Overdue

It's August 11th, and baby has not yet arrived. I will have words with the courier about this. Tomorrow I will be 41 weeks pregnant, which is intolerable. I've been on maternity leave for almost 6 weeks now and am bored out of my brain. However, I lack the energy to do anything with my time other than take showers and naps. Tomorrow we are going to the doctor to talk about getting me induced.

I did manage to get out of the house today to waddle around Toys R Us for a bit (note that I said this was Toys R Us, purveyor of quality products for kids and babies - not some cheapo dollar store full of crap made in Taiwan). And I saw this:


Surely they are implying that any "little angle" that wears these booties is acute baby!!

Sorry. The 41 week old bump where my flat stomach used to be has done strange things to my sense of humour.

Your Essential Guide to Surviving Baz Luhrmann's `Australia'

From Cinetopia, Jim Schembri, November 28, 2008

You've been hearing about it for over a year. You've read the stories, seen the ads, watched the interviews, downloaded the promos, heard the gossip - but now the moment of truth has arrived. It's finally time for you to join your fellow citizens and dutifully file into the nearest multiplex to bear witness to the epic cinematic masterpiece that is definitely not Baz Luhrmann's Australia.

To help you through the ordeal here is a quick checklist of items to take in with you:

A Handful of No Doz: That first hour can be really tough to get through. These should help perk you up.

Large Oriental Hand Fan: In the camp-fire scene where Hugh Jackman pulls off his shirt to reveal the kind of ripped torso you usually see only in high-end gay porn you're going to need some air circulation quick smart to keep you from swooning.

Small Plastic Beach Bucket: To catch any drool resulting from the same scene.

Keep Reading

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Cake Wrecks

I have a new blog to add to my list of breakfast reading material. Cake wrecks. We've all seen badly decorated cakes, but have you seen anything this bad before? If yes, you should consider submitting a photo - but I won't be pleased if I see my wedding cake on there, y'hear?.

The cake wrecks come in various forms. From the beautifully made but kinda strange:

The downright disturbing (I ask myself what kind of parties these cakes were made for):

Those, where the professional decorator isn't very clever:

And cakes that are just plain ugly:

Putting survival of the fittest in to practice

I was rofling for hours after I read this on RogerEbert.com:

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The breeding properties of M&Ms

I received this message on the blog, but it obviously fits no known topic. The author is something of a mystery: "R. Crutch" no city, no e-mail. But I felt it necessary to share with you. RE

From R. Crutch:

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them breaks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

I can laugh about it now

Here's a funny story.

It was my parent's birthdays this week. They're both at a stage in their lives where they really don't need or want anything, so I decided to get them a gift voucher for their favourite fancy restaurant, Bannisters. I called Bannisters and ordered the gift voucher (of not inconsiderable value), and organised for it to be mailed out to my parents in plenty of time for their birthdays.

Last weekend (still a couple of days before their birthdays), I casually asked if they had received anything interesting in the mail. They said no. I got a little icky sensation in the pit of my stomach, realising that something could have gone horribly wrong. My credit card had been charged, but had I given the correct address for delivery? What if it had accidentally been delivered to someone else? (I mean, I'm always receiving mail for people who live at the same unit and street number, one street over from us) What if it was lost in the mail? What if some underpaid mail sorter had intercepted the envelope and taken the gift voucher? But since the birthdays hadn't happened yet, I decided to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and wait a few more days.

This morning, three weeks after I had organised this gift voucher, I called the parental unit again, spoke to Dad, and asked if they had received anything birthday related in the mail. And again, he said no. OH NO!!!!

Immediately I called Bannisters and told them that something had gone awry, the gift voucher was MIA, and what were they going to do about it? The lady who I spoke with was very polite, but really couldn't grasp the concept that the voucher might not have reached its intended recipient. She kept telling me that it had been charged to my credit card on April 10th ("Yes, I know that") and it was mailed out the same day ("Mmmhhhhmmm, yes I believe you"). We confirmed the mailing address had been correct and the names on the voucher were correct. Then she helpfully went and checked the desk where they kept the out-tray to make sure it hadn't fallen behind. It hadn't. She really didn't have any helpful suggestions for me. I had to help her with that. I suggested that she reassure me that the voucher hadn't yet been cashed in. It hadn't. Then I asked if it was possible to cancel the voucher and make a new one. She thought about it for a while and decided it might be possible. Good, we were getting somewhere. Anyhoo we sorted it out and arranged for a new gift voucher for my parents to come and pick up.

So I rang my parents and this time spoke to my mother. I told her the story, that she should have received something for her birthday from Bannisters and that it had clearly got lost in the mail. At this point she screamed. Yes, she screamed. I thought that she might be being over-dramatic about how nice the birthday present would have been if they had got it and how great it was that I was so thoughtful. But I was wrong.

After a brief silence, my Mum started telling me, semi-hysterically, that there had been some mail from Bannisters last weekend and she had thought it was junk mail. So she threw it away.

Sometimes I can't believe I'm related to these people.

Some people shouldn't stage dive...

...and James Blunt is one of them. Breaking his finger is proof that it was a bad idea.
But really, why on earth would he feel the urge to stage dive? I simply can't imagine how warbling "You're beautifaaa--aalll" would make you want to throw yourself off a stage - everyone knows that swooning teenage girls can't be trusted to catch you. In any case, most people would much rather throw themselves off a cliff than a stage upon hearing that song

Very mild superpowers

When I'm waiting for a train, I can (almost always) accurately predict where to stand on the platform to be right in front of the doors when the train stops. I thought I was really gifted, until I saw David O'Doherty perform. Now I know that what I have isn't just a gift, it's a very mild superpower!

My science geek friends might appreciate this

What's amusing Sarah today?

Good to see that Canadian news is covering this.

Frankly, it was ridiculous of Australian police not to have been expecting the Chaser boys to pull a stunt like this - I mean, even I was expecting it! Also good to see that Alexander Downer has kept a sense of humour about it, despite the fact that it has made Australian security measures look about as effective as chicken wire. I can't wait to see the show next week!



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Aussie comedy troupe rides 'Canadian' motorcade through APEC summit security

Published: Thursday, September 6, 2007 | 10:29 AM ET

Canadian Press

SYDNEY, Australia (AP) - Members of an Australian TV comedy show, one dressed as Osama bin Laden, drove a Canadian-flagged motorcade through two security checkpoints Thursday before being stopped near the hotel where President George W. Bush is staying.

The stunt embarrassed Sydney police who have imposed the tightest security measures in city history for a summit of leaders from Pacific Rim countries, including Bush and Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper, who arrived Thursday.

Police arrested 11 cast and crew from the TV program, "The Chaser's War on Everything," and impounded three vehicles, the Australian Broadcasting Corp., which airs the show, said on its website.

Cast members put together a sham motorcade, hiring two motorcycles and three large cars on which they put Canadian flags.

Police waved the motorcade through two checkpoints before pulling it over near the Intercontinental Hotel where Bush is staying.

Cast member Chas Licciardello got out of the car dressed in a white tunic and cap and wearing a long fake Osama bin Laden-style beard.

"No particular reason we chose Canada," cast member Chris Taylor was quoted as saying on the Sydney Morning Herald's Web site.

"We just thought they'd be a country who the cops wouldn't scrutinize too closely, and who feasibly would only have three cars in their motorcade - as opposed to the 20 or so gas guzzlers that Bush has brought with him."

All 11 were charged under new laws passed a month ago with entering a restricted APEC area, a police statement said.

They were released on bail and are to appear in court next month. Each faces a potential six-month jail sentence.

Bush is a frequent target of "the Chaser," as are Australian politicians. Foreign Minister Alexander Downer said the stunt proved security was working.

"Whatever you think of the humour of 'the Chaser,' the honest truth is they were clearly not going to harm anybody in a physical way," Downer said.

"They presumably were, as is the nature of their show, aiming to humiliate a lot of well-known people."

Why do women change their names?

Well this is an issue that's been on my mind lately, since I am merely 31 days away from getting hitched.

I've actually made my decision, and that is not to change my name. There are lots of reasons why I made this choice, mostly professional. But there are elements of feminism in my decision, and also I can't be arsed to do all the paperwork, get new bank cards, library cards, drivers license, etc... And Bryan's surname is so similar to mine that its not really worth the effort. Certainly there is no question of hyphenating our names without our kids suffering irreparable mental harm as a consequence. So anyway that's my choice.

Here's an interesting, and strongly worded article from The Age asking why women do choose to change their names.

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Why do some wives still change their names?

Catherine Deveny
September 5, 2007

Insecure or conservative or stupid women are bowing to the wishes of their husbands.

WHO the hell is Jana Rawlinson? Jana Wendt I know, Jana Pittman I know, but Jana Rawlinson? So I check out the snap. It looks exactly like Jana Pittman. But her name is Jana Rawlinson. How bizarre. That has to be some crazy coincidence. A woman called Jana with a different surname who looks exactly like Jana Pittman. And, get this, she's a hurdler too. Freaky.

Oh, I get it. She has put a few noses out of joint in the past so she's keen on a bit of incognito action. You'd think she'd change her first name too. Then it dawned on me. She has got married, bizarre enough in itself these days, and changed her last name to her husband's. What an anachronism. Maybe she changed her name to go with the chastity belt, the crinolines and the stick "no thicker than his thumb" that her husband is allowed to beat her with.

Wake up! We are in 2007. Women are no longer owned by their father and then their husband. So why are some women still changing their surnames? And why do some men still want them to? It's sad, it's misogynous, it's archaic, it's insecure and it's unnecessary.

Why would you do something so drastic simply because you decided to delude yourself it was easier? Because you are deeply insecure, deeply conservative or deeply stupid. And in deep denial.

I ask women why they change their last name. They tell me "it's just easier". It's not. How easy is it changing the name on everything from your driver's licence to your library card? It's not. Many of the families I know have up to three different surnames and have no problem at all.

If people really believe that mum, dad and the kids having the same surname is easier, why doesn't the guy change his name? Why don't they flip a coin and it's heads we go for her surname and tails we go for his? Because it is not about it being easier. It makes me despair. We've come all this way and we're still here.

Many women will say that their husbands wanted them to change their surname. So they did. Here's a flash for you sister: if you do everything that your husband wants you to do, you may find yourself teetering round in a pair of stilettos and an apron all day saying, "Shall I fix some more food for you and the boys?", or wearing a burqa.

Thanks to feminism, women should be allowed and encouraged to do anything they want. But the question I ask is why do some women still want to change their surnames?

And not the stock answer they give, but why, deep in their hearts, they feel the need to dilute themselves.

So I kept reading the article and Jana has won a couple of gold medals. Good on her. She has an eight-month-old son and she was doing it for him. Here's a reality pill for you, Jana. You weren't doing it for him, you were doing it for you. He doesn't care.

Then it goes on to use the word "supermum" to describe her. How can a woman who has handed over her kid to be cared for by someone else while she has pursued her dreams with little or no thought to what the child needs or wants be described as a supermum? A supermum is a woman who has done the weekly shop with four kids under five and not killed any of them. If Jana had won the race with the baby strapped to her back while pushing a shopping trolley, I would have called her a supermum.

People are bagging Jana for putting her career above the needs of her young child. Which I can understand. What I can't understand is why the father is not mentioned at all. And never is.

Whenever two parents are working and the child is propped up on the sideline waiting for its turn, why is it only the woman who gets bagged, as if the father has no responsibility for the care of his own child? Why, when a woman is working, does she always get asked, "Who's looking after your children?", but the father never does? We need to take the focus off the role of mother and put it on to parents as a team.

Men have become much more hands-on fathers in the past 10 years and it has been magnificent to see. The kids, the dads and the mums have benefited greatly but we still have a long way to go. Dads, here's a sure-fire way of getting lucky tonight. Try this line: "I've made the lunches, done the reading and filled in all the excursion forms. The clothes are all laid out and I'm just going to put the kids to bed."

The more you know

So there you go! I learned something today.

Cats that look like Hitler

There's a website for everything on the internets these days. Even cats that look like Hitler (kitlers).

Eurovision 2007

I was wondering where to begin my discussion of the 2007 Eurovision Song Contest, held this last weekend.

Instead I'll just let Go Fug Yourself tell you all about it.

I will stop this soon

...I promise, just one last wedding post.

Here's a wonderful photo and caption that I found on a website of terrible wedding dress photography featured in magazine ads. This photo made me laugh uncontrollably under my breath for several minutes (you know the kind of laughing you do when you're at work in an office with three other people who are actually doing work, and you don't want them to know that you're laughing because then you'd have to explain what's so funny and you just know that they wouldn't find it that funny anyway).


I can't find my bouquet. I've looked everywhere for it. What? Do you know where it is? I haven't seen it since I sat down over there. It's just gone. Why are you laughing? Help me find my frickin' bouquet!



OK that is it. No more wedding posts for at least a couple of days. I don't want anyone to send me this:

Bride Audit

Continuing my pattern of wedding-obsessed posts, I give you the Bride Audit, which is actually very funny if you've ever known a Bridezilla.


BrideAudit™

Someone who scored more highly on the Bride Audit than I did might send out the following thankyou cards

Godawful Wedding Crap

At last! A blog echoing my own feelings on crap wedding paraphernalia.

I give you, Godawful Wedding Crap!

Funny wedding quote

One of the girls on my trivia team got married on the weekend. Back when she was shopping for her wedding dress, she was overheard saying to the shop assistant,
"I don't want to look like a meringue, I want to look like the whole pavlova"
And apparently her dress took up so much room on the dance floor there wasn't really room for anyone else to dance.

Which reminds me of when I was shopping for my wedding dress. There was a girl trying on her dress in the change room next to mine, who said,
"I want him (the groom we presume) to look at me coming down the aisle and say 'Oh my God'". My mum saw her dress, and was certain that everyone in the room was going to be saying "Oh...my...God" under their breath.

Little Orphan Angie

From Melbourne's The Age newspaper, March 31 2007.

Some links added by me - for non-Australian's who don't know what a Daddo is.

The red carpets of Hollywood are crawling with a new stolen generation. Daniel Burt wants in.

AN ORPHAN IS NOT JUST for Christmas. They also make a great Easter gift. Soon, every celebrity will have one and the Third World will disappear, one boutique baby at a time.
If compassion were bird flu, Angelina Jolie would be laying eggs and begging for crackers.
Her latest recruit is a Vietnamese boy named Pax. Officially, he's the luckiest kid on the planet, but just wait until Pax hits his teens. You thought things were emotionally twisted for Oedipus. Having "the talk" with your mum never felt so wrong.
As for me, at the risk of jeopardising my inheritance, if it meant getting adopted by Angelina, I would happily murder my parents.
Hollywood's other do-gooders must be shattered. It's no longer enough to fly to Chad, grab a photo op with a cripple and be home in time for the Botox appointment. Where once celebrities spoke out against child labour, now they are adopting the workers.
Being in such high demand, orphans are getting picky. Many refuse to live with anyone who is not an Oscar nominee. I heard of one Kenyan kid who threw a tantrum when he learned that his new parent had only been up for Best Sound. Another had the indignity of being acquired by the winner of a Golden Globe. Her lawyers are in negotiations.
Celebrities seem to jump straight in the deep end. Why not start with an electronic pet? Like most orphans, they are compact, make funny noises and are made in Asia. Ensure you can tell the difference. One A-lister bought an orphan and spent 25 minutes looking for the "off" switch.
But these children are more than breathing toys. They constitute a new stolen generation, pilfered not by governments but movie stars. To safeguard against accusations of bias, many personalities endeavour to adopt children from every continent. Angelina wants a "Rainbow Tribe", the racial equivalent of collecting the whole set.
Celebrity lounge rooms become mini-United Nations. Parents don't reduce pocket money; they impose economic sanctions. Preventing fights becomes peacekeeping. And as with the UN, when it comes to housework, nothing actually gets done.
These kids go from dirt floor to red carpet. With so much at stake, I wouldn't be surprised if they puffed up their sympathy CV. Believe me, prospective parents, do your homework. What I thought was a diseased Cambodian toddler turned out to be a 33-year-old Adelaide IT worker with gout. The slob drinks straight from the carton.
Everyone knows famous people should get what they want. But competition is fierce and most are too busy to read every sob story. That's why orphans worldwide should be given tickets in a celebrity lottery. If your number comes up, you get to go home with Paris Hilton. Different categories mean B-grade celebrities get B-grade orphans. Booby prize gets a Daddo.
Some people deride celebrities who adopt the disadvantaged. They question motives, sincerity and aptitude. These cynics themselves haven't been altruistic since 1983, and even then it was walking home a drunk girl in the hope she'd ask them inside.
We commoners claim to lack the wherewithal for such charity. But all we need is a more extreme incentive. I suggest changing every African kid's name to iPod. Not only would we spend big, we'd also splurge on accessories.
Prevalence, however, ruins allure. Glossy magazines thrive on quirky cases of infants being plucked from obscurity. The public laps it up and intrusiveness is happily masked as goodwill. In reality, the constant threat of paparazzi is LA's answer to the ebola virus. And our abiding interest fuels its spread.
I wish the best of luck to Hollywood's new offspring. If there's ever an orphan shortage, give me a call. I can make a fall down the stairs look like an accident.

Creation Science 101