Webliography.
A bibliography of web addresses.
Amazing. I mean, seriously, wow.
If the person who came up with that had spent a few extra minutes sleeping in that day and thus had a few less minutes spare to ponder the cumbersomeness of 'web bibliography' (and to create the equally cumbersome 'webliography') the world would be a better place.
Don't you think?
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
How many feathers can a vego bear?
I bought my son a new doona today, a feather one. It's lovely, very fluffy, just the kind of doona to keep a small child (or anyone who fits into a single bed) warm during the reclining hours.
But... [and I can't say this too loudly because I fear the answer: Should a vegetarian actually buy a feather doona?].
I'm assuming (on reflection, after the thrill of my trip to the local Westfield has subsided) that the 85% duck feathers and 15% duck down that make up my son's doona filling were collected pond-side by enthusiastic bird-watchers who did not rip said feathers and down from dear birdies' sides but picked them up, delicately, one by one, as they fell to the ground during sun-bathed morning wing stretches, right?
Right?
On the other hand, how many baby acrylics died to make his previous acrylic-stuffed quilt? Gah!
What a shame we can only metaphorically bask in the warmth of our parents' love; that would have solved my son-warming doona dilemma.
But... [and I can't say this too loudly because I fear the answer: Should a vegetarian actually buy a feather doona?].
I'm assuming (on reflection, after the thrill of my trip to the local Westfield has subsided) that the 85% duck feathers and 15% duck down that make up my son's doona filling were collected pond-side by enthusiastic bird-watchers who did not rip said feathers and down from dear birdies' sides but picked them up, delicately, one by one, as they fell to the ground during sun-bathed morning wing stretches, right?
Right?
On the other hand, how many baby acrylics died to make his previous acrylic-stuffed quilt? Gah!
What a shame we can only metaphorically bask in the warmth of our parents' love; that would have solved my son-warming doona dilemma.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Signs that 35 may be closer to 40 than 30
1. Watching Deadwood and saying to your partner, "I mean, really, do they need to say 'c*cksucker' quite so much?"
2. Realising that people who were born in 1993 are now eligible to vote. Sero?
3. Automatically picking up the locally produced, gluten and antibiotic-free, certified free range eggs with no added hormones at the supermarket.
4. Deciding amongst your pals whose house to hold the regular poker game at based on who has the most and/or youngest kids.
5. Enjoying a track called 'Blue-winged Kookaburras' on an album called Kakadu: A Celebration of the Wetlands.
6. Eating exactly eight almonds a day because your nutritionist told you to.
What. The. Fuck.
Then again, a darling twenty-something pal of mine who is a fully sick rock band drummer has just started knitting granny squares so hey, maybe 20 is the new 40.
2. Realising that people who were born in 1993 are now eligible to vote. Sero?
3. Automatically picking up the locally produced, gluten and antibiotic-free, certified free range eggs with no added hormones at the supermarket.
4. Deciding amongst your pals whose house to hold the regular poker game at based on who has the most and/or youngest kids.
5. Enjoying a track called 'Blue-winged Kookaburras' on an album called Kakadu: A Celebration of the Wetlands.
6. Eating exactly eight almonds a day because your nutritionist told you to.
What. The. Fuck.
Then again, a darling twenty-something pal of mine who is a fully sick rock band drummer has just started knitting granny squares so hey, maybe 20 is the new 40.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
How's about those southern states?
I've just returned from a couple of days in Melbourne and am happy to report that Melbourne is a way much betterer city than Sydney. Here's why:
1. In Sydney I see at least four people a day picking their noses in their cars. Far as I know car windows are still transparent, people.
In contrast, I didn't see a single person picking his or her nose in Melbourne (not even at the conference I was at; not a one).
2. In Sydney I get caught in traffic jams all the time; in Melbourne, not once (sure I didn't have a car in Melbourne, and sure I walked most places, but I didn't hear anyone complaining about traffic jams on the 112 to Gertrude Street last night).
[2.1. In Melbourne they have a street called Gertrude Street. Awes.]
3. In Sydney people are still wearing short-shorts even though summer is well over. In Melbourne they spit on short-shorts.
4. In Sydney they have signs like this on escalators in Westfields:
In Melbourne they don't have Crocs (I'm not even sure they have Westfields?).
The only things Melbourne doesn't have are: Mr Kettle, my son, my dear friends, my lovely family, Campos Coffee, my PO Box, my favourite bookstore in Newtown, my awesome babysitting-swapping neighbours, our swimming teacher, our long established gainful employment, and my dear, irreplaceable pal Meredith. All I need to do is convince them all to move south; shouldn't be too hard, eh?
1. In Sydney I see at least four people a day picking their noses in their cars. Far as I know car windows are still transparent, people.
In contrast, I didn't see a single person picking his or her nose in Melbourne (not even at the conference I was at; not a one).
2. In Sydney I get caught in traffic jams all the time; in Melbourne, not once (sure I didn't have a car in Melbourne, and sure I walked most places, but I didn't hear anyone complaining about traffic jams on the 112 to Gertrude Street last night).
[2.1. In Melbourne they have a street called Gertrude Street. Awes.]
3. In Sydney people are still wearing short-shorts even though summer is well over. In Melbourne they spit on short-shorts.
4. In Sydney they have signs like this on escalators in Westfields:
In Melbourne they don't have Crocs (I'm not even sure they have Westfields?).
The only things Melbourne doesn't have are: Mr Kettle, my son, my dear friends, my lovely family, Campos Coffee, my PO Box, my favourite bookstore in Newtown, my awesome babysitting-swapping neighbours, our swimming teacher, our long established gainful employment, and my dear, irreplaceable pal Meredith. All I need to do is convince them all to move south; shouldn't be too hard, eh?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Bloody vouchers
When I woke up this morning I had a wad of pre-paid movie vouchers that I need to use by Thursday.
No worries, right? Right. So off I went to some megaplex or other to see The Adjustment Bureau. I found it a very enjoyable film, but that's not entirely surprising considering I'm quite partial to anything bureau-related. And who doesn't love a love story? And also, Emily Blunt is well hot.
So The Adjustment Bureau was a good pick and my wad of vouchers has reduced to six. All good. So now I only have six vouchers to use before Thursday.
Should be easy, yes?
Should it shit.
The problem is that now I've seen The Adjustment Bureau, what else is there to see? I've run some calculations and am sorry to report that at least 87% of the movies out at the moment are shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Which bodes poorly for my wad of vouchers.
So please, will you help? Will you look into your good and generous hearts and advise me how to get rid of my vouchers? Here's what's on at the moment:
Rango: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny; what have you done?
Justin Bieber: Never Say Never (3D): This boy makes me want to vomit into my handkerchief.
127 Hours: An uplifting tale about a chappy hacking off his arm with a teaspoon (if I understand correctly).
Gnomeo and Juliet: Animated? At least visually, if nothing else. Shakespeare's play with a happy ending, and gnomes.
Conviction: Hilary Swank's character's brother goes to jail for something or other. She does something or other to get him out.
No Strings Attached: Natalie Portman pretends to find Ashton Kutcher attractive. I forget how it ends.
Fast and Furious 5: Five? They've made five of these abominations?
So shit, I don't know. What do you think?
No worries, right? Right. So off I went to some megaplex or other to see The Adjustment Bureau. I found it a very enjoyable film, but that's not entirely surprising considering I'm quite partial to anything bureau-related. And who doesn't love a love story? And also, Emily Blunt is well hot.
So The Adjustment Bureau was a good pick and my wad of vouchers has reduced to six. All good. So now I only have six vouchers to use before Thursday.
Should be easy, yes?
Should it shit.
The problem is that now I've seen The Adjustment Bureau, what else is there to see? I've run some calculations and am sorry to report that at least 87% of the movies out at the moment are shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Which bodes poorly for my wad of vouchers.
So please, will you help? Will you look into your good and generous hearts and advise me how to get rid of my vouchers? Here's what's on at the moment:
Rango: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny; what have you done?
Justin Bieber: Never Say Never (3D): This boy makes me want to vomit into my handkerchief.
127 Hours: An uplifting tale about a chappy hacking off his arm with a teaspoon (if I understand correctly).
Gnomeo and Juliet: Animated? At least visually, if nothing else. Shakespeare's play with a happy ending, and gnomes.
Conviction: Hilary Swank's character's brother goes to jail for something or other. She does something or other to get him out.
No Strings Attached: Natalie Portman pretends to find Ashton Kutcher attractive. I forget how it ends.
Fast and Furious 5: Five? They've made five of these abominations?
So shit, I don't know. What do you think?
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Why We Should All Perpetually Babysit
I'm a bit of a fan of babysitting; it's one of my favourite things to do of an evening. It's like you're Santa Claus: you get to hang out in other people's living rooms; you can leave without folding the washing or loading the dishwasher; and there's always a snack and something to drink left on the kitchen bench.
But the benefits of babysitting extend far beyond the sherry and carrot sticks. Babysitting gives you access to miles and miles of other people's book shelves. I would never have read The Science of Superheroes, or the less cheery but equally fascinating Mountaincraft and Leadership if I hadn't been a serial babysitter in some pals' houses. (Not to mention The Complete Kama Sutra - heavens! Life would have been the poorer for that.)
So I'd like to make a suggestion: I propose that we all establish households, have children, get guinea pigs, etc., then promptly head out our front doors and move into the house immediately to the left of our own. That way we'll have that 'Just here for the evening and ooh! Isn't the telly so much more interesting over here' feeling all the time.
Now if you'll excuse me my charges for the night are fast asleep, there's dark chocolate dipping sauce on the kitchen bench just waiting for me, and that couch in the loungeroom looks so much more comfortable than my own. Sweet gig or what.
But the benefits of babysitting extend far beyond the sherry and carrot sticks. Babysitting gives you access to miles and miles of other people's book shelves. I would never have read The Science of Superheroes, or the less cheery but equally fascinating Mountaincraft and Leadership if I hadn't been a serial babysitter in some pals' houses. (Not to mention The Complete Kama Sutra - heavens! Life would have been the poorer for that.)
So I'd like to make a suggestion: I propose that we all establish households, have children, get guinea pigs, etc., then promptly head out our front doors and move into the house immediately to the left of our own. That way we'll have that 'Just here for the evening and ooh! Isn't the telly so much more interesting over here' feeling all the time.
Now if you'll excuse me my charges for the night are fast asleep, there's dark chocolate dipping sauce on the kitchen bench just waiting for me, and that couch in the loungeroom looks so much more comfortable than my own. Sweet gig or what.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
It's Too. Bloody. Hot.
Today is day seven of a bit of a heat wave here in Sydney. It's a record or something; most days in a row over 30 degrees since sometime or other. Fascinating really, or more accurately, not.
All I know is that standing absolutely still in your kitchen at six o'clock in the morning in a bikini you bought years ago (inside swimmers = always bad) and sweating means it's going to be a bad day, record-breaking or not.
So here's a few suggestions for what the hot weather can go do with itself:
Ok so that's all I've got, which is slightly disappointing but not all that surprising given how bloody hot it is.
So let's do another list. How about: Annoying Things The Heat Has Made Me Do:
On the plus side, this heat wave has led me to uncover one piece of meteorological hilarity. The SMH weather page has a current conditions section which very usefully lists the temperature right now (40.8 degrees), but then perhaps less usefully continues by listing the 'Feels like' temperature, which apparently at the moment is 42.4 degrees.
Actually it feels more like 43 degrees but whatever. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go stand in front of the fan in my vintage swimmers and sweat a bit more.
All I know is that standing absolutely still in your kitchen at six o'clock in the morning in a bikini you bought years ago (inside swimmers = always bad) and sweating means it's going to be a bad day, record-breaking or not.
So here's a few suggestions for what the hot weather can go do with itself:
- Chill the fuck out (sorry, best to get the bad puns out of the way early, don't you think?).
- Um.
Ok so that's all I've got, which is slightly disappointing but not all that surprising given how bloody hot it is.
So let's do another list. How about: Annoying Things The Heat Has Made Me Do:
- Stick to the couch.
- Wonder anew whether there is a god, and if so, whether he or she is completely sadistic, because how else would you explain the beginning of my annual beer-free period coinciding with the onset of a heat wave?
- Wish I lived in Hobart, with a very reasonable (albeit boring) maximum today of 21 degrees.
On the plus side, this heat wave has led me to uncover one piece of meteorological hilarity. The SMH weather page has a current conditions section which very usefully lists the temperature right now (40.8 degrees), but then perhaps less usefully continues by listing the 'Feels like' temperature, which apparently at the moment is 42.4 degrees.
Actually it feels more like 43 degrees but whatever. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go stand in front of the fan in my vintage swimmers and sweat a bit more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)