Unhungry

It has been drawn to my attention that people often eat when they are hungry, and in many cases, are lucky because their hunger coincides with meal times. Believe it or not, I was surprised to learn this. I thought about this for a while and have come to realize that I don't eat because I'm hungry; I eat because it's time to eat. I eat because it's breakfast time, or lunch time, or dinner time, regardless how hungry or full I feel.

Because I eat so regularly, I'm hardly ever hungry. It also means that being unhungry is not an impediment to me eating a full meal. It's probably one of these tragedies of modern life, when the act of eating is disassociated with hunger.

I also think that this is why I have trouble recognizing when I am actually hungry. I remember once saying to Damjan, "My tummy feels funny."

"Does it hurt?" Damjan asked.

"No... It doesn't hurt. It just feels strange."

"Try eating some food," he suggested. So I ate some bread.

"Oh!" I was surprised. "That feels better. I must have been hungry."

The opposite problem happened on Friday. I sent an email to Damjan complaining that I was really hungry but had to wait half an hour for lunch. At last, 12:30 PM arrived and I could eat some food at the office's Spring Carnival lunch. I honestly thought that the food would alleviate my discomfit, as it did last time -- but it didn't! I kept eating and still, my tummy was unsettled. I'm not sure what the problem was. I only felt better by the end of the work day.

It looks like I still have to learn to recognize my hunger cues.

I'm wai...ting in the rain, just wai...ting in the rain

I called the taxi company when I finished my site work at Altona North.

"The next available taxi will pick you up in front of the property," said Donna.

Twenty-five minutes later, I fumbled with my phone while holding an umbrella and called the taxi company again.

"I'll get onto it," Dierdre assured me. "I'll keep an eye on your booking. The taxi should be there in 20 to 25 minutes. Give us a call if it's not there."

I waited 23 minutes. The wind had blown my umbrella inside out a few times already. I couldn't wait the two minutes. I called again.

"Joan, is it?" Ahmad asked. "According to the queue, the driver has already picked someone up, I'm sorry. There's another taxi in the northern suburbs. Do you mind holding? I can find out how far away he is... ... ... He's 9 km away. If no one comes in 10 minutes, please call us back straight away."

The taxi arrived after five minutes, three phone calls and an hour of misery.

Elizabeth and Joan

Last night, I saw the new Pride & Prejudice film at the cinema. I enjoyed it. I will buy the soundtrack.

This morning, as I was walking to the station, I imagined that Elizabeth Bennett was walking beside me and that I was going to show her what it is like being a young woman in 2006.

Elizabeth had a lot of questions, as you can imagine.

"Where are we going today, Joan?"

"I'm going to work. Most people nowadays go to work or go to school. I work as an engineer."

"What do engineers do?"

"Engineers use science to solve problems. For example..." I tried to think of an example that would be understood readily. "There isn't enough water for everyone so engineers help find ways to share water around or make more water."

"Not enough water! How?"

"There are a lot more people these days, Elizabeth."

I live in a typical suburb, another house every 30 metres. I explained that in Melbourne, most people lived in suburbs.

"These areas are always quiet in the day time. People live here but during the day, they travel somewhere else for work or school. We're going to the city." As I said this, I imagined the waves of people flowing between the suburbs and the city, then back again, day after day. I shook my head. It must seem strange and unnecessary to someone who lives on an estate that generates its own employment.

She marvelled at the cars but remarked how noisy they were.

"There's not much grass, Joan," she said. "I suppose the space is needed for roads."

"We do have have beautiful places still -- parks and forests and mountains. I hope I can show you some of the nice places today."

It was difficult to explain the overhead power lines. The way I explained electricity to her, it must seem like magic. "People make electricity elsewhere, far away. The electricity travels through the lines to each house. We can then use it to make light, make things move, to heat things up or cool them down. I guess the lines do spoil the sky a little. In some places, we put the lines underground but you get used to seeing overhead lines."

We caught the train. The train, to her, was like a giant car where strangers would pour in and take seats beside each other. She didn't mention it but I could see her curiosity and surprise at the sight of men sitting down while women stood up.

She found the variety in clothing and fashion fascinating. "All the women wear pants!" she exclaimed.

"We find it more comfortable."

"I wish I could do that at home."

"Many girls still wear skirts. The skirts can get quite short." I nodded at a group of school girls, whose skirts were hiked up above their knees. "Don't worry. You are dressed more unusually than most but no one will say anything. People dress however they like."

We arrived in the city and looking at it anew, I noticed that the city isn't all that much different to the suburbs. The buildings are taller, there are more people, but it's the same concrete around, pavement and bitumen, piped music and announcements, shops selling food (I had a go at explaining parking signs to her). I was a little embarrassed by the sameness of it because I had wanted to show Elizabeth something different.

I'm not sure what she made of my office. I meant take her to one of the parks at lunch time but I was caught up talking to workmates. By the time I left work this evening, I realized that I hadn't left the concrete jungle all day.

Even with all our impressive technology, I felt apologetic. I had shown my visitor from the 19th century nothing beautiful today. I get the feeling she might have concluded that 2005 wasn't much of an improvement on 1813 (except for the pants). And it really should have been.

Maybe I could have done a better job of being a tour guide if I had a few more days.

Having an imaginary visitor made me look at my daily routine and surroundings with fresh eyes. The outcome was unexpectedly unfavourable. I really am surprised.

One day, I'll be able to sell my soul

In our line of work, the most senior of the technical consultants are engaged by clients as expert witnesses in court cases and tribunals. We charge double time for this because it's an extremely stressful job. Dr Peter, one of my mentors, is a world-acknowledged expert in his particular field of environmental work, yet on the witness stand, lawyers have attacked his credibility. Peter told me about one case where his client had a technically unassailable case, which the prosecution could not match. The prosecuting lawyer chose not to question the technical merits of the analysis and instead, proceeded to attack Peter's professional and personal character. The aim was to cast doubt on Peter's competency and integrity.

In the end, our client lost that case.

"Do you think this was fair? Did the judge choose the correct outcome?" I asked Peter.

He considered my question. "No," he said after a while. "I don't think it was the right decision."

At work, there are sometimes flyers in the tea room advertising training workshops on how to be an expert witness. It really is something you have to train for. You have to learn to manoeuvre yourself out of the traps that are set for you. You have to know which laws and regulations to memorise. You have to learn to play a game you have no experience in.

Yesterday, I came across Intota, a website where you can hire expert witnesses in particular fields. For example, check out this expert in 'Industrial Ventilation System Engineering for Dust and Vapor Control'. It seems like a useful service and maybe one day, I'll be good enough to be an expert witness. The risk with this kind of thing is that maybe you can hire experts to say anything you want.

Would you like ginko biloba with that?

My team leader, Paul, decided to leave the office and buy some juice as a mid-afternoon "pick-me-up". He waved for the attention of the Feeling Fruity attendant.

"Hi. I'd like a regular juice. Just raspberry, thanks." Paul liked raspberries. He could feel a bit of a cold coming on and raspberries were reputed to have antibacterial properties.

"Raspberries," acknowledged the attendant. "Do you want lemon sorbet or lime sorbet?"

"Just raspberries, please. By itself." Paul said patiently.

"Ice cream or low fat yogurt?"

"Just raspberries," Paul repeated.

"Any boosters? Ginko biloba? Wheatgrass?"

"Just raspberries!"

"Would you like apple juice with that?"

Annoyed, Paul said, "Just -- " Then he stopped. "Yeah... Okay... Apple juice would be nice."

"That'll be $4.50, please."

Will dance for food

After celebrating Jon's birthday at a Chinese restaurant in Fitzroy, we ventured out in search of more entertainment. Our gang of thirteen linked arms and descended upon Brunswick Street. Brunswick Street on a a busy Saturday night is full of buskers, people bar hopping, café lounging, and cruising around in hotted up cars.

"Trampoline is nearby! Let's get ice-cream!"

As we approached the ice-cream store, Carlo started jumping up and down excitedly. "It's the Nutbush!" he cried. "They're playing the Nutbush!"

Sure enough, the opening bars of Tina Turner's 1970s classic was filtering through the store speakers and onto the thronging footpath. It truly was as if the God of Night Time Hilarity was smiling upon us.

Carlo leapt onto one of the wooden platform stools at the front of the store. "Five! Six! Five, six, seven, eight! Right foot, right! Left! Left! Back! Back..."

Being the shameless dancesport people that we are, there was no question of joining in. Immediately, we were doing the Nutbush in front of Trampoline. The sight of a large group of people dancing on Brunswick Street obviously was not a common one because soon a crowd had gathered to gape. We were joined by a Trampoline staff member and one of the more inspired audience members.

Rounds and rounds of the Nutbush went by. People across the street were taking photos. Cars slowed down to watch the commotion. What fun! What silliness!

But all good things must come to an end and when the song faded, we cheered and high-fived each other.

Just when we thought it was all over, another store assistant bounced out of Trampoline holding two huge cups of ice-cream with a dozen wooden paddle sticks stuck into them like echidna spines.

"Thanks guys! That was fantastic!" she enthused and handed us our ice-cream reward.

"Wow! Thank you!" Elated, we dug into our unexpectedly free dessert. Mmm...Raspberry, mango, cookies and cream, and chocolate...

Sorry KR, no personality for you

While I was walking yesterday morning, I spotted a small scrap of white in a garden bed beside the footpath. I was in a hurry so I bent down and scooped it up. As I continued walking, I looked at it. It was a bunny rabbit toy, covered in loose soil and twigs. I brushed the twigs away and it revealed a cute, clean, soft Mashimaro (aka "half-eaten marshmallow").

Now usually, I'm not at all inspired by Japanese/Korean toons but Korean Rabbit is just soooo cute! If it was any less cute, I'd give him away but I'm going to keep him. I like patting his head and pushing his ears back. He fits nicely in my hand when I wrap my palm around its head.

My brother and I grew up with soft toys. Our 'Cutie Family' includes seven smurfs, Tweety and Sylvester Junior. There are some distant relatives in the form of Kiwi toys (the fruit, not the bird or human variety). All our toys have back stories, personalities and voices. Jason and I don't like getting new toys because it's a lot of effort integrating them into the family. We have to invent personalities and introduce them to the others with appropriate histories. The last addition to the family was Liddle Smurf, who turned out to be a cunning, nasty piece of work. He's always picking on Big Smurf (who is unfortunately a bit slow), bouncing on his tummy.

I don't think Korean Rabbit will be joining the Cutie Family. I'll just keep him separate and use him as a sort of stress ball. Sorry KR, no personality for you.

I love bubble wrap

I love bubble wrap. I love the potentiality of it. I like to gently touch the pads of my fingertips on the lightly textured air-filled rounds. I even kind of like the frustration of not being able to pop any of them because I have to use the bubbles to wrap the DVD I made so that it can be safely couriered overnight to Brisbane.

I'll keep my stupid promises

I heard Grinspoon's "Better off alone" on the radio today and I was winded by the memory of the video clip, which I saw many months ago.

The song is about breaking up. Of course, the video clip has nothing to do with this. However, it affected me greatly when I watched it. I was washing the dishes on Saturday morning and I became transfixed by the TV. I had to stop my washing.

There's a young man and woman in a car. They crash into a lake and by the time they regain consciousness, the car is filling with water. They're panicking. The woman manages to unbuckle herself from the seat. The man struggles. He can't undo the seatbelt. She tries to help. Together, they fight the black strip but they can't undo it. He is going to drown. It becomes clear that if she is to survive, she must leave the car and the man now. She doesn't leave. She sits back in her seat and holds his hand. They're terrified and holding hands as the water rises and their faces are pressed against the roof of the car.

That's the end of it.

Something about the song (which itself is very expressive) reminds me of the intensity of the feelings in that clip. It's a stupid video. I can't believe that there was no way of getting him out and on an intellectual level, I know that the woman should have left.

Yet, she would have been so brave to stay, so giving. Surely she would have lessened his terror and loneliness of dying. I would have admired her. No one would know what she had sacrificed.

Anyway. It makes me think.

Super Nanny Joan

On Sunday, I got to live out all my dictatorship fantasies. I was the Chief Marshal (ie. Head Mother Hen) at our dance school concerts. This was not a trivial exercise. For ten hours, my job was to manage backstage, make sure each act was ready to be onstage as soon as the previous act had finished. There were about 120 acts all together. I coordinated costume changes, kept the hallways clear and quiet, dealt with a battle of the sexes in the change rooms and catfighting between students from rival campuses.

I marshalled teenagers, pensioners, teachers and kids. The most difficult group to organise, by far, were the pre-schoolers. Such tiny cute little girls in pink tutus, so chubby and wide-eyed but GRRRR drove me up the wall. They kept talking and crying and moving around.

"Sssh... Stay still, I have to tuck in your shoelaces," I'd say. "Ssssshhh, please be quiet!" I would come down to their level and look them in the eye (hey, I've seen Super Nanny, I know the score). The little pre-schooler would bite her little lip and nod and I'd think, "Thank God, she's being quiet!" and ten seconds later, they'd all start crawling around and crying for mummy.

On Sunday, for the first time in my life, I wanted to be violent. I was furious at a certain teacher, younger than myself.

"Please keep behind this line," I told her, while she was waiting in the wings. "The audience can see you there." She stepped back a little then a minute later, she's past the line again. At first, I thought it was an accident. "Step back please!" I reminded her. And it happened again. This went on about three times before I finally twigged. She was doing it deliberately. She looked at me, seeing if I was going to say anything. The next group of students waiting to go onstage watched the challenge. ARGH. I couldn't believe it. What could I do? She was undermining my authority. I couldn't tell her off in front of the students without undermining her authority.

I clenched my fist. I imagined punching her in the face and pushing her down the stairs. It would feel so good. I've never had violent thoughts about anyone before. It felt weird. I can feel the anger now, actually.

So I did nothing. I looked past her and said nothing. I couldn't tell the other students to step back or be quiet while she was there, blatantly flouting the rules. I wanted her to go away. Eventually she did and I was able to get back to my job.

Cheese!

At the dance social on Friday night, we were standing with partners in a huge (30 m diameter) circle, listening to the teacher Tim. I was giddy. Everything seemed fascinating. Without realising it, I was repeating the key word of each sentence that came out of the Tim's mouth.

"Change partners, everyone!" Tim would say.

"New partners!" I'd say.

"That was fantastic! You guys are great!" said Tim.

"Great!"

"The music's very fast. It's a challenge for you all," enthused Tim.

"Challenge!"

"And now we're going to add something so we can make it more cheesy!" Tim announced.

"Cheese!" I cried. At that moment, the room had been silent. Everyone had heard my excited "Cheese!" They started laughing at me.

"Joan loves cheese," they were all informed. "She's from the rival uni." ("What a freak!")

Cheese!

Lecture debut

A friend told me that she has just made her lecture debut. She muttered a comment and when the lecturer asked her to repeat it louder, she obliged -- and was surprised when everyone laughed. This is unusual behaviour for her. Despite the success of her lecture debut, she reckons she'll go back to being quiet now.

My first ever lecture at uni was a 10 AM maths lecture. Being first years on our first day, the lecture theatre was full by 9:55 AM. Students sat quietly in their seats, staring straight ahead at the empty blackboard, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

By 10:20 AM, the lecturer still hadn't shown up. A rumour started circulating: If a lecturer hadn't come 15 minutes after the scheduled starting time, you could leave. But, you know, it's scary being a first year on your first day. It was almost 10:30 AM when, after looking around uncertainly, we decided that the lecturer probably wasn't going to come.

I got up with my bag, walked to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk and carefully drew a dinosaur.


I call him Dippy (for diplodocus). I've been drawing him since Grade 2 (now I've drawn him for my 300th blog post!).

I put the chalk down, dusted off my hands and skipped out of the door.

Big weekend

The big weekend has begun.

This evening, I went to a swing dance social. I managed to get six work colleagues to come with me. One of them, Laura, is an engineer on secondment in Melbourne from our Dubai office (and she's originally from Scotland). Another, Katsuki, is an exchange engineer from Japan.

(Aside: There is a myriad of cultures in our office. David was telling me about one of the Dutch engineers. "The Dutch," he said, "they're always mixing English and their own language. Have you met Franz? A really great guy. I was talking to him about getting some plans revised and he said, 'Don't worry, we'll do this arse up.' He did a double take and, with a stricken look on his face, he said, 'I'm sorry! That was in Dutch!' Apparently, he meant 'ASAP'!")

Tomorrow night, I'm going to the Amnesty International Stand Up For Your Rights Comedy Gala to support a good cause, a good friend or two and to have a good laugh.

On Sunday, I will spend ten hours at a high school theatre because my dance studio is having its annual concert. I'm in six items and have at least that many sets of costumes to bring (including an afro). I have volunteered to shepherd the performers into order as each item is to be performed because I have a loud voice and I'm not afraid to use it. Besides, the disorganisation of last year nearly drove me nuts.

My cold is still lingering. The evolution of a cold seems to be:

1. Itchy throat
   
2. Sore throat
   
3. Runny nose
   
4. Coughing

I'm at the coughing stage. My dad is probably about to enter stage 4 and my mum has just finished stage 2.

Boogie to the woogie

Cold + hot food

I can't taste my lunch at all, such is the encompassing nature of my cold.

*sniff*

Taller than your average

"Joel, are you tall?"

"I'm tall average."

Vera and I stare at him blankly.

"You know. Like upper middle class."

How to keep a boyfriend -- slow version

Now that you have got a boyfriend, you need to figure out how to keep him (and whether or not you should keep him).

The start of a relationship is a special time. You bound towards the door when the doorbell rings. His text messages make you sigh happily. He does crazy hedonistic things like take you to the airport.

Harry: You take someone to the airport, it's clearly the beginning of a relationship. That's why I have never taken anyone to the airport at the beginning of a relationship.

Sally: Why?

Harry: Because eventually things move on and you don't take someone to the airport, and I never wanted anyone to say to me, how come you never take me to the airport anymore?

Sally: It's amazing, you look like a normal person but actually you're the angel of death.

-- When Harry Met Sally

Well, I have some advice that is at least as useful as Mr Harry Burns's.

Firstly, if he hasn't made it clear already, ask, "Will you do me the honour of being my boyfriend?" That way, you have a definite date for future anniversaries.

Talk about your previous relationships. Come on, we all know we're interested. You can either leave him hanging in curiosity or you can both act like adults and agree to spill all.

Tell each other the one thing that you need for this relationship to work. Good ones include:

• "I want us to be a social couple. I don't like those couples who shut themselves off from friends. At dance socials, I'll dance with lots of people. At a party, I want us to be able to talk to other people."

or

• "I think it's important for us to communicate. I'd like to know what you are thinking and when you feel unhappy -- and when you are happy too. No topic should be off limits."

Promise to honour these commitments.

Do not be performing monkeys for each other. Don't force yourself to entertain him, be witty, be talented, pretend you're interested in his boring hobbies. Don't smile when you feel like crying. It will wear you out eventually. Being a performing monkey will wear you out.

Take it easy on the physical side of things. Let each step happen naturally. Be surprised and delighted as you go from hug, to hand-holding to kissing. Have twenty bases.

Don't be scared of his parents.

Finally, don't judge your relationship against society's expectations of a "normal" relationship. Don't worry if you don't see him as often as other couples see each other. Don't let your friends convince you to be angry that he doesn't drive you everywhere. If he comes back from overseas/interstate/camp and doesn't call you straight away, don't let your family wear you down into a suspicious second-guessing mess.

The only yardstick by which you should measure your relationship is your own. If you are content, then you don't need to listen to anyone else.

The next instalment will discuss how you can grow your relationship past the romance stage. See you then!