Sharing The Love

I was very proud of my daughters last night. I am determined to raise them to appreciate insects*, and not be all blousey and 'eeeeeek a bug! Help and protect me!'

So I was swelling with pride last night when they held a frantically buzzing and flapping cicada, and wanted to keep it as a pet. I've mentioned a few times how I love cicadas. They are beautiful little guys with a fascinating story. So I've been trying to get the kids to like them too. Little e has a few cicada shells in her 'nature box', but this was the first time she's seen a live one.

I secretly hope Little e grows up to be a world renowned insectologist. Or a museum curator. It's a bit early to gauge Little i's appreciation, and whether she's going to go blousey further down the track. Last night she liked the 'cada', but attempted to pull off one of his wings. So the jury's out.

But seriously, cicadas are awesome. Click on the label below to read more posts about why.

*excepting cockroaches, mosquitoes and flies, all of which are to be assassinated, not appreciated.

Studies Have Shown

A recent study by UK evolutionary psychologist Satoshi Kanazawa has shown that attractive couples are more likely to have daughters.

What can I say?

You can't argue with science.

DeFormed

More than pretty much anything, I hate forms.

Filling out forms is basically the distillation of having to do everything that I am rubbish at. Concentrate on something I don't care about. Remember numbers. Sit still for more than 30 seconds. As soon as I see one, with its boring little typed writing and empty boxes and dotted lines, I'm instantly rendered a vegetable.

A common conversation at our place goes-

Me: (bored whingey child tone) Is that all I have to do?
E: Nearly there, you just have to sign your name
Me: Where, there?
E: No, in that big box that says 'sign here'

The other night I had a World Vision one on my lap to fill out, and I was doing it while watching that movie Shallow Hal on the tele. It wasn't a hard one. A few words to write, sign my name, write a few numbers. But it just sat there on my lap for about half the movie, as I wrote maybe two letters every ad break.

Thankfully, by God's grace, He paired me with one of those *cough*sicko*cough* individuals who actually likes filling out forms, and one who can remember our postcode. Good stuff.

I really yearn for the day when there will be no more forms, and it will be restored to the way it was way back when--

'In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty'.

Ahh, formless.

Oh The Pain

I watched a bit of that show Glee last night.

Seriously, that is the most excruciatingly painful show EVER.

The Quiz

1. Best movie villain ever
2. When you misplace something, are you an 'it'll turn up' kind of person, or an 'it's lost forever' person?
3. I worry too much about...
4. I don't worry enough about...
5. I don't feel quite myself if...

Kamikaze Kookaburras

We've got these mental kookaburras at our place. We'll be casually sitting at the dining table, minding our own business, enjoying the serenity when..

WHUUUMPPPP!!!

Some crazy bird plows into the window, making me choke on my spag bol. And kookaburras are not small birds either. And their beaks are not not small or unassuming either.

Now I get that they can't see the window, and just see the bush and sky reflected back at them, and they think their flying into some awesome portal to a new world as yet unexplored. But do they not see the kookaburra they are about to have a head on with?

At first it was just the occasional whump. But the whumps are getting more frequent. It's all getting a bit too Hitchcockian for my liking.

Back, Y'all

It's become an annoying tradition that the last week of every storyboard I do is a crazy-go-nuts, frantic mad rush, leaving me to finish it over the weekend at home.

Sucks.

There are truly many, many things I'd rather do on the weekend than sit in front of a dumb old computer, doing dumb old drawings of dumb old Bananas in dumb old Pyjamas.

Back Soon

Hey friends, got a busy week ahead, so I'll be taking a few days off.

See you soon.

Don't Fence Me In

WARNING: Extreme Navel Gazing Next 20cm

I can't remember whether or not I've spoken about this before, I probably have, but something I realised quite late about myself, is that I'm very reactionary in my tastes.

If I'm surrounded by too much of one thing, I feel this weird claustrophobic pang, and go hurtling off in the other direction to what I see as being as far removed from that as I can get.

I'm certainly not saying this is a good trait at all, I know it just highlights my own insecurities and junk. And probably also some sort of annoying superiority complex. But I think it at least explains me a bit, and why I like a lot of the things I do. Maybe the best way to get the point across is to just give a bunch of real life examples--

If I'm around people talking about 'the theatre', then I want to watch a crappy horror movie. But if I'm around people who are saying The Matrix was deep and thought provoking, then I will want to watch a melancholy drama on SBS with subtitles. I love comics, but if I spend a bit of time in a comic shop around, well, comic book nerds, then I'll want to go home and read a William Faulkner book. But if I'm with people talking about 'literature', then I just want to read the The Incredible Hulk. You see? Never happy.

Or if I'm with blokes talking about bikes, or cars or rock climbing, I'll want to go and do some rose gardening and read poetry. But when my friend talked about how I ought to get an electric lawn mower to be kind to the environment, well, frankly I wanted to then get the loudest, gas guzzling beast I could find. Seeing somebody 'alternative' makes me want to listen to Gershwin. Hearing somebody go on about jazz makes me want to listen to the heaviest metal I can find.

It's not good, is it. It's not a very peaceful way to be either, because I'm always trying to stay one step away from what I'm near. I'm defining myself by what I'm not. That's not a good thing. I would like to get to the bottom of it, and work out what it stems from (pride?), and how I can work on changing it.

Thursday Peanuts

Things Girls Like #3

Paying money to drink water

The Survival Situation Technique

I have a bit of a coping technique, which works in many varied situations. Basically, I just say to myself 'imagine you are in a survival situation, Benny boy', and then suddenly my perspective changes.

So, an example would be, you've just shelled out $7 for a dodgy sandwich at a dodgy sandwich shop. It's disappointing and tasteless. And $7 is nothing to sneeze at. You're angry. You're feeling jipped.

'Imagine you're in a survival situation, Benny boy'

Wow, a sandwich! I haven't eaten in two days, and have been trekking through dangerous wilderness, perilously rafting down a remote alligator infested river, somewhere in a forgotten South American jungle. But hark! What is that over there on that small sandy beach? Could it be...? No, it would be foolish to hope... No wait.. (paddling to shore)...It is! A sandwich! Oh happy day, what fortune smiles on me that I should happen upon such bounty!

And then the stale bread tastes like manna from heaven. And the tasteless shredded chicken like a rare jungle fowl that has been bow-and-arrowed, plucked, and lovingly prepared for me by some forgotten jungle tribes people, who are now watching me unseen, from the deep foliage.

It's all about perspective.

But They're Fabulous

I got in the lift the other day with a girl from my floor. She had a very pained expression on her face, and she said "Ohh Ben, you should be soooo thankful that you're not a girl".

Somewhat fearful of where this might be heading, I cautiously replied "oh yeah?"

Wincing, she then directed my gaze down to the ridiculous stilt-like stilettos she had on. At the front they were narrow and strappy, so her toes were all purple and smooshed, contortionist-like.

An ill-placed toe ring was working as a crude blade to slice through both the little piggy who went to market, and the one who stayed home. Listening close, I could just hear them squealing.

The heels were propped up perilously high, and I got a sickening wave of vertigo with just a mere glance. The slant of her foot was propelling her forward like starting blocks, so she couldn't just stand still, but had to tap tap tap around the lift like one of those creepy people who walk on stilts.

Having absolutely no sympathy I said "Why are you wearing them if they hurt you?", in a gruff, fatherly tone.

"Well look at them", she said, gritting her teeth through the pain. "They're fabulous!"

I worry sometimes. I really do.

Congratulations Peter & Katharine!

It couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke.

Are You Down?

I like blogging, and the little blog community I've found myself in. But I often think the main thing that is missing in this community is Gang Rivalry.

Mainly we are all pretty nice to each other, and we all are like little friendly islands on a the Vast Blog Sea. I think we need to become more territorial.

For some reason, we seem to consist heavily of New South Welshmen, and Queenslanders. And the rest seem to have some affiliation with either. So this is why we should form gangs. We need gang colours, tough gang names and we need to be able to throw up some cool gang signs if the mood takes us.

I know what your thinking. Tsk tsk, what a nasty idea, he mustn't have anything to blog about today so he's just come up with this dumb idea to cause trouble. Perhaps true to an extent, but at least give me a chance.

It doesn't have to be violent (necessarily). It could be more like dance-fighting. Sort of like a blog West Side Story. Can you not see how cool this would be? We'd be battlin' and trying to out post each other. Whenever there'd be a tussle, you'd know your gang had your back.

Anyway, I sense that your not feeling me. And that's okay. Often when someone is so far ahead of their time, and they drop some science, it takes a while for the groundbreaking idea to take hold. But just let this seed germinate, and when you are ready, I'll be here waiting to initiate you and give you your sweet bandana.

So, who's in which gang? I'm South. We need a cool name..

The Beast

I'm not really the blokiest of blokes. When the fellas start talking about cars or rock climbing or picking up heavy things and putting them down again, I'll probably be over in the corner darning some socks, sipping a mocktail.

But that said, the tables turned on the weekend when I bought My. Awesome. Electric Blue. 4 Stroke. Lawnmower.

It looks like this--

I was all geared up to buy a second hand one from this little ol' mower shop, but disappointingly they were all out of second hand ones. So I just went to Bunnings.

After a lot of strain on my limited mental capabilities, I assembled the thing, and set to work. Our yard is massive, and the grass was pretty long, so it took yonks. It required two shifts. But it was satisfying, and the yard looks good now. I'll take a photo.

The Quiz

1. I can't believe..

2. I'd love to win a lifetime supply of..

3. Are you a good secret-keeper?

4. I really should give... another try one of these days

5. I have a dream..

The Quiz That Had To Be Posted

I'll be away on Monday as I'll be going to a funeral.

BUT, I have just gone all John Connor, and travelled three days into the future, posted the Monday Quiz, fought for humanity against an army of evil robots, and travelled back to the present to live to tell the tale.

And all this before 8am.

Things Girls Like #67

Leaving some uneaten food on their plates at restaurants

Thursday Peanuts

$ydney Blogger$ Fe$tival

Did you know that there is a Sydney Bloggers Festival on at the moment? Well, there surely is. It finishes tomorrow. I'd prolly never go to such a thing, but I'm curious about it, and am happy that such a thing exists. Just in case I did want to go.

Today is apparently the 'Her-Story' day--

Part of the Sydney Bloggers Festival, the “Her-Story” day looks at the phenomenon of Australian women who blog, and will showcase and discuss 3 broad areas:

1. Professional female bloggers (full time paid blogger-journalists and bloggers who run businesses via their own site/blog)
2. Pro-Am female bloggers (some revenue from blogging)
3. “Hobby” bloggers (blogging for “the love of writing”, influence, therapy, sanity and issues that are covered by mainstream media)

I'm not sure what Pro-Am female bloggers are, but I gather they probably the ones who really like AM radio, and so there their blogs are very serious and news-worthy, with interesting discussions and links to classical music (mainly cello) clips on youtube. That'd be my guess.

Also interestingly, I read some high falootin' blogger say that the question on every bloggers' lips is 'how do you make money from this?'

I was stunned, it was like she was reading my mind. I know that's what I'm mainly hitting for here. For me it's always chiefly been about the sweet, sweet coin. So, I thought this would be a timely juncture to announce that there will now be a fee for all Monday Quiz participants.

But don't worry, you don't need to fill out any forms or anything. I have taken it upon myself (I'm good that way) to seek out your bank details, and will just automatically draw out the required sum each Monday. You'll hardly even notice it. Though you might want to hold off on booking that holiday, and instead ask your boss for a lil' bit of overtime. Just to be on the safe side.

R.P.R's, Baby!

We had rice paper rolls last night, with fresh mint and coriander from the garden. Seriously, how good are rice paper rolls? That's not rhetorical, I want you to quantify it.

And the thing about them, is that they are probably pretty healthy. To me it is crazy that something so delicious is healthy. Nothing delicious is healthy.

I said to E that if I was going to go on a diet, I'd just have R.P.R's every night. She said, 'wouldn't you get sick of them though?'.

Nope. You would be a sick, twisted individual if you got sick of R.P.R's It'd be like getting sick of patting a baby deer on a sunny hilltop in spring while a gentle breeze tenderly caresses your face.

But my big problem is over-packing. You see pictures of a nice R.P.R and they are tubular and dainty. Mine are like massive round wads, with bits poking out everywhere. It's very difficult to be scant in an R.P.R. filling, I find. One piece of chicken may seem wise, but I really need to squeeze at least three in there, otherwise to me it seems like a waste of a good R.P.R. outing.

Meanwhile, Little e sort of has the other problem, and goes a little too zen. Last night she was making one with the sole filling of a coriander sprig, when I suggested she might want to put a few more things in there before closing it up.

Anyway, there's no real other point to this post, other than to say R.P.R's are the goods.

Book Review Wednesday by Kim

Everything Is Illuminated
By Jonathan Safran Foer (2002)

Review by Kim

Usually when I start a book and can’t quite keep the characters or situations straight it doesn’t worry me too much and I keep on until it all becomes clear, or, occasionally, I flip back when I realized I’ve mistakenly misplaced a major character.

It’s generally a good method because usually everything is eventually illuminated. Except in the only book that actually promises illumination in the title.

I made it to the end but still don’t quite understand the second chapter, or who’s who, or, more to the point, who’s not who, or how who connects to who, much less what.

It’s a bit like Tom Stoppard’s absurdist theatre squashed 2-D. You know it’s brilliant (goodness knows it’s won enough awards), but you’re at a loss to identify much more than a generous handful of themes. Writing, sex, the Holocaust, Ukraine, sex, Jews, character, history, ancestry, light, sex and possibly dead arms spring to mind, but how exactly they all relate is still a bit unclear.

Let’s just say I feel out of the loop, but oddly illuminated.

Thanks Kim. Sounds like one I may need to avoid for fear of feeling even dumber.

Things Girls Like #71

Wanting to learn the cello

All Talk

Like clouds and wind without rain
is one who boasts of gifts never given.

~Proverbs 25:14

The Dancing Barista

Every second Tuesday arvo I get a coffee on my way home, to keep myself awake for Toastmasters. I go to this cafe near where I get the train. when I get there, there's only the one guy left, and he's already in 'it's nearly the end of the day, let's be very jovial' mode.

Disconcertingly, whenever I turn up there, he is singing at the top his voice, and the singing doesn't stop when I'm there. He always seems to have this song blaring, and he belts it out in his native tongue, dancing along with a very serious expression on his face.

When I ask for my coffee, it's kind of like I'm asking a bit of a favour. Well, I am currently dancing and singing, and you've now basically mucked up my routine, but okay, being that I'm a lover and not a fighter, I will make you a coffee.

And he then makes my coffee like a fancy cocktail guy. Spinning around, getting the milk out of the bar fridge with a flourish of spirit fingers. Putting the lid on my cup like Fred Astaire putting his top-hat on. I get my coffee, and I'm gone, highly relieved to be out of this strange Spanish twilight zone that I have momentarily stepped in to.

All that is well and good, but I've decided that there is a really important prerequisite to being so flourishy and sparkly with your coffee making. You need to be able to make a reasonable coffee. Otherwise it's all just showboating.

And the coffee Shakira makes, well, frankly it's not really up to scratch. Too much time spent on dance moves, not enough actual barista-ing. (Baristization?) If you strain really hard, you can maybe sense that at some point there was temporarily a coffee bean in the same township as the cow who made the milk he's using. But it requires a fair bit of imagination.

And yet, I'm a loyal guy. Bad coffee or not, I'll see you Tuesday week, my strange all-singing, all-dancing barista bloke.

Things Girls Like #36

Excessive cushions

The Quiz

1. Most hated chore

2. I cheer inwardly when..

3. I groan inwardly when..

4. If you were to buy a pet animal today, what would you get?

5. People don't seem to realise that I'm actually..

Evil Lurks In The Frigid Air

When you have children, you accumulate a million little plastic containers. They are annoyingly small and unstackable. There are a huge number of them, but you can never find one because they're all in the fridge.

What happens is, there's a couple of spoonfuls of left-over mash and seven peas, and where you would have thrown them out in the past, you now go 'oh, the kids might be able to have that some time'. Sounds wise and thrifty, but firstly, the kids didn't want the mash and peas the first time round. And secondly, no, you're never going to get around to using them.

Instead, they pile up in the fridge. A container of 4 grams of tuna. A container of a bit of spag bol. A container with two mandarin segments. You become blind to them when you open the fridge.

Chapter skip to a month later where it's now my job to make some room in the fridge. I hate this job almost as much as separating the meat after a shopping trip. I remove about 27 midget containers of unidentified substance in a blanket of mould, and have to try and empty this filth and wash the containers.

Sometimes if no ones' looking I skip the middle man and just throw out the whole container. They're like rabbits anyway, and need to be culled from time to time.

It's all a bit of a lose-lose situation though, because after one of these big clean-outs yesterday, I threw out the left-overs after dinner, thinking 'nope, not going down that turgid path again'. But of course I then just felt guilty. Somebody somewhere would have loved that three spoonfuls of mash. I am an evil wasteful Westerner adding to the worlds' poverty.

What's a guy to do?

Church Visiting

We have started doing a few church visits. 'Church visiting' to me seems like a better term than 'church shopping', which sounds like your some self-centered consumer rocking up and saying, 'okay, here I am, entertain me'.

The aim is not to search until we find some perfect church, but more a case of using this opportunity to see what's out there, and then think about what would be the best fit and wisest choice for us in terms of our life-stage and where we will be moving to in a few months (which is anybody's guess).

But I don't particularly like the process, I feel guilty about it. I feel like I'm on a reality TV show like The Bachelor, where I'm going around having dates with different people, leading them on, and they're investing their time and energy in me, when I'm 'just visiting'. The churches we've been to so far have been really good, and the people very welcoming and warm.

Anyway, we'll keep up the visits, even though it feels kind of strange.

Things Girls Like #24

Putting flowers and other strange plants in hot water instead of tea, like normal people*.

*me

Cloud Control

The past week I have been really into this band Cloud Control. Three of them went to my school, they were a few years below me. They are doing really well, and I was really surprised at how good they are.

I think they are great, I'd love to see them live some time. I reckon I've listened to this song at least 20 times in the past couple of days. Awesome. Cool clip too.

10 Things I'd Abolish If I Were King

1. Ring tones
2. Public grooming
3. O.M.G. Both the long and short versions.
4. Eddie McGuire
5. Current affair programs
6. Small-talk (particularly in lifts and work kitchens
7. Shaving above the glasses arm
8. Elf boots
9. Fitness First backpacks
10. Tipping

Punishments would range from small fines to substantial jail terms.

Thursday Peanuts

Movies You Shouldn't Bother With #72

Sometimes you come across a movie, with famous actors in it, but you've never heard of it. There's usually a good reason why. A neighbour recently lent us A Love Song For Bobby Long. John Travolta's kinda weird these days*, but I like Scarlett Johansson, so I was willing to have a squiz.

It was painful. I can't really remember what it was about, and I fell asleep about half way through. Some girl goes to New Orleans after her mum dies and finds some annoying derro's squatting at her mums house. Mostly I just remember ScarJo being grumpy, and Travolta being icky and cringy. Ooo I'm a troubled alcoholic genius poet troubadour. Good for you, I'm going to bed.

Also, is it just me or has New Orleans become kind of a lame movie cliche setting.. I liked it in Double Jeopardy, and in Skeleton Key. But if I see another street parade on a balmy summer night with lilting trombones playing while people in the background wear pale suits and eat gumbo, I may hurt someone.

*these days?

Eye Know

Here's The Fella..

Eye Know

Amazing Facts

Did you know that that song about knowing when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em is actually about soiled handkerchiefs?

Well it totally is.

E at Cronulla

Ahh, it's good to be living near the water. We went to Cronulla on the weekend, on hopefully the first of many trips to the beach over the summer.

It'd be kinda good if the kids weren't absolutely terrified of the water though..

Book Review Wednesday by Kim

Shades Of Grey
Jasper Fforde (2009)

Review by Kim

1984 meets Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, then they have a baby and call it Shades of Grey. Neither’s entirely sure it’s their own kid, though. 1984’s afraid Anthem might have beat him to the punch, and Hitchhiker wonders if she’s a surrogate mother, but hasn’t got a clue who either parent was. It’s all a bit odd and dreamlike, though, so who really cares?

Pinpointing the genre, much less the plot, is a bit tricky. It’s about as far down the science fiction road I happily venture, and I’m not big on the distopian undertones or the not-so-subtle Christian-bashing. But it’s just so fun and quirky and, I assume, highly intelligent that I gobbled it up, willingly suspending my disbelief for lots longer than usual.

The story’s about this world that’s divided along color lines, though not as we know them. These are color lines based on what color the characters can see. Eddie Russett is our protagonist, and, oddly enough, a Red. I’m a bit fuzzy on how it all works, but he’s clearly got it sorted out, though stumbling through the rest of the book certainly lands him in some interesting predicaments, to say the least.

It’s really one of those books you’ve got to read for yourself to see if you like it, but if you liked Jasper Fforde’s Eyre Affair and/or Nursery Crime series, I think you’ll enjoy what I feel I should classify as a colorful romp through – well, some sort of world.

As for its parents, perhaps they were Tom Stoppard and Little Shop of Horrors. Not quite sure how that would work, but then again, I’m not quite sure how Shades of Grey works either. It just does.

Thanks again, Kim!

So Pumped It Hurts

Well, it's that time again.

The Race That Stops The Nation. How many times will I hear that phrase today? My guess is 17 billion.

Are you excited? I don't know about you, but I can barely contain myself. Horses being whipped to drive themselves to cardiac arrests, and dopey drunk people in dopey hats throwing away millions of dollars.

Call me mean, but I'm a bit sad the rain seems to be clearing up; there was something appealing about all those stilettos getting lost in the mud.

Fumigation

I took my seat on the train this morning, and the walls around me became like liquid silk, undulating and breathing, softly whispering strange incantations that my mind responded to on an E.S.P. kind of level.

The seat I was sitting on dissolved like desert sands made of a delicate, sherbet-like substance, and I fell through time and space, like a feather weighted with a million tiny gold particles. My eyes blinked, and with each reopening, a new colour came into existence, colours never hitherto perceived by the human eye.

And so on and so forth all the way to Town Hall.

This, kids, is why you don't sit next to a woman who's painting her nails.

A Life Lived In Fear

..Is no life at all. You must stand tall in the face of looming threat in order to count yourself worthy. This is a point I've tried to convince E of.

We've spotted a few cockroaches in our new place, which is no surprise. But one time E spotted one on, or very close to, our toothbrushes. This sent her into a lock down frenzy. Toothpaste went into cabinets. Toothbrushes were squeezed into those plastic travel cases. An army stood outside the castle walls, and my wife armoured up, drew the drawbridge and went and hid in the tower.

I on the other hand, have gone bravely out to war, bold and unafraid, meeting the enemy on the plains. They tremble at my trumpet blast. I will not live my life in fear. I refuse to have my toothbrush in a travel case, as though I am a mere visitor on my own (rented) land. And besides, E was jamming two toothbrushes into one case, and my bristles got all mangled and crooked after the first night.

Unacceptable.

So while the wife and kids go off to into their little shells, trembling through the night, my boy lays out in the open, bristles up, exposed to all manner of night visitations. Brazen? Yes. He dares anyone to mess with him. Bring it. BRING IT!

You know what my toothbrush is like? Canada. Across the way, there's ol' America locking it's doors and windows, sleeping with one eye open due to high crime rates, while Canada is just over yonder, sleeping easy, with doors and windows unlocked. Show them you are afraid, and they will sense it and seek you out.

Look the monster in the eye. Meet it blow for blow. Don't give him any ground. If in times of trouble you turn to the travel toothbrush case, the battle is already lost.

I shall fight them in the kitchens.
I shall fight them in the bathrooms.
I shall never surrender.

The Quiz

1. The worst smell in the world

2. An embarrassing CD in your collection

3. What's your desktop picture?

4. Someone you'd like to meet

5. What would be the title of your autobiography?