What ho! The answer was on page 13!

Searching for a job involves looking at more cheesy images than you can circle with a red pencil.

The job hunt has continued this week with applications here and interviews there. I have answered some probing questions (where do I see myself in five years time? In residence at the Lodge, either as Prime Minister or Head Gardener) and explained, in 100 words or less, exactly how I've used my effective verbal communication, consultation, and negotiation skills to communicate with officers at various levels, within and external to an organisation (I also found myself talking about Ruth Park's novel My Sister Sif in the same interview so I'm not sure how well it went, on reflection).

Having previously only read the first section of the newspaper in order to win the weekly news quiz*, I thought this week I'd actually read the job ads that fill the bottom half of every page; I thought perhaps I'd find the answer to What To Do there. Could one be the perfect job for me?

Page six, bottom left: Senior Lecturer/Associate Professor of Organic Chemistry. I could have a crack at that. The ad doesn't actually say you need a background in organic chemistry, just that they're seeking "an individual who will strengthen this environment and also contribute with vision and innovation". Nothing a bit of perfectly acceptable application-based exaggeration won't cover there.

Page ten, middle left: Federal Court judge. Great timing to be made redundant: the Attorney-General of Australia is currently seeking nominations and expressions of interest for appointment to the Federal Court in Sydney and Melbourne. I'll nominate you if you nominate me.

Page 13, bottom left: Director of the Government Media Unit in the Office of the Premier of Queensland Anna Bligh. I read the paper every day so I'm pretty sure I'm qualified for this one.

And then I see it, page 13, bottom right:

Seachange for Two
Energetic couple to manage immaculate retirement village, 34 days annual leave each year, magnificent gardens, salary + super + spacious self-contained accommodation.

If only I was 75 I'd be able to work from home.

The search continues...


* A high score in which is more a measure of how much time you've wasted during the week, as opposed to a confirmation of the ontological status of the quiz as a true competition. Also, there are no prizes.

PS, a disturbance in the force

Maddy! Where has your blog gone!

I think the world has gone mad. First Squib packed her bloggy suitcase, now you...

The view from here

Being newly redundant, I've spent several days now puzzling over What To Do.

What with the worry about feeding and clothing myself and my associated loved ones, not to mention keeping myself in the confectionery style I have grown accustomed, I thought perhaps my kettle-ship was doomed, that I might *sob* never laugh again.

To remedy this situation I read the whole newspaper on the weekend thinking that surely I'd come across some silly buggers doing stupid things with bungy cords and elephants, but, cover to cover, I only laughed once. Once! And that was over this quote by someone called Vickers in an article about Prince William: "Extraordinary presence, tall and upright; if you put the requirements of a future king into a computer, that's what you'd hope to come up with." That sure beats the current method for selecting a monarch.

Anyhoo, so I decided that if anyone/thing had an answer for What To Do it would be The School of Life, and what ho did I find but this post on The School of Life's Alternative Job Centre.

Forget the whole employers-advertising-positions caper (that's so 2008), the Alternative Job Centre invites you to write an ad for the job of your dreams and let employers decide if they are able to offer it to you.

So here goes:

Hi, my name is Kettle and I am the kind of person who understands that money can be exchanged for goods and services. I care deeply about books and tea, which is possibly why I have so little money to exchange for goods and services.

My best personal qualities are that I know when to plunge the coffee and I always carry an umbrella. My special talent is that I can tell you, with a moment's notice, the percentage of books on my bookshelves I've read. I value libraries with ladders with wheels on them, and my ambition is to have such a library one day (or at least one of those ladders).

My special wish is to have a job where I can sit in this chair:



Please direct all offers of such work to this website.

Yours, etc,
K.

What is your dream job for the Alternative Job Centre?

The Very Hungry Global Economic Crisis*

In the light of the golden arches from the Maccas across the road, a little house with a sub-prime mortgage sat in the middle of its block.

One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and - pop! - went the US property market. Out of the rubble came a tiny and very hungry economic crisis.

It started to look for some food.

On Monday it ate through one bundle of securitised loans. But it was still hungry.

On Tuesday it ate through one half of the middle management of a mid-tier bank, but it was still hungry.

On Wednesday it ate through the rest of the middle management of the mid-tier bank then ate all the other levels of the bank, but it was still hungry.

On Thursday it ate through one Merrill and one Lynch, but it was still hungry.

On Friday it ate through one emerging market economy, but it was still hungry.

On Saturday it ate through one nest egg, one framing business, one aid program, one maternity leave provision, one camping trip, one Laura's Hot Bake and one nice new pair of Connies (Chuck Taylor All Star Multi Eyelets). That night it had a stomachache!

The next day was Sunday again. The caterpillar ate through one nice greenback, and after that it felt much better.

Now it wasn't hungry any more - and it wasn't a little economic crisis any more. It was a big, fat global economic crisis!

It built a house, called corporate law, around itself. It stayed inside for more than two weeks. Then it nibbled a hole in an amended subclause of a subsection, pushed its way out and...

Boarded a private jet and winged it to the Caymans where it's now lying about in a banana chair drinking pina coladas and barking commands at the help.

* Apologies to Mr Carle and his very lovely caterpillar.

Would you? Could you?

Piki from Wiki.

Taking a bag of rubbish out to the communal bins earlier today I noticed a book, nay an entire small bookshelf of books, in one of the bins.

Throwing out books is like throwing out your nearest and dearest: "I'm awfully sorry son/daughter/significant squeeze/friend since forever but I think I'm done with you now. If it's quite alright with you I think the best place for you now is this, well, bin. Once again, awfully sorry, thanks for the memories, etc."

So like the valiant gal I am I looked into the bin and thought "I might not be able to save all of you but I can save one of you".

There were books about selecting the right cat for your lifestyle, several science fiction titles involving lords and daggers and magical rings, and one little volume with a pretend-aged-leather-cover dust jacket with these words on the back: "Warning: Not to be Read After Dark".

Since my inner voice objects to being told, well, anything my first response was "I'll show you 'don't read it after dark' - humph" (I do wish my inner voice was less objectional; I do the same thing with tv ads: "Don't tell me to spend less on my fabric softener and expect better results - humph").

Anyhoo, so the little book was saved from the bin because I felt sorry for it and because it directly challenged me to read it after dark if I was game. Being impatient I started reading it on the way back from the bin (more 8am than after dark), and what did I find between its covers? Allow me to share with you:

I like Ellie a lot. She's warm and friendly in a way that makes you feel that she really cares about you. Mam says that marrying Ellie was good for Jack because she helped to make him less agitated.

Less agitated? Ah, ok.

Ellie has hair the colour of best-quality straw three days after a good harvest and skin that really glows in the candlelight.

Three days after a good harvest? Riiight.

By page 13 I was over it so skipped to the end. Page 324:

Poor Billy Bradley's back in his grave outside the churchyard at Layton, but at least he's got his thumbs now. None of it's pleasant but it's something that just goes with the job. You have to like it or lump it, as my dad says.

I'm glad to hear poor Billy Bradley's back in his grave and I must say it's always good to have your thumbs (?). I'm sure you'll be glad to hear this little novel is back in the bin and that my thumbs helped put it there.

Could you, would you, throw a book out?

* Edit: While it was fun writing the bit above about thumbs and bins, I must confess I couldn't actually throw the book out. It's sitting here on the desk, and since I can't physically make myself throw it out I'll need to find a home for it. Would anyone like to actually read The Spook's Apprentice by Joseph Delaney properly, something I've failed miserably to do? I'll send it to you.

Kings highlight employment growth area

I just read a review of the Kings of Leon in concert in Sydney. Frankly I don't know why, I'm not a member of the Kings of Leon fan club (in fact I would gleefully throw little lamingtons at them if they tried to pass me on the escalators) but read the review I did and am glad for it.

Why? For two reasons: the reviewer threw in reference to Noiseworks and to "please-everybody mid-paced rock and slightly cheesy vocals" (take that, Kings of Leon); and happened to mention the band came on stage to Carmina Burana.

I like a bit of classical melodrama as much as the next lamington-throwing gal so I popped over to YouTube to spend a few giddy moments re-living the classical melodrama of Carmina Burana:



Watching this clip led me to a few mid-afternoon realisations:

1. Hair styles were inherently more fluffy, thus fun, in the early '90s;

2. The quality of spectacle design at this time was far superior to today (a point John Faulkner has always known);

3. We should all have timpanis at home and use them when we want to reinforce a point: "I want a cup of tea [boom], a soothing cup of [boom]."

4. Writing subtitles for songs with Latin lyrics would be my dream job:

Fate - monstrous
and empty,
you whirling wheel,
stand malevolent,
well-being is vain
and always fades to nothing,
shadowed
and veiled
you plague me too;
now through the game
I bring my bare back
to your villainy.

Mercy! There simply aren't enough 13th century manuscripts written in Ecclesiastical Latin metre being put to music and requiring subtitles these days. I think it's a growth industry, though, and many thanks to the Kings of Leon for bringing it to our attention.

The University of Life

Four principal realisations I've had over the past 24 hours (with four sub-realisations and one dialogue transcription):

1. Going to bed two hours earlier than usual just means you wake up two hours earlier.

i. There is suprisingly little to do at 4am.


2. It's quite difficult to teach three-year-old children how to fly kites.

i. There are at least five points on small children's shoes the world over that kite string can and will get caught on.


3. Chariots of Fire is not a rousing film about breaking the four-minute mile but rather nationalist sporting twaddle.

i. Incorrectly attributed filmic memories from childhood can lead to disappointing evenings spent in adulthood.*

ii. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences does not always award the Best Film accolade to the best film (or even the best mediocre film, sporting or otherwise).


4. Wrong number phone calls received from universities can lead to the following conversation:

"Hello, I'm calling from the University of New South Wales and I'm looking for Jane Citizen.** Is that you, Jane Citizen?"
"Um no, I'm not enrolled at UNSW."
"Why not?"

I will puzzle over this while I have a cup of tea. Why not, indeed.

* What was that bloomin' film about the four-minute mile?
** Not real name.