My podiatrist was possibly savvy enough to know I have not been doing my stretches. She seemed disapproving and almost dismissive of me. I disappointed her! Like some kid who hadn't done their homework, so the teachers just sighs and moves on.
My calf flexibility was actually worse than when I saw her six weeks ago. Uh oh. She said that's a sure precursor to other injuries, as everything else has to over-compensate. I am apparently 85% improved, but it's at this stage that people get cocky and start over-exerting themselves again without doing sensible things like stretching.
And my foot will probably continue to hurt for 12-18 months following the injury. That seems like an awfully long time.
I feel less proud of myself now.
* * *
I'm gonna do a half-way club on Friday for students half-way to getting Excellence endorsed. I'm gonna give them each a chocolate fish. And then a plastic bag with some M&Ms (50 minus how many credits they still need to get). And I'm gonna tell them to give the symbolic chocolate, one for each credit they still need to get, to the people who will help them get it. Not as a bribe, but as a thank-you for their hard work. Study buddies, parents, teachers.
That's my theory anyhow. It really just stems from having the opposite idea, of giving them an M&M for every credit they have, but then realising this was way too much counting and it was easier to do it the other way around.
If I was them, I'd eat them all myself.
* * *
I wore a blazer today and got several comments on looking 'smart'. I have to do enrolment interviews for next year's cohort (along with other deans and senior management) and I figured I'd better start pulling out the more corporate clothes. Don't want parents thinking we run some kinda hippie school.
* * *
My new theory is that I may not have been intellectual enough for the fellow I experimentally went on dates with. He had mentioned a guy he knew in a past conversation.... and I just saw that guy on an episode of Media3 as some kind of media expert. I don't run in those kinda circles.
And to be fair, I only remembered his name because it's the same as a cartoon character (the one Ant resembles). That's how deep my brain goes.
Anecdotes about the charming rapscallion kids I deal with everyday may not be that engaging to a corporate folk.
But maybe their stories bore me too. Hmph!
* * *
I love giving word limits kids have to reach. I amazed them all today by saying that last year's scholarship student I taught wrote two essays in a three hour exam (she typed them out for me word-for-embarrassing-word); one was 2,200 words and the other was 1,800 words.
All my little Year 11 babies have to write is at least 400 words per essay. Easy! They're mostly surpassing that with ease, which gives me confidence. Quality matters not, markers can usually find something of some relevance in there somewhere if they look hard enough..... NZQA wants good pass rates, surely.....
In my other class we talked more about sex. And phallic symbols. And virginity. And nipples.
* * *
My subversive streak continues. Quietly. Should professionals really be made to do mix-and-match activities?
* * *
I recommend the apricot flavoured herbal tea you can get at Pak n Save. It's fullsome in its flavour.
* * *
When I play netball tonight, I will do some stretches. See how long I can keep up this regime.
Now that I have become a proper athlete (after my two weeks of going for partial-runs) I understand how frustrating it would be to be injured again and not be able to get my post run endorphin-hit. It annoys me when it rains now. I need to run and be free!
The podiatrist told me to not wear my brace while I'm running. That thought scares me. I feel super-human with my brace on. Apparently my ankle could do with the strengthening and I'm unlikly to sprain it on concrete or gravel (as opposed to the side-to-side motion and danger of netball/basketball).
She overestimates my co-ordination.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
I'm a pretty smart person. But sometimes (oftentimes) dating makes me feel dumb.
Most things that you're bad at, you can resolve to get better at by practising. And most things you can whittle away at in private until you're happy to share them with the world, like when kids cover their work with their hand until they're ready to show you. Dating you can't practise privately. Or casually with friends, for that matter.
How frustrating.
Or maybe he's an idiot. Who knows.
* * *
I just learnt Fulsom Prison Blues on the uke. Nice.
* * *
There is something nice about going to leaving drinks. We had some at work for a guy retiring. I think as the accountant you're never going to be the most popular guy on staff, having to be the 'no-man' to all the crazy teachers. But it was nice how many people were there and he spoke a little about his philosophy about how he did the job and it was nice. He said his bottom line was 'Does it benefit the students?' and if it did, he'd fund it.
On the flip-side, I guess the staff to sometimes feel that things generally aren't done just for their benefit. Which could be short-sighted. Hmm.
Anyway, it's a nice thing. It makes me link to more ancient times when ceremonies were more overt in what they were doing and why. I think the leaving do is a valuable ceremony for closure and a community tightening around a person and then letting them go, but gently. Like pushing them off from the shore in a little boat. Then standing back and waving. Go well!
* * *
I watched Season 3 of Game of Thrones. Golly. It's still good. It has bad baddies and good goodies. Flawed goodies, but good ones. The flaws are good. I knew there was an 'oh-my-gosh' episode. And I felt it coming. But I couldn't stop it .... and I didn't quite anticipate what it would be. It as just that ominous feeling that nothing ever quite goes this smoothly for the goodies....something must be awry.....
* * *
I went for another walk/jog today. I think I'm up to doing a 6km path and jogging about half of it. I am sure it is a very inelegant, red-faced, on-the-verge-of-collapse, looking jog..... but my will power is good! My body is just not designed for such things - not terribly stream-lined.
And I played basketball this week for the first time since December. That was fun. Really fun. My team is great - all the oldies and goodies from past teams with nobody new that rocks the boat or holds us back. We're one of those teams that are all a bit old and injured and we laugh at our mistakes, but deep down we're all competitive and have some skills. So we can pull wins out against a lot of teams better than us on paper.
My tendon felt a little sore and gave the old jolt, but on the whole held up well and didn't make me not do anything. That's the main thing. I think I've pushed it a bit hard this week and it has been fairly constantly achey, but doesn't feel like re-injuring. And I feel as mobile as before I hurt it.
* * *
Going to my first Film Fest outing soon. Fun! Thanks, Rich.
Most things that you're bad at, you can resolve to get better at by practising. And most things you can whittle away at in private until you're happy to share them with the world, like when kids cover their work with their hand until they're ready to show you. Dating you can't practise privately. Or casually with friends, for that matter.
How frustrating.
Or maybe he's an idiot. Who knows.
* * *
I just learnt Fulsom Prison Blues on the uke. Nice.
* * *
There is something nice about going to leaving drinks. We had some at work for a guy retiring. I think as the accountant you're never going to be the most popular guy on staff, having to be the 'no-man' to all the crazy teachers. But it was nice how many people were there and he spoke a little about his philosophy about how he did the job and it was nice. He said his bottom line was 'Does it benefit the students?' and if it did, he'd fund it.
On the flip-side, I guess the staff to sometimes feel that things generally aren't done just for their benefit. Which could be short-sighted. Hmm.
Anyway, it's a nice thing. It makes me link to more ancient times when ceremonies were more overt in what they were doing and why. I think the leaving do is a valuable ceremony for closure and a community tightening around a person and then letting them go, but gently. Like pushing them off from the shore in a little boat. Then standing back and waving. Go well!
* * *
I watched Season 3 of Game of Thrones. Golly. It's still good. It has bad baddies and good goodies. Flawed goodies, but good ones. The flaws are good. I knew there was an 'oh-my-gosh' episode. And I felt it coming. But I couldn't stop it .... and I didn't quite anticipate what it would be. It as just that ominous feeling that nothing ever quite goes this smoothly for the goodies....something must be awry.....
* * *
I went for another walk/jog today. I think I'm up to doing a 6km path and jogging about half of it. I am sure it is a very inelegant, red-faced, on-the-verge-of-collapse, looking jog..... but my will power is good! My body is just not designed for such things - not terribly stream-lined.
And I played basketball this week for the first time since December. That was fun. Really fun. My team is great - all the oldies and goodies from past teams with nobody new that rocks the boat or holds us back. We're one of those teams that are all a bit old and injured and we laugh at our mistakes, but deep down we're all competitive and have some skills. So we can pull wins out against a lot of teams better than us on paper.
My tendon felt a little sore and gave the old jolt, but on the whole held up well and didn't make me not do anything. That's the main thing. I think I've pushed it a bit hard this week and it has been fairly constantly achey, but doesn't feel like re-injuring. And I feel as mobile as before I hurt it.
* * *
Going to my first Film Fest outing soon. Fun! Thanks, Rich.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
And I shall blog today too
I blogged this weekend for the first time in ages.
Written Sunday - pre-quake
My blog-roll is like a grave-yard. Artifacts now of a pre-facebook world. Most not updated for a year or more.
Today I went to brunch. And listened to jazz on the way. We glared in the winter sun and window-shopped afterwards.
And that was Sunday. Halfway point of the holidays.
* * *
Written Wednesday - post-quake
Then there was The Earthquake. I jumped up often that night, never quite opening the door but standing near it, concentrating to hear the shaking stop. Then refreshing Geonet.
I slept with a torch beside my bed.
At 3am he texted. It woke me up but I didn't mind. Then at 3.15am I was awake for the big aftershock.
* * *
The next day I walked around the southern coast, as planned. I felt defiant.
Lines from 'Break, Break, Break' and 'Do Not go Gentle into that Good Night' rattled around my brain. Helped me believe we'd all get back to normal after the Monday ghost-town feel.
* * *
Now it all feels a long time ago. They say his name in air-quotes for now.
* * *
We had flaming cocktails. In a sad bar where we were the only customers and the barman, with painfully good side-swept hair and a jumper with the arms pulled up just-so, talked to us about old fashioneds and business men drinking out of teapots.
Sometimes people are too articulate and interesting for me. I struggle to join in. Sometimes it's the opposite, and I still struggle to join in. For different reasons.
I had a nice night though. It's good talking to people who like words so much. Writers. People who see the irony and humour in things and turn words over in their mouths and minds. Words are not just transactional.
I was early, so I bought books at Whitcoulls. The Little Prince. 1984 and Gone Girl. I have visions of going through them with a highlighter and reading alone in cafes.
* * *
Today I went to the laundromat. Read some of The Little Prince. I think I'll have to re-read it and pick out the quotes I was struck by. I like books with a Peter Pan syndrome.
Afterwards, with washing folded (and still holding its warmth, now, hours later) I had a date scone and coffee at the local place. I accidentally dropped my change in the tip-jar and had to fish it out again. That felt bad.
* * *
Netball tonight. I feel like I can move again without worry. That's something. Didn't do much of anything effective though. Still, it's something.
* * *
A parent gave me flowers at interview night. They hadn't bloomed then, rather unexciting. But during the holidays, they have opened up into beautiful white fluffy flowers with the promise of spring.
Written Sunday - pre-quake
My blog-roll is like a grave-yard. Artifacts now of a pre-facebook world. Most not updated for a year or more.
Today I went to brunch. And listened to jazz on the way. We glared in the winter sun and window-shopped afterwards.
And that was Sunday. Halfway point of the holidays.
* * *
Written Wednesday - post-quake
Then there was The Earthquake. I jumped up often that night, never quite opening the door but standing near it, concentrating to hear the shaking stop. Then refreshing Geonet.
I slept with a torch beside my bed.
At 3am he texted. It woke me up but I didn't mind. Then at 3.15am I was awake for the big aftershock.
* * *
The next day I walked around the southern coast, as planned. I felt defiant.
Lines from 'Break, Break, Break' and 'Do Not go Gentle into that Good Night' rattled around my brain. Helped me believe we'd all get back to normal after the Monday ghost-town feel.
* * *
Now it all feels a long time ago. They say his name in air-quotes for now.
* * *
We had flaming cocktails. In a sad bar where we were the only customers and the barman, with painfully good side-swept hair and a jumper with the arms pulled up just-so, talked to us about old fashioneds and business men drinking out of teapots.
Sometimes people are too articulate and interesting for me. I struggle to join in. Sometimes it's the opposite, and I still struggle to join in. For different reasons.
I had a nice night though. It's good talking to people who like words so much. Writers. People who see the irony and humour in things and turn words over in their mouths and minds. Words are not just transactional.
I was early, so I bought books at Whitcoulls. The Little Prince. 1984 and Gone Girl. I have visions of going through them with a highlighter and reading alone in cafes.
* * *
Today I went to the laundromat. Read some of The Little Prince. I think I'll have to re-read it and pick out the quotes I was struck by. I like books with a Peter Pan syndrome.
Afterwards, with washing folded (and still holding its warmth, now, hours later) I had a date scone and coffee at the local place. I accidentally dropped my change in the tip-jar and had to fish it out again. That felt bad.
* * *
Netball tonight. I feel like I can move again without worry. That's something. Didn't do much of anything effective though. Still, it's something.
* * *
A parent gave me flowers at interview night. They hadn't bloomed then, rather unexciting. But during the holidays, they have opened up into beautiful white fluffy flowers with the promise of spring.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Because I haven't in a While
From ages ago.
This is how I kept my dairy for a while when I was miserable post-breaking-up. In snippets and fragments. Quite nice to read back over.
It's ok to wallow and angst every now and then.
Weta Cave (Percy's Reserve)
Decades later
the same footfalls echo
her grandson's eyes
adjust to the dark
she once feared too
hands feeling along
the same black wall
or
Walking into the blackness
I watch them disappear
and worry
knowing they will in several steps
touch the end and turn and run back
I feel their heavy breathing
and unsure steps
as they can no longer see me
Waiting for the end to come
Why don't we look back?
Slipping Over in Mud
A cold damp stickiness
clinging to her thigh
scarred
by the slippery slope
grit clings to her hands
Defeated
She stands in embarrassment
of falling?
or of the mud?
It creeps up my shoes and onto
the scraggles of my jeans
sucking in my feet and
the buggy wheels
leaving tracks behind us
Ruby wheels her buggy back
arms reaching up
she marches
in pink sneakers
by myself
she exudes proudly.
I shield her from the road
half a hand on her shoulder
shepherding the buggy
gravel underfeet
Older ones climb up roots and footholds
blue and green patches of tshirts
flash between the foliage
and giggles follow me
____
Outside I picture Hataitai. The #14 bus rolling up the hill with three passengers staring blankly out of the back seat. Jackets on. Cars sit in lines, snaking up the bend. Windows are sparkling with mist and lights are muffled by curtains.
Above, airplanes silently bypass us. Shut-up shops and empty parks in the village down below. I would walk in the frosty quiet of blackness, noticing things, not people, and hearing distant cars and shiftings in the breeze. My reflection flashing back at me in shop windows, hands deep in pockets.
My carpet is subconsciously familiar. Rubbed and scarred with hair dye and foot scuffs and toenail clippings and sunflower seeds and sequins from a poem.
My guitar sits unplayed. Mocking me. My heater rattles and hums.
Good night.
___
Parade
I am self-conscious. I only remember looking at my hands, at my knees and cuffs, the paintings opposite. I remember the plate and the corn fritters with a moat of sweet chili sauce, sticky and red. The froth of my latte. The white table marker.
My hair falling across my face. A shield.
___
Engagement Party
I picture walking in alone, holding down my skirt in the wind of the car park. Present held awkwardly in hand. Over dressed.
It's a party-dress he skirt billows out in soft folds. I smooth it down with my hand and it clings to my stockings.
Arms brush against me
The familiar touch of family passing
in the small of my back
___
Work Drinks
Sitting too far away from the nibbles. And I am anxious. Small talk is handed around to and fro, questions recycled and bounced back. Whispered gossip is shared in back rows as the murmur gathers and heightens. A leaning in.
___
The paper is a satisfying thickness and it soaks up my ink. It feels significant as my fingers turn the pages revealing familiar thoughts like a photo album of words.
___
Decluttering
I hide yesteryear's mess
in drawers and cupboards
cheap beads and mix tapes
missing clasps, labels fading
Pruning and thinning my shelves
yesterday's purchases shining
white and sleek
against the clunky wood
of yesteryear me
____
I fear it.
The catching of breath in surprise
as I walk past the cafe
and finally see him sitting in the seat
I have glanced at for months now
He will smile and nod towards me
eyebrows raised
I will look away and blush. Hurried suddenly.
Us seems distant.
___
Red hair, green jacket
warning me away like a flag
___
Leapfrogging Lightening
And you ask my name
I say it with ownership
it is me
Kate
Stroppy and slightly sharp
but strong underneath
and capable of great thoughts.
___
And the kettle boils
and they turn up the volume
as I warm the pan
and snap the ends
of my asparagus spears.
___
Limp radishes
___
She hands me an already crying baby
Her feet dig gently into my belly
as I bounce her into submission
___
BBQ in Kelson
People become silhouetted
as the sky reddens into darkness
Frisbee catches involve faith
in timing and a shifting in the shadows
I remember playing in the backyard
until we were called in
or admitted defeat
our eyes groping for the ball
while lit windows with TV screens
dotted the horizon
A gathering of possessions
from the side-line
still passing and catching as we walk
Climbing the fence
which borders home and school
me in one long stride
wire catching on clothes
a sag in the fence
signalling our path
Then navigating the tall grass
back down the hilly yard
towards light and mosquitoes
suddenly aware of the damp cold
and the time.
or
I am the one who plays in twilight
As balls blend into shadows
and others admit defeat
I enjoy the losing battle
___
Indoor
A familiar convergence
In the entrance then scan and look
Hair pulled back
Sneakers
Mesh
The frustration of being slow
by half a step
We run familiar lines
My generation
Mortgages
Recovering from injuries
Love triangles from the past
In our voluntary cage.
___
A date on a Calendar
23rd of November
Handwritten
in the box
'Kate's birthday'
In his wife's hand
Transferred from last year
I wish it wasn't needed
That he'd remember it himself
The reminders underneath
'Doctor 2.30'
and 'Work Do'.
____
My nonchallance
is well practised
to the point of
fooling nobody
A forced smile
while my hands
form tight balls in
my pocket.
Fingernails digging into palms
Teeth biting the inside of my cheek.
___
Brunch
Arriving early
Scanning the tables
Shivering outside
Laminated menus
Watching her spoon out mocha froth
Saturday night dissected
places and drinks
as if it matters
Orders forgotten
by the waitress with stains on her shirt
flapjacks and beans
A boy and his mum argue behind us
I notice someone's stockings
Pouring over syrup
Conversations
Slightly stilted by
The politeness of distance
Porridge sits uneasily in my stomach.
___
CD Launch
(possibly written when slightly drunk)
Downstairs
Windowless booths
Empty dance floor
Red
Pinball eyes darting and
bouncing off unfamiliar faces
A waving of friends
beckoning
Empty chair becomes mine
Hand on shoulder
'Back soon'
promises Jon, my guardian
Conversations out of focus
Snippets
as I observe
How everyone looks like Sam
Dark and red
and ambient.
Andrew to my right
hands expressive and storytelling
proud
in a jean jacket
Content smiles
smug trivia
music
I smile. But my blank eyes convey little.
Hands in lap.
Ears fuzzy.
Full. Glass still full.
Candles melt and Jon digs out the sides
soft wax pushed in
flickers
Womb room.
Cold air. Arms crossed. Too full.
Eyes slow.
Pulled across the road
top button done up.
Past Matt's old flat
expectant glance
He's not there.
Home.
Key in door.
Red key.
Shoes off.
Bag down.
Bed.
Only some patches of lonely.
___
Is That New? he asks. No, I reply.
I pull on an old skin of
memories that don't include him
an itchy jumper
the red of unripened strawberries
it scratches at my chin
memories of an old boyfriend
and the shop across from his apartment
leaving him in bed for Saturday morning
shopping and coffee with friends
teeth unbrushed
retreating into my past wardrobe
of 20-somethings and 5kg less
my post break-up diet turns the clock back
to hotter boyfriends
and me with that glint in my eye
more fitting.
eyes more open.
___
Vin di kate ed.
___
So.
2 dates.
Beers and fries.
Corn fritters.
It's ok.
___
Shifting of groups
I see friends begin to waver
and fall gently away
like petals
___
Rejected undramatically by an unanswered text
I was optimistic
Re-reading texts
for clues between the words
that weren't there
Only an increasing silence
As texts went unanswered
Foolish. Me.
___
Written Long Before I Knew
I see them.
Across the road.
Together.
Not hand-in-handing
But smiling.
Walking back from brunch.
I, on the other side of the road
alone.
Unable to melt away.
I can't time it right
There is an inevitable moment
of recognition at the crossing
An awkward hello.
It lasts too long.
We stand in a triangle
with him at the apex
Body language turning against each other
I have one foot leading me away
pointing towards home
I have to say goodbye first
Then let them talk about me
As we separate at the crossing.
This is how I kept my dairy for a while when I was miserable post-breaking-up. In snippets and fragments. Quite nice to read back over.
It's ok to wallow and angst every now and then.
Weta Cave (Percy's Reserve)
Decades later
the same footfalls echo
her grandson's eyes
adjust to the dark
she once feared too
hands feeling along
the same black wall
or
Walking into the blackness
I watch them disappear
and worry
knowing they will in several steps
touch the end and turn and run back
I feel their heavy breathing
and unsure steps
as they can no longer see me
Waiting for the end to come
Why don't we look back?
Slipping Over in Mud
A cold damp stickiness
clinging to her thigh
scarred
by the slippery slope
grit clings to her hands
Defeated
She stands in embarrassment
of falling?
or of the mud?
It creeps up my shoes and onto
the scraggles of my jeans
sucking in my feet and
the buggy wheels
leaving tracks behind us
Ruby wheels her buggy back
arms reaching up
she marches
in pink sneakers
by myself
she exudes proudly.
I shield her from the road
half a hand on her shoulder
shepherding the buggy
gravel underfeet
Older ones climb up roots and footholds
blue and green patches of tshirts
flash between the foliage
and giggles follow me
____
Outside I picture Hataitai. The #14 bus rolling up the hill with three passengers staring blankly out of the back seat. Jackets on. Cars sit in lines, snaking up the bend. Windows are sparkling with mist and lights are muffled by curtains.
Above, airplanes silently bypass us. Shut-up shops and empty parks in the village down below. I would walk in the frosty quiet of blackness, noticing things, not people, and hearing distant cars and shiftings in the breeze. My reflection flashing back at me in shop windows, hands deep in pockets.
My carpet is subconsciously familiar. Rubbed and scarred with hair dye and foot scuffs and toenail clippings and sunflower seeds and sequins from a poem.
My guitar sits unplayed. Mocking me. My heater rattles and hums.
Good night.
___
Parade
I am self-conscious. I only remember looking at my hands, at my knees and cuffs, the paintings opposite. I remember the plate and the corn fritters with a moat of sweet chili sauce, sticky and red. The froth of my latte. The white table marker.
My hair falling across my face. A shield.
___
Engagement Party
I picture walking in alone, holding down my skirt in the wind of the car park. Present held awkwardly in hand. Over dressed.
It's a party-dress he skirt billows out in soft folds. I smooth it down with my hand and it clings to my stockings.
Arms brush against me
The familiar touch of family passing
in the small of my back
___
Work Drinks
Sitting too far away from the nibbles. And I am anxious. Small talk is handed around to and fro, questions recycled and bounced back. Whispered gossip is shared in back rows as the murmur gathers and heightens. A leaning in.
___
The paper is a satisfying thickness and it soaks up my ink. It feels significant as my fingers turn the pages revealing familiar thoughts like a photo album of words.
___
Decluttering
I hide yesteryear's mess
in drawers and cupboards
cheap beads and mix tapes
missing clasps, labels fading
Pruning and thinning my shelves
yesterday's purchases shining
white and sleek
against the clunky wood
of yesteryear me
____
I fear it.
The catching of breath in surprise
as I walk past the cafe
and finally see him sitting in the seat
I have glanced at for months now
He will smile and nod towards me
eyebrows raised
I will look away and blush. Hurried suddenly.
Us seems distant.
___
Red hair, green jacket
warning me away like a flag
___
Leapfrogging Lightening
And you ask my name
I say it with ownership
it is me
Kate
Stroppy and slightly sharp
but strong underneath
and capable of great thoughts.
___
And the kettle boils
and they turn up the volume
as I warm the pan
and snap the ends
of my asparagus spears.
___
Limp radishes
___
She hands me an already crying baby
Her feet dig gently into my belly
as I bounce her into submission
___
BBQ in Kelson
People become silhouetted
as the sky reddens into darkness
Frisbee catches involve faith
in timing and a shifting in the shadows
I remember playing in the backyard
until we were called in
or admitted defeat
our eyes groping for the ball
while lit windows with TV screens
dotted the horizon
A gathering of possessions
from the side-line
still passing and catching as we walk
Climbing the fence
which borders home and school
me in one long stride
wire catching on clothes
a sag in the fence
signalling our path
Then navigating the tall grass
back down the hilly yard
towards light and mosquitoes
suddenly aware of the damp cold
and the time.
or
I am the one who plays in twilight
As balls blend into shadows
and others admit defeat
I enjoy the losing battle
___
Indoor
A familiar convergence
In the entrance then scan and look
Hair pulled back
Sneakers
Mesh
The frustration of being slow
by half a step
We run familiar lines
My generation
Mortgages
Recovering from injuries
Love triangles from the past
In our voluntary cage.
___
A date on a Calendar
23rd of November
Handwritten
in the box
'Kate's birthday'
In his wife's hand
Transferred from last year
I wish it wasn't needed
That he'd remember it himself
The reminders underneath
'Doctor 2.30'
and 'Work Do'.
____
My nonchallance
is well practised
to the point of
fooling nobody
A forced smile
while my hands
form tight balls in
my pocket.
Fingernails digging into palms
Teeth biting the inside of my cheek.
___
Brunch
Arriving early
Scanning the tables
Shivering outside
Laminated menus
Watching her spoon out mocha froth
Saturday night dissected
places and drinks
as if it matters
Orders forgotten
by the waitress with stains on her shirt
flapjacks and beans
A boy and his mum argue behind us
I notice someone's stockings
Pouring over syrup
Conversations
Slightly stilted by
The politeness of distance
Porridge sits uneasily in my stomach.
___
CD Launch
(possibly written when slightly drunk)
Downstairs
Windowless booths
Empty dance floor
Red
Pinball eyes darting and
bouncing off unfamiliar faces
A waving of friends
beckoning
Empty chair becomes mine
Hand on shoulder
'Back soon'
promises Jon, my guardian
Conversations out of focus
Snippets
as I observe
How everyone looks like Sam
Dark and red
and ambient.
Andrew to my right
hands expressive and storytelling
proud
in a jean jacket
Content smiles
smug trivia
music
I smile. But my blank eyes convey little.
Hands in lap.
Ears fuzzy.
Full. Glass still full.
Candles melt and Jon digs out the sides
soft wax pushed in
flickers
Womb room.
Cold air. Arms crossed. Too full.
Eyes slow.
Pulled across the road
top button done up.
Past Matt's old flat
expectant glance
He's not there.
Home.
Key in door.
Red key.
Shoes off.
Bag down.
Bed.
Only some patches of lonely.
___
Is That New? he asks. No, I reply.
I pull on an old skin of
memories that don't include him
an itchy jumper
the red of unripened strawberries
it scratches at my chin
memories of an old boyfriend
and the shop across from his apartment
leaving him in bed for Saturday morning
shopping and coffee with friends
teeth unbrushed
retreating into my past wardrobe
of 20-somethings and 5kg less
my post break-up diet turns the clock back
to hotter boyfriends
and me with that glint in my eye
more fitting.
eyes more open.
___
Vin di kate ed.
___
So.
2 dates.
Beers and fries.
Corn fritters.
It's ok.
___
Shifting of groups
I see friends begin to waver
and fall gently away
like petals
___
Rejected undramatically by an unanswered text
I was optimistic
Re-reading texts
for clues between the words
that weren't there
Only an increasing silence
As texts went unanswered
Foolish. Me.
___
Written Long Before I Knew
I see them.
Across the road.
Together.
Not hand-in-handing
But smiling.
Walking back from brunch.
I, on the other side of the road
alone.
Unable to melt away.
I can't time it right
There is an inevitable moment
of recognition at the crossing
An awkward hello.
It lasts too long.
We stand in a triangle
with him at the apex
Body language turning against each other
I have one foot leading me away
pointing towards home
I have to say goodbye first
Then let them talk about me
As we separate at the crossing.
Friday, August 24, 2012
For Svend
Not sure if you even read my blog really!
But for some reason my computer is repeatedly getting errors when I try to comment on your blog.
You mentioned how a film or book becomes suddenly popular when it is mentioned on the National radio show. Same goes for websites. One of the guys helping us build our website was telling us how the hits on the National website get so high when it's mentioned on a show (ie "A link to that article can be found on our website.....") that if the techies are fiddling around with the website or updating it they ask the presenters to not mention any links during that show, else everything gets messy.
* * *
Cold eh. I didn't even go outside today - but any time someone opened the lounge door I felt a cold swoosh of air that made me want to stay inside.
* * *
Pecha Kucha on Wednesday. Me and Reidun are going, anyone else is welcome to come along too. We went to the last one and found it an interesting way to spend a night hearing about stuff you would otherwise not. I think there were two pretty awful speakers, but the rest were at least mildly interesting and a few were great (12 in total). Not a bad night for $7.
An added point of interest for me is that my old flatmate Simon's brother is one of the speakers (you may remember good old Simon, or 'The Baron' as we liked to call him - and no, it's not the brother Nicky hooked up with and it's not the brother Nicky thought she hooked up with either - it's the other brother).
But for some reason my computer is repeatedly getting errors when I try to comment on your blog.
You mentioned how a film or book becomes suddenly popular when it is mentioned on the National radio show. Same goes for websites. One of the guys helping us build our website was telling us how the hits on the National website get so high when it's mentioned on a show (ie "A link to that article can be found on our website.....") that if the techies are fiddling around with the website or updating it they ask the presenters to not mention any links during that show, else everything gets messy.
* * *
Cold eh. I didn't even go outside today - but any time someone opened the lounge door I felt a cold swoosh of air that made me want to stay inside.
* * *
Pecha Kucha on Wednesday. Me and Reidun are going, anyone else is welcome to come along too. We went to the last one and found it an interesting way to spend a night hearing about stuff you would otherwise not. I think there were two pretty awful speakers, but the rest were at least mildly interesting and a few were great (12 in total). Not a bad night for $7.
An added point of interest for me is that my old flatmate Simon's brother is one of the speakers (you may remember good old Simon, or 'The Baron' as we liked to call him - and no, it's not the brother Nicky hooked up with and it's not the brother Nicky thought she hooked up with either - it's the other brother).
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Potato the Racehorse.
So I'm female-frisbee MVP three weeks running. I don't care that there aren't many girls on the team or that my students may have given it to me out of fear/loyalty this week...... I'm expecting some kind of giant cup at the end of the season. GIANT!
Kyle has started calling me 'The Glacier' due to my preference to not move quickly on field. Jon also said today, in response to me saying I 'ran fast' at one point, that he would 'pay to see that'. They're all just jealous that they're not three-time-MVPs...... I am fast like lightening.
* * *
I have stopped grooming my hair this week. No straightening. Going to bed with it wet, so I wake up and it's CRAZILY going in all different directions. I might look a bit hobo-ish. It's just gotten so long and split-ended that it's gross, and frankly there's nobody I'm trying to impress at the moment! I'm getting it cut this weekend and then it will be shiny and new and I will regain my interest in grooming.....
Just explaining, in case anyone had noted that I look somewhat haggard. I think it sticks out in odd directions when I put it in a ponytail too.... And it's only just gotten long enough to do that, and I'm gonna whack it all shorter again.
To get a fringe or not to get a fringe, that is the question.
* * *
The censorship discussion continued for a while on my students' blog-site. One of them brought up the case of her creative-writing being challenged for having the word 'crap' in it, by the Min of Education who were putting it in a resource for schools. She made the point that putting something like 'baloney' in there instead would make the story not sound like a genuine teenage voice anymore.
I agree.
But I had to secretly take glee in the fact that I have been editing school magazine articles, and replacing low-level swearwords like that with silly alternatives, which will sound funny coming from them.... like 'jolly' and 'blimin'..... The power goes to my head! One of the kids asked if she could add a middle initial to her name, 'E', at the bottom of her article. I let her, because that reminded me of the kid from the MAD Magazines. What was it - Edward E Neuman?
* * *
I went to Simply Paris for lunch today (between mad-cap magazine crisises). It was civilised. I imagine that's what 'normal' people (non-teachers) do most days..... I had a salmon panini, mocha (with a chocolate covered coffee bean) and an almond croissant (to go).
* * *
I took my book to work today, thinking optimistically that I might sit down and read it at lunch-time (I had pictured a more leisurely day than I eneded up having - what with 80 pages of proofing arriving, which I had promised I could do within the day it arrived, thinking it would arrive in smaller chunks).
It is very very fat and looked impressive sitting on my desk. It made me look in-tell-ec-tu-al. I feel like a kid I taught once, who was barely literate, but insisted on picking the fattest book in the school libarary, then pretending she'd read it (to impress me, though I didn't believe her for a second). It's so fat it would make a good door-stop, or brick. My HOD saw it and asked if she could borrow it after me, then she remembered I'm not a fast reader and said she might just go ahead and buy her own copy..... I have so far read 54 pages out of 738. I'm not even up to the bit about the Columbine killings, which is what triggers the main aftermath and trauma plot.....
I might wear my 'smart-glasses' when I finally get time to read it in my lunch-hour. Though, one of the lenses has fallen out, which somewhat detracts from my smart-fascade.
Kyle has started calling me 'The Glacier' due to my preference to not move quickly on field. Jon also said today, in response to me saying I 'ran fast' at one point, that he would 'pay to see that'. They're all just jealous that they're not three-time-MVPs...... I am fast like lightening.
* * *
I have stopped grooming my hair this week. No straightening. Going to bed with it wet, so I wake up and it's CRAZILY going in all different directions. I might look a bit hobo-ish. It's just gotten so long and split-ended that it's gross, and frankly there's nobody I'm trying to impress at the moment! I'm getting it cut this weekend and then it will be shiny and new and I will regain my interest in grooming.....
Just explaining, in case anyone had noted that I look somewhat haggard. I think it sticks out in odd directions when I put it in a ponytail too.... And it's only just gotten long enough to do that, and I'm gonna whack it all shorter again.
To get a fringe or not to get a fringe, that is the question.
* * *
The censorship discussion continued for a while on my students' blog-site. One of them brought up the case of her creative-writing being challenged for having the word 'crap' in it, by the Min of Education who were putting it in a resource for schools. She made the point that putting something like 'baloney' in there instead would make the story not sound like a genuine teenage voice anymore.
I agree.
But I had to secretly take glee in the fact that I have been editing school magazine articles, and replacing low-level swearwords like that with silly alternatives, which will sound funny coming from them.... like 'jolly' and 'blimin'..... The power goes to my head! One of the kids asked if she could add a middle initial to her name, 'E', at the bottom of her article. I let her, because that reminded me of the kid from the MAD Magazines. What was it - Edward E Neuman?
* * *
I went to Simply Paris for lunch today (between mad-cap magazine crisises). It was civilised. I imagine that's what 'normal' people (non-teachers) do most days..... I had a salmon panini, mocha (with a chocolate covered coffee bean) and an almond croissant (to go).
* * *
I took my book to work today, thinking optimistically that I might sit down and read it at lunch-time (I had pictured a more leisurely day than I eneded up having - what with 80 pages of proofing arriving, which I had promised I could do within the day it arrived, thinking it would arrive in smaller chunks).
It is very very fat and looked impressive sitting on my desk. It made me look in-tell-ec-tu-al. I feel like a kid I taught once, who was barely literate, but insisted on picking the fattest book in the school libarary, then pretending she'd read it (to impress me, though I didn't believe her for a second). It's so fat it would make a good door-stop, or brick. My HOD saw it and asked if she could borrow it after me, then she remembered I'm not a fast reader and said she might just go ahead and buy her own copy..... I have so far read 54 pages out of 738. I'm not even up to the bit about the Columbine killings, which is what triggers the main aftermath and trauma plot.....
I might wear my 'smart-glasses' when I finally get time to read it in my lunch-hour. Though, one of the lenses has fallen out, which somewhat detracts from my smart-fascade.
Sunday, July 08, 2012
I strained a calf muscle at basketball. I asked my doctor if this was a sign that I shouldn't play sport any more, at my age. He said not necessarily - such things can be random.
Two days later I strained a back muscle.
Hmm.
* * *
I have been watching King of Thrones. It's good. A bit of a change of pace from Gossip Girl, anyway.
* * *
I lost my keys. Then I found them. Phew. At the restaurant.
I was afraid my long claim to have never lost anything important was at an end.
* * *
It's exciting that there is a new Nood store in town. Right next to Michelle's house.
* * *
I read a Wally Lamb book. It was underwhelming. And had lots of printing errors. I was hoping that they'd cleverly fit into some theme that I hadn't picked up on.... but I'm pretty sure they didn't.
I'm wondering if the books of his I read that I loved, years ago, would still be good now (if I read them as a proper grown-up).
* * *
I dropped my dad at the air-port today. They were running terribly late. They were supposed to check-in at 9am, and they only woke up in Levin at 7.34am. When I left them Lynne was saying, 'I can't breathe..... my shoe's not on.... can't breathe....' and she limped off with her shoe half on. Dramatic entrance, dramatic exit!
Then I got to drive their fancy car home. It is a huge 4WD - the kind you accidentally run over small children in. It has a sun roof.
* * *
Evidently I can't watch King of Thrones and blog at the same time. I have had to rewind the same bit four times now. Still can't figure out why the Snow boy is attacking people....
Oh, something about calling his father a traitor.
Here comes a wolf. I like the wolves.
* * *
Now that my phone consistently turns off while I'm in the middle of using it, I'm thinking of getting a new one. Maybe a 'smart' one. I'm unconvinced of the need for an 'i' phone. Though everyone I know raves about them and hasn't regretted getting them.
* * *
The Dark Knight is rising. That's something to look forward to after all the crap that's been on.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
So at 3am on Monday morning I was sitting up in an ED ward at Palmerston North Hospital, reading a book of Leonard Coen poetry I happened to have in my bag to try and keep awake.
* * *
I'd arrived at my Dad's for a visit, and soon after my step-ma had emerged from her nap saying she couldn't breathe. She was walking and taking very short breaths, but they sounded really gurgly, like there was fluid in her lungs. She'd been to the doctor and got steroids for asthma symptoms earlier in the day.
So at 10.30 or so an ambulance came, then I had to drive Dad up to Palmy following it. I hate driving country roads at night, so that was especially not fun. We then sat in the ward waiting for a doctor to see her for from 11.30pm til 3am.
There was only one chair, so we had to take turns sitting. I perched up on the end of Lynne's bed reading my poetry as she took a nap, having been somewhat relieved by the oxygen and medicine they gave her.
Luckily I had thought to bring some snacks in case we were there for a long time. I wasn't particularly useful, other than packing snacks and putting together an overnight bag for Lynne. Clean pjamas are important when you have vomited lung-mucus on your old ones. And a change of real clothes in case it was daylight by the time she was released. And a tooth brush. And she had requested perfume, though that may have just been a slightly disoriented suggestion. I packed it anyhow.
Once the doctor came and decided to admit Lynne, me and Dad drove home, since she was being taken off for x-rays and all that guff.
It was very foggy on the drive home, which played further on my dislike of country roads at night. We listened to the Forrest Gump sound-track, which is inappropriately uplifting in that context. 'Joy to the World' seems wrong to be singing along to after you've just admitted your wife to hospital.
Turns out she has pneumonia. Again. Third time.
I must explain that while it's always horrible when someone's in pain and shock, that there was a four week period a few years ago where she was in hospital four times (each for something different). Her poor old body is a bit rubbish, mostly because of nerve damage in her back.
Hospitals are nothing new to dad and me. We used to have to drive up to see Mum in there every day after school. 40 minutes each way.
And since then Dad and Lynne have had about four operations between them.
This is the first time I've seen triage up close. It was interesting. Then boring. And a bit frustrating. Patch 'em up, then leave 'em for a few hours.
It's simultaneously frustrating and satisfying when the doctor then decides to admit the person you're with. It'd be much easier to just take them home with you now (especially when you live in a different town) but it's good to know that you weren't over-reacting and there is actually something legitimately wrong.
Dad left messages with her kids the next day, but left them on the wrong types of phones. One he left on a cell-phone, but she hadn't been checking her voice-mail all day. The other he left on a land-line but they were actually on holiday (ironically drove back from Taupo to Wellington that day, so could have stopped in to visit her on the way....).
You can but try.
I bought her some trashy magazines and kept Dad company at home the next night.
Dramas eh.
* * *
I'd arrived at my Dad's for a visit, and soon after my step-ma had emerged from her nap saying she couldn't breathe. She was walking and taking very short breaths, but they sounded really gurgly, like there was fluid in her lungs. She'd been to the doctor and got steroids for asthma symptoms earlier in the day.
So at 10.30 or so an ambulance came, then I had to drive Dad up to Palmy following it. I hate driving country roads at night, so that was especially not fun. We then sat in the ward waiting for a doctor to see her for from 11.30pm til 3am.
There was only one chair, so we had to take turns sitting. I perched up on the end of Lynne's bed reading my poetry as she took a nap, having been somewhat relieved by the oxygen and medicine they gave her.
Luckily I had thought to bring some snacks in case we were there for a long time. I wasn't particularly useful, other than packing snacks and putting together an overnight bag for Lynne. Clean pjamas are important when you have vomited lung-mucus on your old ones. And a change of real clothes in case it was daylight by the time she was released. And a tooth brush. And she had requested perfume, though that may have just been a slightly disoriented suggestion. I packed it anyhow.
Once the doctor came and decided to admit Lynne, me and Dad drove home, since she was being taken off for x-rays and all that guff.
It was very foggy on the drive home, which played further on my dislike of country roads at night. We listened to the Forrest Gump sound-track, which is inappropriately uplifting in that context. 'Joy to the World' seems wrong to be singing along to after you've just admitted your wife to hospital.
Turns out she has pneumonia. Again. Third time.
I must explain that while it's always horrible when someone's in pain and shock, that there was a four week period a few years ago where she was in hospital four times (each for something different). Her poor old body is a bit rubbish, mostly because of nerve damage in her back.
Hospitals are nothing new to dad and me. We used to have to drive up to see Mum in there every day after school. 40 minutes each way.
And since then Dad and Lynne have had about four operations between them.
This is the first time I've seen triage up close. It was interesting. Then boring. And a bit frustrating. Patch 'em up, then leave 'em for a few hours.
It's simultaneously frustrating and satisfying when the doctor then decides to admit the person you're with. It'd be much easier to just take them home with you now (especially when you live in a different town) but it's good to know that you weren't over-reacting and there is actually something legitimately wrong.
Dad left messages with her kids the next day, but left them on the wrong types of phones. One he left on a cell-phone, but she hadn't been checking her voice-mail all day. The other he left on a land-line but they were actually on holiday (ironically drove back from Taupo to Wellington that day, so could have stopped in to visit her on the way....).
You can but try.
I bought her some trashy magazines and kept Dad company at home the next night.
Dramas eh.
Monday, June 04, 2012
My nana died today. Grandma died at the end of last term.
Strange how they both died within a couple of months of each other. Grandma was four years younger, at a mere 92 years old.
Nana had been quite disoriented for a while, not always recognising visitors and fixating on certain childhood memories. Dad says the last time he saw her she was not really looking like herself.
Now I'm down two direct relatives. Just Dad and David.
I think my enduring memory of Nana will be her standing outside her house, right on the top of the Maungaraki hills, pulling her cardigan tight against the wind, and waving until we'd driven off. Tiny little lady with white hair.
Strange how they both died within a couple of months of each other. Grandma was four years younger, at a mere 92 years old.
Nana had been quite disoriented for a while, not always recognising visitors and fixating on certain childhood memories. Dad says the last time he saw her she was not really looking like herself.
Now I'm down two direct relatives. Just Dad and David.
I think my enduring memory of Nana will be her standing outside her house, right on the top of the Maungaraki hills, pulling her cardigan tight against the wind, and waving until we'd driven off. Tiny little lady with white hair.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Old and Young
A fellow from work was performing last night at a private-ish function in town. A few of us went along to support him (he hasn't performed much in the last few years and he's quite excited about it).
It was hilarious! It was at Dockside and the function was fenced off from the rest of the bar by some waist-high barriers. So we sat right beside the barrier, feeling like slight social pariahs.
The people at the function (which was a mystery to us - we spent a good hour watching the dynamics and debating whether it was a work thing or a family thing - strange mix of old and young) were for quite a lot of time largely ignoring the musicians. But we, from the far end of the function were watching them and cheering loudly between songs (from behind our barrier).
We got some odd looks, but never once did any of the invited-ones ask us to come over the barrier and join them. It was very much us-and-them.
There was one great old guy who got the dancing started, but obviously found the music a little loud and indiscreetly held his fingers in his ears the whole time. THAT is the anecdote that will be told in the staffroom on Monday (the finger-in-ears dancing started on one of the few songs our friend was lead singer for, at which point several of the oldies decided to coincidentally get up and leave as well).
There were three sets and Jonathan came over to us before the last one. We saw the playlist and decided we were finally going to get the courage to actually crash the engagement part to dance to the last five songs (starting with a kick-ass combo of Door Bell by the White Stripes and Living on a Prayer). The band was ok with this - they appreciated anyone dancing.
We were lead in by the Irish-man among us and indiscreetly danced at the front of the floor - on our own. Apparently this crowd did not like the White Stripes. The three of us loved it! WOO!
I was, incidentally, wearing a very loud orange dress, so blending in was not an option.
Luckily there was one ridiculously drunk guy and he acknowledged us and started dancing with us. Soon after that he discovered there was a slippery spot right in front of the band, and he started trying to slide over it, with disastrous effects. I eventually convinced him to at least put his glass down (after two against-the-odds falls where he managed to not spill a drop).
The women singing put in a few plugs for our friend (the keyboardists) where we got to cheer loudly.
Overall, it was hilarious and fun and the music was actually great. Thoroughly enjoyed it!
Two sides notes.
On the way out the door, a guy started chatting to us (at which point we all said 'Oh my god - how good was that band? Especially the keyboardist!'). And mid-conversation I realised he was mainly talking to ME and asking where we were going next. In a suggestive way. I do believe he was flirting with me! And he was a similar height, nice looking and had made a joke about politics..... I was quite shocked at how long it took me to realise he was flirting - I think it's been a while! My friends dragged me off before anything more, but it was still cute.
Then we went to that Japanese beer bar for another drink. Me and S. got IDed at the door. That again made me feel pretty good! As usual, the guy with us didn't get IDed because of his facial hair, but ironically he was the youngest in the group. His birthday is actually on February 29th, by the way - so he's turning 7 this year. That impressed me and S. - how many people do you actually know that are born on the leap-year day?
At that point my stomach started to protest against my partying ways. I had only had 3 or 4 ciders. But apparently that is enough these days. I had approximately 1 inch of my beer before realising that another gulp would tip me over the edge into messiness. Over conversations about the theme song to the Dog Show and what colours the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were, I let my beer be consumed by the Irish-man (typically).
I was then driven home by a taxi driver who seemed almost too mentally slow to have a license. I realised that I have less trust for pakeha drivers than foreign ones. With foreign ones I always assume that they were doctors or academics before they moved to NZ and that they read intellectual novels between rides.
And then I went to bed.
And my calf muscles went into cramping spasms because they don't remember what this 'dancing' thing is. And I'd only danced five songs. I had danced very vigorously, to be fair - to show my appreciation to the under-appreciated band.
And while my head is fine, my body feels ridiculously bad.
And that is what going to Dockside at the age of 34 does.
The End.
It was hilarious! It was at Dockside and the function was fenced off from the rest of the bar by some waist-high barriers. So we sat right beside the barrier, feeling like slight social pariahs.
The people at the function (which was a mystery to us - we spent a good hour watching the dynamics and debating whether it was a work thing or a family thing - strange mix of old and young) were for quite a lot of time largely ignoring the musicians. But we, from the far end of the function were watching them and cheering loudly between songs (from behind our barrier).
We got some odd looks, but never once did any of the invited-ones ask us to come over the barrier and join them. It was very much us-and-them.
There was one great old guy who got the dancing started, but obviously found the music a little loud and indiscreetly held his fingers in his ears the whole time. THAT is the anecdote that will be told in the staffroom on Monday (the finger-in-ears dancing started on one of the few songs our friend was lead singer for, at which point several of the oldies decided to coincidentally get up and leave as well).
There were three sets and Jonathan came over to us before the last one. We saw the playlist and decided we were finally going to get the courage to actually crash the engagement part to dance to the last five songs (starting with a kick-ass combo of Door Bell by the White Stripes and Living on a Prayer). The band was ok with this - they appreciated anyone dancing.
We were lead in by the Irish-man among us and indiscreetly danced at the front of the floor - on our own. Apparently this crowd did not like the White Stripes. The three of us loved it! WOO!
I was, incidentally, wearing a very loud orange dress, so blending in was not an option.
Luckily there was one ridiculously drunk guy and he acknowledged us and started dancing with us. Soon after that he discovered there was a slippery spot right in front of the band, and he started trying to slide over it, with disastrous effects. I eventually convinced him to at least put his glass down (after two against-the-odds falls where he managed to not spill a drop).
The women singing put in a few plugs for our friend (the keyboardists) where we got to cheer loudly.
Overall, it was hilarious and fun and the music was actually great. Thoroughly enjoyed it!
Two sides notes.
On the way out the door, a guy started chatting to us (at which point we all said 'Oh my god - how good was that band? Especially the keyboardist!'). And mid-conversation I realised he was mainly talking to ME and asking where we were going next. In a suggestive way. I do believe he was flirting with me! And he was a similar height, nice looking and had made a joke about politics..... I was quite shocked at how long it took me to realise he was flirting - I think it's been a while! My friends dragged me off before anything more, but it was still cute.
Then we went to that Japanese beer bar for another drink. Me and S. got IDed at the door. That again made me feel pretty good! As usual, the guy with us didn't get IDed because of his facial hair, but ironically he was the youngest in the group. His birthday is actually on February 29th, by the way - so he's turning 7 this year. That impressed me and S. - how many people do you actually know that are born on the leap-year day?
At that point my stomach started to protest against my partying ways. I had only had 3 or 4 ciders. But apparently that is enough these days. I had approximately 1 inch of my beer before realising that another gulp would tip me over the edge into messiness. Over conversations about the theme song to the Dog Show and what colours the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were, I let my beer be consumed by the Irish-man (typically).
I was then driven home by a taxi driver who seemed almost too mentally slow to have a license. I realised that I have less trust for pakeha drivers than foreign ones. With foreign ones I always assume that they were doctors or academics before they moved to NZ and that they read intellectual novels between rides.
And then I went to bed.
And my calf muscles went into cramping spasms because they don't remember what this 'dancing' thing is. And I'd only danced five songs. I had danced very vigorously, to be fair - to show my appreciation to the under-appreciated band.
And while my head is fine, my body feels ridiculously bad.
And that is what going to Dockside at the age of 34 does.
The End.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
It is my mum's death-day today.
I remember a really hard day on about the fifth anniversary when Dad had started dating his now-wife and he forgot about it. He had previously taken us to put flowers on her grave every December 14th. I had to go by myself. That made me feel very alone and was a good little illustration of the tensions between old and new.
My mum was a very good woman. She understood my shyness (though she wasn't in the least bit shy herself - she used to shock my brother and I with how brazenly she would strike up conversations with strangers). And she bought me poetry books by British authors when I was little. And she would always make some bits of coconut slice with just chocolate icing (no coconut on top) just for me, 'cause mums know just how you like things. When I was learning to read she wrote a book for me, with pop-up pictures and clues about our house and I had to read it and then go on a treasure hunt until I found my pocket money with the final clue. And I got star stickers for practising the spelling words she'd given me. She was an English teacher too.
Dads are good in their own way, but they're not mums.
I remember a really hard day on about the fifth anniversary when Dad had started dating his now-wife and he forgot about it. He had previously taken us to put flowers on her grave every December 14th. I had to go by myself. That made me feel very alone and was a good little illustration of the tensions between old and new.
My mum was a very good woman. She understood my shyness (though she wasn't in the least bit shy herself - she used to shock my brother and I with how brazenly she would strike up conversations with strangers). And she bought me poetry books by British authors when I was little. And she would always make some bits of coconut slice with just chocolate icing (no coconut on top) just for me, 'cause mums know just how you like things. When I was learning to read she wrote a book for me, with pop-up pictures and clues about our house and I had to read it and then go on a treasure hunt until I found my pocket money with the final clue. And I got star stickers for practising the spelling words she'd given me. She was an English teacher too.
Dads are good in their own way, but they're not mums.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
23/11
It is my birthday today!
7.50am - Checked Email
I was hoping that today's morning meeting didn't involve me so that I could sleep in. I checked my emails while in bed, but it was bad news. No sleep-in for me! While doing this I noticed a few people had said happy birthday to me on the Facebook.
8.30am - Staff Meeting
I was moaning to the person next to me about having a relief after lunch so that I couldn't go out for a luxurious lunch. She swapped reliefs with me! I got to do a first period art lesson. Art is lovely to relieve! They were sketching each other. I read a chapter of my book and walked around making inane comments because I know nothing about art! It was good.
10am - Email
My Asperger's girl emailed me happy birthday - she'd told me she intended to do this, and by gum, she remembered. That was nice. Her birthday is exactly one week after mine, so I will return that favour.
11am - Stuff Quiz
Even though it's my birthday, I didn't do well on the Stuff quiz today. Our scores today ranged from 3-9, which is fairly low. I got 5.
12.30pm - Lunch
I snuck out for lunch with S. - everyone was teaching Period 4. We meant to go to Monteray, but it is open strange hours. To get out of the wind and rain we just went across the road to Simply Paris. It was delightful! Cosy and very French. I had risotto with free sneaky bread that the waitor brought us. He then snuck us an extra dessert to go - he's my favourite new French person! He even put his finger to his lip and said 'Shhhhh!' as he gave it to us, much like a mime.
2.30pm - No Work
I have no urgent work to do so I am watching one of my free online documentaries. Today I'm watching what the US Army has done in terms of trying to censor the depiction of war in films. It's professional development!
8pm - Kebab
I anticipate having my birthday kebab with Michelle et all between netball games. I will have a mixed vegetarian kebab. After my French chocolate pie pudding (which I am eating now) I don't anticipate being very hungry though.
Saturday - Dinner
And then on Saturday I will have my birthday dinner! At the moment it's all lovely people. That should be nice. And then we get to be sad about the politics and Labour losing everything :( Usually the only happy prospect is that Winston will lose, but even that seems unlikely (especially since he has proven he has the ability to rise zombie-like from the dead). The Stuff quiz tells me he is 66 years old (though I got that one wrong).
7.50am - Checked Email
I was hoping that today's morning meeting didn't involve me so that I could sleep in. I checked my emails while in bed, but it was bad news. No sleep-in for me! While doing this I noticed a few people had said happy birthday to me on the Facebook.
8.30am - Staff Meeting
I was moaning to the person next to me about having a relief after lunch so that I couldn't go out for a luxurious lunch. She swapped reliefs with me! I got to do a first period art lesson. Art is lovely to relieve! They were sketching each other. I read a chapter of my book and walked around making inane comments because I know nothing about art! It was good.
10am - Email
My Asperger's girl emailed me happy birthday - she'd told me she intended to do this, and by gum, she remembered. That was nice. Her birthday is exactly one week after mine, so I will return that favour.
11am - Stuff Quiz
Even though it's my birthday, I didn't do well on the Stuff quiz today. Our scores today ranged from 3-9, which is fairly low. I got 5.
12.30pm - Lunch
I snuck out for lunch with S. - everyone was teaching Period 4. We meant to go to Monteray, but it is open strange hours. To get out of the wind and rain we just went across the road to Simply Paris. It was delightful! Cosy and very French. I had risotto with free sneaky bread that the waitor brought us. He then snuck us an extra dessert to go - he's my favourite new French person! He even put his finger to his lip and said 'Shhhhh!' as he gave it to us, much like a mime.
2.30pm - No Work
I have no urgent work to do so I am watching one of my free online documentaries. Today I'm watching what the US Army has done in terms of trying to censor the depiction of war in films. It's professional development!
8pm - Kebab
I anticipate having my birthday kebab with Michelle et all between netball games. I will have a mixed vegetarian kebab. After my French chocolate pie pudding (which I am eating now) I don't anticipate being very hungry though.
Saturday - Dinner
And then on Saturday I will have my birthday dinner! At the moment it's all lovely people. That should be nice. And then we get to be sad about the politics and Labour losing everything :( Usually the only happy prospect is that Winston will lose, but even that seems unlikely (especially since he has proven he has the ability to rise zombie-like from the dead). The Stuff quiz tells me he is 66 years old (though I got that one wrong).
Sunday, October 30, 2011
National does not really care about education. Not in a way that most teachers I know approve of. They tend to make changes based on what decile 10 parents lobby them about and secretly they'd just like to privitise everything.
You'd think that them announcing they're going to pump a BILLION dollars into education (announced somewhat like Dr Evil) would be a good thing..... that's a lot of money.....
But....
They're funding this through sales of SOEs, so it's a one-off deal (and it means that in the same breath they can brag about getting the goverment back into a surplus within three years).
And it's tagged with the scary phrase 'to transform and modernise education in NZ'. Coming from National that sounds ominous. I'm pretty sure they don't value the Arts or learning for the sake of analysis and higher level thinking..... I'm pretty sure they'd be happy with we produced an army of tech-savvy robots ready for the work-force.
I'm not sure what they have in mind, but I'm pretty sure I won't like it. It will involve more faddish 'self-directed learning' (without lowering student/teacher ratios to allow more time for the necessary individual learning programmes). It will also probably involve something that goes away from NCEA and back towards Bursary (I say that on no authority, just guessing because every year they introduce new ways of 'quantifying' achievement, going against the original philosophy of NCEA). They will obviously be more use of computers - but will they realise that computers are the medium, not the message?
As an English teacher, I can't envision how teaching kids to read and write is going to be revolutionised in the next decade or so. I know it's trendy to buy into all the future-learning buzz, but I'm kinda old school. I like it when they read things, and talk about them, and try to articulate their views using words. Sure they can read it on an ereader, and 'talk' about it using a google-doc or skype, and write about it on a blog...... but that's not really revolutionising the core skills and values of my subject. A lot of teachers have already experimented with those kind of things and decided they're ok
I suspect the revolutionary changes will be loosely based around some research done by NZ academics recently. Remember that it seems that academics and Ministry of Education workers have to justify their own existence by proposing research topics these days (rather than providing teacheres with actual, useful support). We have had a glut of it in recent years. Somebody, in a desperate attempt to save their own job, will have come up with some 'new' philosophy with bangs and whistles on it and made us all fill out a survey about it (bribing us with another 'bagel breakfast').
And the government likes to look like it's 'doing' something, so good old Ann will embrace it without a second thought. When questioned, she will point to the 'evidence' that it worked overseas - look, here's a schooul in some American ghetto school that had great success with this (when they were sponsored by Apple and each kid got a free laptop as bribery). If principals and teachers' unions say it's not actually a great new thing, she will ignore them. What do they know? Teachers always tried to make her feel stupid at school, so she decided at some point to never ever listen to them ever again.
Anyhow.
I am dubious.
And worried.
It may also involve remote-learning via hologram teachers. Actually, that's my best case scenario. I could teach from home and not wear pants (like the newsreaders).
You'd think that them announcing they're going to pump a BILLION dollars into education (announced somewhat like Dr Evil) would be a good thing..... that's a lot of money.....
But....
They're funding this through sales of SOEs, so it's a one-off deal (and it means that in the same breath they can brag about getting the goverment back into a surplus within three years).
And it's tagged with the scary phrase 'to transform and modernise education in NZ'. Coming from National that sounds ominous. I'm pretty sure they don't value the Arts or learning for the sake of analysis and higher level thinking..... I'm pretty sure they'd be happy with we produced an army of tech-savvy robots ready for the work-force.
I'm not sure what they have in mind, but I'm pretty sure I won't like it. It will involve more faddish 'self-directed learning' (without lowering student/teacher ratios to allow more time for the necessary individual learning programmes). It will also probably involve something that goes away from NCEA and back towards Bursary (I say that on no authority, just guessing because every year they introduce new ways of 'quantifying' achievement, going against the original philosophy of NCEA). They will obviously be more use of computers - but will they realise that computers are the medium, not the message?
As an English teacher, I can't envision how teaching kids to read and write is going to be revolutionised in the next decade or so. I know it's trendy to buy into all the future-learning buzz, but I'm kinda old school. I like it when they read things, and talk about them, and try to articulate their views using words. Sure they can read it on an ereader, and 'talk' about it using a google-doc or skype, and write about it on a blog...... but that's not really revolutionising the core skills and values of my subject. A lot of teachers have already experimented with those kind of things and decided they're ok
I suspect the revolutionary changes will be loosely based around some research done by NZ academics recently. Remember that it seems that academics and Ministry of Education workers have to justify their own existence by proposing research topics these days (rather than providing teacheres with actual, useful support). We have had a glut of it in recent years. Somebody, in a desperate attempt to save their own job, will have come up with some 'new' philosophy with bangs and whistles on it and made us all fill out a survey about it (bribing us with another 'bagel breakfast').
And the government likes to look like it's 'doing' something, so good old Ann will embrace it without a second thought. When questioned, she will point to the 'evidence' that it worked overseas - look, here's a schooul in some American ghetto school that had great success with this (when they were sponsored by Apple and each kid got a free laptop as bribery). If principals and teachers' unions say it's not actually a great new thing, she will ignore them. What do they know? Teachers always tried to make her feel stupid at school, so she decided at some point to never ever listen to them ever again.
Anyhow.
I am dubious.
And worried.
It may also involve remote-learning via hologram teachers. Actually, that's my best case scenario. I could teach from home and not wear pants (like the newsreaders).
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
I got my big Amazon package today. Lots of books and one DVD! I have read the first 10 pages of The Help and am liking it so far. Read it at Salvation with a soy latte while my washing was in the drier at the laundromat. Now I have all clean linen.* * *
I like walking at night in Levin. It has a darkness and stillness you never find in the city. The roads are wide. And lemon-trees hang over the fences.
* * *
Today I was virtuous. I....
- went for a walk up Mt Vic and jogged most of the way down (I came back a windy way down Roseneath and kept seeing tradesmen and having to keep jogging past them so as not to seem unfit, when I really wanted to stop)
- did some dishes
- did my washing and dried it (duvet cover included)
- vacuumed and dusted my room (gave all my furniture a coating of wood polish)
- washed my hair (and dried it properly)
- watched Thor on DVD (and might return it only one day late!)
- payed the bills
- ate veges and nuts for my snack (grapes, baby carrots, almonds, cocktail tomatoes, celery, feta)
- hung up all my ironing (am without a basket of ironing in my room for the first time in ages)
- found a butterfly on the floor (from an earring)
- watched the 'Eat' part of 'Eat Pray Love'
- read a little bit of a book
- had a coffee
- had berries for breakfast (with yoghurt)
People with small children become very obsessed by their bowel movements.
* * *
The thing I liked watching most with the All Blacks was the bit where the ball was on the ground. In the game against Argentina I liked watching all the forwards standing there ready to pounce on defence. I liked to watch them organise the defensive line and space out.
* * *
My new dress is my Mad Men dress. It has a certain other-era quality about it. And it's orange and garrishly patterned. I don't have enough loud patterns in my wardrobe.
* * *
Even though Labour's policies are all superior, they won't get anywhere in the election. It all feels futile.
* * *
My basketball team has its final this week. We are in the C grade (by choice - we could probably be B grade if we really wanted, but we know that in B grade you end up having to play A grade teams as well and that's no fun).
I think we are statistically one of the best defensive teams in our grade. I take pride in that. I think our defence and our fast breaks are our strengths.
* * *
Levin's new sushi bar was good.
* * *
Me and my friend went for a sneaky beer at the Levin Club. It felt like some kind of secret organisation, hidden down a little side-alley. I didn't know anybody, but he pointed out all the people I should remember (or at least people's dads). I felt like a city spy. I always end up walking around Levin thinking 'I'm from here' in case anyone wonders. Nobody ever does.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Day 1 of Tetris retirement is going well. I did still drive to Queensgate, read my book and play basketball, so my OOS isn't as well rested as it could be. But I have severely limited typing and banned Tetris playing.
I was reading an article in Vanity Fair about the guy who created Zygna. And there was a little throwaway bit of narrative that said all the games required no skill, 'except maybe Tetris'. That made me proud. I like to think that puts me on the top rung of the Facebook games hierarchy.
* * *
I was reminded today that I hate hate hate the staff at Cue (Queensgate) with a vengeance. They are so predictably cloying! I'll grant that they are not as snobby as the Lambton Quay staff, but because their shop isn't as busy they harrass the heck out of you. I dread stepping out of my changing room to check the full length mirror because I know I'll be accosting by staff saying how good the dress looks (regardless of how it actually looks). My obvious signs of disengagements like avoiding eye contact and giving monosyllabic grunts in reply to their questions did not put them off either. I resented the fact that I actually found things I liked and had to buy them off them, just in case they're on comission.
It was not their 'charming' and overattentive service that made me buy the dress and belt. It was the quality of the tailoring! And the work-appropriate length of the hemline! And the fact that the belt matched my shoes! So there.
* * *
Our refs at basketball tonight were s***. I told them so many times throughout the game (without the expletive, but it was implied). The other team were pretty much grabbing our arms any time we caught a ball, so we couldn't even raise it to shoulder height to clear it. Constantly. And we quite politely, at first, told the refs to watch out for this. Then we got angrier. And possibly because of this, they called us for ticky-tack fouls down the other end.
The icing on the cake was at the end of the game when the other team had a freethrow. And on the second shot a ball came rolling in from the sideline (some kid had lost control of it). It rolled right into the key and across the baseline under the hoop. I pointed to it and looked at the ref, yelling something like 'Ball! Ball!'. He saw me. And let the game go on. I couldn't go in for the rebound because the ball on the ground was rolling to right where I would have stepped. So the other team got it, and scored on the put-back.
I was quite livid. I asked him why he didn't stop the game and he said, 'I only have to stop it if players are in danger.' How much more dangerous can it get than a ball rolling into the key as a freethrow goes up and six players are about to run in for a rebound????
So while we won the semi-final (actually reasonably convincingly) we were all pretty pissed off at the end of the game and I came home and ranted to my flatmates some more (I think they were polite but bored after the first minute or so).
A highlight for me was that I blocked a shot with my left hand, kinda instinctively. I never block with my left hand. But a girl was driving past on that side (to be fair I think I thought she was going to pass the ball, so was just putting a hand in the passing lane, then realised it was a shot and jumped). I was kinda suprised that she had the audacity to dare go in for a layup against me.
I blocked a lot of other shots (they were quite a short team) but the rest were with my right hand.
I was reading an article in Vanity Fair about the guy who created Zygna. And there was a little throwaway bit of narrative that said all the games required no skill, 'except maybe Tetris'. That made me proud. I like to think that puts me on the top rung of the Facebook games hierarchy.
* * *
I was reminded today that I hate hate hate the staff at Cue (Queensgate) with a vengeance. They are so predictably cloying! I'll grant that they are not as snobby as the Lambton Quay staff, but because their shop isn't as busy they harrass the heck out of you. I dread stepping out of my changing room to check the full length mirror because I know I'll be accosting by staff saying how good the dress looks (regardless of how it actually looks). My obvious signs of disengagements like avoiding eye contact and giving monosyllabic grunts in reply to their questions did not put them off either. I resented the fact that I actually found things I liked and had to buy them off them, just in case they're on comission.
It was not their 'charming' and overattentive service that made me buy the dress and belt. It was the quality of the tailoring! And the work-appropriate length of the hemline! And the fact that the belt matched my shoes! So there.
* * *
Our refs at basketball tonight were s***. I told them so many times throughout the game (without the expletive, but it was implied). The other team were pretty much grabbing our arms any time we caught a ball, so we couldn't even raise it to shoulder height to clear it. Constantly. And we quite politely, at first, told the refs to watch out for this. Then we got angrier. And possibly because of this, they called us for ticky-tack fouls down the other end.
The icing on the cake was at the end of the game when the other team had a freethrow. And on the second shot a ball came rolling in from the sideline (some kid had lost control of it). It rolled right into the key and across the baseline under the hoop. I pointed to it and looked at the ref, yelling something like 'Ball! Ball!'. He saw me. And let the game go on. I couldn't go in for the rebound because the ball on the ground was rolling to right where I would have stepped. So the other team got it, and scored on the put-back.
I was quite livid. I asked him why he didn't stop the game and he said, 'I only have to stop it if players are in danger.' How much more dangerous can it get than a ball rolling into the key as a freethrow goes up and six players are about to run in for a rebound????
So while we won the semi-final (actually reasonably convincingly) we were all pretty pissed off at the end of the game and I came home and ranted to my flatmates some more (I think they were polite but bored after the first minute or so).
A highlight for me was that I blocked a shot with my left hand, kinda instinctively. I never block with my left hand. But a girl was driving past on that side (to be fair I think I thought she was going to pass the ball, so was just putting a hand in the passing lane, then realised it was a shot and jumped). I was kinda suprised that she had the audacity to dare go in for a layup against me.
I blocked a lot of other shots (they were quite a short team) but the rest were with my right hand.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Ahh, Holidays.
I think my Tetris career has given me OOS. I will have to go into early retirement. The Tetris would will miss me - I was top 500 world-wide. Known primarily for my gutsy defensive game and ingenius use of the blue tetrimino.
I have prescribed myself a day of no computering and just video-watching tomorrow (even driving and book-reading hurt a little bit). I have 'Anti-christ', 'The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest', 'The Kids are Alright' and 'North by Northwest' lined up.
* * *
Another lady of leisure day.
9am - took my car in to get warrant and service at my place near the Basin Reserve. I like them. They're friendly shy sorts rather than bolshy car-guys. I have faith in nerdy mechanics.
9.15 - coffee at the Brooklyn Bakery (I prefer it to Cafe L.). Skim read some of the paper.
10-am - bought some socks at Farmers (overheard a tense conversation between employees that indicated some sort of power struggle) and new conditioner at Rodney Wayne.
11am - bought a fang necklace at Madame Fancy Pants.
11.50am - lemon honey drink at Memphis Belle. Actually a really great drink - came in a little glass jug and had good hunks of lemon in there for the 'homemade' feel and really cheap. Read some of my 'Beatles' book while I was there. The guy working there was really friendly and seemed to know most of his customers as regulars. A lot of people in well worn hipstery clothes in there (mainly in plaid shirts).
12pm - Area 51 sale. Got a few things I may or may not regret. Kate Sylvestor dress for $90 and Huffer shirt for $35. The dress is white. That is why I may regret it. It looks a bit nursy and I am bound to stain it quickly. But I tried it on once before and liked it, so it seemed like fate.
1pm - got car from the garage. Two new tyres and a bulb. The tyres were optional as they only just passed the warrant, but I like to be safe. Again I felt reasonably treated by my mechanics. I'll go back again!
1.30pm - popped into school to do some work that couldn't be done at home (just for half an hour). Managed to only have to say hello to the caretaker, who's nice anyway. I like to sneak in and out unseen.
3.30pm - coffee and a fritata at the Roxy cafe. Both really good - and the fritata was only $7.50 for a mini-meal sized portion. Read some more of my book.
3.50pm - watched Senna. Really enjoyed it. Also enjoyed the Roxy Cinema in general - lots of leg room and nice chairs. And the ambiance is just perfect for a cinema experience - nostalgic music, old movie posters down the hall-way.
6pm - watched the news and dissected Senna with my flatmate, who actually knows stuff about Formula 1 racing and had recommended the doco to me highly.
I have prescribed myself a day of no computering and just video-watching tomorrow (even driving and book-reading hurt a little bit). I have 'Anti-christ', 'The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest', 'The Kids are Alright' and 'North by Northwest' lined up.
* * *
Another lady of leisure day.
9am - took my car in to get warrant and service at my place near the Basin Reserve. I like them. They're friendly shy sorts rather than bolshy car-guys. I have faith in nerdy mechanics.
9.15 - coffee at the Brooklyn Bakery (I prefer it to Cafe L.). Skim read some of the paper.
10-am - bought some socks at Farmers (overheard a tense conversation between employees that indicated some sort of power struggle) and new conditioner at Rodney Wayne.
11am - bought a fang necklace at Madame Fancy Pants.
11.50am - lemon honey drink at Memphis Belle. Actually a really great drink - came in a little glass jug and had good hunks of lemon in there for the 'homemade' feel and really cheap. Read some of my 'Beatles' book while I was there. The guy working there was really friendly and seemed to know most of his customers as regulars. A lot of people in well worn hipstery clothes in there (mainly in plaid shirts).
12pm - Area 51 sale. Got a few things I may or may not regret. Kate Sylvestor dress for $90 and Huffer shirt for $35. The dress is white. That is why I may regret it. It looks a bit nursy and I am bound to stain it quickly. But I tried it on once before and liked it, so it seemed like fate.
1pm - got car from the garage. Two new tyres and a bulb. The tyres were optional as they only just passed the warrant, but I like to be safe. Again I felt reasonably treated by my mechanics. I'll go back again!
1.30pm - popped into school to do some work that couldn't be done at home (just for half an hour). Managed to only have to say hello to the caretaker, who's nice anyway. I like to sneak in and out unseen.
3.30pm - coffee and a fritata at the Roxy cafe. Both really good - and the fritata was only $7.50 for a mini-meal sized portion. Read some more of my book.
3.50pm - watched Senna. Really enjoyed it. Also enjoyed the Roxy Cinema in general - lots of leg room and nice chairs. And the ambiance is just perfect for a cinema experience - nostalgic music, old movie posters down the hall-way.
6pm - watched the news and dissected Senna with my flatmate, who actually knows stuff about Formula 1 racing and had recommended the doco to me highly.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Package #1 has arrived from Amazon. I'm liking it so far - easy to read and well written. Set at the time when the Beatles were awesome (hence it's titled 'Beatles' - from a Norwegian author and translated into English). I sat in the lounge on the couch in a pool of sunshine and read it yesterday a bit.
I will be happy to lend it out at the upcoming Crafternoon/Bookernoon (bring books to borrow and lend - a friendlibrary). I may have read The Help by then (it's in Amazon package #2). Date is undecided - but me and Michelle and Karen were very excited about the idea of a bookernoon when we discussed it over our post-netball kebabs. She hadn't read The Book Thief so I said she must take that on the plane with her. Michelle hoped she could locate it in her crates of books at home. The Book Thief is also in my #2 order. I've read it but I feel it's one of those books you should own.
* * *
I have walked up Mt Vic two days in a row now. How very motivated of me! I am bloody unfit on the way up (there's a path goes up just before the tunnel on the Hataitai side, but it goes straight up) - the way down is a lot more fun.
I will be happy to lend it out at the upcoming Crafternoon/Bookernoon (bring books to borrow and lend - a friendlibrary). I may have read The Help by then (it's in Amazon package #2). Date is undecided - but me and Michelle and Karen were very excited about the idea of a bookernoon when we discussed it over our post-netball kebabs. She hadn't read The Book Thief so I said she must take that on the plane with her. Michelle hoped she could locate it in her crates of books at home. The Book Thief is also in my #2 order. I've read it but I feel it's one of those books you should own.
* * *
I have walked up Mt Vic two days in a row now. How very motivated of me! I am bloody unfit on the way up (there's a path goes up just before the tunnel on the Hataitai side, but it goes straight up) - the way down is a lot more fun.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Lies.
There was no reading of books.
Instead, I watched The History Boys on DVD with my flatmates. We liked it. I thought it was an interesting take of a few things. I found the teacher in me quite in conflict with the rather sensitive portrayal of Hector feeling up his students and the teacher agreeing to go for 'a drink' with his student at the end.
Maybe I'm just a prude. I don't really like any films that portray a romantic relationship between student and teacher (at high school age, anyhow). The power dynamics are just all wrong. And having taught teens for years now, I just fail to see them as emotional equals. So the dynamics are just all wrong. Very wrong. Makes me totally unsympathetic to the teacher-character.
Instead, I watched The History Boys on DVD with my flatmates. We liked it. I thought it was an interesting take of a few things. I found the teacher in me quite in conflict with the rather sensitive portrayal of Hector feeling up his students and the teacher agreeing to go for 'a drink' with his student at the end.
Maybe I'm just a prude. I don't really like any films that portray a romantic relationship between student and teacher (at high school age, anyhow). The power dynamics are just all wrong. And having taught teens for years now, I just fail to see them as emotional equals. So the dynamics are just all wrong. Very wrong. Makes me totally unsympathetic to the teacher-character.
Last Night
I wanted Thai food. A red curry. Or tom yum soup.
The wind was biting and I only had a cardigan over my summer dress,
which I stubbornly still wear.
I dug my hands deep into the pockets and shrugged down into my scarf.
But the Thai shop was closed. No sign or lights.
Disappointment. No other take-aways seemed quite right
last night.
Burgers seemed too bready. Fish and chips too greasy and yellow.
I decided on a saag curry.
Only females waiting in the shop.
Over the road, the men were getting greasy chips.
We sat, legs crossed, reading months old women's mags.
The woman next to me, in shiny maroon heels
tapped her feet in time to the Indian music.
So did I.
The old Indian lady walked out from behind the counter
to give us our food. Neatly stacked and tied up in plastic bags,
puffed out with steam.
I liked her.
To walk home quicker
I counted my footsteps, in multiples of 6.
I stumbled at 78 and 102. But in no time I was home.
And I'd barely thought of the cold.
Only counting up to 120 in time with my steps
over and over again.
Home to a gas heater, bottle transferred from the barbecue.
And my dark green curry, carefully forked onto naan bread.
And Shortland Street.
And cosiness in late April.
* * *
Small Confession
I have been using someone else's shower gel at work. I like the smell of it. I only use a squirt of it each time. I wonder whose it is.
* * *
Weeding through Memory Lane
I have boxes of things from Dad's house in my car. There is nowhere else to put them right now. I unloaded two of them already.
They had stacks of baby clothes knitted by my grandma (knitting for hypothetical great-grand-children she wished for when we were still children ourselves). And puppets sewn by my mum when we were little. And my dad's 7th form year-book. And my brother's teddy-bear. A genuine 1970s fondue cook-book. And a small white crocheted blanket made by my grandma, which I used yesterday while I was reading (after I'd washed it with my newly bought wool detergent). It has holes just big enough to poke your fingers through.
They were packed by my step-mother and have been in her grandson's flat in Petone for a couple of years (long story).
I haven't seen Ellie (my favourite stuffed animal) or my mother's wedding dress yet. But I think they're in there somewhere. Along with a bunch of crap that has followed me for years and needs to be culled.
And which will make me sneeze.
The wind was biting and I only had a cardigan over my summer dress,
which I stubbornly still wear.
I dug my hands deep into the pockets and shrugged down into my scarf.
But the Thai shop was closed. No sign or lights.
Disappointment. No other take-aways seemed quite right
last night.
Burgers seemed too bready. Fish and chips too greasy and yellow.
I decided on a saag curry.
Only females waiting in the shop.
Over the road, the men were getting greasy chips.
We sat, legs crossed, reading months old women's mags.
The woman next to me, in shiny maroon heels
tapped her feet in time to the Indian music.
So did I.
The old Indian lady walked out from behind the counter
to give us our food. Neatly stacked and tied up in plastic bags,
puffed out with steam.
I liked her.
To walk home quicker
I counted my footsteps, in multiples of 6.
I stumbled at 78 and 102. But in no time I was home.
And I'd barely thought of the cold.
Only counting up to 120 in time with my steps
over and over again.
Home to a gas heater, bottle transferred from the barbecue.
And my dark green curry, carefully forked onto naan bread.
And Shortland Street.
And cosiness in late April.
* * *
Small Confession
I have been using someone else's shower gel at work. I like the smell of it. I only use a squirt of it each time. I wonder whose it is.
* * *
Weeding through Memory Lane
I have boxes of things from Dad's house in my car. There is nowhere else to put them right now. I unloaded two of them already.
They had stacks of baby clothes knitted by my grandma (knitting for hypothetical great-grand-children she wished for when we were still children ourselves). And puppets sewn by my mum when we were little. And my dad's 7th form year-book. And my brother's teddy-bear. A genuine 1970s fondue cook-book. And a small white crocheted blanket made by my grandma, which I used yesterday while I was reading (after I'd washed it with my newly bought wool detergent). It has holes just big enough to poke your fingers through.
They were packed by my step-mother and have been in her grandson's flat in Petone for a couple of years (long story).
I haven't seen Ellie (my favourite stuffed animal) or my mother's wedding dress yet. But I think they're in there somewhere. Along with a bunch of crap that has followed me for years and needs to be culled.
And which will make me sneeze.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
D add 9 - I DEFY YOU!
I have been practising the chord that stumped me yesterday (it is a good way to procrastinate intstead of marking essays). While my hand is blurry like The Flash, you can see when I deftly move up the fret bar for the D add 9 bastard chord. I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!
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