They a re my winter equivalent of jandals.
Last week I took a DVD back to the store in my slippers. That was a 10 second dash, drop them in the slot, kinda mission. I think that's ok. It was late. But it got me thinking that it's not as bad as I thought it would be..... I could wear them a whole bunch of places without looking weird.....
Here are my intial thoughts, being rather conservative in my slipper-wearing habits.
Phase 1: Exceptions to the Rule
1. The DVD store, reasonably late at night. Anyone else there is obviously having a night in as well and the sci-fi geeks at my store can hardly judge fashion crimes.
2. The dairy, especially since mine is about a 10 second jog away.
3. Work, but only on a weekend.
4. The Laundromat, since you are technically doing house-work, why not be comfy? And, in my recent experiences, contrary to what the movies show, you are not going to meet the man of your dreams there. Far from it.
5. Supermarket, after 9pm.
But now I'm starting to think maybe I can push the envelope - my standards are dropping. Slippers are awesome. Comfort is greater than fashion.
Phase Two: The Extension of Boundaries
1. The Service Station, I think it fits in the general category of 'just popped out to get some ______, couldn't be bothered putting real shoes on'.
2. Houses of friends and relatives. Who am I trying to impress?
3. Work, before 8am and after 4pm on a weekday. The children aren't there anymore.... maybe just keep a pair of work-shoes under the desk for the rest of the day.
4. Takeaway shops (see #1 in this list).
5. Visiting a doctor. Sick people can wear bed-wear in public. It hurts to wear real shoes....
Having thought deeply on this issue, I can see some patterns ....
Phase 3: Why would you ever NOT wear them???
1. Any time it's dark outside. Firstly they are a kind of night-wear, secondly nobody can see them.
2. If you have an established relationship (otherwise it may support crazy-spinster-cat-lady theories that are being bandied about).
3. Any time you go somewhere in your car which only involves 'nipping out'.
4. Any time speed of movement is not essential (ie - not to indoor netball).
5. Any time you do not need professional respect.
6. Any time you don't feel good, inside or out. It's like an adult's version of the 'blankie'.
I can see that even these rules are meant to be broken.
* * *
In an alarming footnote, I bought some skinny leg jeans this week (unlikely, I know, but some manufacturer somewhere missed the memo that they should only be made for people who actually have skinny legs.... and there was a pair on special for $50 that fit me - sweet! Almost all my other jeans have holes in them at the moment so I needed new ones.).
With skinny jeans, you have to wear the ug boots on the outside. I know this is very trendy, but I looked in the mirror and realised I had morphed into a Hutt Chick.
I went to the Warehouse one night after work, on impulse (because my feet were cold as I drove home) and got some Ug Boots (tall ones, like Pamela Anderson wears) . I had a choice between pale pink or black. I will let you guess which one I chose.
I can categorically say that I have never worn slippers out in public (except maybe once on a dare - but it was in Newtown, they don't even look twice at that kinda thing around there). Now I am faced with the tricky conundrum of how far I'm willing to push it with public slipper wearing - they are bloody comfortable and I am finding I don't want to take them off. They a re my winter equivalent of jandals.
Last week I took a DVD back to the store in my slippers. That was a 10 second dash, drop them in the slot, kinda mission. I think that's ok. It was late. But it got me thinking that it's not as bad as I thought it would be..... I could wear them a whole bunch of places without looking weird.....
Here are my intial thoughts, being rather conservative in my slipper-wearing habits.
Phase 1: Exceptions to the Rule
1. The DVD store, reasonably late at night. Anyone else there is obviously having a night in as well and the sci-fi geeks at my store can hardly judge fashion crimes.
2. The dairy, especially since mine is about a 10 second jog away.
3. Work, but only on a weekend.
4. The Laundromat, since you are technically doing house-work, why not be comfy? And, in my recent experiences, contrary to what the movies show, you are not going to meet the man of your dreams there. Far from it.
5. Supermarket, after 9pm.
But now I'm starting to think maybe I can push the envelope - my standards are dropping. Slippers are awesome. Comfort is greater than fashion.
Phase Two: The Extension of Boundaries
1. The Service Station, I think it fits in the general category of 'just popped out to get some ______, couldn't be bothered putting real shoes on'.
2. Houses of friends and relatives. Who am I trying to impress?
3. Work, before 8am and after 4pm on a weekday. The children aren't there anymore.... maybe just keep a pair of work-shoes under the desk for the rest of the day.
4. Takeaway shops (see #1 in this list).
5. Visiting a doctor. Sick people can wear bed-wear in public. It hurts to wear real shoes....
Having thought deeply on this issue, I can see some patterns ....
Phase 3: Why would you ever NOT wear them???
1. Any time it's dark outside. Firstly they are a kind of night-wear, secondly nobody can see them.
2. If you have an established relationship (otherwise it may support crazy-spinster-cat-lady theories that are being bandied about).
3. Any time you go somewhere in your car which only involves 'nipping out'.
4. Any time speed of movement is not essential (ie - not to indoor netball).
5. Any time you do not need professional respect.
6. Any time you don't feel good, inside or out. It's like an adult's version of the 'blankie'.
I can see that even these rules are meant to be broken.
* * *
In an alarming footnote, I bought some skinny leg jeans this week (unlikely, I know, but some manufacturer somewhere missed the memo that they should only be made for people who actually have skinny legs.... and there was a pair on special for $50 that fit me - sweet! Almost all my other jeans have holes in them at the moment so I needed new ones.).
With skinny jeans, you have to wear the ug boots on the outside. I know this is very trendy, but I looked in the mirror and realised I had morphed into a Hutt Chick.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
My ladder for leprachauns is being put to use. So many things to hang!* * *
I have reinstated some kind of healthier eating agenda for the coming weeks. Report writing and many other rigmaroles of Term 2 have taken their toll of my waist-line. Having blocks of chocolate as a reward for doing school-work may be a bad policy.....
In great acts of will-power I went to two cafes in the past few days and only had coffees - no delicious counter treats! I also said 'no' to a piece of lemon and sour-cream cake at school. And it's been a whole week of NO takeaways! I am feeling virtuous.
I even bought special pants for going for walks in (my old trackpants being a little snug at the moment). They have lycra in them, which is quite scary for all involved. Anyone who fancies a weekend walk, let me know - I have always exercised best when in company (hence team-sports rather than a gym membership). I kickstarted my new regime with a Petone Beach walk with Cass and her dogs. We didn't get far, but it was the thought that counted.
* * *
Two weeks of school to go. It's a very long term - the body-clock of a teacher is set to feel tired by about week 8 (usually having 10 week terms)..... This is an 11 week term. And I have parent interviews this week and next week. The light at the end of the tunnel is looking very, very dim.
* * *
It's way more fun being the under-dog at a world cup tournament. And those instruments have the coolest name in the world.... Vuvuzelas?
* * *
I'm trying to decide how to feel for the BP CEO. On the one hand I feel sorry for him because Americans have dubbed him some kind of foreign-villain and the commonwealth side of me wants to side with the mother-land. And it's really quite emotive journalism to show him out on his yacht and demonise him for galavanting while the oil gushes. While it is the perfect image of capitalism not giving a damn, I think everybody deserves a day off.
At the end of the day I'm guessing everyone who works high up in the oil industry has sold their soul to somebody. So can't feel too sorry for him. But he did look very sad and stressed at the press conference :(
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Not Sensible.
I had a dream last night that I can actually remember, which is rare for me these days.I was teaching my Year 9 class (though not in my classroom - the school looked different to mine, though the other teachers in it were definitely my current colleagues).
And some kids got up and talked (it was the new girl, who'd transferred from Upper Hutt's, birthday and the kids all thought she was really nice).
Anyhow, towards the end of the lesson I went over to the window and one of the students was looking out at the quad (the class is on the second floor).
There are these two idiots who has somehow got a picnic table up on to the top of a pole (which seemed really high up) and were sitting on either side of it, waving at us. I had no idea how they could have done that.
I said, 'Well - that's not sensible.'
It was slightly lop-sided and as I saw it start to give way to the pole in the middle, I said to the kid, 'Don't look.' I looked away as I saw the table careening down the pole and it hit the concrete so hard it left a hole in the ground.
I assumed the two kids had died.
While I was concerned about how seeing this may have traumatised the kid I'd been watching with, I figured somebody on the ground floor would go sort it out.
The bell went, and I kept in a bunch of students to talk to them about their behaviour and how they needed to be quieter during discussions. I knew the kids who'd stayed behind weren't actually the naughty kids, though - those ones had scarpered already.
Anyhow.... I figure the dream either says that I'm cool as a cucumber in an emergency, or I just don't care.
Hmm.
Jon's Super Heroes and Villains Party
One of these pictures is Morgan as 'Superman'. The other is one of the Andys from 'Hot Fuzz'.
Captain Apostrophe - Manifesto
I had assessed that my closest competition was a man with a beer in his hand and a towel tucked into his collar..... so did not end up having to pull out my character background manifesto at the party (my sole goal was to win the mystery prize for best costume - so worth it - snickety snick Wolverine claw!). Here it is.
Who is she?
Mild mannered English teacher by day, Captain Apostrophe has a secret identity hiding beneath. At any moment, when confronted by offensive signage or an ill-written programme, she can become Captain Apostrophe!
What’s her weapon of choice?
Her alter-ego is dedicated to righting grammar atrocities the world over and correcting punctuation disasters wherever they may occur. In her right hand, she wields the RED PEN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS!
Where is her secret lair?
Not surprisingly, her team of super-heroes have their headquarters in Oxford, under the leadership of Dr Johnson (home of the esteemed dictionary, and the most special comma in the world). Here she and her sidekick, Semi-Colon Boy, cast their critical and protective eyes on the written communication of the world, trying to wipe out the plague of ebonics and phonetics.
Who is her nemesis?Her nemesis, the evil Textor, has tried to thwart her efforts in recent years. He has hidden the apostrophe symbol deep within the cellphone pad, embedded under other punctuation, where nobody will find it. He has already bastardized the Queen’s English with his American spelling and he is luring the younger generation into his lazy trap. His dream is a punctuationless world. A world of fragmented language. He whispers in their ears, ‘You don’t need to proof-read it – just rely on spellcheck!’ and, ‘You’ll get OOS in your thumbs if you type in all the letters – leave some out.’
Catch phrases you might have heard…
“Hold on – I’ve gotta go chase a run-on sentence!”
“It’s a minor sentence to you, but a major felony to me!”
“That goes after the S! It belongs to all of us, capitalist scumbag!”
“She’s having contractions! Get her an apostrophe, STAT!”
“Looks like you’ve come to a full stop, mister!”
Captain Apostrophe - Manifesto
I had assessed that my closest competition was a man with a beer in his hand and a towel tucked into his collar..... so did not end up having to pull out my character background manifesto at the party (my sole goal was to win the mystery prize for best costume - so worth it - snickety snick Wolverine claw!). Here it is.
Who is she?Mild mannered English teacher by day, Captain Apostrophe has a secret identity hiding beneath. At any moment, when confronted by offensive signage or an ill-written programme, she can become Captain Apostrophe!
What’s her weapon of choice?
Her alter-ego is dedicated to righting grammar atrocities the world over and correcting punctuation disasters wherever they may occur. In her right hand, she wields the RED PEN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS!
Where is her secret lair?
Not surprisingly, her team of super-heroes have their headquarters in Oxford, under the leadership of Dr Johnson (home of the esteemed dictionary, and the most special comma in the world). Here she and her sidekick, Semi-Colon Boy, cast their critical and protective eyes on the written communication of the world, trying to wipe out the plague of ebonics and phonetics.
Who is her nemesis?Her nemesis, the evil Textor, has tried to thwart her efforts in recent years. He has hidden the apostrophe symbol deep within the cellphone pad, embedded under other punctuation, where nobody will find it. He has already bastardized the Queen’s English with his American spelling and he is luring the younger generation into his lazy trap. His dream is a punctuationless world. A world of fragmented language. He whispers in their ears, ‘You don’t need to proof-read it – just rely on spellcheck!’ and, ‘You’ll get OOS in your thumbs if you type in all the letters – leave some out.’
Catch phrases you might have heard…
“Hold on – I’ve gotta go chase a run-on sentence!”
“It’s a minor sentence to you, but a major felony to me!”
“That goes after the S! It belongs to all of us, capitalist scumbag!”
“She’s having contractions! Get her an apostrophe, STAT!”
“Looks like you’ve come to a full stop, mister!”
Thrust upon me.
I have to go to drinks with the newly chosen principal tonight after school. I don't wanna! But there's been an invitation to all the staff with management units to meet her...... It's an elitist thing.....
I hate schmoozing.
I'm too tired to schmooze.
I have this image of having more and more responsiblity being thrust upon (I don't seek it.... I'm a slacker!). All it means is having to attend more meetings and do more administration and reports................... Is the extra money REALLY worth it?
* * *
I wore my new shoes again, for the ocassion. First time in ages I haven't worn jeans to work. Someobody'd better notice!
I hate schmoozing.
I'm too tired to schmooze.
I have this image of having more and more responsiblity being thrust upon (I don't seek it.... I'm a slacker!). All it means is having to attend more meetings and do more administration and reports................... Is the extra money REALLY worth it?
* * *
I wore my new shoes again, for the ocassion. First time in ages I haven't worn jeans to work. Someobody'd better notice!
Sunday, July 05, 2009
For my Viewing Pleasure
This weekend I have watched and liked....
1. 'Bigger, Stronger, Faster' [arthouse section of Amalgamated]- I like the broad coverage of the topic and the different perspectives on steriod usage. It's kinda got that Mike Moore edge where the subject matter is bound to make itself look stupid if you sit back and let it talk for a while. Easy pickings, but nicely put together and some good 80s action hero nostalgia. A sensitive critique on the American psyche.
1. 'Bigger, Stronger, Faster' [arthouse section of Amalgamated]- I like the broad coverage of the topic and the different perspectives on steriod usage. It's kinda got that Mike Moore edge where the subject matter is bound to make itself look stupid if you sit back and let it talk for a while. Easy pickings, but nicely put together and some good 80s action hero nostalgia. A sensitive critique on the American psyche.
2. '13 Beloved' [arthouse section of Amalgamated]
A surpising and nice Thai thriller/horror, in the mold of 'Saw' (but more psychological and slightly less gore-factor). One of those ones where you don't wanna think too hard about how it all is supposed to be plausible, though.
I have a pretty strong stomache for those kind of things, so this was up my alley and most of the violence had its purpose in the plot. I also like a film where the characters are a bit morally grey.
His fifth task had me and Carly squirming in our seats, but the gross was mixed with oddly timed darkly humorous moments, meaning it didn't take itself too seriously. The beginning seems cheesy as (a boy scout walking an old lady across a road) but later on in the film you see it had some significance, and the end had a good twist too. Worth seeing if you like a decent Asian horror - maybe a bit of a 'Saw' copy-cat, but I imagine the rights have already been bought by some American studio, none-the-less.
3. 'Jump!' [Documentary Channel]
3. 'Jump!' [Documentary Channel]
This was a documentary about competitive jump-rope in the USA (double dutch, speed jumping, freestyle) - yeah, that's right, competitive! I liked it!
There were some cool little personalities, like the intense little girl who gives herself asthma attacks every time she jumps, but always manages to win and the unlikely best-buds duo of the tall, goofy redhead guy and the short bouncy black guy (they somehow manage to move with perfect synchonicity) and the Asperger's seeming kid who tried to make up a complicated 'jump-pha-bet' to short-hand his team's routines (it didn't fly with them). It is nicely done and uplifting and some of the tricks they do are beautiful.
Kinda in the vein of 'Spellbound', but with much more athletic kids. I think docos about eccentric, obsessive hobbies is one of my sub-genres of choice - I also liked one about professional Scrabble and The King of Kong. There was one on professional arm-wrestling on last night - gutted I missed it! The only cringe bit is the slighly annoying rah-rah American mood at the end, but by then you kinda want them to win anyhow, so they get away with it .
A film I did not like so much....
4. 'Operation Filmmaker' [Documentary Channel]
A film I did not like so much....
4. 'Operation Filmmaker' [Documentary Channel]
This one I'd heard about and anticipated it being clever and sensitive and suprising. I didn't find it any of the above, really. To be fair I was watching 'Grey's Anatomy' at the same time, so I might've missed something key....
But the Iraqi guy was a bit of an immature, manipulative (in an obvious way) jerk, the Americans trying to 'save' him were kinda arrogant and simplistic and the documentary maker was a bit desperate and soft.
I didn't really feel for anybody and nobody seemed to have any particular depths of emotion. The Rock made a brief appearance - that was the best bit. He has a pretty smile.
I think there was supposed to be some great statement about the tenuous relationship between the doco maker and her subject, and how the power shifted - but all I really saw was a desperation on both parts. I don't think the doco was layered enough for the filmmaker to be making some kind of ironic statement about her own feeble position, though. I don't think it was that self aware. Maybe I missed something.
It all seemed like a doco that went wrong, but rather than canning it and moving on to a better project, they tried to eke something out of it (and name drop a little). For me there was no great story of the human condition there. I guess that's a talking point - and talking points are good.....
It all seemed like a doco that went wrong, but rather than canning it and moving on to a better project, they tried to eke something out of it (and name drop a little). For me there was no great story of the human condition there. I guess that's a talking point - and talking points are good.....
Overall, it kinda annoyed me. I hung in there, hoping there would be some great gasping moment towards the end where it all pulled together somehow.... but the credits kinda jumped up on me, without any real closure.
They Were Mine
Nowadays I don't notice nature the way I used to. Maybe it's because I've lived in pokey city flats with tiny strips of back-yards for years. Maybe it's because there are no grass verges on the footpaths in Hataitai, so I haven't crunched through morning frost in years.
* * *
Growing up, there was a looming gum tree in the corner of our yard. It was the climbing tree with thick limbs for gripping and vantage points for sitting on. Its bark peeled off in satisfying chunks, revealing raw scars of sticky sap. Me and my brother could perch there, under a canopy of slender, peppery leaves that splayed like fingers, looking down on the maze of grass and weeds beyond where the lawnmower could reach. I dropped my mother's earing down there, never to be found (and never admitted). It was the tree with fuzzy caterpillars and leathery brown empire moth cocoons that made me shudder.
On the other side of the yard was the weeping willow. It was a standing-under tree where you parted the drooping sinewy curtains of summer-green leaves and entered another world. Bouncing on the trampoline I could reach over and brush my hand over its soft leaves or grip the sinews like the reins of a horse, gently pulling down the branches.
The crab apple tree would scratch against my bedroom windows in winter. Its scrawny skeletal arms had fingers of twigs prying in each direction - it was a witchy tree. In summer it scattered small red apples on the lawn which I squashed, sickly sweet, under my feet.
The plum tree hung heavy with fruit over the driveway. Deep purple plums grouped in threes or fours along its branches, among the flat brown leaves. I would hold the ladder for Dad as he gathered them up for Mum's jam. The silver cauldron gave muted metallic thuds as he softly dropped them in.
The cherry tree welcomed me at the gate. It sprawled like a giant, dwarfing the courtyard. Its roots pushed up the bricks in small valleys and peaks. In spring it formed a wet carpet of pink, bruised blossoms by the gate.
Near the washing line there was a stubborn little lemon tree. It looked lonely, never quite accepting its new position. On my way from the garage to the back door, every day after school, I would pick off a thick, shiny leaf and tear it in my fingers so I could taste its tart smell.
The gooseberry bush emerged from a mass of herbs and weeds. In summer it would have veiny, tissue-paper cases, like tiny lanterns. The fleshy berries, when popped out, made my face pucker.
There were the flax bushes, the daisy bush with fuzzy leaves, the snowball bush with flowers we could throw. By instinct I knew the change each season would bring to them and I knew the feel of their bark and how easily their leaves ripped in my little fingers. I knew the smell and taste of them. I knew how to shake a tennis ball out their branches.
One winter holidays I came home from Massey and my father had cut most of them down, on the adive of a landscape gardener. Part of his new five-year plan. The hole where the willow tree had been revealed an ugly corrugated fence and a large patch of grey sky. The yard seemed to have shrunk. There were neighbours everywhere, no longer filtered by leafy trees and branches. It seemed a small betrayal. I walked around the yard, noticing only the gaps and new grave-like patches of soil, where trunks used to be.
It was the end of something.
* * *
Growing up, there was a looming gum tree in the corner of our yard. It was the climbing tree with thick limbs for gripping and vantage points for sitting on. Its bark peeled off in satisfying chunks, revealing raw scars of sticky sap. Me and my brother could perch there, under a canopy of slender, peppery leaves that splayed like fingers, looking down on the maze of grass and weeds beyond where the lawnmower could reach. I dropped my mother's earing down there, never to be found (and never admitted). It was the tree with fuzzy caterpillars and leathery brown empire moth cocoons that made me shudder.
On the other side of the yard was the weeping willow. It was a standing-under tree where you parted the drooping sinewy curtains of summer-green leaves and entered another world. Bouncing on the trampoline I could reach over and brush my hand over its soft leaves or grip the sinews like the reins of a horse, gently pulling down the branches.
The crab apple tree would scratch against my bedroom windows in winter. Its scrawny skeletal arms had fingers of twigs prying in each direction - it was a witchy tree. In summer it scattered small red apples on the lawn which I squashed, sickly sweet, under my feet.
The plum tree hung heavy with fruit over the driveway. Deep purple plums grouped in threes or fours along its branches, among the flat brown leaves. I would hold the ladder for Dad as he gathered them up for Mum's jam. The silver cauldron gave muted metallic thuds as he softly dropped them in.
The cherry tree welcomed me at the gate. It sprawled like a giant, dwarfing the courtyard. Its roots pushed up the bricks in small valleys and peaks. In spring it formed a wet carpet of pink, bruised blossoms by the gate.
Near the washing line there was a stubborn little lemon tree. It looked lonely, never quite accepting its new position. On my way from the garage to the back door, every day after school, I would pick off a thick, shiny leaf and tear it in my fingers so I could taste its tart smell.
The gooseberry bush emerged from a mass of herbs and weeds. In summer it would have veiny, tissue-paper cases, like tiny lanterns. The fleshy berries, when popped out, made my face pucker.
There were the flax bushes, the daisy bush with fuzzy leaves, the snowball bush with flowers we could throw. By instinct I knew the change each season would bring to them and I knew the feel of their bark and how easily their leaves ripped in my little fingers. I knew the smell and taste of them. I knew how to shake a tennis ball out their branches.
One winter holidays I came home from Massey and my father had cut most of them down, on the adive of a landscape gardener. Part of his new five-year plan. The hole where the willow tree had been revealed an ugly corrugated fence and a large patch of grey sky. The yard seemed to have shrunk. There were neighbours everywhere, no longer filtered by leafy trees and branches. It seemed a small betrayal. I walked around the yard, noticing only the gaps and new grave-like patches of soil, where trunks used to be.
It was the end of something.
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