Send in the big guns

Jamie walked into the house and found me and Erin slumped in the living area.

"How's it going, team?" he asked, with the cheerfulness of someone who has just had a great workout at the gym.

"Mission failed," I announced. Erin and I, too, had visited the gym. Erin was up in Shepparton until the end of September. I had taken Erin to the gym this evening, hoping to get her on the 'No worries, no commitments' deal Jamie and I were on. If anyone could do this, it was me, champion negotiator, super mediator.

"Failed?" Jamie said, surprised.

"Yeah," said Erin. "The reception lady said that deal was only for people who did the '$40 for 40 days' special. She said I could get a 12 visit pass. It costs $116!" Jamie and I were paying $51 per month.

"We didn't even take it lying down," I added glumly. "I asked her if there was anything she could do. 'We're only here for a month,' I told her. 'It's join or not join.' "

"What did she say?" Jamie asked.

"She said that she couldn't do anything. The prices are set by the council and she'll get in trouble if they see she's changed the prices," Erin said. "I guess she can't help it. It's not her fault. Oh, well. I'll just jog around the lake or something."

"Yeah, that's a shame..." Jamie said absently. "Maybe I'll try talking to Mel when we next see her." Mel was a friendly receptionist that Jamie and I sometimes chatted to in the evenings.

The following night, I had just finished washing the dishes and had wandered to the living room to see what was on TV. The front door opened.

"Hi guys." Jamie was back from his evening gym workout.

"How'd it go?"

"Yeah, okay," Jamie looked vaguely dissatisfied. "I'm keeping off the legs a little. They're still feeling a bit tight." He peered around to see what TV show was on.

"Did you get to talk to Mel?" I said idly.

He brightened. "Girls, our troubles are over."

Erin sat up "I can join?"

"Here are your free gym passes for the next week…" Jamie slapped down four or five bright blue squares of paper. "...and Erin can take over Joan's gym membership when Joan leaves after next week."

We gaped at him.

"And, if we show up on the right night, you won't even need to pay the transfer fee!"

Erin and I started laughing. "What?! How -- ?"

"Cheerio," Jamie said as he bounced out of the room.

The Spider and the Doorknob

"There's a giant spider," I called as I was pulling the bathroom door shut behind me. "Oh!" I cried.

"What's wrong?" came Erin's voice from around the corner. "Did the spider jump up?"

"No," I said, puzzled. "I just broke the doorknob...and I'm bleeding." I examined the doorknob. It was made of some sort of ceramic and had sheared off at the neck.

Jamie came around. "You are bleeding! Are you okay?"

"There's a bit of blood but it's a small cut. Look at this!" I handed the snapped doorknob to him. "How weird is that?"

"Yeah, that is a bit strange!" Jamie put his finger on the stump of the doorknob left on the door. I kept my eye on the spider less than a metre away.

"God! It's cut me too!" Jamie exclaimed. He showed me the thin red lines of blood on his index finger and thumb. "That's a bloody razor blade! I barely touched it."

"We'd better fix it up so no one else gets cut."

For a while, Jamie and I debated about the best method for removing the stump or sealing the door. In the mean time, Erin had gone into the bathroom, come out and wrapped a face towel around the stump.

"How's that?" she asked.

Jamie and I stopped in surprise.

"Yeah." Jamie nodded appreciatively. "That'll do it."

We all stood there marvelling at her handiwork.

Do they know something we don't know?

I live in a nice neighbourhood. The houses are big and gardens are tidy. However, if you visit now, it's starting to look like a ghetto. There's rubbish on all the lawns: old furniture, dead computers, carpets and cardboard boxes. You can feel it in the air -- it's Hard Rubbish Day!

The first piles of junk started appearing about two weeks ago. It began with just one or two items.

"What's going on?" mum and dad asked. "Is Hard Rubbish Day coming? How come we didn't get a notice about it?"

In the next week, piles of junk appeared in front of more houses.

"Do they know something we don't know?" We were bewildered. Finally, we caved into social pressure and assembled our own pile in front of the house. Our pile has big branches, an old toilet and a broken cupboard.

You've got to keep up with the Joneses.

It might have been a coincidence

I was sitting in the car at an intersection. There was a group of eight young people mucking around at the corner. One guy had a girl by the waist and swung her around. Some were chasing each other around, while others chatted.

They wore normal teenage clothing -- jeans, t-shirts, jumpers -- but it struck me they were all wearing the same shade of grey. It might have been a coincidence, that the eight of them were wearing white, denim blue, black and that grey. But there were no other colours.

Then I saw one of them bouncing a big yoga ball. It was the same shade of grey too.

Fw: Maths slides

This email was making the rounds at work. The engineers and scientists laughed and laughed. We can relate to the stupidity and frustration.

What I did today

Jamie and I woke up early to go to the gym.

Then we went to work for my 9 AM phone interview. Forty-five minutes later, the interview finished and we rushed to the car. We had a lunch time appointement two hours away at Cairn Curran. Jamie drove quite fast.

While Jamie interviewed the boss at Cairn Curran, I had two Peters show me around. I was there to audit the site's environmental compliance. I took photos with my big camera.

We were very late by the time we wrapped up. We grabbed lunch at another country bakery (the sixth one I've visited) and made our way on the windy road to Eppalock. It took less than an hour. Jamie really is a good driver.

At Eppalock, I did another site inspection. Jamie talked to another guy.

Then it was time for the two hour trip back to Melbourne. We skipped the Heathcote Bakery (been there, done that) because we were running late. Again. Jamie is rarely able to get to his Thursday footy training on time.

I dropped Jamie off and drove further along to get home. Mum had a delicious hot meal for me. I did homework. Now I'm blogging. Why am I blogging? Blogging is my friend.

Core dump

I'm tired and there's lots of homework to do. I've got one month to go. Oh my God. That's so soon. Damn, I need to finish these assignments.

Sorry. Tired.

Durian Durian

Yesterday, Damjan was introduced to the durian, a shy tropical fruit that defends itself from predators with its spikes and its fragrance.

Regarding spikes, I offered Damjan use of my steel-capped boots. Industrial-strength protective footwear is recommended to those who frequently handle durian and jackfruit, like greengrocers.

Regarding its fragrance, Wikipedia has some graphic descriptions. The fine city of Singapore has banned durians on its public transport. I was on the Paris Metro once and smelled a durian-like smell. People around me were complaining about the odour. I didn't mind it so much because it made me think of tropical fruit.

As for its flavour? Mum and dad love it. Many people are addicted. Our first time taster, Damjan, says that there is a coffee aftertaste.

He said, "The flavour's really complex. I think it's an acquired taste."

I asked, "Do you want to acquire it?"

He said, "Sure!"

Damjan likes food.

One person's nightmare...

...is another person's fantasy.

Wikinews - Man falls into 70 gallons of chocolate

Censusless

I was really looking forward to filling in a form for the five-yearly Australian census. You have no idea how much I love forms.

I was in Shepparton on August 8. Jamie, Erin and I were going to have a census party. We were a household.

The form never showed up in our letterbox. It wasn't even under the doormat. Perhaps it was because we live in a serviced apartment. Yet, when our hosts dropped by for a chat the next day, they told us that guests staying in the other apartments were given forms.

I was crushed.

I particpated in a telephone survey this morning but even that couldn't ameliorate the pain of losing my census.

Hello World

An Indian village of 1753 residents uploads itself to the internet.

Visitors to Hansdehar village's Web site (www.smartvillages.org) can see the names, jobs and other details of its 1753 residents, browse photographs of their shops and read detailed specifications about their drainage and electricity facilities...

In preparation, Jasvir Singh, 21, has hired what is only the second computer in the village to learn to type. He says he can do 25 words a minute and is getting faster...

Few villagers had much of an idea about the Internet, but Singh was soon able to explain the fundamentals.

Pick any Bollywood actress, he told them in a slideshow presentation, and you can access hundreds of photographs of her...

Hazoor Singh, a local maths teacher, will have space on the Web site to publish his forthcoming paper, in which he describes parallels between the nature of God and mathematical set theory.

And at least one young bachelor said he would start browsing for a potential wife.

Well worth reading.

I don't have time for this

My old worries have come back with a vengeance.

For my previous Negotiation subject, I had to pick a conflict I wanted to deal with. I chose to negotiate with my boss to get the company to pay for my next subject. I did well out of it -- the company agreed to pay for half the course fees and 2.5 days training time.

One of the things I agreed to do in return is to write my assessment piece (3000 word paper) for the client that I'm currently working for in Shepparton. I was happy to do this; there are some good disputes to write about here. The trick was making sure the paper would be useful to the client and also meet the academic requirements of my university.

Everything was a bit more urgent, though. The paper is due in October. I wanted to submit it by mid-September before I go to England.

Being the good girl that I am, I started scoping the paper out early. I spoke to the client. I consulted with the lecturer by phone and in person. I drafted a proposal for my company.

Then, as I was filling out the research proposal for the university, I saw a tickbox that asked, 'Does this research require ethics committee approval?'

What's ethics committee approval?

My lecturer told me that you need ethics committee approval if you're going to get information from people for your research. I was going to interview my client, of course.

"Erm. It sounds like you're going to need ethics committee approval, Joan," he said.

"Okay... How long does that take?"

"Quite a long time, I think."

Crap.

"If it's about two weeks, I'll wait for it," I said. "If it's any longer, I have to think seriously about changing my topic and reneging on my deal with my company and the client."

"Let me check with our department's representative on the ethics committee."

And while that was happening, I emailed my college at Cambridge to find out why, with only 1.5 months to go, they still hadn't made me a room offer. I needed somewhere to live.

Dear Joan,

Thank you for your email.

We are just awaiting confirmation from the Board of Graduate Studies before being able to confirm your offer and therefore allocate accommodation.

Oh no...

The Board of Graduate Studies won't enrol me until they get a letter from my current university to say that I have finished all my assessment. Until I submit that final essay, I won't be officially enrolled and I won't have a place to live.

My current uni lecturer emailed me back to say that the ethics committee say that it usually takes four weeks for research applications to get approved or knocked back.

AAAAAAAAARRRRGH!

I don't bloody have time for this!

WAAAAH!

I feel even worse because I have to break promises to lots of people.

And now I have to work like a demon to get all my assessment done. I don't want to fly to England without being enrolled at university or college.

Banana (rare 100% Australian Grown!!)

On eBay: Banana (rare 100% Australian Grown!!)

I first came across this item in today's News.com article Man goes bananas over rate.

The seller writes:

This particular banana was purchased on Wednesday 02 August 06 in Sydney, however following the interest rate rise that morning and the subsequent impact on my credit card, I am no longer in a position to financially support the purchase.

As can be seen in the photo(s) the banana is quite a pleasant shade of yellow, with green tinges suggesting that it should survive another week or so.

Currently, the highest bid is $30.

One million yuan

I met Greg in my Dispute Resolution class. He's a high school teacher. His dad is a retired school principal and mum is a retired nurse.

He was telling me about a life-changing experience. Jill, another person in our class, had led a three week trip to China. On this trip, he and about thirty other teachers saw the huge need for teachers and resources in the Chinese education system.

When Greg got home, he persuaded his newly retired parents to spend six months teaching in China. When they agreed, he organised for them to go over.

Greg tells me that the Chinese and Australian education systems are very different. I suspected this already. He explained that the systems have developed to meet the different needs of the countries. In China, there are so many people and the competition is so fierce that schools are highly disciplined. Students do not question the teacher. The emphasis is on rote learning.

Greg's parents found this to be an alien environment but they did their best to adapt. Greg's father is an English teacher. One Friday, in an effort to encourage creative thinking in his Grade 5 students, he set them an assignment: "You have won one million yuan. How will you spend your weekend?"

One million yuan is about AU$160 000. One million yuan is about 125 times what the average urban dweller in China would earn in a year. It's a lot of money.

On Monday, the students submitted their essays. Something interesting had happened. Greg tells me that 95% of students had described their normal weekends. They did their homework, saw friends, went to the movies. Oh, some of them bought some extra DVDs and computer games but that was it.

What does this mean?

Apparently, the most creative response was from a small boy who wrote that he would spend his one million yuan on grenades and guns. He wanted to go to Iraq to fight the Americans.

An Australian treat

I've been visiting country bakeries. I'd say 20% of the reason I put my hand up for this job in Shepparton was because I wanted to buy baked goods from small country towns.

One of our favourites is the Nagambie Bakery. We've tried their apple cakes, carrot cakes, iced coffees, hot chocolates, foccacias and pizza bread, roast beef sandwiches, vanilla slices...

One day, Jamie recommended a particular sweet. It had a biscuit base, a lemon/vanilla cream cheese type-filling and a layer of red jelly.

"That's a jelly slice, Joan," Jamie said. "A great Australian treat. You've never had one? You should definitely try it, then."

So we bought the jelly slice and it was, indeed, a treat.

That weekend when I got home from Shepparton, my mum and dad told me that Aunt Tuty was coming for dinner. Aunt Tuty grew up and studied in Indonesia. She came to Australia to do a Masters in Information Technology. She met a nice Australian bloke called Graham and they got married and bought a house in suburban Melbourne.

"Hello Joan," Aunt Tuty said when she arrived. "How are you? When are you off overseas?" She was carrying a large white tray with a semi-transparent lid.

"What's in there, Aunty?" I asked.

"I don't know what it's called," she said. She placed it on the kitchen bench and lifted the lid. "Graham's mother taught me how to make it. It's very yummy and easy to make too."

I looked inside to see an ordered array of cake squares with red jelly tops.

"I know what they are!" I cried. "Jelly slices! I had one the other day!"

"Jelly slices," Aunt Tuty repeated. "Probably. I think Australians like them."

Refugees from Platform 4

I was reading on the train as it went through the City Loop.

"The next station is Parliament," chirped the loudspeaker. The train started slowing down. I thought it was odd; it seemed too early for it to be slowing down. Wasn't it further between Melbourne Central and Parliament?

The train stopped. I looked out the window and saw the grey of concrete walls, the walls of a dimly lit tunnel. We had indeed stopped well before Parliament station.

The train lights flickered briefly and then went off. Only the emergency lights remained.

The carriage of late night travellers was quiet. Some people leaned into the little light there was so that they could continue reading. The woman next to me was reading Wuthering Heights. I was re-reading Getting to Yes.

We sat in silence and semi-darkness for ten minutes. There was a low grinding sound as the train strained foward. Then it stopped. It seemed to have given up. Then it grinded forward again. And stopped. Again, it tried and failed.

Suddenly, the emergency lights were extinguished.

We were now sitting in complete darkness. Everyone had put down their books and newspapers, pulled off their headphones and turned off their laptops. We looked at each other.

Another five minutes passed.

Finally, the emergency lights flickered back on again. There was a new sound. It swelled into a loud whirring. It sounded like the train was starting again. It was! It was moving!

I opened my book again.

The train trundled slowly to Parliament, where it was greeted by a large crowd of waiting commuters. The train was twenty minutes late.

The doors whooshed open and the first of the crowd stepped in but everyone was stopped by the loudspeaker.

"All passengers on Platform 4. Due to a defective train between Melbourne Central and Parliament... the train on Platform 4... will not be taking passengers. There will be no trains leaving from Platform 4..."

A murmur of confusion began. The loudspeaker voice also paused, seemingly uncertain.

"Passengers for Belgrave, Lilydale, Alamein and Glen Waverley, please board the next train on Platform 2 and change at Richmond."

I let the crowd pour me out of the train and nudge me up to Platform 2. Platform 2 was jam packed with people positioning themselves to get onto the first train. I felt sorry for the normal Platform 2 travellers who were being displaced by the refugees from Platform 4.

Some passengers started joking with each other.

We had waited only five minutes when there was another announcement.

"All passengers, the train on Platform 4..." There was a long hesitation. "...The defective train on Platform 4 has now been rectified. And will be departing shortly."

I joined the collective sigh of disbelief and once again, the crowd of dozens, maybe a hundred, piled onto the escalators. Like a mass of human treacle, the refugees from Platform 4 flowed down to home base.

With a sense of mutual suffering, we folded ourselves into the carriage, making use of the space like bricks in a Tetris game. The doors beeped, closed, and the train resumed its journey.