Slow! Small (dumb) dog

When visiting Nelson in Noo Zulland at the start of this year (yes, I have some catching up to do on the blog front :-s) we had the good fortune to stay at the house of a friend of a friends (the best sort when it comes to free accommodation in nice places).

The house was perched high on a hill, with gorgeous views over Nelson and the ocean. The hill was so steep, in fact, that when you turned off the road you found yourself going down a driveway with zero visibility at one point, due to the sheerness (is that a word?) of the drop below.

While this feature made for several entertaining automotive moments of the 'oh jesus, we're going to die' variety, it also clearly posed a problem for the owners, whose dog liked hanging around the driveway ... just under the driveway crest that drivers can't see over as it happens.

In true Noo Zulland style, however, any risk to aforementioned dog was averted by this fabulous sign ~ which got right to the point. Perhaps government education campaigns could learn a few things from this approach?

What? No handicrafts?!?

I stopped by Uno the Extortionate Cobbler this afternoon to be reunited with my one and only pair of comfortable work shoes (those with wonky feet will know what I mean when I say that parting from them for any period of time is more than traumatic) and found myself waiting in line behind two members of the Bandidos motorcycle gang (according to their website their first leader was called 'Snotgrass', I shit you not).

As I waited patiently behind them (even though they took a long time I didn't feel the urge to get tetchy or ask them to hurry up for some reason), I watched them spend some time instructing Uno the Extortionate Cobbler on the precise location of the patches that they needed sewn on to their new leather waistcoats. [By way of context, Uno resides in one of the most expensive mall/plaza/thingies in the Melbourne CBD].

Uno, who is normally downright rude to customers, was the most attentive I have ever seen him. I could even see him making a mental 'do NOT fuck it up' note to self as they left his store and wandered over to join their colleagues who were sipping coffee at a nearby cafe. Not only did he not advise them of a cost, he also didn't give them a little 'your name is x, your item # is x and it will be ready by whenever I damn well feel like it' slip ... perhaps hulking great gang members are memorable and worthy of expedited ... dare I say 'free' ... service?

I subsequently learnt that the entire gang was in town for what was (euphemistically?) described by local media as a 'family weekend' ... wonder if it will involve picnics and joint prayer sessions?

So, I consider myself a little wiser for this experience ~ for some reason I had always just imagined that gang members were quite handy with the old needle and thread ... I used to have little daydreams about bikie sewing circles akin to boy scouts ... but it seems even the big boys have learnt the art of outsourcing. Guess you learn something every day.

Revealing my true self

I have often received flack from friends who know me, for my steadfast refusal to publish pictures of myself on this blog ... to reveal my true identity as it were.  

Well, the time has come ... for the curtain to be lifted, the shutters to be drawn, the sun to rise, the [insert shyte metaphor here]. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, please find a clipping from my old university that not only reveals my true identity, but also includes a headshot of me ...

... if, indeed, I am an 18 year old Japanese girl called Shuko Keji.

I was on the 7.42 train to work the other morning when I idly flicked through my old university's Alumni magazine and found this gem. My partner and I pissed ourselves laughing the rest of the way into the city. Within hours I had received an email titled 'mea culpa' from the comms manager at my old university, mortified that she had irretrievably offended me. I responded by thanking her for making my day and asking for another copy as a memento. 

What I think I love most of all, is the fact that Ms Keji is wearing a ginormous name badge in her photo ... perhaps the proof readers thought it was 'mislabel yourself Thursday' or some other such quirky cultural convention?

If only I was that cute and could get away with wearing yellow without looking like a jaundiced marshmallow ...

The weather in Sydney is fine.

So I was flying back from Noo Zulland on Thursday after another full on but fabulous trip home. 

My airline of choice on this occasion was Emirates (home of the sexy airbuses with the cool ceilings that have fake stars on them when they dim the lights). 

I had finished watching Juno (pretty good) and was working my way through dodgeball (complete bollocks but perfect for mind-numbing plane trips) when the intercom crackled into life yet again (I swear Emirates does more gratuitous, interminably long multilingual announcements than any other airline in existence). 

This time it was our swarthy and exotic-sounding captain, he of the masculine and sexy pilot voice (TM), saying:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are beginning our descent and should arrive at our destination in 45 minutes. The weather in Sydney is fine and we should land in Sydney at 6.30pm local time." 

This announcement shouldn't have raised any eyebrows amongst the passengers, except for the minor fact that we were meant to be flying to Melbourne. The few of us who weren't in a plane-induced stupor looked quizzically at each other, wondering if we had made some sort of monumental cock-up. After a second or so our eyebrows concurred that it was in fact the pilot who had cocked up so we sniggered and settled back down to feeling dopey. 

Less than a minute later, however, our captain came back on the air again, sounding decidedly less swarthy and sexy, saying "Ah ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain again ... we are going to Melbourne, not Sydney", at which point the entire plane pissed itself laughing and the pilot giggled in a distinctly unsexy way before abruptly going off air. 

Contrary to popular perception, it appears that even pilots are human :-)

CRAIGIEBURN!!!!

I travel in to work by train most mornings (unless I miss it and then the joys of the #19 tram beckon). The line I travel on intersects with quite a few other lines at one point in the journey, at North Melbourne station.

As the train approaches North Melbourne, the nice Connex lady's dulcet pre-recorded tones come wafting across the intercom, telling us that the next station is North Melbourne, and that we should change there for the Sydenham, Williamstown, Werribee and Broadmeadows lines.

Until recently that is.

A few weeks back the Broadmeadows line (otherwise known as 'Broady' to the nasty-abbreviation-obsessed locals) got longer, extending past Broadmeadows to the new identical McMansion suburb of Craigieburn [aka, middle of effing nowhere but cheap as chips and very prestigious in an aspiring nouveau riche kind of way ~ check out www.delfincraigieburn.com.au for more information about the exciting opportunities offered by Craigieburn].

This is clearly the most exciting thing to have happened to the pre-recorded Connex lady for some time, cos' the amended message now goes: "The next station is North Melbourne, change here for the Sydenham, Williamstown, Werribee and [insert little dance of unmitigated joy and excitement here] CRAIGIEBURN! lines."

It is very exciting.

I am excited.

In addition to my excitement, it also makes me snicker every time I hear it, just another of the many perks of public transport I guess.

I have a spalling teas tomow :)

Just got back from a Noo Zulland (me and the missus had popped over there for a mate's wedding). For me, heading back home is always a welcome opportunity to catch up with the smallest members of my wonderfully post-modern whanau ~ my little sisters, aged 6 & 8.

They are both gorgeous kids, the sort that are prone to leaving misc notes around, making pictures for you or, in my case this time, making a fabulous bracelet which spelt my name in plastic letters ~ I was the envy of all my mates while wearing THAT bling.

This artistic/linguistic gem also caught my eye on my last day, a note left by my oldest little sister for my dad on the office whiteboard. She rocks :-)

The mower was impounded for 28 days ...

Sometimes I just love New Zealand:

Disqualified driver pulled over on lawnmower

Tuesday January 15, 2008

A disqualified Dargaville driver on a ride-on lawnmower was pulled over by police and allegedly blew more than double the legal alcohol limit.

Police say a 53-year-old man was arrested after he was seen by a patrol car riding his mower down River Rd, intending to ride to his home around three kilometres away.

The mower was impounded for 28 days and the man will appear in the Dargaville District Court at the end of the month. He is facing charges of careless driving, driving while disqualified and drink-driving.

- NEWSTALK ZB

The perfect team.

Reader beware: Parts of the following post contains mushy observations that would get a journalist fired for being cliched and hackneyed [not sure what hackneyed means exactly but I reckon this fits the bill].

I was standing on platform 4 of Flinders Street Station tonight, waiting for Connex to get their shit together and send me a train. The train was sufficiently delayed that I was seriously entertaining the idea of buying something colloquially known as 'heart attack in a paper bag' from the purveyors of fried nastiness that live in their boxes of evil on the platform.

Luckily I was saved from this fate when something far better caught my attention. It was 'blind person and their guide dog rush hour' this evening for some reason. I had watched a guy cautiously crossing St Kilda Road a few minutes earlier while taking the tram, and Platform 4 at Flinders St was host to not one but two vision-impaired commuters with guide dogs heading in separate directions. The older of the two was standing next to me with his dog while I waited, and I found myself mesmerised for about quarter of an hour, just watching the two of them interact.

The old bloke was exactly that, a weather-beaten Aussie in his 60s with cropped hair and a hard-earned pot belly. The sort of guy you'd expect to see mowing the lawn outside his house in the summer with his shirt off, or happily ensconced in his shed at the bottom of the garden.

If his guide dog were human, they would have been twins; an old, solid golden lab, now turned white with age. The dog was sitting at ease, the harness resting on his back and his neck chain hanging loose as well. Even though the dog wasn't attached to his owner he was still connected, leaning ever so slightly against him while they both waited patiently amid the commuting chaos. The old bloke kept one hand by his side and would touch the dog's head every now and then. When a train came on their platform (the wrong one), the bloke put his hand reassuringly on the now-standing dog's shoulders and sat him back down (I can't figure out which train is arriving half the time so I was relieved to see it wasn't just me getting it wrong).

At one point, the man put his hand down to the dog's head and, in an almost imperceptible movement, softly massaged the dog's eyelids. I don't know what it was about this gesture but I stood there feeling ridiculously emotional for 6.57 on a Wednesday night. It was both moving and reassuring. I don't think I've seen a partnership that good in a fair while.

Speaking of muses ...

... my last post reminded me to spend a little time committing the actions of a mysterious benefactor to (electronic) paper.

But first a little background: My 'regular' readers will know that I am the proud owner of one slightly neglected scooter (it has been downgraded from 'love of my life' to 'weekend fling' since I resumed public transport commuting unfortunately ... it's not you, it's me). When i've finished using it for the day I park the aforementioned scoot on the sidewalk next to my house, bid it goodnight, remind it not to get nicked and then go indoors.

For the last nine months (on and off) however, I have been dancing a curious dance with a complete stranger, in which my unwitting scoot has played a rather pivotal role. Early this year I went out to my scoot in the morning, and saw a 5c coin on the seat. Assuming some community-minded individual had picked it up off the ground and left it there for whoever dropped it, I put it on the ground and carried on my way. The next day it was there on the seat again and I, getting a tad peeved that the community-minded individual clearly thought it was my 5c, put it on the ground again.

The next day, the coin was there again. And it was only then that I looked closer and realised that it was a 10c coin, not the 5c originally left. Being, at the time, on the subsistence wages of a university lecturer, I thought, 'right, finders keepers', popped it in my pocket and forgot about it ... until the next morning when a 5c coin was again sitting on the seat of my scoot.

This routine of 5c and 10c coins turning up on the seat of my scoot continued for a week or so, until I mentioned it to my partner, who pointed out that it wasn't particularly normal for scooters to spontaneously generate Australian currency and offered forth some rather interesting conspiracy theories. Amongst other amusing options, these included the possibility that someone was planning on stealing my bike and was paying it off 5c and 10c at a time.



Whatever the rationale, the money kept coming, and I kept putting it in my pocket. After a few weeks it occurred to me that whoever was doing it might have developed something of a compulsion and might need a hand to break the habit (I could have let them continue indefinitely but there are faster ways for me to get rich quick). I didn't quite know what I would say in a note (humiliating or embarrassing whoever it was was the last thing I wanted to do), so I simply started putting the coins into a glass jar that I left next to my fence. A few would accumulate there over a few days and then kids/misc opportunists would clean it out. I'm not sure exactly what effect this had but after a few weeks more the coins stopped, leaving me a touch sad but with a sense of things being back in their proper place.

I thought that was the end of it but a few weeks later it started again, 5 and 10 cents at a time. It petered out after a week but it still happens every now and then.

After some months of this happening, it's not something I resent in the slightest, rather I love the thought that there is someone mysterious, mad, magical or just interesting who thinks my scooter (or me) is worthy of such affection. My very own scooter fairy. Inspiration and warm fuzzy feelings come from the strangest places ... a cheap scooter parked on sidestreet in Brunswick is one of mine.

A muse appears on the 12.01 Upfield line.

So it's been a fair while since I've written ~ during which time my Masters thesis has been finally finished, printed, bound and lovingly placed on a shelf never to be opened again.

I have also got thoroughly jack of being a university lecturer, so (never one to wallow and whinge more than strictly necessary or pleasurable) I have got a new job that will give me magnificent karma and very little pay. It starts in 6 weeks' time and is part of the reason that I am writing again, as it will involve me becoming 'exclusive' with my first love; public transport.

Yep, me and the Upfield line and the St Kilda Road tram will be becoming intimate over the next while ~ and in my own perverse nerdy way I am looking forward to it.

It's funny how things go full circle really ~ this blog was started way back in the day (May 2004 for anyone who is impressed by such things) as a way to record my observations of the myriad weird and wonderful people that I saw on my daily commute. Somewhere along the way I got a scooter which drastically altered the purpose of the blog, and Blogger got all fancy with photos and video capabilities etc. While multimedia fanciness is a lurvely thing, one of its effects has been to make me a little lazy in the writing department; relying on visual gags and bitchy comments rather than rich description and simple appreciation of difference in all its glory.

So, it seems strangely fitting that, as I am about to re-enter another public transport phase, the most magnificent muse should appear before me on the 12.01 Upfield line on the way into work today.

She got on a stop after I did, which allowed me to fully appreciate her exquisite uniqueness as she walked purposefully in my direction. One might say that her most distinctive feature was an oversize orange felt hat that Robin Hood might wear if he was observing 'take the piss out of your usual headgear day'. But 'distinctive' is a relative term when you consider that this was offset by a muted strawberry bag, and bright yellow leggings overlaid on vivid black and white striped tights. Most people would look seriously silly in this kind of ensemble but she looked fantastic and carried if off beautifully ~ the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous and of some sort of Asian descent (Thai or Burmese at a very uneducated stab) no doubt helped.

Anyhoo ~ she walked purposefully past me and straight out the door of the carriage. I assumed she was heading into the next one but she stopped and stood on the little platform between the carriages as the train rolled along. She was staring out at the world going by and I thought for one horrible moment that she was thinking about jumping off ~ but to my absolute relief and immense pleasure she started singing.

I was one of the few people facing in her direction so I found myself staring, entranced, at this young woman (mid-20s perhaps) standing between two train carriages, singing to herself and the world while looking completely, indisputably happy.

It occured to me while watching her that many people surveying the scene would assume she was in some way imbalanced ~ which tempered my smile just a tad because of the inference that it takes a mental illness to be prepared to express yourself with such simple beauty; honestly and without fear of judgement. If this is truly the case then my worries for the world are even more so after reflecting on this.

The cynic in me checked for the ubiquitous white earphones that seem to come with any commuter under 40 these days but there was nothing, she was just singing to herself and appreciating the view from the slightly gritty perspective of a surburban commuter train. Watching her sing in silence (I couldn't hear anything) was one of those rare experiences that makes you feel all uncool and mushy ~ one of those infectious joy kind of deals.


One of the reasons that I am leaving my current job as a lecturer is that I am finding myself becoming just a touch cynical about it ~ and that's not the kind of person I want to be ~ I want to be the kind of person that is entranced by uninhibited people singing on the train and who finds beauty in the everyday. Unbearably cliched and mushy I know but hey, I guess someone's gotta do it.

Over n' out :-)

High tech warfare.

This is the logo from an item of hand luggage that I bought in Koh Samui a year ago for $20. It has been extremely handy, having travelled to the UK, France, Singapore and New Zealand since then - it even survived being 'misplaced' en route to London (thanks Emirates!) and seems to cheerfully handle the ongoing trials and tribulations involved in being an international bag of mystery.

I credit this value for money and all round robustness to the fact that it is called 'Combat'. It is clearly a high tech, cutting edge, hardcore item of luggage of mass destruction - something the logo leaves the viewer in no doubt about.


Yay for incongruous branding - it makes life that little bit brighter :-)

Bad hair transcends all politics.

While watching TV last night I had the pleasure of watching an interview on a current affairs show 'Lateline'. The interview in itself was unremarkable - a 15 minute 'hard news' interview with Labeed Abbawi, Deputy Foreign Minister of Iraq - 15 minutes of tedious and predictable proportions.

What WAS impressive, however, was the combination of:

• A windy day
• A fabulous 'comb-over'
• Mr Abbawi's stoic refusal to acknowledge that he was in the midst of a hair crisis of monumental, nationwide, televised proportions.

Had me and the missus in hysterics for its duration.

Giddy up baybee

Well, will you look at that - mid-February 2007 was hiding behind my bedroom door and has just leapt out and whacked me on the head. Sneaky beggar.

Soooo - to continue with the pre-xmas theme on the joys of Singapore I would like to introduce my non-Asian readers to an amazing gadget that I was priviedged to see demonstrated on Orchard Road in Singapore in December: The iGallop.


This mind-boggling device is promoted as an 'exercise' machine - but, if we were all to stop beating around the bush (if you'll excuse the expression) it would perhaps be most appropriate on display at the Melbourne Sexpo. Methinks perhaps as well, that the target market for this particular exercise fad is husbands buying them for their wives - can't imagine why.

For your viewing pleasure I have included a video of the Chinese ads for it - which are more to the, ahem, 'point' than the uber cheesy and serious singaporean ones (also included below for comparison) - I know which ad would motivate me to buy it more. And I am not even going to ask what is going on in her pants in the Chinese ad :-s

I have also included a suggestion of a more appropriate use for the iGallop at the bottom - as ably demonstrated by Salad the Cat ... and yes, I promise I won't be posting 3 videos every time, am just excited by finally figuring out how to do it.

Merry mutant!

I thought I should perhaps make at least a cursory nod to the festive season, seeing as I have been accused of being somewhat 'bah humbug-ish' this year.

So - here goes.

May I present a festive illustration from the side of the 'Luxury Christmas Crackers' that set me back $3.50* in the Footscray 'misc-crap-that-you-really-have-to-have' store. These luxury babies were Australian themed and made in Indonesia.

Now far be it from me to cast aspersions as to the typical Indonesian christmas cracker illustrator's knowledge of Australia's indigenous animals, or Australia in general for that matter ... but my guests and I were reasonably certain that Australian Emus don't have four legs ... although possibly the Indonesian ones do?



The map of Australia on the box also had dinosaurs in Western Australia - but we thought best not to be too pedantic at xmas ... in fact, from what I understand, the addition of a few dinosaurs could potentially be a significant improvement for WA ... perhaps they should seek the advice from the makers of my xmas crackers?

Merry festiveness y'all ;-)


*And no, I didn't win even one of the crackers I pulled.
Sympathy donations can be made to www.saveastarvinglecturer.com

Culinary highlights of Singapore.

While in Singapore I had lunch and went for a wander around the Bugis Street market with a mate/colleague of mine, the indomitable Mr Tezza who was teaching there at the same time as me. Mr Tezza is an ex-pat Singapore boy himself although he is similar to me, insofar as that he has been away long enough from his 'homeland' to lose track of which places are good to go to, what is 'so hot right now' etc etc.

One of the things he hasn't forgotten about, however, are the joys of a peculiarly Singaporean dish - one that he vividly remembers from his childhood, back in the days even before he had managed to misspend his youth.

It is a simple dish, involving two, equally healthy, ingredients (hunk of icecream + multicoloured bread). It costs around 80 cents Singaporean and can only be bought from little old men standing at mobile icecream stands. In the interests of cross-cultural understanding I of course had to try for myself...

My verdict?

It rocks.

It looks like this.



That is all.

The power of bun!

Back in Melbourne town now - settling back in and answering approximately 4.26 million emails per day from the lovely but occasionally confused students that I was teaching in Singapore.

Thought I'd post up another memento of my Singapore sojourn, this one from the food kiosk outside the Underwater World on Sentosa 'Island'. The Underwater World itself wasn't too bad but the sign below was what impressed me most - never underestimate the power of bun!

Useful signage.

Just a quickie, so to speak, for this post.

This is a picture snapped on Thursday while boarding the free bus that takes tourists around Sentosa 'Island'. Sentosa is a rather curious tourist trap, literally 300 metres away from Singapore, that includes a 'magical musical fountain' and large ugly statue of a MerLion (some sort of mythical concrete animal mostly sighted in its natural habitat of Singaporean corporate logos), resplendent with mobile phone receiver sticking from the top of its head.



Not sure if this sign is any relation to the nightclub concept of a 'door whore' but it made the bus trip, while crammed in with approximately 3.2 million pushy Indian tourists, that little bit more pleasant :-)

Ouch.

I spotted this little gem on one of the advertising boards in the underpass that goes under Orchard Road, the main shopping strip in Singapore. It was next to the ads for the Singaporean army, which I am hoping was just a coincidence.

They've really hit the nail on the head with this one - I can think of no more appropriate image to illustrate a Brazilian waxing service than that of a woman doubled over and looking pained.



But wait, there's more.

Not only will it make you double over in pain, it brings out the women - yes, more than one - in you. Whatever exorbitant price they're charging is a bargain when you think about it that way.

Ultimate toast.

Right, horror quantitative data analysis lecture dead and buried so must be time to get back to posting.

To continue with the food theme, I thought I would showcase this fabulous advertising poster from a cafe at the 'Far East' shopping mall on Tuesday. With a sales pitch like this who could resist*???



*Well, me actually.

Big sheet (spicy flavour)!

Hello again - yes, tis' I, your sporadic [spasmodic?] blogger.

This time I'm in Singapore, teaching at a Singaporean University, attempting to perform minor miracles by teaching a semester-long course in two weeks. Stress-free zone all the way baby!

So - in the interests of retaining my sanity while attempting to conjure up a lecture on frequency distributions (amongst other equally enthralling topics) I thought I would resort to some juvenile humour.

Ladies and Gentleman, may I present the newest taste sensation - the 'Big Sheet' [only ever to be pronounced with a strong Australian accent] 'Tasty Sea' snack - now in new Spicy Flavour.

As you can see from this shot I couldn't wait to try it before taking a pic for the blog. Was indeed a big spicy sheet - a most tasty sea that was easily delicious.